The Thicker Stew

Remember the day I got in trouble--I didn't want to play Barbies with you. I was in fifth grade and you were in third. I was tired of the Dream House and My Little Pony and being a child with you. You told Mom, so I had two choices, "Play with your sister, or go in timeout."

So, I did play, but to make it more interesting all the Barbies were hookers and Ken was a pimp. This must have been sometime after 'Pretty Woman' came out, and it took years to realize most hookers were crackwhores.

Then one year you tried to grow up faster than I did. While my friends and I were all about cigarettes and coffee you were partying wild enough to get your stomach pumped three times, to get arrested twice. I still remember that fight we had on the stairs, when I grabbed your neck to scare you, but you were really choking. I don't remember what the fight was about, but the image burned in my mind that "Yeah, my sister and I didn't get along when we were in high school. I think we hated each other."

Then another memory, as vivid as that. You came home at five in the morning and your energy was racing so fast that from my bed I felt my chest exploding.

"Hey, quiet down," I said.

"Did I say something?"

"Nope but I can feel your energy racing from here."

You couldn't get to sleep in your bed. You crawled into mine and fell asleep mumbling, "I love you." You were all fucked up on ecstasy, but I loved you too.

The taste of sorrow is an apple tree half juiced at the end of summer, when the air starts to smell boozy and the bees wind in and out of the near rotten fruits.

Laureline was on the brink of leaving him...

Maybe it was those damn paper lanterns. He had them all over the house: through the living room, on the front porch, even in the bathroom, the kitchen. She had always liked paper lanterns, but as more of them appeared, the more ominous they seemed.

It started on the front porch, tiny strands of lights with little globes of vibrant colored paper made the nights they spent out there smoking and drinking wine seem a little bit whimsical. He put up a bamboo screen to keep their spot hidden from the neighbors, and it became romantic.

It seemed natural the lanterns should move into the living room, echoing the exotic accent coming in the front windows. But inside it was the full sized version. First there was one large white globe, then three. Laureline wasn't bothered until they started moving through the whole house, multiplying like some kind of paper pod infestation. Then, it just didn't feel normal anymore, was even un-American.

Sometimes it reminded her of a galaxy, all those glowing orbs suspended from the ceiling. Sometimes it reminded her of Christmas.

Either way, there was something unnatural about the house now, and while starring at the lighted spheres she couldn't keep her mind from wandering. They were in every room, so she was thinking of leaving him.

Ed was crazy in a good way...

Ed was the guy who used his whole paycheck to buy me one dinner. Ed was the guy with four dogs and six cats, because when the local vet called him up with some abandoned animals story, Ed just couldn't say no. Ed was the guy who bought two tickets to New York for his mother on her sixtieth birthday, even though he forgot to pay the power bill.

"I'll be in New York," he said. "What do I need electricity in Columbus for?"

On stormy nights, Ed would gather his girlfriend and all his pets into the windowless bathroom to listen to weather radio and wait out the tornado watch. He kept a stash of comforters and pillows in the bathroom closet he used to make Rebecca, his girlfriend, comfortable in the bathtub while he kept vigil on the toilet. The room would really smell like doggy when they were done. Then Ed would call his mother, ask if she was alright, double check she had enough batteries.

Ed was convinced the world would one day end during a thunderstorm.

Maureen was not the kind of girl you would want to marry...

The woman is vacuuming, but the vacuum bag is full. She pushes the overworked and blaring mechanical beast back and forth across the fuzz covered oriental rug. There is a distinct smell of popcorn and burned rubber. She talks to herself and kicks the vacuum. Maureen doesn't know much about keeping houses clean, or perhaps she just doesn't know how to apply it.

When Jason arrives she isn't dressed or ready. She answers the door in flannel pajama pants, her hair drying to a frizzy mess.

"I was just cleaning," she says. "Cat is on her way; she thinks she might be a few minutes late."

Maureen sits down at the kitchen table, flips the television channels until she finds Judge Judy.

Jason is stuck to make a place for himself, tumbling piles of newspaper and mail are piled on every chair.

Maureen sits next to the water cooler. She doesn't use a glass to drink, just puts her lips under the faucet and lets the water bubble and gurgle right into her mouth.

"When Cat gets here I'll get ready to go."

All the glasses are broken or crusted over in the sink.

"I'm pretty hungry," Jason says. "I thought you would be ready already."

Maureen picks her nails, stares at the TV.

"Well, I didn't want to be stuck waiting around for you guys to get here."

