Friday, December 30, 2005

What the F*^% Happened To My Link?

Does this ever happen to you?

If you look at my post of December 7th, 2005, the headline "Testify!" originally linked to an article on Boston.com that described testimony in which New Orleans residents said they had rifles trained on their children by National Guardsmen who had been sent to "protect" them. The article specifically quoted Christopher Shays, a Republican Senator from Connecticut who told a witness that he did not believe her testimony since he could not imagine such things happening. Overall, the article gave the impression that a bunch of Republicans did not believe that a bunch of lower income people could have negative interaction with law enforcement during a crisis. Unfortunately for the Republicans, there have been numerous eyewitness accounts from different sources that describe what the testifiers saw.
BUT, if you were to follow the link today, here is what you find. A rather bland description of how several Republican members of Congress are concerned about how Federal aid is being distributed. Of course, tracing funds is something Congress should be on top of, but why doesn't the article match the headline or the photo of Mama D?
Just curious.
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You know you're pregnant when...

1) Getting out of bed in the morning takes planning and manuvering.

2) You realize you have been standing in the "baby needs" aisle at the grocery store for five minutes just staring in disbelief at the sheer amount of crap you have to buy to sustain a seven pound human being.

3) You have to resist the urge to run after someone with a baby stroller and ask them
where they got it and for how much.

4) Looking at fashion magazines becomes an exercise in futility.

5) Your nephew asks your mom for more pickles at dinner and you think:
"What pickles? WHERE?!"

6) On your day off from your job, you spend five hours on the sofa watching episodes
of Six Feet Under simply because you are aware that soon you will never have that
much free time again.

7) You spend that same five hours staring at everything in your living room and
wondering how you are going to childproof it.

8) Your husband talks to your belly more than your face.

9) Everything you want to eat or drink is bad for the baby. Everything good for the
baby tastes blah.

10) Your cat has begun to avoid sitting on your lap. There is not as much room and she doesn't understand who keeps kicking her.
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Thursday, December 22, 2005

Frivolous Rant of the Day

Props to my Salem neighbor, Dan Cederholm, for his packaging design critique. Funny how the "conveniences" of modern life often end up being somewhat of a pain in the ass. My personal pet food packaging peeve is health food that comes in NASA grade therma-sealed plastic with no reclosable pouch. Does the company think that their product is so good that I will eat all of it in one sitting? Tofurkey ain't bad on whole wheat with a little provolone and mustard with baby spinach, but damn, it ain't that good. Since I often end up making a sandwich with Tofurkey at 7:45am with seconds to get out the door, the poor packaging design is a definite drawback. There's the cardboard outer layer, securely glued together on both ends with no perforation, then the thick plastic inner shell with no detectable tear-off strip. And after one has managed to hack open both, there's no way to seal the packaging back up, so one end's up with a small bag of Tofurkey Jerky in their fridge after a day. Luckily I happen to have that "Anal Retentive Chef" gene, so I seal the whole mess up with a Ziploc baggie before I put it back in the fridge. And another thing, there's no friggin' expiration date on the package! I don't think you can get Listeriosis from tofu, but the tofu you get in the white plastic tub ususally goes slimy after about 4 days. How is Tofurkey any different?

If you are a carnivore and still actually reading this, let me let you in on the vegetarians' dirty little secret; "Health Food" is only called that because you bought it in a store with better lighting and Miles Davis playing over the speaker system instead of Madonna. Even though soybean is probably the world's biggest legal crop, and simply needs to be grown,harvested, processed and shipped, rather than fed, slaughtered and processed, faux meat products cost almost two and a half times what actual meat costs. It's as if the entire health food industry has assumed that the only people who don't want to eat meat are doctors, lawyers, and real estate brokers.

You want to know the secret to finding healthy, easy open food without taking out a lien on your mortgage? Shop at asian markets. There's something oddly satisfying about paying $1.09 for a good sized package of pre-fried tofu (trust me there's no other way you want to eat it) while someone yells for a pricecheck on chicken gizzards over the loudspeakers in Vietnamese. If you are a vegetarian on an actual budget, don't go to Whole Foods for anything except Burts Bee's Foot Balm and meatless gravy, go here:

Mei Tung SuperMarket: on that weird no man's land strip between Chinatown and the Ladder District. Everything from incense to Nutella at low,low prices.

Super 88 Markets: These are starting to crop up everywhere. Lots of selection, usually they have a deli too.

Ming's Groceries: Washington St., near the Herald building: Absolutely the best if you have the time to really poke around. Most of the packaging is in an asian language, so it helps if you find something good to remember what the packaging looks like. They also have the cheapest porcelain figurines and vases in town! Recommendations: Sun Silk brand shampoo and conditioner, vietnamese rice vermicelli noodles, Nong Shim instant noodle soup and the bulk spices.
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"And the Most Unconsciously Ironic News Item of the Day Award goes to...


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Tuesday, December 20, 2005

Could this be the end of crappy maternity wear?

Just to bitch, vent, kvetch, whatever:

So far I have been to over 5 stores to find maternity clothes that do not make me look like, a) a total ho or b) a big fat Mary Kate Olsen wanna-be. I am going to name names and dish the dirt and here it is:

Old Navy (Liberty Tree Mall): Pregnant friends tell me that they have a great maternity section, but the store I go to seems to only carry clothes to fit tiny waisted teenage girls.

The Gap (North Shore Mall): For some reason the Gap gives me hives every time I go in a store. It could be the obnoxious in-store marketing. I don't care how Kelly Rowland gets inspired by how her chemically aged boot cut jeans remind her of her favorite song or whatever, I refuse to pay more than $9.00 for a cotton t-shirt made in Guatemala. Besides that, their maternity section consists of a couple of cotton blouses, a khaki A-line skirt (YAWN) and the usual maternity jeans.

Bob's Stores (Route One Saugus): There's a big sign hanging in the middle of the women's section saying MATERNITY, but if they mean that one circle rack stuffed with XXL pepto-bismol pink and day-glo green t-shirts and XXL sweatpants, they should hire a new buyer. Extra boos for putting the rack in the middle of the "Euphemistic Term for Big Chubby Girls" section so you can't tell if the clothes are really meant to be for pregnant women in the first place.

H&M Clothing (Downtown Crossing): On the plus side, they have a good sized section that says "Maternity" and the clothes have labels that say H&M Mama, but there's usually only two colors of a style, actually no colors since the choices are white and black, and there's about 20 variations on the t-shirt, but only about two or three styles of pants. Note to H&M, most pregnant women get by with buying knit shirts the next size up. It's the pants that are the big thing. Make more pants.
On the negative side, the sizes tend to run pretty big, from Large on up. Also, there are a couple of dress designs but they are in black and cut low in the neck. I don't need to flash everyone my breasts. I'm already pregnant.

Kohls Department Store (Liberty Tree Mall): Usually this store fails to disappoint. It's like Target, good range of stuff, low prices, but with better lighting. That's why the maternity section surprised me. There were the usual big billowing t-shirts in XXL, but virtually no "office clothes". Everything I looked at(and I looked at everything since I was desperate by now), was either along the lines of a velour tracksuit in pink, white or black, or a lengthened tank top with "Oh Baby" emblazoned across the front in rhinestones. There was one half rack with black elastic waist polyester trousers. EVERY SINGLE PAIR WAS XL OR L! People, please, wake up, pregnant does not equal fat and tall. That is the "Euphemism" section. This is supposed to be the maternity section. Small girls get pregnant too.

I don't need to swath myself in yards of hot-pink velour and cute phrases that tell someone the obvious. I need three pairs of wool pants, black, grey and striped with the "basketball pouch" sewn in, 5 button down shirts with gathers to accommodate my enlarged abdomen and breasts, and some NON control top hose so I can breathe. Maybe a cardigan, nothing fancy.

Or, if Gwen Stefani decides to do a L.A.M.B. maternity line, some black stretch velvet flares and leopard print smocked t-shirts, whatever, I'm not picky, just trying to stay employed and clothed.
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Wednesday, December 07, 2005

Testify!

Remember the Richard Pryor Live in Concert movie where someone in the audience was heard shouting "Preach, n*****, Preach!"? Richard Pryor starts laughing and then muses about what a white person would hear, and says in a "white guy" voice, "It's just some Negro talk dear, don't worry."

Representative Christopher Shays (R-Conn)gets the raspberry of the day for telling survivor Patricia Thompson after hearing testimony about seeing troops train a machine gun laser target on a little girl's forehead, "I just don't frankly believe it." "You believe what you want" she replied.

