What in the Sam Hill? I'm watching the Vice Presidential Debate while trying to multi task and blog about something within my realm of expertise- my children. But Sarah stopped me in my tracks. Joe Six Pack? Sheez!
She is totally ignorant to important issues. In her interview with Katie Couric she made cheerleader Katie look like the class president. Surely everyone watching gritted a collective cringe when she couldn't name one news outlet that she referenced to keep herself informed. Sheez! I can't profess to being more knowledgeable than her, however I'm not running for second in command in this country. I CAN name a few news outlets.
But she seems to be holding her own. So is Biden.
I'm watching CNN. There is some "uncommitted Ohio Voters" graph running across the screen, a green line for the men and a orange line for the women. But I don't know what the hell it represents. Maybe Sarah can tell me how to read that.
Thursday, October 02, 2008
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Gas Crunch
The worst is over "they" say with the gas crisis in Asheville. We have been short for over two weeks now and it got really messy last Wednesday. The lines of cars waiting for gas were ridiculous - 3 and 4 hours long.
We were supposed to leave for Atlanta on Friday afternoon for the DH's class reunion. I wasn't about to sit in line for hours to go a leisure trip. The thought of it nauseated me. In fact, anytime I was out in the last two weeks, which wasn't often, I become anxious and sick just passing the gas stations with lines. Then there were the tales of people behaving badly - cutting in line, taking advantage of the gap in cars created by a driver, already out of gas, pushing his car to the pump. It really brings out the worst in some people. I know it is a small minority and I am thankful for that, but I guess I'd just rather not witness people behaving like the world was ending.
I avoided the lines and panic until Friday when I struck out to fill up so we could make the Atlanta trip. I ended up at Sam's, a place I don't shop anymore since watching the movie, The High Cost of Low Prices, a not-so-flattering documentary about Wal-Mart. Sometimes ignorance is bliss. But once I became informed, even though I didn't really shop at Wal-Mart, I had to break it off with my man Sam. He had provided me savings on wine, tires, a six pack of sports bras, and large quantities of chips but sometimes that's just not enough for a girl, so we parted. He didn't even seem to notice.
But I came crawling back on Friday. Sam had an orderly line inside his parking lot with three attendants directing traffic. I waited 5 minutes. No nausea. No anxiety. Just a twinge of guilt.
The compromise was worth it. Atlanta, the reunion and the break from the soccer mom routine was just the call for me.
We were supposed to leave for Atlanta on Friday afternoon for the DH's class reunion. I wasn't about to sit in line for hours to go a leisure trip. The thought of it nauseated me. In fact, anytime I was out in the last two weeks, which wasn't often, I become anxious and sick just passing the gas stations with lines. Then there were the tales of people behaving badly - cutting in line, taking advantage of the gap in cars created by a driver, already out of gas, pushing his car to the pump. It really brings out the worst in some people. I know it is a small minority and I am thankful for that, but I guess I'd just rather not witness people behaving like the world was ending.
I avoided the lines and panic until Friday when I struck out to fill up so we could make the Atlanta trip. I ended up at Sam's, a place I don't shop anymore since watching the movie, The High Cost of Low Prices, a not-so-flattering documentary about Wal-Mart. Sometimes ignorance is bliss. But once I became informed, even though I didn't really shop at Wal-Mart, I had to break it off with my man Sam. He had provided me savings on wine, tires, a six pack of sports bras, and large quantities of chips but sometimes that's just not enough for a girl, so we parted. He didn't even seem to notice.
But I came crawling back on Friday. Sam had an orderly line inside his parking lot with three attendants directing traffic. I waited 5 minutes. No nausea. No anxiety. Just a twinge of guilt.
The compromise was worth it. Atlanta, the reunion and the break from the soccer mom routine was just the call for me.
Monday, September 29, 2008
Hurry Up and Wait
The geeks at the local computer repair shop have held my hard drive captive for OVER a month now, tyring to pry it's contents from it's bones. It melted down in August and I surrender it to their expertise just after Labor Day. I have the old machine back with a new hard drive, but all my files for work, charitable work, pictures, finances, etc are locked down on that old dying drive. YIKES!(Of course, backing up now seems like a REALLY good idea). I keep calling to check on it because, well, they don't call me and the always polite young man on the other end promises to call back, but never does. I don't want to complain, lest I piss someone off and I never get my files back. Yesterday, I did receive a call back. They have the part they need to hopefully retrieve the information. I had to approve the charges before he could try.
He'll work on it and call me back. (Sigh)
He'll work on it and call me back. (Sigh)
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Customer Service at Ingles?
What is up with the folks over at my neighborhood Ingles? I shopped there on Sunday afternoon, a time I don't normally shop, and the surly teenagers who seem to run the place, despite the visible adult managers roaming round pretending to be in charge, were actually polite and courteous. Two different young male employees asked if they could help me find something. When the second one asked, I thought my head might spin off. Up until now, I have never encountered a teenager there who was anything more than disinterested. Typically, when I find myself in the teenager's line I am subjected to their conversation about someones date last night. Once, I came upon an empty line where the attendant couldn't be bothered to pause her conversation to ask for my advantage card. She just kept blabbing on to the bag "boy" while she scanned my groceries. I had to interrupt her to get my 78 cent discount on my fakin' bacon.
Now I will say that there are some fine, friendly and efficient older folks working there. If I shop during the weekdays, I will seek them out. Mike is one of them. He dresses as a woman every Halloween. Not that I have ever seen that, but I have somehow gleaned it from having a conversation with him -Hmmm, there's a novel idea: a conversation with your customer. There is another older gentleman, Floyd, that often bags for Mike. He will use my cloth bags without question(or an audible sigh). Last week, just after I arrived, I did a 180 to hop back home to get my advantage card; there was more than 78 cents at stake. On my way out I mentioned it to the night manager who was out having a smoke. He said that any of the cashiers can find my number by my address - something they had never volunteered to do before- and he snuffed out his ciggy and ran in to retrieve my number for me.
I have to give props to one affable young man I have had the pleasure of interacting with lately. He works in the deli, where ordinarily I feel like I've interrupted a druggie from getting his fix. "Can I help you?" is what comes out of their mouths but their body language screams, What do you want?
When I was in high school, I worked at a Chick-fil-a for two years. The expectation was to be kind and courteous to the customer. If I had behaved any differently, I would have been canned.
This is big. Customer serviced at Ingles. I wonder what happened? Did the expectations from management change? Or was it anomaly for Sunday afternoon shopping? Perhaps now that the economy is sour, management has some leverage to get people to expend a little energy to keep their jobs.
Whatever the reason, I like it!
Now I will say that there are some fine, friendly and efficient older folks working there. If I shop during the weekdays, I will seek them out. Mike is one of them. He dresses as a woman every Halloween. Not that I have ever seen that, but I have somehow gleaned it from having a conversation with him -Hmmm, there's a novel idea: a conversation with your customer. There is another older gentleman, Floyd, that often bags for Mike. He will use my cloth bags without question(or an audible sigh). Last week, just after I arrived, I did a 180 to hop back home to get my advantage card; there was more than 78 cents at stake. On my way out I mentioned it to the night manager who was out having a smoke. He said that any of the cashiers can find my number by my address - something they had never volunteered to do before- and he snuffed out his ciggy and ran in to retrieve my number for me.