"When you understand that what you're telling is just a story. It isn't happening anymore. When you realize the story you're telling is just words, when you can just crumble it up and throw your past in the trashcan, then we'll figure out who you're going to be." -Princess Brandy Alexander, Invisible Monsters, Chuck Palahniuk

The Things They Don't Tell You

For three years, I took Effexor XR 300mg/day.

The thing they don't tell you, is you will want to come off of it one day.

I shopped psychotropics, they worked then didn't. When I began the Effexor regimen, it was at a lower dose; we (Dr. and I) kept increasing based on results. How soon until I could get out of bed on my own? How many milligrams until I felt like washing my hair, until I could talk to friends and strangers, could I look them in the face, did I notice they were there? How much until the veil lifted?

I'm not really ready for that part of the past--the how I got there and where did I go. I'm somewhere else now, back to living med-free.

The thing they don't tell you, is if you miss one dose you will be blind-sided by pain, your head will spin, you forget where you are, how to speak, what are the words. If you miss a does you will burst into tears when you see a man miss the bus home after a day of work and try to run it down. When you miss a dose you will forget to get up from bed for hours, maybe even 36.

When you want to come off your medication, you must be desperate, because you are afraid of all the things you've felt when you have missed just one dose.

The thing they don't tell you, is you will gain 90 lbs. You will think you are just getting fat, or eating poorly, until you keep a diet journal and an exercise log and find that you are eating well, you are working out regularly, you are still getting fat. You will get so fat you stop having sex. You will be so fat and numb you forget what sex is. You will be getting married, and wondering if you will ever feel like having sex again. You will watch the pounds continue to pile on. You will become depressed, you will feel helpless against these side-effects from the drug meant to stave off the depression, meant to lift the helplessness. You will find yourself trapped in circular thoughts about the side-effects from this drug that is supposed to rescue you from circular thought. You will feel desperate. You will feel depressed, heavily, so you don't want to leave the house or talk about "how things are going". You will be desperate to have control of your body again, and be off your medication.

The thing they don't tell you is, this process will take at least six months. It will take you more than one month just to stop taking the pills. It is a gradual step down, you go 75mg less per week. Week one is OK, in fact you convince yourself you actually feel better, have more energy, are enthusiastic about life in general. Week two you can't get out of bed, you are an hour and a half late for work because you sleep through your alarm completely, you are forced to tell your boss about the changes taking place. Week three begins the craziness, you have no stable emotions. You cry if you are angry, you cry if you are happy, you cry if you have to talk to someone. In general, this crying continues through weeks four and five. As the process continues you become severely insecure, any word or look can set you off, you feel like a crazy person because you have zero control over the crying or your brain. You throw a radio at a coworker just because you're sick of hearing them speak, forced to leave the building, come back 15 minutes later to apologize and try not to feel humiliated.

As weeks go on, your irritability increases. Your doctor says in six months it will pass, your father gives you a brochure on handling post acute withdrawal; it says avoid contact with stressful situations. Your irritability and levels of anxiety lead you to believe contact of any kind with the rest of the world is a stressful situation.

The thing they don't tell you, is when you come off the drug you will suffer physical side-effects. You will be dizzy for days at a time, you will have migraines daily, you will have tremors and shake, your ankles will become too swollen to walk for no reason and you assume it must be some kind of detox process, the same goes for the intense pains in your gallbladder and liver. Your PMS will increase. You will spend days sick to your stomach.

Fast forward, months four and five, you think you may be normal. You aren't bright and cheery, but you think you've stepped back into life, constant emotional chaos is dropped into the deep. Move forward, step out. You haven't felt sick in a while, so it seems all withdrawal symptoms have dissipated. So in month six you are blind-sided when crowds make you hyperventilate, when loud places leave you nauseous, when left stressed and teary-eyed by any change ups (like a summer vacation) in your routine.

The thing they don't tell you, is you're left wondering if you'll always be damaged, the forever recovering addict, after your stint on the medication.

The thing they can' tell you, is if you are cured.