Unfortunately, that's how we got into this mess in the first place.

For more news updates about Hurricane Katrina's impact on New Orleans, go here.
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Thursday, December 01, 2005

The Needle in the Haystack

A while ago I did a really scary grown up thing. (no not THAT, but close)
I had a financial advisor come to my house and help me to go over some financial planning. (Confession time, this is one area of my life where I am a total and complete nerd) Somehow, the idea of a stranger sitting in my living room and asking me questions about my short term and long term goals didn't faze me at all and I responded that in five years I would like to run a web and graphic design business from my home (which we would own) and look after the kid(s). It seemed like a normal answer. Who doesn't want to be their own boss and own a home? I did a quick google for "mom blogs" hoping to get some insider information on moms who might actually do this. Now I know motherhood is like a little club where the members share secrets about breastfeeding and grape juice stains, and as someone who is pregnant, I am a junior member, but damn! do grown women really sit around blogging about little Taylor or Emma's bowel movements?

So, like a lot of information that is supposed to be out there on the web, there is a lot of chatter about parenting, along with a ton of huckstering, but finding actual, real and useful information is like finding a nugget of gold. At this point, I am still employed by an actual company, so I thought that the responsible adult thing to do would be to set up some kind of daycare in case I am not earning enough to pay the bills in a few months with freelance work. What I've discovered: there are a few sites out there that act as resources, but most of them just go for a simple alphabetical listing of every licensed provider in a 50 mile radius. Every daycare center that may actually have a website, will have lots of big photos of cute kids playing with clay and coloring or "exploring" but not list their rates. Almost every facility has it set up so you have to call them and even then they won't tell you the flat rate, you have to give them a "profile" and then they call in a while (days, weeks, months) with a price quote. Most of them charge almost $300 bucks a week. If they charge any less, it's because they are open "bankers hours" and any money you would save would be eaten up by the work hours you would lose leaving work early.

So www.masskidcare.net wins a "Webby of the Day" award for being easy to navigate and providing a well thought out search function to find the nearest daycare in a particular zip code. All I had to do was print the list out and then start playing with map quest!
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Wednesday, November 30, 2005

Update to Spawn of Jennsweb

Went for our 3rd ultrasound last night and got to see the spine. It looked like an animated H. R. Giger drawing.

On a similar note, everytime I eat anything close to a full meal, I start feeling like John Hurt in the scene in "Alien" where the little alien baby starts to force its way through his chest. On Thanksgiving, I thought I was going to explode like Mr. Creosote after eating the ill-fated wafer thin mint. And forget trying to sit down on the floor to color with my niece Mary. Luckily my mom and my sister have both gone through two preganancies each so they started telling her that "Aunt Jennie can't get down on the floor like she used to." Speaking of that, I can't imagine going to a club looking like this.

The baby is now about 7 inches long and weighs about one pound. From what I could tell from a fuzzy ultrasound photo, she looks like her daddy. She's a show-off too. While the technician was looking at the monitor, she stuck her leg up over her head.

Overall, the strangest thing about being "with child" is the loss of control over your body. Not that I've taken to flinging my arms around or swearing uncontrollably, but my belly is expanding at a rate that is starting to outpace all sense of normalcy. At any other time, I'm pretty good at being able to adjust my weight. Jeans getting too tight? Cut back on the doughnuts. Fanny bones starting to ache after sitting for more than an hour on a firm chair? Eat more doughnuts.
But now, it's becoming a phenomenon. I'm actually eating less at one sitting than I used to, and I'm still waiting for all those cravings for ice cream to kick in, but I'm outgrowing my clothes like when I was 10. And I'm waddling like a duck. It's hard to move your legs around a 15 pound pillow strapped to your waist.

Getting kicked from the inside is wierd too. Every once in a while, usually after a meal, it feels as if there is a tiny kickboxer inside my abdomen practicing side kicks. I am also turning into a total baby about stairs ever since I went up three flights at work and actually had to stop and catch my breath.

At one point, about a year ago, I thought it would be fun to try writing a column for Inside Kungfu Magazine about being a pregnant woman doing martial arts. Unfortunately, the reason there is so little out there on the subject is because jumping up to do a hurricane kick and then dropping into three spinning floor sweeps followed by rising up into a tam tui is not recommended by most obstetricians. For now, I just try to do stuff in slow motion, or in my head.
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Wednesday, November 16, 2005

A Very Simple Rule

On one hand, this is from the BBC news website. On the other hand...

Australians have been told by their New South Wales Food Authority (kind of a funny title, like Nuclear Safety Commissioner), to not be alarmed by a recent report of glowing porkchops. So if you are one of those people who take their medical reportage from radio call-in shows, and you live in Australia, and you eat pork, you can breathe an enormous sigh of relief and throw away the rest of that luminescent loin cut. It's only a benign, naturally-forming bacteria, Nature's gentle way of letting us know that some organic matter is "a bit gone".

But if you are like me, you are probably wondering under what set of circumstances would you be able to see meat glow in the first place. If I ate pork, I would probably make sure I only saw it in brightly lit conditions. Was the Australian carnivore bathed in an un-holy glow when they opened their refrigerator? Was it being eaten under a moonless night sky or in a dimly lit restaurant? Was it an eerie glow, or a cheerful radiance? Is that why undercooked pork can kill you, the deadly bacteria are attracted by the benign's soft beacon of imminent corruption?
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Monday, November 07, 2005

Book Report

It's been a month since my last entry, but my mother always said: "If you can't say anything nice..."

I've actually spent the past 3 weeks ingesting and absorbing Howard Zinn's book, "A People's History of the United States". I was planning to insert a lot of excerpts in this post, but, you really need to pick it up and read it yourself. Plus, I had to return it to the library so I didn't get a chance to xerox all the passages at work. Every time I came across something that seemed like what we've seen in the news lately, I would dog-ear the page and read on. After 670-odd pages I had a lot of dog-ears.

In case you've never heard about "People's History", it's Zinn's reaction to the Board of Education sanctioned history that he was taught from elementary school through college. It's history from the perspective of those who lacked the power to enforce their version of the story. The good news is, you can avoid having to read a two pound paperback book by paying close attention to a wide variety of news outlets. The bad news is, after 500+ years on this side of the pond, rich white males, and the rest of us, haven't appeared to learn a damn thing.

Here's the basic plot: A bunch of Caucasian guys backed by an economic superpower, on a mission to expand their financial control over the global economy, encounter brown people who have natural resources that are highly valuable commodities in the global marketplace. Through propoganda, treaties, and failing the first two, brute force, the Caucasian group wrests control of the resources away from the brown people. Then, having depleted their pool of cheap labor, the Caucasians realize they need to get more people to do their dirty work. By various methods, they import labor into their newly aquired territory, but economic imbalances create tension and the situation often erupts into chaos. Order is restored enough so that trade can continue and the status quo, at least on the surface, remains intact. For the most part, this status quo is maintained through two methods; a journalistic component that is heavily promoted as being free and fair minded, and cultivation of competion between various groups of people who are at a cultural and/or economic disadvantage.

That's pretty much it.
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Tuesday, October 04, 2005

Pushing up the daisies

Just got through reading Mary Roach's book "Stff-The Curious Lives of Human Cadavers",and I am happy to say that I found it more comforting than disturbing. Over the past year, I kept picking it up from the bestseller display table in the Salem Public Library. I had some idea what it was about and thought it might be interesting to find out what happens to someone's body after they die, but every time I flipped it open, phrases like; "insect-accelerated decomposition" and "rendering vat" would jump off the page and I would put the book down thinking, "maybe next time".

But ever since I found out from my mom that our family has space on their burial plot in South Carolina for myself and my sister, I have been thinking about what I really want to have happen after I die. I went back to SC with my mom for her 50th High School reunion and we made a little side trip to the cemetery attached to our family's old Presbyterian church. We found my grandmother's new headstone and as we made our way back to the car, my mom pointed to a couple of spaces next to our grandparents. "There's your space and then your sister's" It is a nice place, rolling hills, big shady trees, and cicadas buzzing in the background.

A few months later the subject came up again, (our family is the kind of Southerners who say things like; "I hope we have some good weather so we can enjoy Daddy's funeral", but will refer to any part of the body between the navel and the knees as "down there") and casually my mother said something about my sister donating her organs and thus not being buried in her assigned space. She rambled on to something else, but I wanted to hit the rewind button. What does that mean? Don't you still get to have a final resting place, albeit minus your liver and kidneys? Are Presbyterians like the ancient Egyptians, convinced that one cannot enter the afterlife unless one's body is intact? And what if you decided to be cremated? Does that earn you a snub in the Beyond as well?

