tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-95834862024-03-15T04:11:49.776-04:00No Feeling of FallingMaureen McHughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05130090850491900655noreply@blogger.comBlogger545125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9583486.post-59454128572649796752011-01-14T11:40:00.003-05:002011-01-14T11:44:24.696-05:00Walking in LAI was up at 5:00 am yesterday, Central time, and fell asleep early last night. <br /><br />I was up early this morning and decided to walk. LA is famous for the observation that nobody walks, but of course, that's not true. Lots of people are walking at 8:00am. Many of them, dressed in scrubs, or jeans and casual clothes, or uniforms, are walking to or from bus stops. Most of them are brown or black. The one white woman I saw was older, wearing a long denim skirt and a dirty sweatshirt and either had no access to or didn't much use shower and laundry. But that's not what we mean or what we see when we talk about people walking.<br /><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div>Maureen McHughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05130090850491900655noreply@blogger.com102tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9583486.post-52768660192807224272011-01-13T22:09:00.004-05:002011-01-13T22:16:10.527-05:00Moving to LAIt's warm here. Of course it's warm here. I'm in Los Angeles, it's supposed to be warm. <br /><br />Tomorrow I'll embark on an apartment hunt. In preparation for this, I've been watching a lot of real estate shows on HGTV. On HGTV I've learned a lot about looking for a place to live. I've learned you have to compromise. Which is good because I've been living in house. With bedrooms and a husband and dogs. Now I'll be living in an apartment, and talking to said husband and dogs by Skype. <br /><br />HGTV also says that I can reasonably expect to spend a third of my income on rent.<br /><br />They are joking. But it doesn't matter, because a third of my income doesn't get me a place that is qualitatively better than what I actually think I can afford to pay. To get a place that is qualitatively better--significantly more square feet, say, and nicely made, rather than the basic box, would cost me about my average income. <br /><br />However, I have finally tried In-and-Out Burger. I see what everyone was talking about.<br /><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div>Maureen McHughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05130090850491900655noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9583486.post-44003011557402086632009-05-26T23:14:00.000-04:002009-05-26T23:15:52.467-04:00Gravity's AngelSaw Laurie Anderson in concert once years ago. Saw this album in a used book store today, and suddenly had to hear the song.<br /><br /><br /><object width="560" height="340"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/rY7uTO_GuDg&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/rY7uTO_GuDg&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="560" height="340"></embed></object>Maureen McHughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05130090850491900655noreply@blogger.com43tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9583486.post-62216567138740055222009-05-24T12:12:00.004-04:002009-05-24T12:28:13.155-04:00American Idol is an ARG<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtrGUY0OvVX41vrOphZV8MCn1p8-kVGOcTl91bP8uwznF8jCravmRawI3JgBI9LJEyeBSfyppZRyVuxG19a7WmDkwHBmo61g2q5GgzoagHC8ci0dA4o5g-iXJFqRiXs95RIsRQGQ/s1600-h/idol_logo.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 250px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtrGUY0OvVX41vrOphZV8MCn1p8-kVGOcTl91bP8uwznF8jCravmRawI3JgBI9LJEyeBSfyppZRyVuxG19a7WmDkwHBmo61g2q5GgzoagHC8ci0dA4o5g-iXJFqRiXs95RIsRQGQ/s400/idol_logo.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5339428112466348978" border="0" /></a><br />It's really hard to explain what I do. I work in an industry so new, that even while several million people have actually been involved in ARGs, (or immersive fiction or interactive experiences, or whatever you want to call it) far more haven't. It's a little like explaining movies to people who have never seen a movie or TV. "It's like a cross between a book and a photograph. The photographs move." People would think they knew what you were talking about, but they wouldn't.<br /><br />Actually, American Idol is a very primitive form of it. Because the viewer actually, in the most limited way, touches the outcome. Viewers vote. Those votes affect who wins. Much to the pleasure of the show is seeing if the state of Hawaii votes for the girl from Hawaii, even though she isn't the best one up there. Or if the teenaged girl vote really swings it for the cute guy.<br /><br />It's an extraordinarily popular show, with live events in several cities across the U.S., which uses non-television technology (that is, phones) as an essential part of it's story telling mechanic. Next, American Idol needs to allow you could send you email address in and your favorite contestant would send you out an email before each competition talking about how they feel and who they think their competition is, and what rehearsals have been like.Maureen McHughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05130090850491900655noreply@blogger.com30tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9583486.post-56012290673171632832009-05-21T14:52:00.001-04:002009-05-21T14:53:58.947-04:00Bad Unicorn TattoosGotta wonder who thought <a href="http://www.holytaco.com/30-awesomely-bad-unicorn-tattoos-gallery">these</a> were good ideas to print on their skin forever.Maureen McHughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05130090850491900655noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9583486.post-34289822827357441822009-05-16T11:03:00.003-04:002009-05-16T11:06:03.970-04:00New Freezer! So Exciting!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjEJrZAQNABiKFmobxN2aKaJnrTN7J98pdIkmeoeMdOuXBXjSnPZFxu5D0iEVHB2x5D5VWgvVRuYqDOr5iHqwhIPgLJ2gmxfHc-9JCP3vLZn8r6USOa6eDdQmbknfxs0WzmFfAcw/s1600-h/house+001.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjEJrZAQNABiKFmobxN2aKaJnrTN7J98pdIkmeoeMdOuXBXjSnPZFxu5D0iEVHB2x5D5VWgvVRuYqDOr5iHqwhIPgLJ2gmxfHc-9JCP3vLZn8r6USOa6eDdQmbknfxs0WzmFfAcw/s400/house+001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336437891304024898" border="0" /></a><br />Bob, showing off the freezer Price is Right style.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFZKTROlqAiK9NQlHh6JY7L4zbIeBYT_IudJoyJe1oRZC8nxjE8CB_6TnGwprnYiPmNVBUAnkQ7Jlaoj_BoN-HvR_F3WIMk68QD_Axtr4AUgGW-uiqRnp5i0ZbffaX0ldUcReF0g/s1600-h/house+003.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 222px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFZKTROlqAiK9NQlHh6JY7L4zbIeBYT_IudJoyJe1oRZC8nxjE8CB_6TnGwprnYiPmNVBUAnkQ7Jlaoj_BoN-HvR_F3WIMk68QD_Axtr4AUgGW-uiqRnp5i0ZbffaX0ldUcReF0g/s400/house+003.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336438079310869778" border="0" /></a>Bob prepares the first test of the freezer. They said it would be cold in about five hours.Maureen McHughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05130090850491900655noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9583486.post-37579241778305011072009-05-14T09:59:00.003-04:002009-05-14T10:05:58.884-04:00The Tobacco Hornworm Attacks<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8sJWvoq1NKQyKV5ZY1XD_PPiN4cN8ibqX33u5cde5A6VJoONurUSJJVRsgX0O5yNDWneyNMVO6wcffGCchy886NMAHVWSz_aRhi4CthP-VigB7HG89P8Szg9ZdddNB32Jl_vVFQ/s1600-h/tobacco+hornworm.