On Second Thought; more ruminations about "25 random facts" on Facebook

Maybe we are all exhibitionists, or even worse, masochists. Sending out these intimate details, to varying degrees, for at least 25 people, maybe sometimes more to read. What possesses us? Many people may find this read uncomfortable, and even further, find the task of sending out their own fifteen details to 25 people, completely unfathomable. So is there something different about those of us who decide to share, something similar in eachother, something unfulfilled and somehow untouchable to ourselves? What makes us send those desperate and individual details out? And who sends them? Individuals looking to make connections with new and interesting people? Or individuals who feel like, somehow in the past, they have been withdrawn? Or, those who always look for a way to some how say how important they are? A million different ways to perceive the ways we answer the task of the Facebook chain letter to put our 25 facts out on the line. Especially remember, it is not just the 25 people you tag who have access to your details, but anyone who you have befriended on facebook will get notice of your "note" and be able to read the details you share. Are you truthful? Is it who you are now, or someone you used to be?

Pondering the sharing of "25 Random Facts" on Facebook

The sun is shining. It's 37 degrees. The 12+ inches of snow are starting to give way in the daylight. The icicles are melting from the tin awning, and as I watch the dog do his business from the back door I stick my bare toes into the melting drops of frigid slush. The grass is coming out in the path we shovelled so Diego could go out with out his head below snow level.

I am used to keeping a journal, writing pen to blank paper, always in black ink. Writing nothing or everything as the days pass into months. My adjustment to a blog is slow going, an internal, somewhat irrational and rather unexplained aversion to turning on the computer.

On facebook there is a tag going on, sort of like a chain letter. Someone writes 25 items about themselves, then sends it to 25 people asking them to reply with their own list but also send it to 25 people themselves. Matt thinks facebook is silly in general, and particularly this exercise, but I explained I see the point. All these connections, and how much do we know about eachother. The random status reports, posted links and videos or songs, group invitations, games to save the rainforest--but almost noone uses their notes. Almost noone talks about themselves or gives more than the briefest details about the days of their lives.

The lists vary. There are those who become rather personal and give heavy details, and those who give brief and general points.
It can be terrifying, exposing the "heavy" details to people in your electronic world, who you may be used to saying hi to, but maybe you haven't seen or spoken to them in years. How much truth do you lay out?

Being a writer can be an active bravery--to let go of the truth, release it out there, and go on with your days. I have seen some send their notes only to erase them and start over, maybe fearing that the intimate facts they listed are just to intimate to really let people know.

I wrote mine twice. The first time they evaporated into blackness when I hit post on my father's mac and the connection broke down. I wrote them a second time, a week later when I felt up to the task again. It is not an easy task, breaking out 25 pieces of who you are and typing them out to give to a world of friends who are mainly strangers. I sent it, without a real reread, just a quick check for spelling. I didn't want to get chicken by thinking about them too much. As is, it was a long process, a good two hours of thinking of what to say and how to say it.

I received a few comments already, one of which said it was very brave of me to send them. Bravery, it made me think, what did I really write, what did I really say, what picture of myself did I create?

I reread the notes today, and I noticed that many of the facts I posted were very heavy, and maybe things that people usually think of as secrets, things that we don't talk about in regular conversation--but then, that was the point, wasn't it? This year has brought so many changes in my life, good and bad, and some very difficult. These are the details that would have come up in conversations, that do come up, when I sit and chat and linger with and befriend. The facts are not the whole me, but elements of myself that have made me who I am. While one person tells me it is brave (someone who knows me more than the others on my send list) I could get nervous, I could freak out and worry that I shared too much. But I am a writer, and I am not afraid to put the details out there and then let them go, and perhaps my doing so will help someone else feel like it is ok to open up.

OK, so there was no vacation--then what have I been up to for the Past 3 Months?

Ok, so, 3 months ago I started a new job at Thrifty Threads--and some areas of my life accidentally spun into hiatus.

Shortly after I began working there the manager took Medical leave, never to return. A young gal and friendly co-worker of mine was put to the job of interim, and as I was the only other sane hard work ethics oriented person there, I became her helper--I took on extra duties, helped to revamp the processes of selling clothes, became one with a security code, keys and bank access. I invested myself fully, four days a week, and somehow for a little while, it was a distraction. Here in blogdom I wrote nothing, my email account came to hold around 1500 messages, my journal was getting an entry once every week or two. The only thing I was really doing for me was getting lost in reading novels, which has good points and bad points. Time normally set aside for writing was fed to reading. And I just felt like I was getting fat!

So, first changes: write in that journal again! It's always so painful coming back to daily writings after you have been writing almost nothing--every word seems boring, every entry doomed to lulling you to sleep. Step two--Move your body! Mimi Sosa introduced me to this wonderful Studio in Greenbriar called Mindful Movement where I have been making time for yoga and Cycling classes 3-4 times a week (getting my butt kicked every time!) and I absolutely love it there. And we always hear this is the key, don't we? Make time for yourself, somewhere, somehow--just you and your body and spirit, and it becomes easier to make time for the things in life you care about it.