So these were the kinds of things running in the back of my mind as I read "Stiff". It actually was not as high on the "gross-out scale" as I had feared, but there were a couple of passages where I realized I was gripping the book and pressing myself back into my seat as if trying to ward off what I was reading. Suffice to say, I am really glad to be born in the 20th century. And I now know what "gibbeting" means well enough to use it in a sentence although I hope I never need to.

The second to last chapter in the book was a revelation. I already knew something about "green funerals" because it was a storyline on "Six Feet Under" and I googled the term and learned that there was even a company in South Carolina that offered the service. My only reservation was that it meant you were buried in a "green" nature preserve and not with your family. I can be fairly superstitious (I don't open umbrellas in the house, I don't kill spiders, and always throw salt over my shoulder if I spill any), and somehow I can't escape the intuition that if there is an afterlife, it would be nice to spend it with my relatives, particularly the ones that I never got the chance to meet while living, who knows, it might be fun. So far "Stiff" had covered the various ways in which peoples' bodies that had been willed to science were used. To be honest, they weren't really appealing to me. Put down whatever you might be eating and imagine your mortal coil being strapped into a "crash sled" in a car safety lab somewhere. Or how about a total stranger sawing off your head so a plastic surgeon can brush up on their eyelid tuck technique? Maybe as I get older I will get less selfish, already I'm not as bad as I was at the age of 2, but if I knew I was going to go tomorrow, I would get in touch with the Promessa people.

A technique that is being promoted in Sweden, where land is scarce and people are so practical that they make the Dutch look like drunken frat brothers on weekend trip to Las Vegas, is human composting. Your remains are frozen with liquid nitrogen, then broken up into small pieces via ultrasound. The resulting powder goes into a vacuum chamber where the remaining water is removed, and on from there to a separator to take out "spare parts" mercury (from your fillings). The end result is that you are now organic powder in a small cornstarch container, ready to be placed in the ground. After your biodegradable "starch coffin" degrades, your powdered form fertilizes a plant. It's got something for everyone. You don't end up decomposing in a big fancy over-priced casket, the mercury in your fillings doesn't end up in the atmosphere from being burned in a crematorium, and you could help grow something, almost like reincarnation. I wouldn't mind coming back as a geranium. And hopefully, I could be planted with the rest of my family, just in a slightly different form.
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Thursday, September 29, 2005

SPAWN of JENNSWEB



Went to the hospital this Monday for an ERA test. I found out in August that I'm pregnant, but was waiting until the end of the first trimester before I told a lot of people. At this point it's pretty obvious. If someone didn't notice that my stomach looks like I swallowed a spaghetti squash, then the constant running away from my desk for either food or the ladies room should have tipped them off. Going through the first two months during the dog days of summer was no picnic. I was either nauseous, ravenous, or so dead tired that I couldn't hold a fork. Now I'm feeling better, except for a head cold, and seeing our first ultra sound scan makes me feel a lot better. The second the image came up on the monitor, the baby started showing off, throwing jabs and gulping amniotic fluid. I tried to post the scan but it wouldn't upload to Blogger's server. I'm too big in the stomach for most of my clothes, but all the maternity clothes seem designed for nine-months pregnant linebackers with a fetish for really big prints. So far the worst part is having to stop going to kung fu for what will probably be at least nine months, but the best part is knowing there's a tiny proto-person squirming around inside your abdomen.
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Wednesday, September 07, 2005

r@*! and c+#$

Over the past week we've seen the media go from complacently reading the latest lists of war casualties off the teleprompter, to almost literally screaming in the Bush administration's collective face about the serious lapses in the response to Hurricane Katrina. And, as usual, the outcome of the entire situation could have both good and bad results. On the good side, the whole polite, delicately phrased dialogue on the complexities of race and class in the United States is now blown wide open and everyone is finding out what people really think about the issue, not just what they are saying to score votes, points, girls or whatever. On the bad side, we are seeing how poorly prepared we are as a country to deal with a catastrophe, as well as what can happen when citizens are left to fend for themselves in its wake.

Unfortunately, I suspect a lot of Americans have a tendency to change the channel when the news gets too uncomfortable for them. I'm not Nielsen, but on at least two occasions I have heard people I know say things like, "I don't follow the war in Iraq too closely. It's too confusing and it's all bad news anyway." and "I was following that story on CNN, but it just got too depressing." It's one of the prices you have to pay in a democracy. Most people are not willing to deal with information that makes them uneasy about their own version of reality. It's a lot easier to pretend that something does not exist if you don't want to look at it.
When one looks at the various dialogues that are going on in the media right now, it seems that the overall theme is I Told You So, followed by its cousin, Well, What Did You Expect? The ITYS crowd is saying that the issues brought to the surface by the flooding have been around for years and years; the levees weren't adequate and people knew it. There was a large population of poor people who wouldn't be able to evacuate. The WWDYE crowd is saying; these people stayed so they could loot the city. That's what "people like them" do. Perhaps the sanest approach is to look at both sides and take the lessons learned seriously. Murphy's Law dictates that anything that can go wrong, will go wrong. If your city undergoes a major catastrophe, don't expect people to just pack up and leave like good boys and girls. Tell them the worst case scenario right off the bat and scare them into leaving. And if they can't leave, roll out the damn school buses. And if they still don't leave, don't expect to find them sitting around the Superdome singing "Kumbaya".

The most disturbing issue brought up by the disaster in the city of New Orleans is to hear how the people one would expect to be in charge, the police and/or National Guard, have, by a lot of accounts, behaved more like thugs than the people they were supposedly there to control. The stories range from cops looting alongside civilians to National Guard troops levelling their guns at people who approached them for assistance. People were encouraged to take refuge in two large enclosed sports arenas and no one was put in charge of the situation. It's this country's problem in a nutshell: We acknowledge that we have a large population that is trapped in a cycle of poverty, poorly funded public education and low expectations, yet no one wants to take responsibility for it. For years anyone who has attempted to present any kind of solution has been shouted down for being a hand-wringing, bleeding heart liberal who doesn't understand that "these people don't want to help themselves."

The people caught in the middle are forced to perceive themselves as helpless and unable to better their situation. By now, generations of lower income people have been told, subtly or otherwise, that they must be dumb because why would anyone spend money to educate them? And if they are so dumb, then what is the point of trying to do anything more than live hand to mouth?

The image that springs to my mind is from a video job that I had once at a school in Lowell, MA. The job was to tape different classrooms around the Boston area and observe how students learned. In this class, the teacher asked if the kids had done the homework assignment. It was the way she asked that struck me as strange. It was a rushed string of words that came out more as a statement than a serious question, "anyonedothehomework", and then she didn't even wait for the answer, which she had obviously assumed to be "no" since she simply started to lead the entire class through the assignment that she had given them to do on their own time.

It spoke volumes to me. I had seen other teachers in different school districts lead students through morning counting drills such as counting off by multiples of 17, I had seen teachers struggle to teach cell structure to 1st graders while trying to control ADHD kids. I had seen a class in Cambridge that was conducted in both English and Creole so kids could learn both languages. All those classes were just as integrated as this one in Lowell but the difference here was the teacher seemed to be saying "Alright, I know you guys didn't do what I asked you to. Who would? Why bother making the effort? You aren't worth the energy it would take me to make sure that you are learning on your own."

To me, that sums up the whole problem of race and class in America. People pretty much behave in the way that they feel is expected of them. Tell people that "statistically" they are highly likely to be uneducated, jobless, and incarcerated and you have substantially lowered the bar on them. I have had the strange (mis?)fortune of moving as a child from a school in South Carolina that had recently been integrated, to a school district that is consistently named as one of the top school districts in Massachusetts. I think the first thing I said when confronted with the sight of 15 six year olds with names like Chad and Kirsten sitting in a circle singing folk songs while someone's mother strummed a guitar was "where are the black kids?"

Even the teacher cracked up. The idea of a black person in their midst seemed to be hilarious to them, like a penguin in the middle of the Sahara. The joke turned out to be on me. Unlike the class I had been in at Crayton Elementary where the teachers spent 60% of their time caning unruly kids with rulers on their bare backsides, and the other 40% herding us into the "reading corner" (One of my classmates was almost 9 and had been held back twice), the kids at Cutler were expected to be able to cruise through "Fun with Dick & Jane" by November. At the time, I wasn't too thrilled to have to spend hours every night with both parents standing over me, stammering out sentences like "Jane and Dick play. Play Dick play!", but three decades later, I'm actually grateful that my Dad's tendencies toward rash and hasty life altering decisions landed me in an educational environment that actually challenged me.