I have to give props to one affable young man I have had the pleasure of interacting with lately. He works in the deli, where ordinarily I feel like I've interrupted a druggie from getting his fix. "Can I help you?" is what comes out of their mouths but their body language screams, What do you want?
When I was in high school, I worked at a Chick-fil-a for two years. The expectation was to be kind and courteous to the customer. If I had behaved any differently, I would have been canned.
This is big. Customer serviced at Ingles. I wonder what happened? Did the expectations from management change? Or was it anomaly for Sunday afternoon shopping? Perhaps now that the economy is sour, management has some leverage to get people to expend a little energy to keep their jobs.
Whatever the reason, I like it!
Saturday, June 21, 2008
Drug Talk
Last week, I was driving my firecracker and his friend from church to their All Star practice when I realized that his friend, who is 8 years old, was talking to my FC about Pot. We had just passed a store called the Octopus Garden and he was explaining to FC that the store sold Marijuana paraphernalia. FC had never heard of this, so his friend, in the most matter-of-fact way, began to explain what Pot/Marijuana/ Weed is. That's right, he knew all the terms. I managed to add that it is illegal to grow, sell or smoke pot. FC asked why people smoke Pot. I explained that it made people feel funny. His friend added that it made people feel like they were in another world. Then he said that people who smoke it aren't very smart. Setting me up for the follow up question from FC.
Mom, do you know anyone who has ever smoked Pot? (I guess he figures I know lots of no-so-smart people).
Yes.
Who?
Me.
Why did you smoke it?
Because she felt peer pressure, his 8 year old friend answered.
That was a good enough answer for me.
I went on to warn of all the brain cells that are lost when you smoke pot. I have no idea if this is true, but I believed it when I was a teenager. I guess I figured my brain cells needed a little room to move about.
I thought this conversation was years away. But it really was as natural as talking about the College Baseball World Series.
Mom, do you know anyone who has ever smoked Pot? (I guess he figures I know lots of no-so-smart people).
Yes.
Who?
Me.
Why did you smoke it?
Because she felt peer pressure, his 8 year old friend answered.
That was a good enough answer for me.
I went on to warn of all the brain cells that are lost when you smoke pot. I have no idea if this is true, but I believed it when I was a teenager. I guess I figured my brain cells needed a little room to move about.
I thought this conversation was years away. But it really was as natural as talking about the College Baseball World Series.
Friday, June 20, 2008
Off the Map
The longer I stay away, the more I feel I need to explain my absence. I'm not sure why. Maybe I'm really explaining it to myself. Life got busy at the end of the school year. My brainiac graduated from 5Th grade and both the boys were playing baseball so we spent most of our spare time happily watching our boys participate and most of our money at Jersey Mikes.
We spent a week at the beach with our boys plus 2; they each brought a friend. Sounded like a good idea in theory but it made me nervous to be responsible for two other precious lives while I watched the waves pummel and toss them in the angry sea. I gave them the rip tide speech every day.
If you get caught in a rip-tide swim parallel to the shore until you swim out of it. Whatever you do...
We know, we know, they said rolling their eyes for effect, you told us yesterday.
I'm more than a little nervous around water and kids.
When I was 4 or 5, my father hurled me up on his shoulders and waded into the ocean. It wasn't long before a nasty wave knocked us about and I was separated from him, tumbling in the foam and water. I had no idea how to swim. I was at the end of breath (which was probably 5 seconds) when my dad plucked me from the waves, dramatically saving my life. At least that is how I remember it.
Fast forward 30 years. My boys were 2 and 5 years old. We were swimming at an Asheville pool over Memorial Day weekend. I guess I heard the man's voice first - Lifeguard, help me. She's not breathing. I looked up to see a man in the middle of the pool holding a limp girl. The teenage lifeguard seemed to freeze and moved off of his stand at a snail's pace. The first responder, was another dad at the pool. My husband assisted. We cleared the pool and everyone became eerily quiet, except my two year old who wanted a snack. We watched the two responders work on the girl for what seemed inordinately long while her Dad stood over them, his hands clasped towards the sky in prayer. My boys and I said prayers also. Finally, the girl lurched and water came pouring from her tiny body. She lived.
Later my husband told me it was the first time that the first responder had done CPR. And that the girl had no femoral pulse. She was gone. Thank goodness for their quick response.
So swimming at the ocean with 4 boys wasn't my idea of relaxation. But they seemed to enjoy it. And we all came home in one piece.
We spent a week at the beach with our boys plus 2; they each brought a friend. Sounded like a good idea in theory but it made me nervous to be responsible for two other precious lives while I watched the waves pummel and toss them in the angry sea. I gave them the rip tide speech every day.
If you get caught in a rip-tide swim parallel to the shore until you swim out of it. Whatever you do...
We know, we know, they said rolling their eyes for effect, you told us yesterday.
I'm more than a little nervous around water and kids.
When I was 4 or 5, my father hurled me up on his shoulders and waded into the ocean. It wasn't long before a nasty wave knocked us about and I was separated from him, tumbling in the foam and water. I had no idea how to swim. I was at the end of breath (which was probably 5 seconds) when my dad plucked me from the waves, dramatically saving my life. At least that is how I remember it.
Fast forward 30 years. My boys were 2 and 5 years old. We were swimming at an Asheville pool over Memorial Day weekend. I guess I heard the man's voice first - Lifeguard, help me. She's not breathing. I looked up to see a man in the middle of the pool holding a limp girl. The teenage lifeguard seemed to freeze and moved off of his stand at a snail's pace. The first responder, was another dad at the pool. My husband assisted. We cleared the pool and everyone became eerily quiet, except my two year old who wanted a snack. We watched the two responders work on the girl for what seemed inordinately long while her Dad stood over them, his hands clasped towards the sky in prayer. My boys and I said prayers also. Finally, the girl lurched and water came pouring from her tiny body. She lived.
Later my husband told me it was the first time that the first responder had done CPR. And that the girl had no femoral pulse. She was gone. Thank goodness for their quick response.
So swimming at the ocean with 4 boys wasn't my idea of relaxation. But they seemed to enjoy it. And we all came home in one piece.
Friday, May 23, 2008
Away
Yeah, I've been away for a while. But I have thought about coming here, A LOT. There's a lot going on here, mostly good but let me start with this.
My boys had duel well appointments with the Pediatrician yesterday. My oldest is about to embark upon middle school and my youngest is headed for 3rd grade. They are two and 1/2 years apart but only 1 & 1/2 pounds apart. My youngest, the Firecracker, is 8 and weighs 65 pounds. He had gained 1 pound and 2 & 1/2 inches since last year. Finally, with some sleep, the growth hormone has kicked in!