There's a new manager at Thrifty now, talking about getting the big bosses to give me a raise if I continue to help out with management duties at the store, and I have put my journal first before going to read the novels, and my body is getting stronger in ways that I can feel and see.

So this is refocusing, again, and in many positive ways and with successes already gained.

Um, I was on Vacation???

Don't yell at me!

Hush, it's alright, you're ok.

I know, but, it's just so awful
Well, then just don't do it again.
I'm so horrible at change. A job, hours of difference in routine, I loose track, like time doesn't exist.

Well what can you do to change that.

I don't know, try to be conscious of everyday?

What does it mean to be conscious everyday, how will that be different?

I don't know.

You do somewhere, or you wouldn't of said something like that.
What are you talking about?

Why you dreamily go through hours of unconsciousness, why you put yourself under the bed and live it all in some day job and then grumble?

It's changing.

It's changed before.

Ok it's changing again.

And this time will be different?
Of course, yes, right?

Of course, I guess.

My Feet

Are sore.

I can feel my pulse beating in my back.

My nails

Have dust under them.

Today I found a Donna Karan NY dress

Black Label

and Beautiful

and marked it for $14.99.

Size 8, floor length and sheer.

My take home prize

was a discarded

(I mean donated)

Red Long and skinny photo album

full of pictures from 1970.

Family photos and dog photos

graduations, bar mitvahs, and vacations to Israel.

One girl will be a character in the future.

I forgot to buy the bulletin board to

post her picture on.

My feet are sore

until my brain is numb.

The heat in Indiana

is hot enough to make the bugs flake apart.

There are also baby pictures

and a trip to Montreal

a high school graduation.

Wedding Scenario #1

I was born in the Circus City Capital of the World!

For those who don't now, that means Peru, IN. This Wedding plan is in tribute to our adventurous roots.

Imagine the big top, and the audience (our guesta) are seated in the bleachers. The Circus City band is playing, in the performance area is only the Master of Ceremony to perform the wedding. Suddenly, the clown car rolls out and starts circling the arena. When it stops out pop the best men! They set up a Ring of Fire, and you here the engine revving off stage. It is Matt! His hair is a bright red Bozo afro, and he is off, jumping a motorcycle through the firey ring.

Then its time for the bride. I will be dressed like a princess and riding on a Unicorn, followed by bridesmaids twirling batons.

For the catering we will have Corn dogs, Snow cones and Cotton candy, plus popcorn. There will also be elephant rides.

All the world is a ball of energy

Mimi did Reiki Therapy for me over the weekend. Essentially it's an energy treatment. The therapist aligns your body's energy, breaks up any blockages and creates balance in the body. This is about an hour long Hands-on session.

Problem #1--I twitch! When I lay down on the massage table, my body started twitching uncontrollably, everywhere--my toes, my shoulders, my legs, my abdomen. Afterward I discussed this with Mimi. I often start twitching when I fall asleep, like my body doesn't want to let go and relax. This is a breathing issue, she said. I don't take time to breathe deeply, into the diapraghm. Yes, that sounds about right. Throughout the day I do a lot of yawning and "ha-rumphing", which I've come to associate with a need to take deep breaths and get more air. So, according to Mimi, due to lack of oxygen, my nervous system is all out of whack, and I am to spend several uninterrupted minutes a day concentrating on deep breathing.

Problem #2--Mimi became very emotional and when she was dealing with my right arm and hand. Being a writer, I assumed maybe I was feeling guilty about not working on my current project! But while I was sharing the comment with Matt, I realized it was probably related to my shoulder. I tore my rotator in my shoulder exactly a year ago this weekend. For three months I wasn't allowed to lift my arm, else I risked having to go for surgery! This was really the beginning of the end of my time at Nordstrom. The injury occurred at work because I was short-staffed and trying to do too much by myself. And frankly, I just never recovered emotionally. The shoulder is healed now, but still very sensitive--warning: don't try bowling!

Problem #3--The back of my head. I have been plagued by nightmares forever, often waking up with a soaking wet blanket and bed, or else waking myself up with shouting and yelling. Then it has always been a problem to wake up thoroughly--like the dreams would keep ahold of me for a while before I could shake the sleeping off. However, since the reiki I've noticed I wake up much clearer and much more quickly in the morning.