Growing up in a school system where the junior high class trip was a ski weekend at a resort had plenty of challenges. I showed up for the first day of after school tennis in the 7th grade with a wooden racket that I had found in a box of my Dad's old stuff. Everyone else had fiberglass. I tried out for field hockey freshman year of high school (because I had actually enjoyed it when we played it in gym class)only to find that most of the other girls had spent the month of July in field hockey camp. I gave up when it became obvious that I would have a personality clash with the field hockey coach. I only saw it as something fun that would take my mind off of my homework. Her coaching method consisted of charging towards a player like a bull in heat in an effort to scare them off the field.

Even though my parents weren't pressuring me to get into Harvard or, failing that, Yale, I was surrounded by kids who considered it their life's mission. As a senior I would see boys my age get depressed for weeks over being waitlisted for Harvard. It was expected to get into an Ivy League school. The kids who majored in Smoking Area (yes I am that old) could get away with trade school or community college, but you were at least expected to go somewhere. Five hours of homework a night was not considered a big deal. So that's what kids did. Plus sports, plus a job, plus volunteering so it would look good on their college applications. I never had a teacher who acted surprised if people had actually done the assignment. They were always done.

Being thrown from one end of the spectrum to the other, South to North, inner city to suburban, majority of African American students to all white, (well, maybe a couple of Jewish kids but they kept quiet about it) was jarring, but at least it permantly destroyed whatever sense of complacency I had ever had. Rich people are smart because they can afford the property taxes in towns with good school systems. Poor people have to live where they can afford the rent and since they don't have to make the huge investment of a yearly property tax, they have to rely on someone else to make sure that their children are being educated. And chances are they need to hold more than one job to make sure they can pay the bills. This doesn't leave much time for PTA meetings or parent/teacher conferences. So the cycle, if no other factors are added, can spiral very quickly into the situation that we have in the present day: hours of footage of African Americans weeping in frustration at being left to the mercy of the weather, punctuated by footage of European Americans busily tossing the hot potato of blame back and forth. Other factor have been attempted, such as bussing kids from the inner city into all-white school districts, but overall they seem to ignore one fact. People are always going to be more comfortable, more relaxed, and more able to concentrate on what's important, when they are around people like themselves. This is not an excuse to separate people according to the amount of melanin in their skin, it's a wake-up call to this country's government to stop obsessing over where kids are educated and focus on how they are educated. Make every kid going to school in America realize that people have high expectations for them. Keep raising the bar instead of lowering it.

After all the bodies have been counted, and all the evacuees have been placed somewhere where they can recuperate, I believe that overall, the stories about how people were able to rise to the occasion at hand, will far outnumber the stories of people who sank to the depths. If this country has a consistent history of anything, it's the demonstrated ability to overcome challenges that would have driven a Russia or France to its knees. We should never forget that America is still an experiment in progress. And unlike a lot of countries, if pressed, we can talk about ourselves fairly freely. Rather than sweeping the issues of race and class that this disaster has thrust into the limelight, back into the shadows, we should take this opportunity to assess the damage done so far and do what we can to deal with it. We need to realize, as a country, that the issue of class isn't so much tied to race as it is to education, as in rich people feel entitled to getting a good one and poor people are made to feel that they aren't worth saving.
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Friday, September 02, 2005

KATRINA IMAGES AND LINKS


New Orleans from the Air, August 31, 2005. The Super Dome is in the lower left corner.

"Crowd Control"

The inside of the Superdome. As of 9am Sept. 2, 2005, I have heard that there were still 5,000 people inside.

Here is the straight dope:

International Red Cross Site

New Orleans Times-Picayune live on-site coverage

Livejournal Blogger holed up in New Orleans high rise

The rest of this entry is pretty much me just flapping my gums (or fingers).

I watched about an hour of CNN last night. The best thing I saw was an interview with a group of tourists who had tried to charter buses to get out of New Orleans, but the buses had been commandeered by the National Guard. The white man who was being interviewed was almost weeping with a combination of frustration and exhaustion as he described being left stranded after paying for a ticket. Then he put an arm around someone and the camera panned over to show an African-American man standing there with his wife. The tourist said that the man had come by with a vehicle and carried them out of the city.
There has been a lot of rumbling, ranting and tongue clucking over all the footage of people looting and how the media is showing only African-Americans looting. I was in a bar last night with some friends and when we started talking about what's going on in LA, a woman eating dinner next to us, told us that she had grown up in Shreveport. It was hard to tell if she said that because she wanted to talk about what was going on, or if she just wanted to let us know before she heard anything depressing. She said that most of the people that didn't evacuate, couldn't. Too poor, no car, probably didn't want to leave their homes because they were afraid of losing whatever they had to anyone who stayed behind.
The worst thing I saw last night was the correspondent at the Houston Astrodome who was on the scene when at least 3 buses pulled up from New Orleans and were told that there was no more room. I seem to remember that he gave up talking for a few moments. It was too incredible. One minute I was seeing footage of a woman looking out the window of a bus, almost hysterical with relief to get out of the Superdome while the voiceover described the 12 hour ride with no air conditioning. The next minute, I was seeing buses being turned away, just driving away. There was no word on where they could go.
That seems to be the situation in a nutshell. Nobody has any clear information on what to do, how to do it, or where to go. I read an interview on the Interdictor blog in which a man described how the authorities were threatning anyone who approached them for help. Anyone who has ever taken/attempted to take public transportation in the Boston area knows firsthand that it's never a good policy to not be forthcoming with information in an emergency. It's hard to imagine that whoever planned to put people in the Superdome didn't "wargame" what would happen if you take 10,000 people who have just had what little they own washed away and are now left in a big concrete box with a few restrooms and no air conditioning, and stop handing out the waterbottles and MRE's after a couple of days.
As I click obsessively back and forth between various media outlets, it's starting to remind me, ironically enough, of a big dam that's about to burst. There are small cracks appearing everywhere; blogs describing people wandering around in armed gangs, comments here and there about the history of political corruption in New Orleans, reports that at least 40% of the police force has deserted, the Governor of Louisiana describing the incoming Nation Guard troops as "locked and loaded...they will shoot to kill...and they are more than willing to do so if necessary.". I can't escape the sensation that pretty soon whatever carefully constructed wall the press and the disaster management authorities have built around the reality of the situation will burst under the pressure of what we are seeing versus what is being "offically" reported.
The rest of the planet is already pretty much aghast at how we have handled this.
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Wednesday, August 31, 2005

Only 116 days until Christmas!


Many thanks to recording artist William Hung for being a good sport on "Blute and Scotto" this morning. It made my hellish commute a little brighter. I had actually never heard William Hung sing until Scotto started playing samples of some of his songs during the interview.

Never has an individual been rewarded so well for doing something so badly

For more unconscious irony in packaging, click here.
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Tuesday, August 09, 2005

Potty talk

Please go check this blog out. It is the answer to all my prayers...
That is, if phrases like "Jesus Christ! Who designed this?" count as prayers. Ever since I worked for my dad's architecture company in 2000, I have been silently observing just how rotten a lot of commercial interior design is in this country. One my top five list is definitely poorly designed public bathrooms.

Think about it, you go into a place to take care of simple bodily functions and it's a steady environmental assault of broken stall closures, automatic sinks either don't work at all or too much, automatic hand dryers that blow out cool air that does nothing to dry your hands, or those toilet paper dispensers that grudgingly give up one square at a time. And even though I am five feet, two and a half inches tall, I don't know how many times I've had to practically hop onto the toilet to close the stall door behind me. Given the sheer numbers of really big women that I see every day, I wonder how they deal with that.

So if you can get the stall door to actually stay closed behind you, find a decent amount of TP in the stall AND are able to flush afterwards (extra points) then for a bonus round, see if you can figure out how to operate the "hand cleansing system" that was installed.

Here's a few other winners in the Bad Interior Commercial Design Hall of Fame.

The Bank North Boston Garden (AKA North Station)
I am actually old enough to remember when it was set up with several rows of long wooden benches and the restrooms were right where you wait for the trains. Now, there are a few benches lining the walls at the end of the terminal, the bathrooms are a few hundred feet around the corner beyond the "Pro Shop" and people going to events are forced through the same entrance as people trying to catch trains. Should you actually be so lucky as to make it to the station doors in time to have hope of catching your train, you still have to fight your way through throngs of screaming toddlers and stressed out soccer moms and dads trying to find out if they are in the right line for "Barney on Ice".