My basset hound weighs 66 pounds. They are all hanging in there together.
But that's not the point.
They both were due for vaccinations which much to my husband's chagrin, I question. But after a lengthy discussion with our Doc, I decided to get a couple for the Brainiac and one for the FC.
FC was adamant he wasn't going to get a shot.
It reminded me of the time when I was 8. Some friends told tales of getting their tetanus shot and how many nurses "had to hold them down." I was determined to have at least that many hold me down, so I would have a story to tell - it never occurred to me to lie to my friends instead of causing pain and drama to all involved. So I pitched a fit. I bet my mother thought, WTF? It took two nurses and my mom to hold me down.
FC was headed in that direction but I somehow coerced him into may lap and before he knew it, the shot was over. Really not a big deal. I'm just glad they are well.
My boys had duel well appointments with the Pediatrician yesterday. My oldest is about to embark upon middle school and my youngest is headed for 3rd grade. They are two and 1/2 years apart but only 1 & 1/2 pounds apart. My youngest, the Firecracker, is 8 and weighs 65 pounds. He had gained 1 pound and 2 & 1/2 inches since last year. Finally, with some sleep, the growth hormone has kicked in!
My basset hound weighs 66 pounds. They are all hanging in there together.
But that's not the point.
They both were due for vaccinations which much to my husband's chagrin, I question. But after a lengthy discussion with our Doc, I decided to get a couple for the Brainiac and one for the FC.
FC was adamant he wasn't going to get a shot.
It reminded me of the time when I was 8. Some friends told tales of getting their tetanus shot and how many nurses "had to hold them down." I was determined to have at least that many hold me down, so I would have a story to tell - it never occurred to me to lie to my friends instead of causing pain and drama to all involved. So I pitched a fit. I bet my mother thought, WTF? It took two nurses and my mom to hold me down.
FC was headed in that direction but I somehow coerced him into may lap and before he knew it, the shot was over. Really not a big deal. I'm just glad they are well.
Sunday, May 04, 2008
Passed Out
The Brainiac turned 11 on Friday and had a big weekend. Friday night he attended an Obama Rally, where Gladys Knight sang and Michelle Obama spoke. When we arrived, he discovered many of his friends were there and they played at the back of the quad while the many introductory speeches droned on. When Michelle finally took stage, they found a tree to perch in and listened for a while.
Saturday he had a soccer game, a baseball game and 7 boys sleep over. They were asleep by 10:30 last night but they hit the ground running this morning, racing down to dam up the creek that inspired a mud fight yesterday evening. The last boy dispersed at noon so he had a little down time before he went to practice baseball. At 6:45 this evening, we found him passed out.
I think it's safe to say it was a good weekend.
After tending to 8 boys for 24 hours in a two bed room cabin, I'm ready for my bed too. Nighty night.
Saturday he had a soccer game, a baseball game and 7 boys sleep over. They were asleep by 10:30 last night but they hit the ground running this morning, racing down to dam up the creek that inspired a mud fight yesterday evening. The last boy dispersed at noon so he had a little down time before he went to practice baseball. At 6:45 this evening, we found him passed out.
I think it's safe to say it was a good weekend.
After tending to 8 boys for 24 hours in a two bed room cabin, I'm ready for my bed too. Nighty night.
Friday, May 02, 2008
Brainiac Baseball
My brainiac, who is 11 today, has decided to try baseball for the first time. I was a little weary of it, considering his lack of skill set for the sport. Surely all the other kids would be so far ahead of him that he would feel inferior and spend all his time pining the bench in the dugout.
Not so. There are plenty at his level, though thankfully there are some who are more advanced so the game actually looks like baseball. And his coach is a sweetheart. He even played B at third base one inning during their first game yesterday.
His first bat found him with a full count, the bases loaded and two outs. He struck out. I would have been crushed had it been me. But it didn't bother him. Partly because he just doesn't take on that kind of pressure. Partly because he doesn't quite get the game yet.
His second (and last)bat he was beamed by a pitch. A hard pitch. Stunned, tears streaming down his face, he walked to first, trying to shake it off. Lucky for him the very next pitch was a passed ball and he was sent to steal second. Safe. Still reeling, he rubbed his arm but the next pitch passed the catcher again and he was sent to third. Safe. Two pitches later, another passed pitch and he was headed for home. As he closed in on the plate, I heard his coach yell, "Slide." At this point, I'm thinking, he doesn't know how to slide, but then he hit the dirt, one foot gliding over the plate. Safe again.
His team won 7-6 in the bottom of the last inning. Of course, we pointed out that his run was critical in that win! The best part to him, though, was the reception he received after scoring the run. Lots of high fives and folks slapping his helmet.
I think he's going to like this game.
Not so. There are plenty at his level, though thankfully there are some who are more advanced so the game actually looks like baseball. And his coach is a sweetheart. He even played B at third base one inning during their first game yesterday.
His first bat found him with a full count, the bases loaded and two outs. He struck out. I would have been crushed had it been me. But it didn't bother him. Partly because he just doesn't take on that kind of pressure. Partly because he doesn't quite get the game yet.
His second (and last)bat he was beamed by a pitch. A hard pitch. Stunned, tears streaming down his face, he walked to first, trying to shake it off. Lucky for him the very next pitch was a passed ball and he was sent to steal second. Safe. Still reeling, he rubbed his arm but the next pitch passed the catcher again and he was sent to third. Safe. Two pitches later, another passed pitch and he was headed for home. As he closed in on the plate, I heard his coach yell, "Slide." At this point, I'm thinking, he doesn't know how to slide, but then he hit the dirt, one foot gliding over the plate. Safe again.
His team won 7-6 in the bottom of the last inning. Of course, we pointed out that his run was critical in that win! The best part to him, though, was the reception he received after scoring the run. Lots of high fives and folks slapping his helmet.
I think he's going to like this game.
Thursday, May 01, 2008
Crack TV
I've been a fan of American Idol since the beginning. No, I'm not bragging. It's a sad state of affairs. At least it's better than Rock of Love. And yeah, I have watched of few episodes of that train wreck. Kind of like watching a cat fight in high school.
But back to Idol. Seven years ago, when I ran across it, flipping channels, I was hooked from the beginning. I couldn't wait until the next week to get my fix - see the whole spectacle over again. It is fundamentally flawed as a talent contest because it is NOT a talent contest. It's a popularity contest. And to ever make it in front of Paula Abdul, Randy Jackson and Simon Cowell, you first have to pass through a preliminary round with Fox talent judges. You only move past them if you are so absolutely terrible that you are laughable and will be good entertainment, or you have a decent voice AND a story -your Dad's in prison, your a single parent, your husband's face is tattooed, your a total goody two shoes and you've never seen a R movie, your a chick who rides a Harley, etc. It makes for good TV ratings you see.
But still, these kids - OK some of them aren't kids anymore - don't care. They want a chance to show their stuff. Can't blame them for giving it a shot. Two of the most, if not THE most talented performers have already been voted off this season- Karly and Michael. Coincidentally, neither are originally from America. Perhaps that hurt them. Surely, they would land on their feet. I'd buy their albums. If I had any money.