Things that I saw: Sometimes people will have images come up during reiki therapy or chakra-balancing. I did not really see images, just colors. Especially when she was treating my 6th chakra (third eye)--I felt this sense of speed and then this purple tunnel encapsulated my body and mind. When she moved to the 7th chakra (crown) it changed to a the image of a swirling green and purple ball that kept reappearing and then fading into the distance, looking something like a yin-yang, which turned out to be interesting since reiki is meant to balance out your chi.

Things Mimi saw: She said the image of the Virgin Mary kept occurring. I am not Catholic or Orthodox, though because of my Ukrainian roots, I have been to Orthodox services and am familiar with icons of the Virgin. Mimi asked me to contemplate what the meaning of her appearance during my session may be.

Reiki is meant to draw you into tune with the energy of the universe. The Blessed Mother represents Benevolence and Submission. Acceptance in life is sometimes a struggle, and I try to remember to be grateful and accepting of my life path everyday (we are where we are needed...), so I think perhaps it was a reminder of how to live life everyday.

MacNiven's--Does it have any value as food?

MacNiven's is a Scottish-themed restaurant downtown on Mass Ave, in case you haven't been there (consider eating before you go!)

I have to say, I had never eaten there, and had sort of wanted to. I've met friends for drinks a few times late night--and was always highly impressed by their humongous Beer List, and if you like Scotch--I'm sure they've more selections than anywhere in the city.

It is a Scottish themed restaurant. I'd heard of their haggis, assumed their might be some sort of shepherd's pie, but other than that I didn't really know what to expect.

Matt and I were in the mood to try something new. Neither of us had eaten at MacNivens. My ex-roommate and her beau used to have dinner there every Friday night, and Matt's brother (who often frequents the downtown restaurants) had mentioned it was pretty good. I knew the the atmosphere was intimate and woody, and they had lots of new beers to try. Sure, why not, it'll be great.

We started with the Haggis sampler. Now, most people might be shy about trying Haggis based on its description--basically a mush of organ meats and grains--but, if you are going to eat Scottish, might as well try it once. Plus, though I don't often eat red meat, I have always enjoyed a little bit of organ on my plate. I can thank my Dad for this, I think, since early childhood memories involve fighting him for the baked innards from the turkey at Thanksgiving and Christmas.

The dish comes with a small bowl of Haggis, several small slices of rye bread and a huge portion of butter. So, Matt and I start out spreading the butter on the bread and topping it with the dull brown mealy mush of Haggis. After a couple of servings, I am not bothered by the organy taste of the stuff, but the overwhelming saltiness of the dish. It occurs to me to taste the butter on my finger, and I discover they are serving the stuff with salted butter! I was shocked, really. so we continue on the appetizer without the butter, but really our pallets have been so assaulted the only thing either of us can taste by that point is just tons of salt.

I am sad to say the appalling use of salt and butter did not stop there.

For the entree I ordered the Pan Seared Trout. I had just been reading some foody article about pan-seared fish, and was excited when I saw it on the menu, expecting a delicious slightly crispy skin with the warm and light meatiness of the fish. Whoa--who would of thought, they did not even pan sear the skin side, and it came out a mush slimy grey film on the flesh of my fish. Now, this meal might have been okay still except for the fact that the darn thing was drizzled in so much butter there was actually a pool a couple of centimeters deep filling my plate, and even making the side of veggies soggy. Worse yet, it was that same darn salted butter they had given us before. Are you kidding me!? You can't cook a fish and flavor it without killing my mouth in a soup of salted butter? I couldn't eat it.

Matt had no better luck with his dish. It was some kind of deconstructed shepherd's pie, they meat, carrots, and onions drowning in gravy and the potatoes and neeps on the side. He also was so sickened by the taste of salt creating a toxic effect in his mouth (and in his head--he actually felt his pulse exploding in his brain!). The only thing on the plate palatable, according to Matt, were the neeps--which apparently is the Scottish name for rutabaga.

We spoke with the waitress, quizzed her about the food, and she said, well it's always served that way.

So diner beware. Your may be taking your life into danger when eating at MacNivens, seriously--imagine if you were a customer with high blood pressure, you might explode!