Shaw's Super Market, North Beverly
Recently re-opened and not especially for the better.
Luckily I grew up in this country and I'm familiar with the concept of putting essentials deep into the store in the hopes that you will happily spend a few hours "impulse shopping" on the way to buy milk and eggs. I can live with that. But what the hell is up with creating the stupid little "boutiques" of "specialty foods" all over the freaking store? It "pisses me off". I want to buy a bag of rice. I want to get the best deal. I now have to go to the "ethnic foods" aisle to find the basmati, and then truck the cart over to the "regular white people food" aisle to compare the price with Uncle Ben's. Oh wait, I forgot the "Spanish Foods" aisle! It's a small world after all... And to top that off, and probably in the hopes that in my frantic search for something like applesauce, I will feel the uncontrollable urge to grab imported olives and nacho cheese dip, the signs telling you what each aisle has are INSIDE the aisle, not on the OUTSIDE where you could actually read them as you scan the store. On the positive side, there are public bathrooms that are clean and everything actually works.

On another note, how come food eaten by asian and hispanic people is referred to as "ethnic" and food eaten by caucasians and african americans is considered "food". Isn't white trash ethnic too?

Au Bon Pain Cafe (anywhere)

Just a general note, when people are entering a space to fufill a basic need (eating, getting rid of what they ate, sleeping, buying shoes for no good reason, DO NOT attempt to make them either think, appreciate new concepts, nor marvel at the triumph of style over substance. ABP, this means you. I go in to a cafe to grab food. I have stopped going because I got tired of trying to figure out where to find all 50 items I needed to get a cup of coffee and the last time I tried to get something at the after 4pm bake sale, I was almost trampled by two large ladies who kept hovering around the "baked goods kiosk" trying to make a decision. Go back to the old way. Make everyone stand in line and then when they get to the front, make them articulate what they want so somebody with gloves on can bag it for them and then collect the money. Simple, done. Wham bam thank you Au Bon Pain.
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Monday, August 01, 2005

A Bad Case of Schaudenfreude

Follow this link to the rant line

I didn't think it was worth an entry, but apparently a lot of people are feeling ticked off at the T lately. As one of the greater Boston area's long running "chicken or the egg" disputes, the conflict between low commuter morale and the gritty realities of mass transit is coming to a head for the fiftieth time this year. To follow the link above to the bulletin board where people have posted their complaints about MBTA service is to travel deep into Boston's psyche, a place where the collective unconscious acknowledges that this is a very old city, with a very old mass transit system, but if it's been around so many years why can't they get it to run on time, dammit?

Just go to any subway station to observe the following scenario, an underground cavern, filled with grit, old damp copies of the Metro and pigeons, and watch as the wary faithful gather on the platform. Depending on which side of the platform you are on, there will be at least 3 trains on the opposite side before one comes in your direction. After about 5 minutes with no train, people start to twitch and begin sticking their necks out over the tracks, trying to get a glimpse of the next oncoming train. If there is an event or if it's rush hour, there is also an inverse ratio of trains to commuters, but still people pile into the cars like it's the last helicopter off the roof of the embassy.

I took the T to a night class for almost a year and it almost cost me my sanity every time. Waiting for an outbound D train at 5:30 on game night could make anyone insane. But I knew what what to expect and most of the time I managed to get to class only about 5 minutes late. After 17 years of living in Boston, I know the exact distance in which I am better off walking than waiting for a train. It's a skill one developes over time like an animal learns to smell snow on the wind.

Despite all this, I was dumbfounded a couple of weeks ago when I tried to get the 8pm train to Salem at North Station. Apparently, the train bridge had gotten stuck in the up position at Beverly and there had been an inbound train at Beverly sitting in the station since 7. No one knew what had happened yet, but there were a lot more people than usual waiting around the station. I waited for about 17 minutes and then someone made the announcement that a bridge was stuck and they were trying to fix it. I tried going to the ticket window to ask for a refund slip (something the T doesn't advertise, but if the train is more than 30 minutes late, you can fill out the card to get a refund), of course I was sent to a different window and even more predictably, that person refused at first to get me one, insisting that since it was a train bridge, i.e. not the actual train, then the T was absolved of any obligation to give out refunds. I insisted that he give me one just as a souvenir and he saw the logic in that and shoved it at me through the slot in the bulletproof glass.

I found a seat on the floor and waited with a book. People asked in wonderment where I had gotten the refund card. Apparently I had succeeded where so many before me had failed. I pointed to the window and said good luck. The man behind the glass was in the process of telling an elderly lady that it was up to her to find out how to get a connecting bus to Lynn. Apparently he had mistakenly sat down behind the INFORMATION window instead of the LEAVE ME ALONE I AM JUST HERE TO COLLECT A PENSION window.

I was content to let it slide. So the train was delayed, 98% of the time you can set your watch by it. But it seemed strange that there seemed to be no effort to try an alternative way to get people home. I had been on the commuter rail before when it had broken down and there were busses in 15 minutes ready to take people where they needed to go. All I saw was a group of conductors drinking coffee by their office. Then I saw a man go up to one of them and ask the question that was on everyone's mind. "Are there going to be shuttle busses coming soon?"
The conductor's reply was the straw that broke the collective camel's back. He jabbed a thumb towards the entrance and said "There's cabs outside buddy"

That's when several people lost it. Years of indifferent service, broken down, MIA trains, intermittent AC and overcrowded cars exploded as several people began to gang up on the conductor. A professor-looking man demanded to speak to someone in charge. I asked them why they couldn't have run a shuttle bus by now, when it had been done in the past, other people said they lacked sufficient funds for a 35 mile taxi ride. The conductor spluttered something about just doing his job for whoever signs his paycheck (I am not kidding) and retreated to the conductor's room.

After about 20 more minutes, a train managed to limp it's way into the station, but the T employees seemed to know that the damage had been done. No one had the gall to collect fares. They seemed to know that a line had been crossed and that one of their own had done it. It's one thing to be delayed. You can tell me there's an hour's wait and I'll hang it there as long as it takes as long as people are being treated decently. It's when people who have been waiting patiently are yelled at and ordered around with all the grace of a cattle drive that ridership goes down. People would actually prefer to sit in traffic on their own time rather than squished in a tin can with a bunch other people being screamed at over a loudspeaker system.
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Thursday, July 21, 2005


Still not afraid!
(I just don't take the "T" because of the smell)
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Friday, July 15, 2005

Exactly My Point (see previous entry)


Found this on a search of buddha images on Google. Apparently, someone has created a mandala solely out of those little buddhas you can buy in any asian gift shep.
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Fight of the Millenium: Buddha vs. Darwin!!!



In the Red Corner, he weighs in at approximately 2000 pounds. He stands at 60 feet tall and he is 2700 years old. From India, by way of China, Ladies and Gentlemen....Siddartha Gautama Buddha!
And in the Blue Corner, weighing in at 180 pounds and with an impressive record of wins dating back to 1859, Ladies and Gentlemen, the author of "Origin of the Species", Charles Darwin!
This fight is scheduled for the rest of human civilization and your referree in charge tonight will be Ayn Rand.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, llllllllllllets get ready to rumbllllle!!"