Of the four that are left, one stands head and shoulders above the rest.
First, let me digress and say that it was time that Brooke got booted from the show. She had a decent voice and did a good job of picking songs that complimented her narrow range but she doesn't have the goods to make it in the industry, unless she perhaps breaks free as a singer/songwriter. I think her wholesome girl, golly gee, act was wearing a little thin. I'm not saying she wasn't genuinely wholesome but it finally lost it's luster to the folks, the viewers, that are voting. Now I love me some crack TV, but I'm proud to say I never, ever, not even once, voted. I feel like that has kept me from falling over the edge and never finding my way back.
Ok, back to the one that stands out. David Cook. He's da bomb, as Randy Jackson would say. He can sing and perform and play the guitar and rearrange the song to suit his style. I'm not sure how he got through the preliminary rounds though, as he doesn't seem to have a "story". Of the other three, one can flat out sing; David A. But I'm so over him. He's the same every week. He just sings, always nailing the song and knocking the judges socks off, but he doesn't perform. He'd be so boring in this age of Videos. Then there is Syesha, who has a decent voice but is an incredible performer. She could get a record deal though, if someone else picks her songs. Last is the John Travolta look-a-like, Jason. A little bit of James Taylor mixed with Bob Marley. He's likable but so incredibly mellow. I think it would be hard to fit him in a specific music genre.
Now I dig the competition, but I really dig Simon's candid critique of the contestants. Most of the time I agree with him. I wouldn't be so blatant, but I love that he is. Someone has to balance Paula who apparently has more than soda in her Coke cup. She has difficulty articulating her thoughts almost every time she speaks. And on this week's show she started critiquing Jason's second song when he hadn't even sung it yet. Huh?
But Paula has inspired me.
To get bangs cut. She has good hair.
But back to Idol. Seven years ago, when I ran across it, flipping channels, I was hooked from the beginning. I couldn't wait until the next week to get my fix - see the whole spectacle over again. It is fundamentally flawed as a talent contest because it is NOT a talent contest. It's a popularity contest. And to ever make it in front of Paula Abdul, Randy Jackson and Simon Cowell, you first have to pass through a preliminary round with Fox talent judges. You only move past them if you are so absolutely terrible that you are laughable and will be good entertainment, or you have a decent voice AND a story -your Dad's in prison, your a single parent, your husband's face is tattooed, your a total goody two shoes and you've never seen a R movie, your a chick who rides a Harley, etc. It makes for good TV ratings you see.
But still, these kids - OK some of them aren't kids anymore - don't care. They want a chance to show their stuff. Can't blame them for giving it a shot. Two of the most, if not THE most talented performers have already been voted off this season- Karly and Michael. Coincidentally, neither are originally from America. Perhaps that hurt them. Surely, they would land on their feet. I'd buy their albums. If I had any money.
Of the four that are left, one stands head and shoulders above the rest.
First, let me digress and say that it was time that Brooke got booted from the show. She had a decent voice and did a good job of picking songs that complimented her narrow range but she doesn't have the goods to make it in the industry, unless she perhaps breaks free as a singer/songwriter. I think her wholesome girl, golly gee, act was wearing a little thin. I'm not saying she wasn't genuinely wholesome but it finally lost it's luster to the folks, the viewers, that are voting. Now I love me some crack TV, but I'm proud to say I never, ever, not even once, voted. I feel like that has kept me from falling over the edge and never finding my way back.
Ok, back to the one that stands out. David Cook. He's da bomb, as Randy Jackson would say. He can sing and perform and play the guitar and rearrange the song to suit his style. I'm not sure how he got through the preliminary rounds though, as he doesn't seem to have a "story". Of the other three, one can flat out sing; David A. But I'm so over him. He's the same every week. He just sings, always nailing the song and knocking the judges socks off, but he doesn't perform. He'd be so boring in this age of Videos. Then there is Syesha, who has a decent voice but is an incredible performer. She could get a record deal though, if someone else picks her songs. Last is the John Travolta look-a-like, Jason. A little bit of James Taylor mixed with Bob Marley. He's likable but so incredibly mellow. I think it would be hard to fit him in a specific music genre.
Now I dig the competition, but I really dig Simon's candid critique of the contestants. Most of the time I agree with him. I wouldn't be so blatant, but I love that he is. Someone has to balance Paula who apparently has more than soda in her Coke cup. She has difficulty articulating her thoughts almost every time she speaks. And on this week's show she started critiquing Jason's second song when he hadn't even sung it yet. Huh?
But Paula has inspired me.
To get bangs cut. She has good hair.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Campaign Slogans
In a recent conversation with some friends we remarked that sound bytes and catchy slogans really seem to work and grab the attention of American Voters - remember Bush 2 with 'compassionate conservative'?
Anyway I was reminded of my bid for Senior Class Vice President of Pine Forest Senior High School in the early eighties. My slogans were:
Fred is Dead, so vote Tracey for VP
and
My Aunt Myrtle Wears a Tight Girdle so vote..
There was another, but I can't remember it.
I won. Shocking, eh?
Anyway I was reminded of my bid for Senior Class Vice President of Pine Forest Senior High School in the early eighties. My slogans were:
Fred is Dead, so vote Tracey for VP
and
My Aunt Myrtle Wears a Tight Girdle so vote..
There was another, but I can't remember it.
I won. Shocking, eh?
Friday, April 18, 2008
Nite Out: Barack The Vote
Despite being sick and lame, I made it off the couch last night to go see Arrested Development, Bela Fleck and Abigail Washburn at Barack the Vote at the Orange Peel. It's only a spring cold but it still knocked me on my bum and I was this close to canceling. Lucky for me, I was carpooling two friends who didn't know each other and I felt responsible for getting them to the gig.
We parked just North of the Peel and as we walked past the City Bakery, some folks were advertising that Arrested Development was inside. We ducked in and they were there indeed, not eating a snack but all lined up sitting against a wall and behind tables, ready to sign autographs. My two friends had barely heard of Arrested Development and I had not heard of their music since the nineties and "Tennessee" so I didn't know the lead singer from the drummer. But they were terribly gracious folks, bantering with us as we moved along receiving each autograph on our newly purchased CDs. We thanked them for their obvious pro bono work; our tickets were $5 each. They told us they had done two other gigs like this for Obama; one in Columbia and one in Atlanta where they are from.
We moseyed on down to the Peel and lingered outside for a while, signing up for Obama yard signs. Then we filed inside for a beer which temporarily quelled my cold symptoms. Being a politically charged event, the atmosphere was lively and energetic. A few people took the stage to speak, including an older distinguished looking woman who gives "hugs for Obama" near Pack Square every Friday night. She captured the crowd with her genuine enthusiasm, warmth and sincerity - once she learned that the microphone had to stay in front of her mouth, and not swing side to side like a pendulum. She spoke to the lot of us as if we were all 18, voting in our first election but we didn't care. We got where she was coming from. Our Mayor, Terry Bellamy, also gave an impassioned speech. I've never seen her so animated, but I've only seen her at the City Council meetings.