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 312px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8sJWvoq1NKQyKV5ZY1XD_PPiN4cN8ibqX33u5cde5A6VJoONurUSJJVRsgX0O5yNDWneyNMVO6wcffGCchy886NMAHVWSz_aRhi4CthP-VigB7HG89P8Szg9ZdddNB32Jl_vVFQ/s400/tobacco+hornworm.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335679469740336322" border="0" /></a>Watering my tomatoes this morning, I found this. It's a tobacco hornworm, the caterpillar form of the hummingbird moth. I will be watching for more, and if I am infested I will have to buy some <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bacillus_thuringiensis">Bacillus thuringiensis</a> and visit plague upon the little buggers.<br /><br />It is cool looking, though. Bob and I were quite interested and looked it up and everything. It's tempting to try to make a horror movie out of the thing, except it won't move. It just clings to it's tomato stalk.Maureen McHughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05130090850491900655noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9583486.post-14256233235277951182009-05-12T19:53:00.002-04:002009-05-12T19:55:15.478-04:00Lots of Tiny Green Tomatoes<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivMrFLkoqxDDulPhImH6uO-yKNE0DO06J5kgs4VCra2wD3ale3YDVak1oewH4ylGDX3MvSl3IB2qtXN-Su28NTbDZwk26lwXU5ulRYF32Sl7VfVcYWSk2KHsn-Zz9wPoP6QdJJSQ/s1600-h/tomato+012.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivMrFLkoqxDDulPhImH6uO-yKNE0DO06J5kgs4VCra2wD3ale3YDVak1oewH4ylGDX3MvSl3IB2qtXN-Su28NTbDZwk26lwXU5ulRYF32Sl7VfVcYWSk2KHsn-Zz9wPoP6QdJJSQ/s400/tomato+012.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335090100001375058" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm1OnSoLGV5QYU3pzSJAa7ybN6sPcti0h-zwb9bmNikeSPirEMgpVmMuZOQOVPK815L_3NMJ5raNphK1yoM50m3KEMJv9h-kkGz63m0WbsDjouxnxXp7-DmoSKN0WF1haxeWkQiA/s1600-h/tomato+014.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm1OnSoLGV5QYU3pzSJAa7ybN6sPcti0h-zwb9bmNikeSPirEMgpVmMuZOQOVPK815L_3NMJ5raNphK1yoM50m3KEMJv9h-kkGz63m0WbsDjouxnxXp7-DmoSKN0WF1haxeWkQiA/s400/tomato+014.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335089985101580322" border="0" /></a>There will be tomatoes this year. (Assuming that the tomato plants are not crushed by shingles when we get a new roof.)Maureen McHughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05130090850491900655noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9583486.post-35296774797553452322009-05-10T15:14:00.003-04:002009-05-10T15:16:31.493-04:00My Mother's Day Gift to Myself<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMbPP8r2rFIGJg2Q4_xJKr1cgOm-23_9vfF8ZguqUVDUVGLrmK7kmwvpLENUHeos-yN8e4NKonpdReA7-h-kGQZbuNA0AxbZXTniRhlzrfQY8U36fDTprsDr2YEhdBt4eYbveNOQ/s1600-h/chest+freezer.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 171px; height: 260px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMbPP8r2rFIGJg2Q4_xJKr1cgOm-23_9vfF8ZguqUVDUVGLrmK7kmwvpLENUHeos-yN8e4NKonpdReA7-h-kGQZbuNA0AxbZXTniRhlzrfQY8U36fDTprsDr2YEhdBt4eYbveNOQ/s400/chest+freezer.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334275863600175842" border="0" /></a>Sentimental, I know. But the tomato plants are covered in blossoms and tiny green tomatoes, the pepper plant is got some tiny peppers in it, and the basil is growing, and my refrigerator freezer is already filled with things like stock.<br /><br />Tomatoes. Tomato sauce. Tomato chutney. I have high hopes for this freezer.Maureen McHughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05130090850491900655noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9583486.post-26344244621049529912009-05-07T14:16:00.002-04:002009-05-07T14:19:47.771-04:00Shelly Gets Her Exercise<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dykJNa_11bp7lke_YAczb4Lq-Cy6hKQ7aMREt3Gez_xhKkqqNFd9l6KWuhtUTp9TTbY_pSw2B3cGlQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe>Maureen McHughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05130090850491900655noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9583486.post-80183433022615442642009-05-06T11:35:00.004-04:002009-05-06T11:38:00.300-04:00This Feels Like CommentaryYou know, a comment on the absurdity of commercial television, the domestication of terrible historic events, and the way capitalism infects every aspect of American Life. But it's real. A Jello ad set in WWII Germany. Featuring Carol Channing. <<a href="http://www.stevepeters.org">From Steve Peters</a>><br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/5PQiZwfEhS4&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/5PQiZwfEhS4&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Maureen McHughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05130090850491900655noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9583486.post-85997969101893978812009-05-03T20:10:00.004-04:002009-05-03T20:20:02.853-04:00Egg-stra-ordinary<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikXvJC1qQFJLKEdNqAb1haM1ZgpddZY9C3nu-y5PTtWowyeSFk52Gppn_PIg35fbl6RPE_V84ugUE8M4tL3lWNldhnWcL2bJR_rEw765tjjQ9N8O6NVV_dzwfGbTXL97ZfFkL9Ug/s1600-h/tomato+009.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikXvJC1qQFJLKEdNqAb1haM1ZgpddZY9C3nu-y5PTtWowyeSFk52Gppn_PIg35fbl6RPE_V84ugUE8M4tL3lWNldhnWcL2bJR_rEw765tjjQ9N8O6NVV_dzwfGbTXL97ZfFkL9Ug/s400/tomato+009.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5331754713083803762" border="0" /></a><br />Yesterday I bought a dozen eggs at the farmer's market, white brown and green. (When you crack them open they are all regular eggs inside.)<br /><br />Today has been all about eggs. I had been thinking about fresh eggs versus store bought eggs (which are a minimum of 7-10 days old.) I'd heard so much about fresh eggs. About the rich color of their yolks. About how good they tasted. I've also been reading about everyday life in Victorian England. Today I made eggs, bacon (thick-sliced and slowly cooked) toast from English Toasting bread slathered with butter, and fresh squeezed orange juice. This isn't particularly English, but it does share with the Victorians a preference for heavy food not particularly distinguished by seasoning. It was a very fine breakfast.<br /><br />Were the eggs better? I think they were. But I don't think they were astonishingly better.N or did they have the deep orange yolks Mario Batalli says make handmade pasta in Italy so much better than pasta here. But they were really pretty and it was a good breakfast.<br /><br />I also made a lemon meringue pie. I doubt, after adding gelatin, sugar, and lemon juice, that I will be able to say much about the taste of the eggs in the lemon curd, but I suspect it will be good just the same.Maureen McHughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05130090850491900655noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9583486.post-20884596329575059712009-04-28T13:32:00.002-04:002009-04-28T13:36:10.325-04:00Buy a Book for a BuckYou can buy a <a href="http://www.lcrw.net/special.htm">bunch of books for a buck</a> a piece from Small Beer Press. (They either gotta sell 'em or pay rent on warehouse space.) One of them is my short story collection, Mothers & Other Monsters. Right in time for Mother's Day!