I would probably spring for the $39.95 charge on PPV for this. And I think I would put my money on Buddha since the odds are so strong against him that the payoff would be huge.
This is the kind of entry that springs to mind after reading the latest issue of Fortune magazine (which has got to have one of the funniest covers I've ever seen on a financial monthly), and an article on Brazil's biggest mall in the on-line International Herald Tribune. Pretty much two facets of the same debate which rages in this first half of the 21st millenium. The world is rapidly changing and without the most advantages, it will be virtually impossible to keep up. This has many implications which can be tracked on a daily basis in the media: 1) The society with the best educated population and the highest standard of living for its inhabitants will continue to make the most advances. 2) Societies without access to the tools to achieve these advances will fall further and further behind. I think the symbolism indicated by pitting Buddha against Darwin is a good way to look at the forces which pull at both individuals and whole societies.
To take a look at it in a fractal way: One day you are walking to work and you see the same homeless man or woman you walk by every day. Today is different than no other, there they are holding out a dirty Dunkin' Donuts cup and repeating their mantra of "Sparechangeforthehomeless". If you are like me, a two-legged bundle of insecurities and neuroses, you might think "Why can't this person shape up and get a damn job?" quickly followed by "Where the hell is your sense of compassion? If you were a Buddha you'd be handing this person the keys to your apartment". Maybe you put some money into the cup and move on, or, you don't and tell yourself that it's probably even more compassionate not to enable another person's laziness.
So you continue on to your job and once you get there, you go on line and find out that there was a cataclysmic natural disaster in some far away country. Thousands of people are now either dead, orphaned, widowed and homeless. Immediately the sites and banner ads pop up for relief funds. You feel enormous sympathy for those affected and try to imagine what their lives must be like now, but your rent is due, the price of gas just jumped 30 cents and your electric bill just went up. How are you ever going to be able to afford a home and start building equity if this keeps up? Disasters happen. People die every day for a million different reasons, and a little tiny voice pipes up in the back of your mind; "isn't the planet over populated anyway?"
Is there really a difference in what is really going on and what you perceive is going on? To put it a different way, in the movie "Contact", Jodie Foster's character does not win a close vote to become the first human being to travel at the speed of light and possibly contact an alien civilization. She knows that it was probably her former mentor who cast the deciding vote. He tells her the bad news and attempts to comfort her with the words "That's the way the world is.", to which she replies; " I always thought that the world is what we make of it." That's where what some people call Social Darwinism get into a sticky, sticky morasse of morals.
The Buddha lived over 2500 years ago. When he was alive, there was no mass media, no RSS feed, and no credit card bills. There was only what people experienced with their senses and how they based their thoughts and assumptions on those perceptions. But still, he managed to become enlightened and spread his theory of the four noble truths to his disciples who then carried out his teachings through the millenia until the present, where they continue to be relevant.
Charles Darwin created his theory of evolution after careful, scientific observations during the voyage of the "Beagle". The closest thing (I guess) he came to mass media mid-nineteenth century was the occasional broadsheet or pulpy newspaper article. But the theory that nature itself is the constant competition of species to adapt to changes in their environments is easily observed anywhere one looks.
Perhaps the great irony of our age is the survival of a selfless religion in a climate of hyper-competition for survival.
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Thursday, July 14, 2005

Joe likes Neon


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Wednesday, July 13, 2005

Just when you think you're cool...

-along comes another developement to make you feel like a chimpazee trying to open a coconut. Now there's video blogging.
If anybody else is out there, please answer me this; do people actually watch the hours and hours of footage they seem to shoot? And on a related note, do people who upload their stuff to flickr.com actually look at their photos? I put up a photo album last night and then I got curious and did a search on Flickr for "black cat". Thousands of photos, thousands of out-of-focus shots of everyone's adorable black cats. I promise I will only put up 10 shots of Roy Jones Jr. Then I will only upload stuff that is actually interesting and technically acceptable.
Now I remember why I was always a technophobe in the first place. Once you start caring about the newest latest greatest, then before you know it, you are running around in circles, babbling words like "PDA" and "multi-tasking" and "I-Pod". I started out with a pager, after much resistance. (I couldn't stand the idea of having to scramble to find a phone every time the stupid thing buzzed out some digits.) Then, someone at my job gave me their Cellular One car phone, a trimline-sized thing that came with a heavy magnetized antenna that scratched up my car's roof. Once I was using it while parking my car on Boylston Street and some skate punk kids yelled "Yuppie!" when they saw me. Ahh sweet irony. I decided to turn it in and get an actual cell phone. The woman at the Cellular One office wanted to give my car phone to a museum, it looked so ancient to her. I had graduated to an actual flip up Nokia. Now I have a cell phone that's bright yellow, so I won't lose it, and held together with scotch tape. It plays "Take Me Out To The Ball Game" when it rings and I've even tried playing one of the games that came with it. But it doesn't shoot video, so I still feel like a chimp whacking a coconut with a rock when I use it.
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Tuesday, July 12, 2005

We are going to have some "splainin" to do

Here's a fun mental exercise to practice. When you scan through bbc.co.uk or cnn.com, find a story that almost strains their credibility as a news source and mentally verbalize how you will explain it to your sarcastic know-it-all 15 year-old in the future. Take for example this whole CIA leak story. This is going to be a tough one. "But mom, didn't Karl Rove get fired for outing the CIA Agent as revenge for her husband deflating the Bush administration's hot air balloon about Iraq's weapons of mass destruction?" "No dear, he was pardoned by President Schwartzenegger. Now finish your genetically engineered peas."
And might I add, thank you to Slate for their wonderful choice of words for a headline. Our office IT guy loved when he sat at my station to work on my new e-mail address and saw the words "turd blossom" on my task bar.
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My Dream Car


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Thursday, July 07, 2005

"Does this mean Ann Margaret won't be coming?" Joker in "Full Metal Jacket"

Woke up today with my first idea for an entry in several days. I lay there thinking of all the clever comparisons I was going to make between "War of the Worlds" and "Land of the Dead" but then I got up and checked out Boston.com and the whole idea seemed a little irrelevant considering that the real world is looking a lot more frightening at the moment. If you want to get the straight story check out the wikipedia page.
Rode to work with the predictable babble coming over the waves from talk radio. Two men called in the span of five minutes to say we should just round up all Muslims and kill them. All of this before anyone could say who had claimed responsibility. Which I know sounds really naive but there are lots of angry people running around the planet right now. Pointing at one group and yelling "C'mon let's kill all those guys!" doesn't really do much except make those that are looking for things to get angry about go absolutely berserk. It's people like this that make me wonder if Darwin really was right. Anyone dumb enough to advocate rounding up anyone who follows a certain idea or who looks a certain way and thinks that will take care of their problems should have difficulty remembering to draw breath. Anyone whose mind works at any level above the limbic system should be able to notice that threatening something or someone with extinction tends to make them fight back harder. Which, ironically, is kind of what "War of the Worlds" and "Land of the Dead" are about.
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Friday, June 24, 2005

Raindrops on Roses....

A Random List of Favorite Things:

1) Roy Jones Jr. Our 12 year old black cat. We call her Roy Jones because she has a lot of attitude and a vicious right hook.
2) The Weekly Dig. The only reason to get out of bed on Wednesdays.
3) Ming's Grocery Store on Washington St. This place is bigger than a Super Stop & Shop and their prices are unbelievable. There's even parking!
4) Lu's Sandwich Shop. Right near the corner of Knapp St. and Beach St. in Chinatown. $2.50 buys you an amazing Vietnamese sub on french bread.
5) The way the Boston Public Garden looks after a rainfall.
6) Crab Rangoon
7) The Zombie cocktail at the Kowloon.
8) Pointless Busywork. Just what you need for those days when you have to justify your paycheck but you are too hungover to do anything else.
9) Six Feet Under. Every week we camp out for an hour in front of the TV and watch the Fisher family implode in slow motion. I can't wait until the trading cards come out.
10) Red Bull. Good with cranberry juice and vodka, good at the end of a long day over ice, good any time you really want to end up grinding your teeth in front of your computer at 3am.
11) Pikmin. I first got to play this when I got a job playing Nintendo Gamecube games at a demo for $20 bucks an hour. You play the role of a spaceman who's crashed onto a planet that looks like a big garden. Little creatures called Pikmin grow in the ground under your ship and every morning you harvest them and lead them on a search for big bugs that you tell the pikmin to attack. The pikmin go after the bugs and if they kill it, it becomes little pellets that will grow more pikmin to help build a new ship. They look like skinnier Teletubbies with little daisies growing out of their heads. When the bugs attack them and kill them, little pikmin ghosts go floating up and you feel guilty. Donald Rumsfeld should be locked up in a room for a week with nothing to do except play Pikmin.
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Wednesday, June 22, 2005

I Am Not Alone

You can add Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes to the list of people that really don't matter.
Here's some news that does, however, affect the rest of us.
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Tuesday, June 21, 2005