I had never heard Abigail Washburn or Bela Fleck. Together with Ben Sollee on cello and a fiddle player (who was absent) they make up the Sparrow Quartet. They were amazing but being an acustic gig they were partially drowned out by many in the crowd who were talking.
Arrested Development was fantastic and engaging. I was bummed when they wrapped up their set around 11pm but in reality I needed to get home before I turned into a pumpkin. So we weaved our way up Biltmore Ave, my friend, Susan, stopping to intervene in an argument between two drunk young men. "Hugs for Obama," she said. That sentiment wasn't as appealing to these two but I think the shock from her intervention style stopped their arguing, temporarily at least.
I bussed my friends back to their abodes and came on home to nurse the cold. I'm glad I made it off the couch, even if I have to pay for it today.
We parked just North of the Peel and as we walked past the City Bakery, some folks were advertising that Arrested Development was inside. We ducked in and they were there indeed, not eating a snack but all lined up sitting against a wall and behind tables, ready to sign autographs. My two friends had barely heard of Arrested Development and I had not heard of their music since the nineties and "Tennessee" so I didn't know the lead singer from the drummer. But they were terribly gracious folks, bantering with us as we moved along receiving each autograph on our newly purchased CDs. We thanked them for their obvious pro bono work; our tickets were $5 each. They told us they had done two other gigs like this for Obama; one in Columbia and one in Atlanta where they are from.
We moseyed on down to the Peel and lingered outside for a while, signing up for Obama yard signs. Then we filed inside for a beer which temporarily quelled my cold symptoms. Being a politically charged event, the atmosphere was lively and energetic. A few people took the stage to speak, including an older distinguished looking woman who gives "hugs for Obama" near Pack Square every Friday night. She captured the crowd with her genuine enthusiasm, warmth and sincerity - once she learned that the microphone had to stay in front of her mouth, and not swing side to side like a pendulum. She spoke to the lot of us as if we were all 18, voting in our first election but we didn't care. We got where she was coming from. Our Mayor, Terry Bellamy, also gave an impassioned speech. I've never seen her so animated, but I've only seen her at the City Council meetings.
I had never heard Abigail Washburn or Bela Fleck. Together with Ben Sollee on cello and a fiddle player (who was absent) they make up the Sparrow Quartet. They were amazing but being an acustic gig they were partially drowned out by many in the crowd who were talking.
Arrested Development was fantastic and engaging. I was bummed when they wrapped up their set around 11pm but in reality I needed to get home before I turned into a pumpkin. So we weaved our way up Biltmore Ave, my friend, Susan, stopping to intervene in an argument between two drunk young men. "Hugs for Obama," she said. That sentiment wasn't as appealing to these two but I think the shock from her intervention style stopped their arguing, temporarily at least.
I bussed my friends back to their abodes and came on home to nurse the cold. I'm glad I made it off the couch, even if I have to pay for it today.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Mr Curbie
Today is trash and recycling day in my hood. There was a time, back when the babes were in diapers that missing the trash folks was such bad news that I would load up the trash in my van and chase the trash truck through my neighborhood rather than be with the stinky mess for another week.
These days, the trash isn't the problem; its the recycling that is mammoth. We fill up four bins, half of it mixed paper. So this morning while parked in front of the computer, I heard the familiar clanking of glass and metal and realized that the Curbie dude, was on my street. Early. Still in my red velour snowflake pajama bottoms, hair askew and teeth not brushed, I slipped into my Carolina blue fluff Crocs, a Christmas gift from my brother, and hustled out the back door to my recycling pile. I grabbed one bin and hastened to catch Curbie four houses down. When Curbie caught sight of me, he said chuckling, "Girl, where'd you come from?" Graciously taking my bin from me, he volunteered to back up and get the rest. I huffed it back, as fast as any woman could in backless shoes, and in a feat not much unlike those who lift up two thousand pounds of a burning vehicle to save some one's life, I heaved two of those hefty bins, brimming with cereal boxes, newspapers and junk mail and shuffled to the street to meet Curbie. I watched as he unloaded them, waiting to thank him for his kindness. He then turned to me, stacking my bins on the ground next to me and said, "There's one thing I need you to do." And before I could say anything, he said with a sincere smile, "Give me a good morning hug," wrapping his arms around me in paternalistic manner.
What a sweetie, Mr Curbie.
These days, the trash isn't the problem; its the recycling that is mammoth. We fill up four bins, half of it mixed paper. So this morning while parked in front of the computer, I heard the familiar clanking of glass and metal and realized that the Curbie dude, was on my street. Early. Still in my red velour snowflake pajama bottoms, hair askew and teeth not brushed, I slipped into my Carolina blue fluff Crocs, a Christmas gift from my brother, and hustled out the back door to my recycling pile. I grabbed one bin and hastened to catch Curbie four houses down. When Curbie caught sight of me, he said chuckling, "Girl, where'd you come from?" Graciously taking my bin from me, he volunteered to back up and get the rest. I huffed it back, as fast as any woman could in backless shoes, and in a feat not much unlike those who lift up two thousand pounds of a burning vehicle to save some one's life, I heaved two of those hefty bins, brimming with cereal boxes, newspapers and junk mail and shuffled to the street to meet Curbie. I watched as he unloaded them, waiting to thank him for his kindness. He then turned to me, stacking my bins on the ground next to me and said, "There's one thing I need you to do." And before I could say anything, he said with a sincere smile, "Give me a good morning hug," wrapping his arms around me in paternalistic manner.
What a sweetie, Mr Curbie.
Thursday, April 03, 2008
Good Day
The day started with a run with the hound dog. Really more like a drag. I ran less than 2 miles in 25 minutes. Still its something. The girl scout cookies are still hanging around like a spare tire round my middle.
After the run, I huffed it over to Obama's HQ to volunteer registering voters. My friend and I were sent to Greenlife, where we registered 3 voters in a half hour. Those Greenlife folks are civic minded - all registered. Bob, the sweet shopping cart man, asked me if I was cold. yes. I was under dressed -why would I believe the weather folks? They have been totally wrong the last two days. Bob offered to fetch a coat from his car. What a sweetie. And the patrons of Greenlife were kind and courteous too. More than a few thanked us for what we were doing. We had an odd encounter with a well groomed, nice looking white man, about 50 years old. We asked him if he had registered. He replied that he couldn't because he was a convicted felon, all the while looking me straight in the eye and speaking loud enough for folks who were lingering to hear. We had been told that convicted felons can register as long as they have completed their parole and probation. So I began to tell him that when he interjected, I killed someone. Someone who was trying to get me to register to vote. Then he grinned and walked away. Nice joke, dude. Really.
After that we went to UNC-A to help. We met a young woman, Lauren, who is working her bootie off registering voters. She had 187 done in just one week.