Rejection Notices

It's not getting the notice in the mail, the manila envelope waiting for me in the box, addressed to me in my own handwriting--a sure sign the story has not found it's future home in publication--that creates the tension in my day. By the time I get it back, I have been expecting to see it for days, and honestly hoping for its return so the trial period of wait can be over, my wait is over; it's returned from its journey away from me and I am happy to have it back in my hands. You see, it's worse to be kept waiting than to find out it's been rejected. The tension comes at the next stage, when once again I have to battle the fields of literary journals, and find some new place to send it off to, starting the whole damn process all over again. That is the most difficult part (after actually getting the story done). I get uptight at the task. "Where to next?" Ugh, the cycle. You must continue, you must spin it out to the strangers once again. I am particular, too. After all, I only want it to be placed in a magazine I myself am fond of reading. So, the usual cycle, I start with my favorites. I have gotten positive response before (even so far that the Fiction Editor for Swink actually contacted me for an electronic version, but then rejected it) and then the list goes down. I have no real publishing experience, have won a couple of awards (a couple of years ago, including third place in the annual Seventeen magazine fiction contest) and was published in all the on campus journals and magazines at BSU, but past is past and that is quite a way into the past. Now, I am in the beginning stages of what I hope to be my "Fiction Writing Career" with no actual credits for my work.

So here I am, nervous about sending it out to the "right" place; for the most often received comment when a story doesn't "fit" somewhere, is that the story wasn't "right" for "them"--which always leaves me feeling confused, since these are magazines I read and enjoy and look for some kind of honesty and realization in the stories that I hope to convey in my own. So, in some unknown way I am not "right" for their journal--which then brings in to question my ability to fit in to the pages of any of the journals I like. What are they looking for then? And how can I tell if it's a book I belong in?

Keep researching, keep reading, keep sending it all on out.

When I'm trying not to think

I teach a workshop at the Writers Center. It's for teens, and I spend 2 hours a week giving them writing prompts and helping them cultivate ideas and trying to convince them of the importance of reading (You would be surprised how many teens are interested in writing, but read NOTHING). So, this is a work of mine based on one of these sessions. This is a freewrite, but more than that--I really worked to turn my mind off so that there was actually no thinking involved at all in this--strictly one word connected to the other. No sense making, but still kind of weird and interesting...

And this is also done with no correction for grammar etc

The prompt: In a state of disarray...

The green dream has run off with the cowbells and the girls are all wearing pantyhouse without hearts in them

how could we go any further or faster than what's scraped from boots and scattered out from ordinary A cadence becomes bashful and lips crackle like a minefield in the hot white light of the afternoon

we were given for nothing a meat piece to grind our minds on while out of the scours the enemy was wet with blankets and lemon cheers He couldn't answer for the caterpillar or the region of the filthy lillies and

the alligators regurgitate with purpose the science of time the outline of an imbecile wet and wailing at the window she dropped it with the bin and the credit card bills blew it up with the garbage and grandma's antique broken lamp when the eyes slide sideways wash without knowing or feeling you'll always drive desire into the pit. The teeth will watch like bitter snails the way the lace yellow of your trimmed fat and all reports are bare

jump cause or the slip is golden and the brutal canvas of monotony will manifest with breakfast It isn't about neutrality legality is all a bounty for the hun hold your breath and count before the meat maker comes across satelite the backyard party was announced by midnight like a clock has thought emotion breath exit exists exists exits

Arguments for a Carbon-Free Future

In case you didn't hear, Gore made a speech in Washington today beseeching the political community to take action towards a plan to make the US 100% carbon energy free by ten years time.

He appealed his case by beginning with his perception that: "The survival of the United States of America as we know it is at risk I don't remember a time in our country when so many things seemed to be going so wrong simultaneously," Gore said. He referenced current rising gas prices, mortgage problems, war, expendable income and even weather. It is Gore's stance the USA's over-reliance on carbon based fuels are the core of the economic, environmental and national security challenges. National security will no longer just be concerned with bad relations in the Middle East, but the world will be left under pressure to take care of what he refers to "Climate Refugees".

At this point most of the country would probably agree the economic difficulties now experienced in every day life are a result of reliance on other country's rising need for the same fuels we have always used for our daily energy needs. Gore argues where before people legislators might have used expense as an excuse NOT to convert to renewable resources, with further technological advancements the price comes down dramatically.

He argues: "To those who say the costs are still too high: I ask them to consider whether the cost of oil and coal will ever stop increasing if we keep relying on quickly depleting energy sources to feed a rapidly growing demand all around the world."