Celebrities

Every Sunday afternoon I do my mom's grocery shopping and after finding every little thing on the list I end up at the check out and there they are: acres of magazine covers with names emblazoned across the front in candy pink and blue letters. Names like "Lindsay Lohan", "Britney Spears", "Paris Hilton" and "Jessica Simpson". It's always the same article though. Are they getting fat? Too thin? Are they dating? Engaged? Married Secretly? Pregnant? Divorcing?
It always surprises me how little I care. When has anyone ever lain awake at night wondering if Jessica and Nick Are Really Calling It Quits? Maybe Jessica, maybe Nick, nobody else. Think of all the trees and time we could save if all of these magazines just printed what people really want to see, Badly Dressed Celebrities or Celebrities Behaving Badly. Britney Spears could have been engaged, married, pregnant and divorced before I would really want to read anything about her, but there's something about Laura Linney in a really poorly thought-out ensemble that, for me, is compulsive viewing. Yes, there are two wars going on in Afghanistan and Iraq, the world is starting to feel bad for people in the Sudan, maybe Iran is getting a little Irate at all the drones we keep sending over, but look! Christian Slater just grabbed some woman's ass in a grocery store! It's SO INTERESTING! DETAILS AT ELEVEN!!
I have a secret fantasy. I am walking by the corner of Beacon and Park Streets one afternoon and I see a Fox News Team broadcasting on the sidewalk out in front of their studio there. I happen to have a bullhorn with me and just as they go live on the air, I raise the bullhorn and scream "Show some real F**KING news!" and they can't edit it out in time. It's not as cinematic as the guy in "Network" but you get the idea.
It's getting to the point where I really wonder if anyone cares anymore about watching the news since they just assume they can always find the "real news" on the internet. But people forget that there are a lot of people out there who don't log on and check out the BBC or Raw Story.com to get an alternative idea as to what "news" should consist of. I will never forget what a woman from Czechoslovakia told me about their news broadcasts during the late '80s and '90s. Everyone in her neighborhood refused to watch them. They would leave their houses and take a walk around the neighborhood. People I met in Vietnam had pretty much the same attitude. The relationship between big companies and politicians and the news media was a lovely little love-in every night and best just to ignore it.
So basically my point is, don't watch the nightly news. Go for a walk. Or, you can watch the new David Spade Celebrity Show instead.
Consider yourselves warned and informed.
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The Resume Dance, Part 2

I seem to remember at some point swearing to myself (and most likely, to other people out loud, possibly after a few beers)that I would never work in an office. Ever ever ever. Of course this was after a short (10 hour) day working outside on the Marblehead waterfront in June. The idea of sitting in the same place for 7 hours a day, every day seemed alien to me. This was also before I got tired of fighting production companies tooth and nail over issues like overtime and turnaround. Basically the whole rift between Production and Crew boils down to this: do you really want to be around a condor rigged and operated by some over-eager kid who is working for practically nothing and has been operating on less than 5 hours of sleep a night for the past two weeks?
I guess a lot of people don't mind things like that, but I do, so I don't miss that aspect of the business. In other ways, it wasn't that much different than working in an office anyway. Drive to work, drink coffee, do some stuff, eat lunch, find ways to stay out of trouble.
A few months after I officially turned in my Union card, I went to a Christmas party thrown by the main crew booking agent for the area. People kept asking me if I minded dropping out of the business and I said no. It's true. I like having to show up to work at a reasonable hour and at the same time every day. I like knowing that I can expect to go home at the same time every day. My desk is always in the same place. I never have to drive around in circles at 5am, cursing Mapquest, half-assed production generated directions or the Massachusetts roads.
But then again,
I grew up with a mother who worked at the same place as a secretary for 20 years. It made her miserable and stressed out. She worked alone in her office a lot of nights and weekends to get everything done. And recently, when I was talking to her about my current job, I let my salary slip out and she told me she was earning that when she retired. In one way it made me feel a little better, she managed to raise two kids alone on what I make now as a married adult. On the other hand, I know for a cold hard fact that in addition to death and taxes, inflation is the other constant in life. So what I make now is OK to live on, but we need to save serious $$$ if we are going to buy a house. We always rented.
So I'm always looking to earn more money. Which brings me to a Catch-22 that I'm sure a lot of people are living with: Your current job is OK. You can pay your bills, buy groceries and have enough left over to go to the movies. But it's not what you went to school for, it seems like everyone you know is making tons of money doing something else and you really don't like having to commute almost three hours every day. But you've heard about people getting fired because someone looked at their internet activity at work and saw they were looking for a job online. You clicked onto one of those MSN.com job advice articles and found out you were doing everything wrong. You might get a job interview eventually, but how will you handle being offered a new job without pissing off your old one? And here's one for the ladies, what do you do when you know that at your current job, you could never afford daycare, but you are trying to have children and job search at the same time? Who will hire you if they think you might drop out for maternity leave (assuming they cover it) nine months after you're hired?
Stay tuned!
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Wednesday, June 15, 2005

The Resume Dance Part 1

In the not to distant past, I found myself working as a temp at a local technical college. Needless to say, I was not making enough money so I started looking around for a second job. Somehow I ended up a restaurant in a local art museum, trying to convince the manager that I had what it takes to be a waitress in a high-end bistro. He asked what I had done recently that could be taken as restaurant experience and on the spot I concocted some BS about how working on a set is similar, remembering what the gaffer or DP wanted and getting it set up, rushing around on your feet for 12 hours straight, blah blah blah. I knew I was sunk when he drew a place setting on a napkin and asked me where the wine glass goes, the salad fork, etc...
Growing up, I used to wish that we ate with chopsticks so I would never have to worry about using the desert spoon when I should be using the soup spoon and so on. Then I met a Korean guy who told me that the higher up your fingers go on the chopsticks, the more well-bred people think you are. So no matter where you're from, table manners will trip you up in the end.
Basically the dilemma is this; What do you do when you have worked in an industry for more than five years and all of a sudden it disappears almost overnight?

In my late twenties, I got a job in a lighting equipment rental house. It was the only way I knew of to work in the industry and get paid while I learned the ropes. One thing led to another and before I knew it, I was working on a feature film being shot in Boston that had been written by a gay playwright about all the trials and tribulations of being handsome and successful and gay and falling in love with a nerdy guy who's really sweet. It paid $100 a week and most of my days on set were spent rigging lights around bored young male extras in their underwear. In retrospect, I probably got hired because most of the grips in town didn't want to work on "some fag movie". I learned a lot about filmmaking. I learned how to stay up for two days straight, I learned how to build out a grip truck. I learned that the South End is mainly inhabited by fiercely territorial well dressed men who love to decorate their condos by putting up mirrors EVERYWHERE. In case you have never worked in the film lighting business, just let me say that the mirror is your natural enemy.

Eventually I moved on to bigger and better things, such as BU student movies and the occasional Hollywood production that dared test the chilly New England waters. Over the course of a couple of years, I began to work with a consistent group of crew people who were all amazing at their jobs, fun to hang out with, and really good at banding together to fight production for things like overtime pay, and 10 hour turn around time.

The local Teamsters began to play nice again with Hollywood and the Mass Film Office was starting to pick up a lot more productions. Things were starting to pick up and several crew people I knew started to buy homes and have children. California and New York crews started to say that they liked working in New England, since we bent over backwards to be accommodating.

On September 11, 2001, at 8:30, I was on my way to pick up my friend Ian at his apartment. We were going to start working on a local short movie with some of our friends and we were headed to a cable tv studio in Roxbury. I called Ian when I was approaching his street and he sounded panicked. He told me to turn on my radio to a news station. A plane had just flown into one of the World Trade towers. I double parked and raced up to his apartment just in time to see the breaking story on CNN. Ian was freaking out because his girlfriend's brother worked in one of the buildings. Not knowing what else to do, we headed towards set. All around us, cars were driving erratically, at half pace, the drivers distracted by what they were hearing on the radio. When we got to the parking lot, people from the crew were frantically calling everyone they knew in New York to check on them, but couldn't get through. Then I remembered that our friend Dave, who had shot a music video in Waltham over the weekend with us, had mentioned that he was trying to get an earlier flight out of Boston to LA for that day. I called the director of the video, who Dave was staying with and she said he was OK, but severely shaken up. We managed to get through the day's shoot. It was very surreal. I remember rigging a 300w fresnel to the studio's grid and turning my head in time to catch the second tower's collapse. The TV studio was in a little strip mall that was populated by Jehovah's Witnesses, and kids skipping school. Every time I went to the grip truck for equipment I had to walk a gauntlet of old women asking me if I was ready for the rapture, and teenagers saying that it was about time someone told the government where to stick it. I felt somewhat in the middle; I felt like my life would never be the same again and I also felt angry that we had been so easily attacked. I had been through Logan many times and put my luggage on those same conveyor belts and watched as the screeners glanced up, maybe, and then went back to gossiping with their friends at the next station. I also knew, and the rest of the crew seemed to be thinking the same thing, it was one more nail in the coffin for the local film industry. If people didn't feel safe flying, then they would stay in Hollywood to make movies and not come anymore.

One of the area's best known producers was on one of the planes that hit the Trade Center. His death seemed to crush everyone's spirit for a while. No one knew what was going on, if any of the films that had scouted here would actually come. The Mass Film Office was dissolved over petty political grievances and still hasn't officially been reinstated. In the aftermath of the attacks a lot of industries that fed into the local film production scene were thrown into chaos and as a result, the jobs began to dry up.