Later in the day, I picked up some boys for soccer practice across town. I had 4, ten-year-olds in my van and sheesh was the smell funky. Somebody has hit puberty. The boys began talking about the cool Bud Lite commercials that have played during the NCAA tourney. I must say, the cavemen ones are pretty hilarious. And the "dude" ones too. Clever. Obviously very effective in capturing the 10 year old audience, too. YIKES!
Now, I'm readying myself for the visit with the rodent for the next 3 days. Not my idea of vacation but its what the DH wants to do. At least the weather will be favorable and the boys are old enough to ride some roller coasters this time.
After the run, I huffed it over to Obama's HQ to volunteer registering voters. My friend and I were sent to Greenlife, where we registered 3 voters in a half hour. Those Greenlife folks are civic minded - all registered. Bob, the sweet shopping cart man, asked me if I was cold. yes. I was under dressed -why would I believe the weather folks? They have been totally wrong the last two days. Bob offered to fetch a coat from his car. What a sweetie. And the patrons of Greenlife were kind and courteous too. More than a few thanked us for what we were doing. We had an odd encounter with a well groomed, nice looking white man, about 50 years old. We asked him if he had registered. He replied that he couldn't because he was a convicted felon, all the while looking me straight in the eye and speaking loud enough for folks who were lingering to hear. We had been told that convicted felons can register as long as they have completed their parole and probation. So I began to tell him that when he interjected, I killed someone. Someone who was trying to get me to register to vote. Then he grinned and walked away. Nice joke, dude. Really.
After that we went to UNC-A to help. We met a young woman, Lauren, who is working her bootie off registering voters. She had 187 done in just one week.
Later in the day, I picked up some boys for soccer practice across town. I had 4, ten-year-olds in my van and sheesh was the smell funky. Somebody has hit puberty. The boys began talking about the cool Bud Lite commercials that have played during the NCAA tourney. I must say, the cavemen ones are pretty hilarious. And the "dude" ones too. Clever. Obviously very effective in capturing the 10 year old audience, too. YIKES!
Now, I'm readying myself for the visit with the rodent for the next 3 days. Not my idea of vacation but its what the DH wants to do. At least the weather will be favorable and the boys are old enough to ride some roller coasters this time.
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Basketball and Botox
The Tarheel men's basketball team had the late game last night, playing Louisville in what amounted to a second half nail bitter - for me, anyway. The Tarheels played a brilliant first half, beating the full court press and running their fast break offense. The Tarheels seemingly in control, the conversation in our living room turned to Louisville coach, Rick Pitino's obvious use of Botox or cosmetic surgery. We even guessed then googled the ages of Williams (57) and Pitino (55).
Pitino obviously spent half time coaching rather than changing his suit and coiffing his hair, as he did during half time of their game vs Georgetown earlier in the season (which, btw, they won and Pitino later admitted- after first saying at the post game interview that he had spilled Diet Coke on his suit- that he changed from his Benny Hinn-white suit-get up because his blue boxers were starting to show through from butt sweat. Dude, TMI. I liked the Diet Coke story better.), and brought his boys back from an 12 point half-time deficit to a tie with about 10 minutes left to go.
Pitino seemed to have made an adjustment in strategy at half time, and his Cardinals came back and made basket after basket with the "give" - to their big man Padgett at the top of the key - and "go" to any player finding a hole in the Carolina defense. But in the end, Lawson and Hansbrough stepped in up for the Heels; Lawson weaving through the Cardinals' full court press with grace and ease, rendering it totally ineffective (back-up Quinton Thomas didn't fare so well). And Hansbrough, well, being Hansbrough, playing with intensity and confidence to the buzzer's blare.
Now for the final four. We have a conflict though. We have tickets to visit the Mouse in Florida next weekend. Personally I'd rather be watching hoops that trudging through crowds of crabby parents and overstimulated kids, but since we have already laid down the money, we best be out in the mayhem.
Pitino obviously spent half time coaching rather than changing his suit and coiffing his hair, as he did during half time of their game vs Georgetown earlier in the season (which, btw, they won and Pitino later admitted- after first saying at the post game interview that he had spilled Diet Coke on his suit- that he changed from his Benny Hinn-white suit-get up because his blue boxers were starting to show through from butt sweat. Dude, TMI. I liked the Diet Coke story better.), and brought his boys back from an 12 point half-time deficit to a tie with about 10 minutes left to go.
Pitino seemed to have made an adjustment in strategy at half time, and his Cardinals came back and made basket after basket with the "give" - to their big man Padgett at the top of the key - and "go" to any player finding a hole in the Carolina defense. But in the end, Lawson and Hansbrough stepped in up for the Heels; Lawson weaving through the Cardinals' full court press with grace and ease, rendering it totally ineffective (back-up Quinton Thomas didn't fare so well). And Hansbrough, well, being Hansbrough, playing with intensity and confidence to the buzzer's blare.
Now for the final four. We have a conflict though. We have tickets to visit the Mouse in Florida next weekend. Personally I'd rather be watching hoops that trudging through crowds of crabby parents and overstimulated kids, but since we have already laid down the money, we best be out in the mayhem.
Friday, March 28, 2008
Hurl,Trot and Hack
The Spring Break train not only brought snow but a gaggle of viruses that are roosting in our home. The Brainiac was down all day Sunday with a fever, then he hurled. The Firecracker woke up Tuesday with a severe case of the trots. Then early Thursday morning, while sleeping over at a friend's house, the B woke up to discover he had the trots, and they had, um, already trotted, if you know what I mean. Poor guy, he was up in the middle of the night trying to clean himself and the bed he was sleeping in without disturbing anyone. (I know, I konw. TMI) Now he has a head cold and cough to go with it.
Luckily, the adults have dodged the viruses, and we have largely enjoyed our vacation in Asheville, though we have done nothing resembling tourist activites, except eat a few take out dinners. The weather shaped up and we have been soaking it in - gardening, playing baseball, soccer and tennis, walking the dog. Of course, we watched college hoops on the tube.
Tomorrow brings rain and cooler weather, if you believe the weather folks round here, so I'm going to hit the trail with the hound dog while I have a chance.
Luckily, the adults have dodged the viruses, and we have largely enjoyed our vacation in Asheville, though we have done nothing resembling tourist activites, except eat a few take out dinners. The weather shaped up and we have been soaking it in - gardening, playing baseball, soccer and tennis, walking the dog. Of course, we watched college hoops on the tube.
Tomorrow brings rain and cooler weather, if you believe the weather folks round here, so I'm going to hit the trail with the hound dog while I have a chance.
Monday, March 24, 2008
Spring Break
Well it doesn't feel much like Spring Break here, mostly because it's 32 degrees with snow fluries supposedly turning to rain this afternoon. We were headed to the beach but decided to save some dough and stay here. It is supposed to warm up this week, so we have plans to enjoy Asheville like tourists AND get a few things done round the homestead.
Easter was a bit messy at our house - the Brainiac had a stomach bug. I didn't sleep well last night, half listening for the inevitable trips to hug the toilet, not just from the B. I always expect that it's just a matter of time before the rest of us fall like dominoes and make our path to toilet. But so far, we are all well, inlcluding B, who has recovered enought to play Nerf football with his little bro.