There is an underlying tone that if the USA is really a World Leader, then why haven't we come to bat for the future and instead keep relying on out-dated technology in this area. He does reference the UN Summit on Climate Change in Copenhagen in 2009, where the Copenhagen Climate Council hopes to present a plan to the UN to make the whole world community drastically less reliant on carbon-based energy. He dares the USA to stand up there and make a commitment, saying we are the ones with the power to change history. To bring this point home he speaks of JFK's commitment to put a man on the moon in ten years, a goal which accomplished before the deadline. He shares a memory of watching the space shuttle take off and paints it as a magical moment in United States History, and a great advance in US science and technology.

Besides rising energy costs, crashing mortgage prices, bank closures, bankruptcies in corporate America, damage to the auto industry and job-loss, he speaks to environmental loss as well. He shares a statistic that Naval scientists now predict the Polar ice caps will melt completely over summers in five years from now. He quites that for every one degree increase in global temperature each year results in a ten percent increase in lightening strikes.

We see the massive wildfires on the news from Big Sur to the Everglades. The Midwest was ravaged by rain, floods and tornadoes. Hear about huge Earthquakes in China and Japan, the massive storm damage in Myanmar. Perhaps this could be called the summer of disasters. Remember how shocking it was to watch New Orleans fall below the flood waters after Katrina, to watch the victims of the 2005 Tsunami in Indonesia? Media, celebrities, politicians and the people sent donations and kept glued to the stories of hardship. Now when these natural disasters occur, have they just become a part of the same ol' same old? Have they lost impact? And as the summer passes and the winter comes and next year the weather becomes even more chaotic, will we be numb to it?

Sometimes I do sit and daydream about the future of the world if the path of Climate Change is not alter, and in truth I am not at all convinced we are 100% capable of changing the future of the environment, but cleaner air and safer water and less pollutants can't ever be a bad accomplishment, even if it doesn't save the globe.

What would the world be? With no stable atmosphere for us to live in safely, a sun that burns with cancer and storms that rage constantly. Perhaps the surface of the Earth will become completely uninhabitable and humankind will be forced to go underground, create cities of tunnels and dinners out of microorganisms. Do we have the technology to sustain ourselves and our lives if our climate were to become drastically altered? Carbon-free energy sources would certainly be helpful if we come to a future where our Earth is a completely hostile environment. To continue to rely on old and out-dated technologies proven to be destructive to the life of our home and planet is to commit a hostile act.

For more info on Gore's proposal and what your state is doing to help the environment go to http://www.wecansolveit.org/

To read Gore's complete speech:

http://i.cdn.turner.com/cnn/2008/images/07/17/climate.speech.pdf

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=idlJDcr669o

Who is Marina Abramovic and Why am I Obsessed with Her?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h9-HVwEbdCo

Click on link to watch performacne this still is from.

This is a piece called "Rhythm 10"

Marina Abramovic was born in Yugoslavia in 1946. She uses her body to create her art and claims to "test the physical and spiritual limits of herself through her art" with the focus on Transformation of body, mind and soul. She has cut herself for a performance, caught on fire, sat cleaning 1500 cattle bones with her bare hands in front of her audience, entwined herself in snakes, masturbated beneath the stage. She began performing in the 70's and for several years performed in tandem with her lover, a German named Ulay (for example an exhibit called: Breathe In/Breathe Out, where the two sat cross-legged in front of each other and breathed in and out of each others mouths, never refreshing the breath, until they passed out).

In the sixth season of Sex and the City they referenced her exhibit House with an Ocean View she had performed in 2002 in NYC, fasting and living in full view of the public (including showers and toilet) for twelve days with no break. This performance won her the New York Dance and Performance Award. In 2005 she performed for seven days at The Guggenheim, a series of performances by other artists she admired. She performed their works with their permission. For the list: http://www.guggenheim.org/exhibitions/abramovic/

Yum yum Veggie Borscht

Rachel’s Scrumptious Detox Summer Vegetarian Borscht

This recipe is a modified version of the Ukrainian Borscht my Grandmother used to make. It is based on root vegetables, which help to Detox and clarify the system. It is perfect for summer, when many of the ingredients are at the height of their season. Look for fresh organic products which have no mushy dark patches.