I found myself walking through Boston with a cooked-up resume, trying to find work that I never pictured myself doing. At one point, I got a weekend temp job converting files for Harvard's Student Mental Health Center from "alpha" to "numeric". Everyone else on the job was in the same boat; their company had either collapsed or downsized and here they were on a Saturday afternoon, working for a high-strung sweaty man who barked orders like General Patton and gave long lectures on things like "self-initative" and "what things were like when I was your age"

Most temp jobs were like this; a few people I could talk to while we both toiled away at something no "permanent" employee in their right mind would agree to doing, a lot of dot.com refugees who complained about how now that they were laid-off they could only afford one ski weekend at Stowe last month, and people who obviously could not find permant positions anywhere because they were, to put it nicely, complete fuck-ups. After a while I started to freak out wondering which type of temp I was.

To top it all off, I was getting older and less interested in doing things like staying up until 4am on a weekend. My husband continued to work on films and several times we sat through a movie with him squinting and scratching his head and saying things like: "Damn! They cut that shot that we spent a week rigging!" or "I think that little white dot in the background is that condor I spent the night in last winter" Finally I had to admit to myself that I didn't want to run around set with muddy cables in my hands for the rest of my days. There would always be someone around to do that, but the thrill was gone for me. I realized that I liked my movie stars bigger than life, on the screen, not scowling at me for taking the last danish as craft services.
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Monday, June 13, 2005

Pride 05

There are a LOT of gay christians out there. (No pun intended)
The first year I saw Boston's annual Gay Pride Parade, it was all tan muscular men with perfect hair dressed up as either sailors or Uncle Sam. That was in 2002. The next year everyone was wearing rainbow colored signs that said things like "F**K Bush". Last year was all happily married couples. By this year, all the different issues seemed to cancel each other out until all that was left was a swarming, sweating mass of WASP people with nice smiles and rainbow tie-dyed shirts happily pushing rainbow-flag festooned strollers of adopted children who appeared to be either bewildered by all the attention or suffering from the onset of sunstroke.

There's always a photo-op everywhere you look and most people are really great about getting their picture taken. However,I wish I had brought a video camera to record priceless moments like the yuppie mom complaining to her friends; "Where are all the fun gays?" She screeched over the sound of the Ramrod's thudding bass-heavy mix. "This is so boring! It's all political stuff now!"

Therein lies the rub. At what point does one say "These people do not exist for my sole entertainment. They are here and queer and have just as much right to wear tan Dockers as anyone else."

Of course, if you really must dress up as an eight foot tall rainbow colored dildo to express yourself, then that is just fine by me too. And even though the Surgeon General has begun to express mild reservations about the health consequences of being so big that you might require your own zip code, I am glad to live in a part of the country where so many women feel that they are entitled to display such an achievement by wearing nothing but a pair of army shorts.

Anyway, if you want to check out some pictures, click here.
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Saturday, June 11, 2005

Trolling, Trolling, Trolling

Link list for June 10, 2005

Boohbah!

Help Organization for new immigrants

My Favorite Musician site

The Simpson's Official Site
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Thursday, June 09, 2005

A Converted New-Englander's Promise

I, Jennifer A. Mears do solemnly swear to never bitch about how cold it is in New England again. I fully understand that by doing so, I will almost certainly be punished with an extended heat wave punctuated by sudden severe thundershowers. Furthermore, I am in full cognizance of the permanent existence of an inverse ratio of functioning air conditioning on all forms of public transportation to the relative heat/humidity index.
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Monday, June 06, 2005

Very Early Monday Morning

Red Sox 6 Angels 3!

I should have stayed in today and worked on a bunch of stuff, but had a chance to check out the game from the Green Monster. It's a little late to be writing very coherently, but I just wanted to check in. I did get one thing done and you can check it out on my photography site once it's de-bugged.
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Friday, June 03, 2005

The Nesting Instinct

I wish I was one of those people that you read about in Good Housekeeping that writes in their housekeeping tips: "I clean the kitchen on Monday night while the kids are watching the Biography Channel. It's a great time to sort my recyclables!" After almost three years of "typical" 9-5 life, I now know that these kinds of hints are dreamed up by an assistant editor who lives in a luxurious Manhattan broom closet on a trust fund. Personally, just between you and me, I clean when things are dirty. Luckily I am not one of those people who needs heavy medication to stop hallucinating dirt in the corners, but I try my best to keep the Board of Health off my doorstep.

At any rate, here is my housekeeping advice; which is based on several factors.
  • I was raised in a home where no one threw ANYTHING away.
  • My husband saves every lottery ticket and concert stub and lovingly cherishes them by keeping them in a special place, namely EVERYWHERE I LOOK.
  • My mother had at some point picked up Peg Bracken's "I Hate To Housekeep" book and it was a welcome break from Readers' Digest.
  • I'm not Snow White, but I have had the dubious pleasure of having a lot of male roommates.
  • One of my favorite things to read when I'm depressed is "The Tingle" from "The Philosophy of Andy Warhol". (highly recommended!)

How To Keep The Kitchen Clean:

Keep whatever you are going to use in a particular area at arm's reach. Knives next to the cutting board, cooking utensils next to the stove. Most important, keep potholders in a very obvious and reachable place for those times when you remember that you put a pot of sauce on medium heat about 2 hours ago.

If you use it, clean it! Rinse out pots as soon as you are done cooking, plates as soon as you are done eating and glasses as soon as you are done drinking.

When you are cooking, fix yourself a drink and it won't feel like a chore.

Keep a radio in the kitchen, or the tv. That way you don't feel like you are being punished when you are in there.

If you have a lot of friends over and they like to drink beer, or if you like to drink a lot of beer by yourself, put a small trash bin next to the sink and keep it lined with a grocery bag. That way people know where empties go. It doesn't guarantee they will actually put them there, but if they are as anal as you are, they will be comforted knowing that that's where they go.

Mail and Papers:

Put an in-box next to whatever door you bring in the mail. Put a letter-opener next to it, and a trash can. When you bring the mail in, either go through it right there and dump whatever you don't want, or keep the mail in one place so when you have a chance you can go through it.

The way I go through my stuff that accumulates is this. I put it in a big pile and go through it. If it's something that I need to pay, it goes in one pile. If it's something I should read, another pile. If it's neither, then I consider if it would be important if I was to apply for a loan. If it isn't relevant, then I toss it.

The Bathroom:

I get a plastic crate for my girl stuff. The husband gets one for his guy stuff.

Somewhere I bought this little suction cup that attaches to the bathroom mirror and holds a razor. I recommend suction cups for mirrors and tubs because you can take them when you move.

Always keep a magazine rack next to the toilet. But that's it. If I go to someone's house and they have "Finnegan's Wake" in the john, then I start to wonder about their diet. Although a friend of mine used to have an old typewriter set up in his bathroom and I thought that was a pretty cool idea.

The Bedroom:

Keep laundry out of sight. Of course for me, out of sight means out of mind, but I try. Also, the bedroom is for the bed, which is for sleeping. I used to keep a lot of stuff around the bed, like bills I had to go through and books I was trying to read, but doing stuff like that sitting in bed makes me feel like the older Edie Beale in "Grey Gardens"

Put your laundry away as soon as you bring it upstairs. This is why it's good to have a radio in the bedroom too.

In General:

2 things that instantly make your place seem more welcoming: 1) Always have music on, unless there is something on television actually worth watching. 2) Buy a lot of plants.

If you feel the urge to clean coming on and there's no stopping it, always put any clutter generated by your S. O. in a safe place and then tell them where it is. Do not attempt to sort it yourself. One person's clutter is another's carefully filed pile.


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Wednesday, June 01, 2005

Strangecreek 2005

June 1, 2005

I spent the weekend with my husband Chris and our friends TJ & Christine and their 2 kids at the Strange Creek Festival. If anyone out there has ever been to Bread & Puppet or Gathering of the Vibes, it's basically the same thing but much, much smaller.

After two & 1/2 hours of driving to western ma and watching cars, concrete and highways turn into cows, grassy hills and dirt roads, we arrived at the gate. Unloaded some stuff and went across a couple of rows of cars to the sounds of a reggae band. There was a small crowd of tie dyed hippies and little kids bouncing in front of the stage. A couple of college kids were throwing frisbees around. We set up our chairs, broke out some snacks for the kids and some beers for us, and laid back for two solid days of music.

After watching the band for about half an hour, I asked Christine where the main stage was. "This is the main stage"

Heaven.
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