Speaking of.. here's the Firecracker with his best Tyler Hansbrough impression.
Easter was a bit messy at our house - the Brainiac had a stomach bug. I didn't sleep well last night, half listening for the inevitable trips to hug the toilet, not just from the B. I always expect that it's just a matter of time before the rest of us fall like dominoes and make our path to toilet. But so far, we are all well, inlcluding B, who has recovered enought to play Nerf football with his little bro.
Speaking of.. here's the Firecracker with his best Tyler Hansbrough impression.
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Cuba and Tourism
At the end of Cuba trip, we spent some time exploring in Havana. We visited this Jesus statue,a tourist attraction that overlooked the water.
Some folks in my group spent time speaking with a young, English speaking tour guide. He shared the history of the statue; it was commissioned by Batista's wife in 1957, several years before The Revolution. Batista was the corrupt Cuban dictator eventually ousted by Castro. It arrived from Italy in 67 pieces of marble. After further conversation with this man, they found out that he used to be school teacher but left his job to make more money being a tour guide working strictly for tips.
The average Cuban makes about $25 US dollars a month. Although they have free health care, housing, electricity, and food rations, this isn't much money. A tour guide can earn more than a typical day's pay with just one tip, presuming it is one CUC, the Cuban tourism Peso, basically equivalent to one US dollar. The CUC is worth much more that the national Peso that citizens use. So this young man left his secure teaching job to make more money telling the story of the Jesus statue. He wanted more money and apparently, according to him, others in similar respectable jobs including doctors and lawyers, have left their careers to become bellhops, waiters, etc to cash in on the tourist Peso and the financial boost it can provide.
The Tourism industry is something relatively new to Cuba. The government began promoting it in an effort to assist their ailing economy which was suffering greatly from the ongoing US Embargo and the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991, who until the collapse, had been their primary trade partner for almost 30 years.
When Castro took over the government in 1959, he essentially leveled the playing field with Socialized programs. He wiped out poverty by providing food rations for everyone. He closed the schools for 6 months and sent youth out to the rural areas to educate everyone to read and write. As a result, Cuba's literacy is better than the US. He provided housing, health care and jobs for everyone. Free enterprise and capitolism aren't part of the economic culture. There is seemingly no way to prosper financially. However, the tourism industry is providing some with the opportunity to advance financially. No doubt tourism has helped the Cuban economy but the two Peso system has altered the way some Cuban's view the Socialist system and what it does and doesn't provide.
We spent many hours traveling across the Island and every time we stopped to use a public restroom, whether at a gas station, restaurant or public park, there was someone attending it for tips. The attendant usually sat outside of the restroom, sometimes handing us toilet paper. Typically, the restrooms weren't clean. Most didn't have toilet seats - presumably another trade victim; it must be cost prohibitive to import, though I never asked anyone specifically. Still, we tipped, grateful to have somewhere private to do our bizness. Certainly bathroom attendant isn't the coveted tourism job, but it is a job, nonetheless.
I must say that we didn't witness any homelessness nor begging, sans the many stray, diseased dogs politely hovering round our dinner table at most open air restaurants, hoping for a scrap or two. And crime is very minimal. Coupled with the beautiful countryside and warm Cuban people, it unquestionably adds to the allure of Cuba as a desirable tourist destination.
Unless, of course, you are American, and prohibited from going there by your government.
Some folks in my group spent time speaking with a young, English speaking tour guide. He shared the history of the statue; it was commissioned by Batista's wife in 1957, several years before The Revolution. Batista was the corrupt Cuban dictator eventually ousted by Castro. It arrived from Italy in 67 pieces of marble. After further conversation with this man, they found out that he used to be school teacher but left his job to make more money being a tour guide working strictly for tips.
The average Cuban makes about $25 US dollars a month. Although they have free health care, housing, electricity, and food rations, this isn't much money. A tour guide can earn more than a typical day's pay with just one tip, presuming it is one CUC, the Cuban tourism Peso, basically equivalent to one US dollar. The CUC is worth much more that the national Peso that citizens use. So this young man left his secure teaching job to make more money telling the story of the Jesus statue. He wanted more money and apparently, according to him, others in similar respectable jobs including doctors and lawyers, have left their careers to become bellhops, waiters, etc to cash in on the tourist Peso and the financial boost it can provide.
The Tourism industry is something relatively new to Cuba. The government began promoting it in an effort to assist their ailing economy which was suffering greatly from the ongoing US Embargo and the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991, who until the collapse, had been their primary trade partner for almost 30 years.
When Castro took over the government in 1959, he essentially leveled the playing field with Socialized programs. He wiped out poverty by providing food rations for everyone. He closed the schools for 6 months and sent youth out to the rural areas to educate everyone to read and write. As a result, Cuba's literacy is better than the US. He provided housing, health care and jobs for everyone. Free enterprise and capitolism aren't part of the economic culture. There is seemingly no way to prosper financially. However, the tourism industry is providing some with the opportunity to advance financially. No doubt tourism has helped the Cuban economy but the two Peso system has altered the way some Cuban's view the Socialist system and what it does and doesn't provide.
We spent many hours traveling across the Island and every time we stopped to use a public restroom, whether at a gas station, restaurant or public park, there was someone attending it for tips. The attendant usually sat outside of the restroom, sometimes handing us toilet paper. Typically, the restrooms weren't clean. Most didn't have toilet seats - presumably another trade victim; it must be cost prohibitive to import, though I never asked anyone specifically. Still, we tipped, grateful to have somewhere private to do our bizness. Certainly bathroom attendant isn't the coveted tourism job, but it is a job, nonetheless.
I must say that we didn't witness any homelessness nor begging, sans the many stray, diseased dogs politely hovering round our dinner table at most open air restaurants, hoping for a scrap or two. And crime is very minimal. Coupled with the beautiful countryside and warm Cuban people, it unquestionably adds to the allure of Cuba as a desirable tourist destination.
Unless, of course, you are American, and prohibited from going there by your government.
Friday, March 21, 2008
Cuban Agriculture
Finally something about Cuba, though I can't take credit for the photos. My friend, Marc, took them.
While in Cuba, we witnessed and learned of their nationally supported organic farming model. This was developed in response to loss of trade and support for their commercial agriculture model, due to the ongoing US Embargo and diminishing trade relations with the Soviet Union after the fall of the Soviet bloc. I found a paper by, Peter Rosset, on the Internet that explains it better than I. His words are in italics.
Because of the US Embargo in 1961, Cuba developed a relationship with the Soviet Union and heavily relied on them for trade. Cuba depended upon its socialist trading partners for petroleum, industrial equipment and supplies, fertilizer and pesticides, and foodstuffs. In the late 1980's relations became strained with the Soviet Union and imports/exports suffered greatly.