4 medium fresh beets
3 medium carrots
2 medium turnips
2 medium gold potatoes
2 stalks green onion
½ head of small-medium green cabbage
6 baby portabellas
1/2 cup of crushed tomatoes
juice from ½ a lemon
several sprigs of fresh dill
4 cups low sodium vegetable broth
4 cups water
fresh garlic chopped, to taste
salt to taste
dash of cayenne pepper
2 tablespoons of ghee (Ayurvedic clarified butter)
2 tablespoons of apple cider vinegar


Wash and scrub all vegetables clean

Cut root and stems from beets and boil in a quart of water with a dash of apple cider vinegar boil on the stove for 45 minutes, until the skin is soft and can be peeled off. Watch out! Deep purple stains may result from sloppiness

While the beets are boiling, pour vegetable broth into large soup pot, to put root vegetables in as they are chopped. Cut ends and skin the turnips, dice into small squares. Leave potato skin on or off, dice into small squares and add to the pot of broth with the turnips. Peel and slice carrots and add, squeeze juice of half a lemon, add 2 tablespoons of apple cider vinegar, and put to the side.

Slice mushrooms and chop green onions and set to the side in another dish, these will be added later.

After 45 minutes, remove beets from boil and run under cold water to cool. Using the peeler, scrape the skin off so the deep soft purple meat is exposed. Chop into small squares and add to the soup pot. Put the pot on a low simmer and add the 4 cups of water and the crushed tomato.

Chop the cabbage and add to the simmering pot, add the ghee, garlic, cayenne and salt. Break up fresh dill to taste and add to the pot, stir in. Allow the mixture to simmer covered for 1 hour.

Root vegetables should be getting soft. Add the chopped mushrooms and green onion and allow to simmer for another 45 minutes.
Cool to tongue; serve with a small dollop of low-fat organic sour cream on top garnished with fresh dill sprigs.

Yum!

An Old Adage

If only I had managed to check my email before the weekend...

I subscribe to this "Thought for the day" message from the Napoleon Hill Foundation. It reminds me to have focus on goals and results and positivity in life, and not get dragged down into the little trenches of everyday. Now, I don't subscribe to the message because I don't have this in my daily life, but because I think it is important to have this constant reminder. It's easy to be driving in the car and feel a random fit of range about the VW Bug in front of you refusing to pull up while she waits for her parking space, and you only want to get out of the parking lot! But oh want a lot of wasted energy. Ask my boyfriend, Matt; I will constantly be the one reminding, "don't shoot off all that negative energy into my space" if he's having a particularly angsty moment about an employer, co-worker or customer. I worked in Customer Service for years, believe me I know what a pain they can be, and all that angst can really leave you drained for the whole day, and all on something you are not able to control: somebody else's actions.

So, I was bitterly reminded of breaking my own code over the weekend, when my email from the Napoleon Hill Foundation reminded me, "IT IS ALWAYS SAFE TO TALK ABOUT OTHERS AS LONG AS YOU SPEAK OF THEIR GOOD QUALITIES", i.e. the good old saying, "if you can't say something nice about someone, don't say anything at all."


Damn, escapes my lips. I have already been feeling guilty, and here is my own email reminding me of the shame!


Over the weekend Matt's brother had a party for to celebrate our Independence, but the party was on the 5th (not the 4th). Anyway, it was good times with lots of his family and their friends and I was there mingling and trying to meet and get to know all these people I haven't met or I don't know... I met his Aunt, spoke more with his mother, met friends of his brother's that were visiting from St. Louis just for the event--people that had been in the guy's wedding. It was a party: there was lots of beer, fireworks, juicy pork ribs, more beer, which as the evening went on late, turned into shots. As the night moves along, a couple of people there (really us ladies, being oh so catty) start mentioning to me, "What is up with his wife?" referring to Matt's sister in-law, who he swears has just that day spoken to him like a real person.


Now, she is generally viewed as having a bit of a chilly shoulder to her, but over the past several months I have really tried to get her to engage in conversation, get comfortable, after all, she may be my family one day! But I was so bitter with myself when I realized that quite a long part of the evening was spent in a bitch fest about her "cooler" qualities and analysis about why she is the way she is.

Much of it was spurned on my side by her addressing Matt with a cold tone saying, "So, are you and Rachel going to spend the night?" as a means of saying, when are you leaving? I guess in my head two ideas exploded: 1.it's a party with friends from out of town and it's not yet midnight, 2. she isn't asking because she is actually asking us if we need a place to crash, considering the drinking that's been involved--and if anything, she could at least offer her brother-in-law a safe place to crash!


So, I admit it. I'm guilty. I caved in to the ugly world of talking bad about someone. Not wishing them dead or gone or anything, just exploiting whatever stories I had and manipulating them into a slush pile of details that could only be called mean. And I did this with other people. Nothing like a group of woman and a few too many beers to get them to talk trash.