<br /><br />Although I have to admit, I'd rather get Carol Emshwiller for Mother's Day. Hell, all of 'em look good.<br /><br /><p><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" ><strong>Alan DeNiro, <a href="http://www.lcrw.net/deniro/index.htm"><em>Skinny Dipping ...</em></a> (pb) $1</strong></span></p> <p><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" ><strong>Carol Emshwiller, <a href="http://www.lcrw.net/peapod/emshwiller/carmendog.htm"><em>Carmen Dog</em></a> (pb) $1</strong></span></p> <p><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" ><strong>Carol Emshwiller, <em><a href="http://www.lcrw.net/carolemshwiller/themount/index.htm">The Mount</a> </em>(pb) $1</strong></span></p> <p><span style=";font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;" ><em><strong></strong></em></span><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" ><strong>John Crowley, <a href="http://www.lcrw.net/crowley/index.htm"><em>Endless Things</em></a> (hc) $1</strong></span></p> <p><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" ><strong>Angelica Gorodsicher, <a href="http://www.lcrw.net/kalpa/index.htm"><em>Kalpa Imperial</em></a> (pb) $1</strong></span></p> <p><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" ><strong>Elizabeth Hand, <a href="http://www.lcrw.net/hand/index.htm"><em>Generation Loss</em></a> (hc) $1</strong></span></p> <p><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" ><strong>Kelly Link, <a href="http://www.lcrw.net/kellylink/mfb/index.htm"><em>Magic for Beginners</em></a> (hc) $1</strong></span></p> <p><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" ><strong>Kelly Link, <a href="http://www.lcrw.net/trampoline/index.htm"><em>Trampoline</em></a> (pb) $1</strong></span></p> <p><span style=";font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;" ><em><strong></strong></em></span><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" ><strong>Laurie J. Marks, <em><a href="http://www.lcrw.net/marks/index.htm">Water Logic</a></em> (pb) $1</strong></span></p> <p><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" ><strong>Maureen F. McHugh, <em><a href="http://www.lcrw.net/mchugh/index.htm">Mothers & Other</a></em>...(pb) $1</strong></span></p> <p><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" ><strong>Naomi Mitchison, <em><a href="http://www.lcrw.net/peapod/mitchison/index.htm">Travel Light</a></em> (pb) $1</strong></span></p> <p><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" ><strong>Sean Stewart, <a href="http://www.lcrw.net/seanstewart/mockingbird.htm"><em>Mockingbird</em></a> (pb) $1</strong></span></p> <p><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" ><strong>Kate Wilhelm, <em><a href="http://www.lcrw.net/wilhelm/index.htm">Storyteller</a></em> (pb) $1</strong></span></p>Maureen McHughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05130090850491900655noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9583486.post-72007824226428802922009-04-22T22:09:00.000-04:002009-04-22T22:11:25.501-04:00Carts of Darkness<embed src="http://media1.nfb.ca/medias/flash/ONFflvplayer-gama.swf" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" autostart="false" autoplay="false" flashvars="mID=IDOBJ1351&width=516&height=337&image=http://media1.nfb.ca/medias/nfb_tube/thumbs_large/2009/cod-tv-big.jpg&autostart=false&autoplay=false&showWarningMessages=true&warningMessage=mature&streamNotFoundDelay=15&lang=en&getPlaylistOnEnd=false&playlist_id=REL1351&embeddedMode=false" width="516" height="337"></embed><br /><p><br />Showcase.ca<br /><br />"This isn’t one of those homeless-guys-are-just-like-us exercises in upper-middle class guilt trips. As it turns out, these guys are nothing like us."Maureen McHughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05130090850491900655noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9583486.post-24688776951256900792009-04-20T10:43:00.005-04:002009-04-20T11:24:06.502-04:00Why Tomato Plants?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZYsDdDOR77JGphFQkti2OQDazN9D-_qzb2wkvVfRH6qUnUKEfS3PhEfQe6YOBm5yKU8FoBwtpY1BSdVG53Z9btqs1ypgPPvxjISeGaguOAoYbsCzcGhKdJ3FLhZTa137GaXMZvQ/s1600-h/tomato+004.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZYsDdDOR77JGphFQkti2OQDazN9D-_qzb2wkvVfRH6qUnUKEfS3PhEfQe6YOBm5yKU8FoBwtpY1BSdVG53Z9btqs1ypgPPvxjISeGaguOAoYbsCzcGhKdJ3FLhZTa137GaXMZvQ/s400/tomato+004.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326786879827560978" border="0" /></a>Someone asked me in mock exasperation if I had named my tomato plants. So of course, I had to. The big Jubilee (yellow tomatoes) is Rasputin (hard to kill) and the Terrific (red beefsteak tomatoes) is Audry (from Little Shop of Horrors.) The four Roma tomato plants, bought to provide tomatoes for freezing, are the Rolling Stones (longevity) and Charlie Watts and Ronnie Wood both have tiny green tomatoes. Charlie Watts is pictured above.<br /><br />I thought the flat of Roma tomatoes had four tomato plants, but it actually had five, and being unable to just throw out the one I really didn't have room for, I put it in a pot and stuck it on a deck. Pictured below is Brian Jones, who is in a better place than the other Rolling Stones. (Okay, actually not. The plant is more spindly than the others, although still setting blossoms.)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho4i6aeYo9VO7NXMCdu4cVWI1p0NqMKmuXUW5p5zOUfwGPbEDtKFcjzcAdhAsGh4IY-eqXtVFmXhKaSoh6H60JPP6seoTgK7tg847o8Z1UhU92M-6XhHSp-P6itWkowz7Ja3Z62g/s1600-h/tomato+005.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho4i6aeYo9VO7NXMCdu4cVWI1p0NqMKmuXUW5p5zOUfwGPbEDtKFcjzcAdhAsGh4IY-eqXtVFmXhKaSoh6H60JPP6seoTgK7tg847o8Z1UhU92M-6XhHSp-P6itWkowz7Ja3Z62g/s400/tomato+005.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326788870195463858" border="0" /></a><br />I'm very invested in these damn plants--or at least what they stand for to me. I know what they represent and it is all unreasonable: control in economically uncertain times, the promise of some self reliance. They are my bomb shelter, my gun collection, my little utopia. It's absurd. Seven tomato plants aren't going to sustain much. As for control, they are subject to whims as arbitrary as the economic and social weather we're experiencing these days.<br /><br />Their next threat is the replacement of our roof, sometime in the next couple of weeks. When roofers are stripping a roof, they have to toss the shingles somewhere, and it will only take one shingle to completely wipe out Keith Richards. So I had it written into the roofing contract that they won't toss shingles on my garden.<br /><br />I haven't gotten a single tomato yet. It's only April and even in Texas, where the growing season starts early, it's too soon. But I'm already thinking about how I'll expand the garden next year. Garlic. Maybe some onion sets. More peppers (I only have one chili plant.) Assuming I do get tomatoes, by July I will be sick of them. Rather than expanding the garden next year, it will be interesting to see if I even have one. (Well, probably herbs, I've had herbs for years. Herbs are weeds and take very little care.)