Cuban agriculture was based on large-scale, capital-intensive mono-culture, more similar in many ways to the Central Valley of California than to the typical Latin American small-scale farm. More than 90 percent of fertilizers and pesticides, or the ingredients to make them were imported from abroad. This demonstrates the degree of dependency exhibited by this style of farming, and the vulnerability of the island's economy to international market forces. When trade relations with the socialist bloc collapsed, pesticides and fertilizers virtually disappeared, and the availability of petroleum for agriculture dropped by half. Food imports also fell by more than a half. Suddenly, an agricultural system almost as modern and industrialized as that of California was faced with a three-pronged challenge: to essentially double food production while more than halving inputs - and at the same time maintaining export crop production so as not to further erode the country's desperate foreign exchange position.
Cuba moved to an alternative model of agriculture, one that promotes ecologically sustainable production by replacing the dependence on heavy farm machinery and chemical inputs with animal traction, crop and pasture rotation, soil conservation, organic soil inputs, biological pest control, and biofertilizers and biopesticides.
Our culinary experience in Cuba included eating only fresh fruits and vegetables: pineapple, guava, papaya, tomato, cabbage, cucumbers, green beans, onions, plantains, bananas, oranges - all grown on the island. The chicken was fresh not frozen, eh hum, it was just killed that day. My Brainiac loved "Cuban chicken" and the "chef" who made it for him. The eggs we had for breakfast each morning were especially fresh but all the butter and salt added while cooking probably enhanced the flavor just a bit. Of course, rice and beans were a staple at every meal - cooked in oil with salt and garlic added - and very tasty. Cuban food isn't spicy; spices are imports and if they were readily available or affordable, it wasn't evident.
We spent one day visiting the rural area outside of Camaguey. It was here that we saw the farm laborers bagging the rice. Below is a picture of the finished product.
Notice that this is on a blacktop road. Before the rice was scooped into the large sacks, it was occupying about 1/3 the width of the road and extended about 1/4 mile. That is where they dried the rice. Interesting.
We spent 5 days with our sister congregation in Camaguey, eating most of our meals with them. The last night we were there, they wanted to treat us to a "special meal". These people were so gracious and considerate that they wanted to share with us foods they didn't normally eat as the cost was prohibitive; fruit cocktail and canned tuna. The fruit cocktail consisted of fruits that weren't grown in Cuba. And surprisingly fish isn't something they eat much of either. It was the only time we were offered fish in our 10 days there. Camaguey isn't on the water, but it seems like fresh fish would be more affordable and common considering the proximity to the water. I never inquired. Perhaps it's the transportation involved to get fresh fish inland. A question for next trip, I guess.
While in Cuba, we witnessed and learned of their nationally supported organic farming model. This was developed in response to loss of trade and support for their commercial agriculture model, due to the ongoing US Embargo and diminishing trade relations with the Soviet Union after the fall of the Soviet bloc. I found a paper by, Peter Rosset, on the Internet that explains it better than I. His words are in italics.
Because of the US Embargo in 1961, Cuba developed a relationship with the Soviet Union and heavily relied on them for trade. Cuba depended upon its socialist trading partners for petroleum, industrial equipment and supplies, fertilizer and pesticides, and foodstuffs. In the late 1980's relations became strained with the Soviet Union and imports/exports suffered greatly.
Cuban agriculture was based on large-scale, capital-intensive mono-culture, more similar in many ways to the Central Valley of California than to the typical Latin American small-scale farm. More than 90 percent of fertilizers and pesticides, or the ingredients to make them were imported from abroad. This demonstrates the degree of dependency exhibited by this style of farming, and the vulnerability of the island's economy to international market forces. When trade relations with the socialist bloc collapsed, pesticides and fertilizers virtually disappeared, and the availability of petroleum for agriculture dropped by half. Food imports also fell by more than a half. Suddenly, an agricultural system almost as modern and industrialized as that of California was faced with a three-pronged challenge: to essentially double food production while more than halving inputs - and at the same time maintaining export crop production so as not to further erode the country's desperate foreign exchange position.
Cuba moved to an alternative model of agriculture, one that promotes ecologically sustainable production by replacing the dependence on heavy farm machinery and chemical inputs with animal traction, crop and pasture rotation, soil conservation, organic soil inputs, biological pest control, and biofertilizers and biopesticides.
Our culinary experience in Cuba included eating only fresh fruits and vegetables: pineapple, guava, papaya, tomato, cabbage, cucumbers, green beans, onions, plantains, bananas, oranges - all grown on the island. The chicken was fresh not frozen, eh hum, it was just killed that day. My Brainiac loved "Cuban chicken" and the "chef" who made it for him. The eggs we had for breakfast each morning were especially fresh but all the butter and salt added while cooking probably enhanced the flavor just a bit. Of course, rice and beans were a staple at every meal - cooked in oil with salt and garlic added - and very tasty. Cuban food isn't spicy; spices are imports and if they were readily available or affordable, it wasn't evident.
We spent one day visiting the rural area outside of Camaguey. It was here that we saw the farm laborers bagging the rice. Below is a picture of the finished product.
Notice that this is on a blacktop road. Before the rice was scooped into the large sacks, it was occupying about 1/3 the width of the road and extended about 1/4 mile. That is where they dried the rice. Interesting.
We spent 5 days with our sister congregation in Camaguey, eating most of our meals with them. The last night we were there, they wanted to treat us to a "special meal". These people were so gracious and considerate that they wanted to share with us foods they didn't normally eat as the cost was prohibitive; fruit cocktail and canned tuna. The fruit cocktail consisted of fruits that weren't grown in Cuba. And surprisingly fish isn't something they eat much of either. It was the only time we were offered fish in our 10 days there. Camaguey isn't on the water, but it seems like fresh fish would be more affordable and common considering the proximity to the water. I never inquired. Perhaps it's the transportation involved to get fresh fish inland. A question for next trip, I guess.
Monday, March 17, 2008
Welcome Back, Lawson
Much of the weekend was spent watching ACC hoops and my favorite basketball sons, the Tarheels. It's been an interesting season in Chapel Hill. The Heels' amazing point guard, Ty Lawson, was out for six or so games with a sprained ankle giving the once spastic Quinton Thomas a chance to mature into a leader and have a positiv minutes while on the court. Since Lawson's return a few weeks ago, he hasn't been a hundred percent. But yesterday, even though coach Williams said he's still not fully whole, he made things happen. It was good to see him back. Dude, he is so exciting to watch. Sometimes it seems as if he just hits some turbo charge button, takes off and blazes past everyone on the court like they are standing still.
Sometime mid-way through the second half I started singing the Welcome Back Kotter tune each time Lawson worked some of his magic, making the layups look so easy, and dishing the ball off for one of his 8 assists. My Firecracker was annoyed. I was happy.
Welcome back. Welcome back. Welcome baaack.
Sometime mid-way through the second half I started singing the Welcome Back Kotter tune each time Lawson worked some of his magic, making the layups look so easy, and dishing the ball off for one of his 8 assists. My Firecracker was annoyed. I was happy.
Welcome back. Welcome back. Welcome baaack.
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