If you're a Bay Area local, Paul Kilduff (interviewer extraordinaire) has a great piece in the Chronicle this morning on KRON's anchorwoman Wendy Tokuda that's worth a read:
http://sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2006/11/11/HOGG9M7UVS1.DTL
Saturday, November 11, 2006
Friday, November 10, 2006
In the News—Fast Food Nation
I missed this and would've loved to have seen Pollan and Schlosser on the same stage discussing the corporatization of our food chain. This Cal Berkeley piece sums it up:
http://www.berkeley.edu/news/media/releases/2006/10/20_fastfoodnation.shtml
The movie comes out November 17. See it
http://www.berkeley.edu/news/media/releases/2006/10/20_fastfoodnation.shtml
The movie comes out November 17. See it
Fall on the Suburban Farm
Hark! Arise! Chicken time is here!
The late angled sun sounds the alarm.
Morning ablutions begin, hours later than yesterday.
Corn mash is poured for the pecking—
fowl devotees of the lay-pellet god.
The bees begin morning rounds—
Zen-monk workers of the harvest.
Sunflowers, peas, corn, tomatoes dead on the stalk,
yanked in preparation
for the Winter goddess.
Let the wet cold nights begin
their evolution into compost!
Garlic cloves stand in the wings,
waiting for the line,
the cue to be pressed into frosted soil
and begin their spicy journey
to fruition.
The newspaper’s been tossed on wet grass.
Lumbering diesel behemoths circle,
collecting waste and refuse.
The pizza man’s called for an early lunch.
A plane lands on schedule,
a Suburban comes to a stop in the driveway.
The late angled sun sounds the alarm.
Morning ablutions begin, hours later than yesterday.
Corn mash is poured for the pecking—
fowl devotees of the lay-pellet god.
The bees begin morning rounds—
Zen-monk workers of the harvest.
Sunflowers, peas, corn, tomatoes dead on the stalk,
yanked in preparation
for the Winter goddess.
Let the wet cold nights begin
their evolution into compost!
Garlic cloves stand in the wings,
waiting for the line,
the cue to be pressed into frosted soil
and begin their spicy journey
to fruition.
The newspaper’s been tossed on wet grass.
Lumbering diesel behemoths circle,
collecting waste and refuse.
The pizza man’s called for an early lunch.
A plane lands on schedule,
a Suburban comes to a stop in the driveway.
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
In the News—Headlines
A list of articles worth checking out. Particularly the Mother Jones piece by Julia Whitty.
The 13th Tipping Point:
http://www.motherjones.com/news/feature/2006/11/13th_tipping_point.html
Environmentalist wins in Tracy: http://sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/n/a/2006/11/08/politics/p011220S99.DTL&nl=top
One dog per family in Beijing:
http://hosted.ap.org/dynamic/stories/C/CHINA_ONE_DOG_POLICY?SITE=NCKIN&SECTION=HOME&TEMPLATE=DEFAULT
The 13th Tipping Point:
http://www.motherjones.com/news/feature/2006/11/13th_tipping_point.html
Environmentalist wins in Tracy: http://sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/n/a/2006/11/08/politics/p011220S99.DTL&nl=top
One dog per family in Beijing:
http://hosted.ap.org/dynamic/stories/C/CHINA_ONE_DOG_POLICY?SITE=NCKIN&SECTION=HOME&TEMPLATE=DEFAULT
Monday, November 06, 2006
Funk Junk
Raked over hot coals of discontent.
A dying worker bee struggles across the threshold,
trapped yet again inside the house.
Honey season's over, Darling.
Time ticks out the remaining moments.
"How does it feel to want, Baby?" she asks.
"Delicious," I lie.
A wanting woman may gather no moss
but she aches just the same—
A deep dark residue of shame from the
white hot glowing embers.
A gasp.
A breathless plea.
A slow burn.
A fine tuned instrument; discordant hum.
A dying worker bee struggles across the threshold,
trapped yet again inside the house.
Honey season's over, Darling.
Time ticks out the remaining moments.
"How does it feel to want, Baby?" she asks.
"Delicious," I lie.
A wanting woman may gather no moss
but she aches just the same—
A deep dark residue of shame from the
white hot glowing embers.
A gasp.
A breathless plea.
A slow burn.
A fine tuned instrument; discordant hum.