<br /><br />I dream of solar panels. I think about how even if we paid off the house we'd still have to pay real estate taxes. We are becoming the problem that economists talk about--people who will not spend. If spending is down, the economy continues to stall. <br /><br />Did you know that in Austin, it is legal to own chickens within the city limits? That would cover some of our protein needs. The eggs, not the chickens. Yesterday we were talking about what we would name chickens if we had them. We decided we would name them Soup, Parmesan, Cacciatore and Esmeralda. Bob always wanted a chicken named Esmeralda.Maureen McHughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05130090850491900655noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9583486.post-46429426778940807642009-04-14T22:01:00.002-04:002009-04-14T22:15:56.922-04:00Cyberspace Saturates Reality<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtbUYCPFuf502liPLabwQbKCfCCM-PnaX0abvY3QmzVhZRwo4mZWKlzgEyAr6_MGEOav3yUHQVFuiM7J_7XkRB0dDBGogsOTUQi5-paojxG3pVnOXTQOB5RoZXo891d3U4RbxNyQ/s1600-h/cyberspace.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 336px; height: 255px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtbUYCPFuf502liPLabwQbKCfCCM-PnaX0abvY3QmzVhZRwo4mZWKlzgEyAr6_MGEOav3yUHQVFuiM7J_7XkRB0dDBGogsOTUQi5-paojxG3pVnOXTQOB5RoZXo891d3U4RbxNyQ/s400/cyberspace.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5324735973943965522" border="0" /></a><br />William Gibson, when he described cyberspace in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Neuromancer</span>, envisioned it as "<span class="text">tactile lattices of data and logic" and Case, his data cowboy, soared through it like a superhero. Cyberspace was a consensual hallucination. A visualization of the data landscape. It sounded like a total blast. But cyberspace has not turned out to be anything like that. I'm in cyberspace typing this, you're in cyberspace reading it. William Gibson made a far scarier observation when he said that cyberspace was where you go when you are on the telephone.<br /><br />It's true, when we talk on the telephone, we're together, at least in some way that my brain recognizes as together.<br /><br />But more interesting to me is that Cyberspace was initially envisioned as a place you went into. It turns out it's not that at all. Cyberspace is the organization of your experience when you are using a linked interface. So when you're in your car, using your GPS, you're in cyberspace, right there on the freeway. Using you <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">smartphone</span> to check Twitter, you're in cyberspace. We don't go to cyberspace, it comes to us. It overlays our world and our experience. It changes our perception of space and time.<br /><br />There's only going to be more of it.<br /></span>Maureen McHughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05130090850491900655noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9583486.post-13916261414530704852009-04-11T17:27:00.002-04:002009-04-11T17:56:26.902-04:00Infused Vodka, Vim & Vigor<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiVx-TaIUQRv7rjr6PFivLbLiA5OOqc3BjDEfDSBir0rzbKHrSw9WYhcYWQ_XBWWfbRnpJI-djUh96UGKVVjG0aDIfmW_o8O0qFyGwxjEkrEWnPDOf5I9MZWIFauXKOd8vhHwlpg/s1600-h/vodka+002.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiVx-TaIUQRv7rjr6PFivLbLiA5OOqc3BjDEfDSBir0rzbKHrSw9WYhcYWQ_XBWWfbRnpJI-djUh96UGKVVjG0aDIfmW_o8O0qFyGwxjEkrEWnPDOf5I9MZWIFauXKOd8vhHwlpg/s400/vodka+002.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323548896309560306" border="0" /></a>It all started from a stray comment. Can you have 'vim' without 'vigor' I asked? <br /><br />Jessica said, "<span class="status-body"><span class="entry-content">I think vim is the more mental/emotional form of vigor, so I say yes."<br /><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Gwenda</span> said, "</span></span><span class="status-body"><span class="entry-content">I think it involves martinis."<br /><br /></span></span><span class="status-body"><span class="entry-content">Jessica replied, "</span></span><span class="status-body"><span class="entry-content">Given the nature of vim, perhaps it should be some sort of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">aromatini</span>. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Vimaromatini</span>."<br /><br />I like martinis. I really like Vespers, which is a martini made with <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Lillet</span> instead of vermouth. Now I can't actually drink a lot of martinis, because frankly I have no tolerance for alcohol. In fact, my lack of tolerance is probably why I like martinis. When I was in college, and we'd go out drinking, if I had more than two drinks I really wanted to go home and go to sleep. But it's hard to make two drinks last several hours. Especially when the bar is too loud to talk. So I got in the habit of ordering brandy, and then whiskey, because they didn't taste good. So they'd take me a long time to finish. Except, not surprisingly, I came to like the taste of alcohol. And to this day I prefer drinks that aren't sweet.<br /><br />Since Bob and I are not really drinkers, we are very enamored of the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">accouterments</span> of martinis. Bob, especially is a lover of ritual and exactitude, which makes him the perfect bartender. Therefore, he was more than game when I said that we had to invent a martini.<br /><br />I don't dislike the long list of things that people call martinis these days. I actually like Cosmos (I think it's the cranberry which takes the edge off the sweet.) But really, they aren't a martini. A martini is liquor cut by an <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">aperitif</span> style wine. So for me, a Manhattan (whiskey and sweet vermouth) qualifies as a kind of martini. A Blueberry Martini (</span></span>2 oz Cranberry vodka, 2 oz triple sec, 2 oz blueberry juice, 2 oz Sprite<a href="http://www.drinksmixer.com/desc1785.html"></a>)<span class="status-body"><span class="entry-content"> does not. <br /><br />How then, to make an aromatic martini? <br /><br />Infused vodka. Infused vodka is actually a pretty old-fashioned thing. A lot of Russian vodka is still <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">homebrew</span>, and there's a long tradition of putting stuff in it to make it palatable. Pepper vodka. Citron vodka. Now it's trendy, of course, and in a liquor store you can buy raspberry , peach, pepper, cranberry, green apple, </span></span>lemon, clementine, vanilla, chili pepper, cinnamon, coffee, chocolate, rose, buffalo grass, and that favorite of dieters, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">acai</span>. <span class="status-body"><span class="entry-content">But we wanted 'aromatic vodka.' I had heard, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">somewhere</span>, about infusing vodka and I have rosemary growing in my garden, so I did a search on 'rosemary infused vodka and found a site call <a href="http://www.infusionsofgrandeur.net/2007/04/rosemarys-vodka.html">Infusions of Grandeur</a>. The blog hasn't been updated since 2008, which is sad (although probably a good thing for the blog owners' livers) but it is still a font of information if you want to infuse vodka.<br /><br />After much discussion, we decided on three infusions (of which two, the lemon grass--clear with chopped bits of lemongrass in it--and ginger--cloudy with grated ginger--are pictured above.) We are doing ginger, lemongrass, and pear. Why pear? Because fruit infusions are supposedly the easiest to do and if the ginger and the lemongrass suck, at least we'll have the pear. We used Smirnoff for the base vodka (Smirnoff consistently does as well as expensive vodkas in blind tastings but costs less.)<br /><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Gwenda</span> lives too far away for an easy taste test, but Jessica will be invited for the attempt to make a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Vimaromatini</span>. <br /><br />To celebrate the beginning of the experiment, Bob made martinis. His is the classic Gordon's gin and dry vermouth. Mine is vodka and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">Lillet</span>. I have had a couple of sips and I am feeling it already, so if people are interested, I will post more later, when we taste. Now, I'm going to go do something brainless.<br /><br /><br /></span></span>Maureen McHughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05130090850491900655noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9583486.post-43347573164066519502009-04-06T14:04:00.005-04:002009-04-06T14:46:39.891-04:00The Recession Garden<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-hvMS5Wm4dvuVVCXDyVetE9ypPyIsaKFgqRX6_rBz2NZM4RkJTTQyoFQEBKtK4LpWTdgyBdrLvvYvW816pNP5HHOR-GMjSl3lS14WXKJbWIbGnasi1E3SulHDI25MHtPKsNZgDQ/s1600-h/hail+004.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-hvMS5Wm4dvuVVCXDyVetE9ypPyIsaKFgqRX6_rBz2NZM4RkJTTQyoFQEBKtK4LpWTdgyBdrLvvYvW816pNP5HHOR-GMjSl3lS14WXKJbWIbGnasi1E3SulHDI25MHtPKsNZgDQ/s400/hail+004.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321648847924317858" border="0" /></a><br />Is there anything so utterly hopeful as planting a garden? I planted mine about a month ago (spring comes early in Austin--the last average frost date is Feb. 15.) Already it's been battered by hail and tonight, temperatures are dipping into the high 30's. And I am fretting. It's a small garden: eight vegetable plants (seven of them tomatoes) and about the same number of herbs.<br /><br />The tomato plants are so fragile, and yet so tenacious. Staked and tied against our spring winds. Every bit as miraculous, in their way, as the hummingbirds that my husband has coaxed to his feeder. (They are astonishing, nothing prepares me for their shocking smallness, the sheer absurdity of this thing, the length of my thumb, but muscular. Their feet are absurd semi-colons.)<br /><br />Now I discover I have joined a movement. I have planted a <a href="http://www.salon.com/mwt/feature/2008/10/13/pinched_almond/">Recession Garden</a>. A Recession Garden is, among other things, an expression of anxiety about the current economic climate. The more I learn about <a href="http://www.thisamericanlife.org/Radio_Episode.aspx?sched=1285">the possible collapse of the banking system</a>, the more anxious I become. And the more I learn about <a href="http://www.washingtoncitypaper.com/blogs/youngandhungry/2009/03/06/gourmet-examines-the-slave-labor-that-brings-us-winter-tomatoes/">the economics of food production</a>, the more difficult it becomes to know how to eat.<br /><br />So I plant tomatoes. Me, and apparently 44 million households in the U.S., who are planting anywhere from a pot of basil on the windowsill to a full kitchen garden. I'm somewhere in the middle. Since I'm fretting about my garden (assuming we don't get a freeze tonight, the next big worry is opossums, which our local long term Texas gardener, my neighbor Bud, assures us will eat my tomatoes.) Seems an odd response to anxiety to do something that induces anxiety. It's not as if these seven tomato plants and lone chili plant are going to sustain us. Or even, frankly, save us much money. Still, being outside with my indomitable little plants is soothing. It's that nature thing. I always run my fingers through the thyme, maybe pinch the flowers off of the basil, and my fingers smell of herbs.<br /><br />Those of you who have much later average last frost dates (in Cleveland, it was May 15, which meant that it wasn't really safe to put plants out until Memorial Day weekend) all I can say is, it's better than you remember.Maureen McHughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05130090850491900655noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9583486.post-53331623653775548092009-03-25T21:43:00.003-04:002009-03-26T08:49:59.447-04:00Hail<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqwiQe6WbzYP6C9dC1ud4Ic6X8a1YrsMC21-_MTvn0CzTvwv7S_pp-qyei6nofGLy9nkd8CtDt20pCDBIO7hYftJVZMZvMT4mMoMxozr8DRyt5HhGhOhE0C9NvI8q0qYet9OAnkw/s1600-h/hail+005.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqwiQe6WbzYP6C9dC1ud4Ic6X8a1YrsMC21-_MTvn0CzTvwv7S_pp-qyei6nofGLy9nkd8CtDt20pCDBIO7hYftJVZMZvMT4mMoMxozr8DRyt5HhGhOhE0C9NvI8q0qYet9OAnkw/s400/hail+005.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317306364466369954" border="0" /></a>When we moved to Austin, Bob and I were warned about the hail. We saw cars with their tops dimpled like golf balls. Hail, we were told.<br /><br />Hail is apparently mostly very local, and today it was local to us. It cracked the outer pane of the skylight in our kitchen and took out all but two of my fledgling tomato plants. I have been running out every day to gaze at my tomato plants, growing well with their neat row of stakes and I am more saddened by the lose of them than I am by the damage to the skylight. Although I am sure that repairing the skylight will be much more problematic than replanting tomato plants.<br /><br />Our neighbors on the corner lost the back window of one of their cars. A car full of water and hailstones sounds more disheartening then my tomato plants.Maureen McHughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05130090850491900655noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9583486.post-84933320418406642432009-02-02T17:11:00.006-05:002009-02-02T20:32:15.744-05:00Vegetable Karma<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVANHVfxE3UdFQx9t0-HHT90cLGMuryloJtjJcAs0GLkfx4GGV1nLvcWAHkYaEjD7dqqvXxH9O6zKJN7MdNE1xds8LSTmJipBSaIYfQcZvS2HwF1DRIXfNt7MtK3ws2lZVUGopGQ/s1600-h/Quinoa.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVANHVfxE3UdFQx9t0-HHT90cLGMuryloJtjJcAs0GLkfx4GGV1nLvcWAHkYaEjD7dqqvXxH9O6zKJN7MdNE1xds8LSTmJipBSaIYfQcZvS2HwF1DRIXfNt7MtK3ws2lZVUGopGQ/s400/Quinoa.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5298330293570698754" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />I have found myself having conversations I recognize. I have bored my vegetarian friends with these same conversations for years. Only now I'm on the receiving end. I'm not even vegetarian.