In the News—Bring it Home
This morning's environmental news in the SF Chronicle:
Plastics, floating in the ocean are harming and killing all sorts of marine species from whales to sea plankton. Although I can't help but flash back to that episode of The Simpson's where Lisa gets bit by a dolphin while freeing it from a plastic six-pack ring, I'm finding it heartening that these news items are coming at a furious pace.
Friday's piece on fish species extinction was interesting on a few fronts: 1. that scientists now have fairly conclusive evidence that makes them confident to project an earlier date for the disaster, and 2. that this piece was picked up by papers of all stripes. It was widely circulated. Nice.
When I began my year of sustainable living in January, I remember seeing environmental articles on global warming, soil erosion, peak oil, the food chain, every once in a while. If you have an RSS feed, go subscribe to the APScience wire. Every day, most of the articles have to do with these issues.
Although the elections are looming and our attention here is pretty focused on the national level, we're also reminded by the growing number of articles that it's mighty important to keep local issues and the concept of relocalization in the forefront, too. It won't bring our boys and girls in uniform home from Iraq, but it will help address many of the larger issues that oil and globalization have caused.
Bring it home.
Meanwhile, The Boy turns 15 on Thursday. How could this be?
Plastics, floating in the ocean are harming and killing all sorts of marine species from whales to sea plankton. Although I can't help but flash back to that episode of The Simpson's where Lisa gets bit by a dolphin while freeing it from a plastic six-pack ring, I'm finding it heartening that these news items are coming at a furious pace.
Friday's piece on fish species extinction was interesting on a few fronts: 1. that scientists now have fairly conclusive evidence that makes them confident to project an earlier date for the disaster, and 2. that this piece was picked up by papers of all stripes. It was widely circulated. Nice.
When I began my year of sustainable living in January, I remember seeing environmental articles on global warming, soil erosion, peak oil, the food chain, every once in a while. If you have an RSS feed, go subscribe to the APScience wire. Every day, most of the articles have to do with these issues.
Although the elections are looming and our attention here is pretty focused on the national level, we're also reminded by the growing number of articles that it's mighty important to keep local issues and the concept of relocalization in the forefront, too. It won't bring our boys and girls in uniform home from Iraq, but it will help address many of the larger issues that oil and globalization have caused.
Bring it home.
Meanwhile, The Boy turns 15 on Thursday. How could this be?
Sunday, November 05, 2006
A Tuesday
Sheets tugged taut,
Under chin, over thigh.
A lump.
A bump.
A grind.
Bird taking flight,
Southward migration.
Ballooning.
Lifting.
Arching.
Reaching.
“Can you do this forever?” she asks.
Shudder.
Thrill.
His eyes—richly longing.
Breathless, declarative “Goddess.”
Folded.
Drifting.
Limp.
Under chin, over thigh.
A lump.
A bump.
A grind.
Bird taking flight,
Southward migration.
Ballooning.
Lifting.
Arching.
Reaching.
“Can you do this forever?” she asks.
Shudder.
Thrill.
His eyes—richly longing.
Breathless, declarative “Goddess.”
Folded.
Drifting.
Limp.
Like Being New to This
The clouds parted crystal sky.
Unearthed longing.
Another hand takes my heart
molding it into unharnessed breath,
that breeches and breaks charted waters.
Unearthed longing.
Another hand takes my heart
molding it into unharnessed breath,
that breeches and breaks charted waters.
Divining the Urban Labyrinth
First step: Follow the path of least resistance
through knotted grass, unkempt,
dried from the past season.
Wind around back
behind desolate monuments
erected once to the might of man.
Shifted ground, cracked court.
The power of green—
advantageously reclaiming its land
through rips in the three-point zone
of the concrete arena.
At the heart of this wrecked military shrine,
a circle, girded by neglected trees.
A sacred spot,
tucked away,
forgotten,
on which to plant the flag,
build the spiral.
Begin the Journey.
through knotted grass, unkempt,
dried from the past season.
Wind around back
behind desolate monuments
erected once to the might of man.
Shifted ground, cracked court.
The power of green—
advantageously reclaiming its land
through rips in the three-point zone
of the concrete arena.
At the heart of this wrecked military shrine,
a circle, girded by neglected trees.
A sacred spot,
tucked away,
forgotten,
on which to plant the flag,
build the spiral.
Begin the Journey.
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