<br /><br />A few weeks ago, I started changing my eating. Changing my eating habits, as they say in the diet and nutrition industry. I read an article about Mark <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Bittman's</span> book <span style="font-style: italic;">Food Matters</span>, where he talks about his own decision to be 'vegan until six.' He lists a number of reasons; his own health, the cruelty that industrialized livestock raising perpetrates on animals, the fact that we eat so much meat that to not factory raise animals is impossible. (He does the math and it turns out there isn't enough land in the world to pasture feed the beef and chicken that we eat or get eggs, milk, and butter from.) I worry about cruelty, but what really attracted me was his claim (which I have no reason to doubt) that he lost 35 pounds this way. Whole grains, beans, vegetables and fruits, try to avoid refined flour and sugar, and then in the evening, eat the way you're used to eating.<br /><br />This had a lot of possible advantages for me. For one thing, it wouldn't much inflict my latest food weirdness on Bob. He would go to the office, design marvelous mechanisms all day, and come home to the kind of thing we usually eat for dinner, like Thai style chicken stir fry with noodles. And for me, I thought, no big deal. I tend to make a big pot of something at the beginning of the week and eat it for lunch, now that big pot would involve whole grains and beans.<br /><br />Mark <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Bittman</span> makes it clear that he is not vegan. This is a guide. He says if the cucumber in creamy dressing look good at the salad bar, he doesn't hesitate to pick them. I'm not vegan either. I still use Worcester sauce, oyster sauce and honey, and I don't know if my high fiber bread is vegan. I doubt it is. On Saturdays, when we meet friends for breakfast, there are no vegan options on the menu and that's fine with me. I have eggs and a short stack. With butter. But during the day I don't use butter, milk, cheese, or meat. I do use olive oil and canola oil. Peanut butter. It's not about calories. Although it turns out that if you go mostly vegan and avoid white flour and refined sugar, the calories tend to fall all by themselves.<br /><br />I feel quite smug at the grocery store, loading up my cart with vegetables and fancy beans and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">quinoa</span> and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">wheatberries</span>. (<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Quinoa</span> and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">wheatberries</span> are just grains, like rice. Using them is a lot like using rice. They're fun to experiment with, and they're that thing that nutritionists and diet people are always going on about, 'whole grains.') But the cooking is different and it's a stretch. It also means that going out to lunch has become a little complicated, at least for the nonce. Because for now I'm trying to be fairly strict.<br /><br />The biggest difference is in the way I look at food. The way I think about food prep. The way I think about eating. I'd like this experiment to have some lasting changes. I'd like it to make me eat healthier. I worry about the possibility of diabetes's. My dad died of heart disease. You know, all the usual things. Being fairly strict (although, as I said, not completely <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">rulebound</span>) forces me to find other ways of doing.<br /><br />What I didn't expect was the way people would suddenly talk to me about food. People have explained to me that <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">veganism</span> is unhealthy (the actual truth; sometimes yes, mostly, no.) People have defensively explained their own relationship with meat. (I want to say, 'I may be having tofu and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">swiss</span> chard for lunch but I'm making beef short ribs for dinner with company--I eat meat, too. Just about 1/3rd of what I used to eat.) I hear coming out of my mouth the same things vegetarians have been saying to me for years. "Everyone has to come to their own accommodation about eating." And, "Yes, a diet that's inflexible is probably a bad thing."<br /><br />I know part of the problem, because it's always been my problem. When someone mentions that they are vegetarian, I am forced, again, to confront my own relationship with food and killing. I am uncomfortable with that relationship, so I project that onto the poor vegetarian. And while I am certain there are sanctimonious and judgmental vegetarians out there, everyone I know really doesn't seem to think less of me because I eat meat. I don't think less of people who eat more meat than me. Au <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">contraire</span>, I am more than a little defensive about standing in front of my fridge at noon thinking that the butter is off limits until 6:00 pm. I don't like the fact that my lunches are looking more and more like that stuff they serve at the co-op, even though, in fact, a lot of it tastes pretty good. (And the stuff that doesn't I don't make twice.) I am sensitive to the whole homeopathic, hemp-sandal, crystal gazing possibilities of 'alternative lifestyles.' And vegan is alternative.<br /><br />I did find some places of true vegetarian intolerance. It turns out that what a certain kind of vegetarian really saves their judgment for is...other vegetarians. I went on a vegan bulletin board looking for recipes. The flame wars that start when someone says something like, 'I'm mostly vegan.' Half of the board erupts in an 'you're either against the exploitation of animals or you're not and if you drank milk, you're not!' while the other half launches into 'it's stupid that one bite of animal products means you're not a vegetarian, would anyone say that a non-vegetarian is now a vegetarian if they ate a vegetarian meal?' (Which would make eating your Raisin Bran at breakfast a radical act.)<br /><br />The other weird thing about vegan is that many vegans are protesting what they see as the over-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">commodification</span> of the world, the fast food, frozen dinner, junk food excesses of the American diet. They're not alone. Michael <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">Pollan</span> has written some really interesting books about the way agribusiness has altered our eating, to our detriment. (A hundred years ago, there were still many Americans who worried about getting enough food--now we are most likely to die of the effects of our excesses--heart attack, stroke, diabetes.) Corporations are in the business of finding our sweet spot--the places where we can be tricked into feeling that we need/want/have to have more. That sweet spot is, in humans, actually sweet. And fat-laden. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">Pollan</span> suggests shopping the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">periphery</span> of the store--the fruits, vegetables, fish, meat and dairy that line the outside ring of grocery--and skipping as much as possible, the central aisles, where food is usually processed. But, as he points out, there is still a lot of stuff that is processed and unhealthy even at the edge of the grocery--most of what passes for yogurt, which is coming more and more to resemble ice cream. So he also proposes that you try to buy only things your grandmother would recognize. And only things that have five or fewer ingredients--and you should know what those ingredients are, no <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Calcium_propionate" title="Calcium propionate">calcium <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">propionate</span></a>, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sodium_nitrate" title="Sodium nitrate">sodium nitrate</a>, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sodium_nitrite" title="Sodium nitrite">sodium nitrite</a>, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sulfite" title="Sulfite"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">sulfites</span></a> (<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sulfur_dioxide" title="Sulfur dioxide">sulfur dioxide</a>, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sodium_bisulfite" title="Sodium bisulfite">sodium <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">bisulfite</span></a>, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Potassium_hydrogen_sulfite" title="Potassium hydrogen sulfite" class="mw-redirect">potassium hydrogen <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">sulfite</span></a> etc.<br /><br />First of all, neither of my grandmothers would have recognized tofu, but that reflects their <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">ethnically</span> European origins. Second of all, vegan recipes often seem full of animal product analogues--soy cheeses, soy milks, cashew cheese, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">Boca</span> burgers, and wheat gluten 'chicken'. Here's the list of ingredients for <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20">Tofutti</span> Mozzarella Soy-Cheese Slices (TM) Water, Partially <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21">Hydrognated</span> Soy Bean Oil, Tofu, Soy Protein, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22">Carrageenan</span>, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23">Maltodextrin</span>, Vinegar, Calcium Phosphate, Potato Flakes, Salt, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_24">Guar</span> and Carob Bean Gums, Nondairy Lactic Acid, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_25">Adipic</span> Acid, Dairy Free Mozzarella Cheese Flavor (derived from vegetable source) Natural Color and Potassium <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_26">Sorbate</span>. It is, I would say, as processed and commercial a product as <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_27">KFC</span>. With the important distinction that no animal products were killed in the making. And this <span style="font-style: italic;">is</span> an important distinction. But it's a scary list.<br /><br />We all have rules about what we eat, about what is strange and what is not. Those rules are deeply embedded in our sense of who we are. When I lived in China, the thinks that were most fundamentally disorienting were language, of course, food, and manners. (We think our manners make sense, but honestly, they don't--but <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_28">that's</span> another post.) We are most comfortable when our food choices are reinforced by the people around us. Food choice is often a source of rebellion.<br /><br />I'm going to keep doing this, at least for awhile. I've lost two pounds, which is part of it. I feel better--simple <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_29">carbs</span> make me sleepy and a little dull. And I feel better about my carbon footprint, and all that. I reserve the right to go out and get a hamburger for lunch if I want to. And to eat vegan for dinner if I want to. And frankly, I don't mind if you eat meat. Even for breakfast.Maureen McHughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05130090850491900655noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9583486.post-91543442354845462122009-02-01T14:31:00.001-05:002009-02-01T14:33:22.030-05:00Dreamlike, Lovely<object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/2_HXUhShhmY&color1=0xb1b1b1&color2=0xcfcfcf&hl=en&feature=player_embedded&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/2_HXUhShhmY&color1=0xb1b1b1&color2=0xcfcfcf&hl=en&feature=player_embedded&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br />From <a href="http://www.juicetheblog.com/2009/01/29/her-morning-elegance/">Blin at Juice the Blog</a>.Maureen McHughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05130090850491900655noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9583486.post-73536532043112888792009-01-23T16:21:00.007-05:002009-01-23T16:40:41.639-05:00Greenstone<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzGQLR7JwN6Int4zET2VmA_56AGAQP1ANQ9laLbldsCM_UckvwWgQp2HPLf3XzKwdj11Y7mTyyEN8dbXzZOVJ7oaLmFXBjQYintNNdYf47rsEiAoCHv13nFsO78E0GEH_hP9R7gQ/s1600-h/Ashton-Warner.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 157px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzGQLR7JwN6Int4zET2VmA_56AGAQP1ANQ9laLbldsCM_UckvwWgQp2HPLf3XzKwdj11Y7mTyyEN8dbXzZOVJ7oaLmFXBjQYintNNdYf47rsEiAoCHv13nFsO78E0GEH_hP9R7gQ/s400/Ashton-Warner.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5294605946637100418" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />A few weeks ago I started thinking about a book I read when I was a teenager (barely) and had been first let lose in the adult stacks in the public library. I can remember best the feeling the book left me with--I checked it out several times. It was by a New Zealand writer named Sylvia Ashton-Warner. (Someone asked me if I meant Sylvia Townsend Warner, but the book I am thinking of was <span style="font-style: italic;">Greenstone</span>, by Ashton Warner.) I can't describe the plot of the book, which is based on Ashton-Warner's own childhood, romanticized. But I remember specifics from it quite well, including it's use of a nursery rhyme:<br /><br />By the side of a murmuring stream<br />An elegant gentleman sat.<br />On top of his head was his wig.<br />On top of his wig was his hat.<br />On top of his wig was his hat hat hat.<br />On top of his wig was his <span style="font-style: italic;">hat</span>.<br /><br />The father was an Englishman who had married badly for love, and was now crippled by arthritis. The mother was a teacher. The family was poor and huge.<br /><br />The book was not very long. I remember it as evocative and exotic, but full of domesticity and troubled marriage happening just slightly off the page. I remember feeling it offered a glimpse into something adult that I might not quite be getting.<br /><br />So I ordered a copy, used. Now it has come and I wonder how it will compare to my memories. If it will, in fact, be any good at all.Maureen McHughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05130090850491900655noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9583486.post-52940811956941645302009-01-22T10:34:00.002-05:002009-01-22T10:38:03.236-05:00Wanna See a Picture of My Kid?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3RU1D05Rta4m0ey6RVBANAta6_EukQb81JC-0SaqE702M_zAuD3KafDjMoum1bJTk3RDB1irJIr_waZULJBMKQ6dICTug2BKNNjN3W4E3MfdE-g-Qs5G2J-Y2kl5tGCLjFOXWzQ/s1600-h/adam_09.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3RU1D05Rta4m0ey6RVBANAta6_EukQb81JC-0SaqE702M_zAuD3KafDjMoum1bJTk3RDB1irJIr_waZULJBMKQ6dICTug2BKNNjN3W4E3MfdE-g-Qs5G2J-Y2kl5tGCLjFOXWzQ/s400/adam_09.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5294142127158371698" border="0" /></a><br />One of Adam's friends, Phil Sierzega, does photo retouching as a hobby. This is a photo he took and retouched of Adam. I don't know what's retouched, 'cause it looks like Adam, but not only is it a good likeness, but the color is just gorgeous. I asked him if I could have a copy.<br /><br />So just pretend I have whipped out my wallet and am thrusting a picture of my kid on you. Isn't he handsome? And he's smart, too.Maureen McHughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05130090850491900655noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9583486.post-6533917953646584522009-01-18T13:54:00.004-05:002009-01-19T18:16:52.461-05:00When the World is Absurd<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7ioK3ldb80IieajxchWHfSARZ0iY6w8BJB1CeHBsYQV-R6CE9QMvhmJqhr8hjVIGIhEdiTp2jR60smLCO25xwrOzd9EVIdhIQjBjcB9cEHSOyi9eeNNpFSLtsdjEbSGdMqO33nA/s1600-h/41G9WA5NRDL._SS400_.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7ioK3ldb80IieajxchWHfSARZ0iY6w8BJB1CeHBsYQV-R6CE9QMvhmJqhr8hjVIGIhEdiTp2jR60smLCO25xwrOzd9EVIdhIQjBjcB9cEHSOyi9eeNNpFSLtsdjEbSGdMqO33nA/s400/41G9WA5NRDL._SS400_.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292710378506757938" border="0" /></a><br />When the world is absurd, be absurd back. This from Christopher Barzak's <a href="http://christopherbarzak.wordpress.com/2009/01/16/playing-security-check-point/">Meditations in an Emergency</a>. This is the Playmobile Security Checkpoint Set. The product description from the manufacturer: <span style="font-style: italic;">The woman traveler stops by the security checkpoint. After placing her luggage on the screening machine, the airport employee checks her baggage. The traveler hands her spare change and watch to the security guard and proceeds through the metal detector. With no time to spare, she picks up her luggage and hurries to board her flight!</span><br /><br />Sounds like fun!<br /><br />But what genuinely warms the heart is the comments on <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Playmobil-3172-Security-Check-Point/dp/B0002CYTL2/">the Amazon Page</a>.<br /><br />"I was a little disappointed when I first bought this item, because the functionality is limited. My 5 year old son pointed out that the passenger's shoes cannot be removed. Then, we placed a deadly fingernail file underneath the passenger's scarf, and neither the detector doorway nor the security wand picked it up. My son said "that's the worst security ever!". But it turned out to be okay, because when the passenger got on the Playmobil B757 and tried to hijack it, she was mobbed by a couple of other heroic passengers, who only sustained minor injuries in the scuffle, which were treated at the Playmobil Hospital."<br /><br />That's not the best. Remarkably sane responses to an insane world, I think.Maureen McHughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05130090850491900655noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9583486.post-47677344352509481972009-01-13T15:31:00.003-05:002009-01-13T16:07:26.876-05:00Young People Books<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi__fPJkMZKqYLtP-zfvbwc_K6eiAwFmSz6L3DnrEIMYZZVl0VKNcCWSUApc-nv1MRSZr7GT7Jf95B3iuD49u4-ETdTBB-MOQbCLYbVqLtkhiQyrayz4EdS2hA1spIL1fc2I7ix4w/s1600-h/parzybok_couch_200.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 256px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi__fPJkMZKqYLtP-zfvbwc_K6eiAwFmSz6L3DnrEIMYZZVl0VKNcCWSUApc-nv1MRSZr7GT7Jf95B3iuD49u4-ETdTBB-MOQbCLYbVqLtkhiQyrayz4EdS2hA1spIL1fc2I7ix4w/s400/parzybok_couch_200.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290881475558141090" border="0" /></a><br />I just finished reading <a href="http://www.lcrw.net/parzybok/">Couch</a>, by Benjamin Parzybok, which, I have to say, I thoroughly enjoyed. For people who haven't read it, it's an epic journey across two continents, a quest, in fact, to get a big orange couch to an elder council who will know what to do with it. Although ironic and at times absurd, it is never silly. And it's also touching. Along the way, the three young men who are moving the couch come to grips, in one way or another, with who they are, and even if they haven't actually solved the problem of who they are going to be, one gets the sense they can see it from here.<br /><br />It's a young person's book. A hip, witty, enjoyable young person's book. Not a young adult book, although I can see myself really liking it when I was a young adult. But a book who's themes revolve around figuring out what's ahead. A book where parents matter only in the most peripheral way, significant others are part of the future, and friends matter most of all. <br /><br />I don't know why I felt that so strongly when I read this book. I didn't try to impose my concerns on it so much as feel how strongly I couldn't find myself in it. While it's not the kind of book that excludes women readers (just the opposite, it's thoughtful and self-aware in a way that invites both genders, I think) it was none the less a deeply guy book. It's about guys in the company of guys. There was a thing floating around for awhile about the difference between 'men' and 'guys'. John Wayne was a <span style="font-weight: bold;">man</span>. Tom Hanks is a <span style="font-weight: bold;">guy</span>. In that particular parsing, the three main characters in this novel are clearly 'guys.' Nice guys. Good guys (well Eric can be less than a good guy.) <br /><br />I tried to think about novels that aren't Young Person novels. James Joyce wrote one of the definitive young person novels--<span style="font-style: italic;">Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man</span>, which, for the record, I hated. And also wrote one of the definitive novels that are about middle-aged angst, <span style="font-style: italic;">Ulysses</span> (which I loved, but that may be partly because I knew I had to love it or I wasn't smart.) When I was in college, there was a kind of genre in the canon of books about men--<span style="font-style: italic;">Mickelson's Ghost</span>, <span style="font-style: italic;">Henderson the Rain King</span>, the Rabbit books. I felt myself at arm's length from these books (not surprising for a 20 year old white girl.) <br /><br />There are, of course, lots of books that I read and don't feel so distanced from. Lots of those books have absolutely nothing to do with my sensibilities or age. One of the joys of Karen Joy Fowler's books for me has been that I often felt that they were aimed at me. Even if I wasn't really a Jane Austin lover. (I liked Jane Austin, but not the passionate way so many people do.) A lot of those books are written by women, but a lot of them, <span style="font-style: italic;">The Crossing</span>, by Cormac McCarthy, or <span style="font-style: italic;">Motherless Brooklyn</span>, by Jonathan Lethem, are, like <span style="font-style: italic;">Couch</span>, books about guys, young guys, finding a way.<br /><br />It's a funny reaction to a good book. If I have anything to really say about it, it's ignore my nattering. Good read.Maureen McHughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05130090850491900655noreply@blogger.com1