David Foster Wallace (1962-2008)

This just makes me sad.

David Foster Wallace at The Strand bookstore in New York in January 2006.

Cold pasteurized = Irradiation

There's something to be said about euphemisms. . . They're part of our culture. They're polite ways of expressing often difficult subjects. Oh, and also, sometimes they're blatantly deceptive.

Take for example this new label created by the FDA: cold pasteurized. Sounds pretty innocuous, doesn't it? I think that's the point. Normally, when we think of pasteurization, we think "milk" and "Louis Pasteur" and that process he invented to kill bacteria and make drinking milk "safe." (all of which I think is mass propaganda masquerading as food safety anyway, but that's beside the point) While I choose not to drink milk for other reasons, those who do consume it are lead to believe that this process makes it safe to drink.

Now, what would you think if you were told your milk was irradiated? Quite different, huh. That word conjures up all sorts of negative connotations, like x-rays and mutation and cancer. And rightly so. Even the federal government doesn't know quite what irradiation does to food, and yet the FDA has approved its use on dried herbs, spice mixes and processed foods.

According to the World Health Organization (1991), "the genuine effect of processing food by ionizing radiation relates to damages to the DNA, the basic genetic information for life. . . Spoilage-causing micro-organisms cannot continue their activities. . . Plants cannot continue the natural ripening or aging process."

Sounds to me like an attempt to control the Laws of Nature.

Now I suppose you could just avoid all products labeled cold pasteurized, right? Well, that's easier said than done. You see, the government does not require companies to label their products as such. And, even when companies do so voluntarily, they use this pretty little leafy icon:

If I saw that, it would make me want to buy a jar of 10-month old dried basil that had been zapped by ionizing radiation, not avoid it. The problem gets messier. How do you label spinach? You see, the FDA has recently approved the use of cold pasteurization (irradiation, remember) on fresh spinach and lettuce. Even if it's organic. Sounds crazy, doesn't it? Now how would you label a leafy green?!! You can't. And there's no way of knowing whether or not your produce has been effected by this new policy.

If you're like me, you'll avoid all those 99 cent bottled herbs at CVS, as well as anything frozen, packaged or canned, and start growing your own greens. Oh, and also, write to your congressperson to let them know, too.

California coming home

I just returned from a trip to sunny California - San Francisco to be exact. Even though it's been about 15 years since my last visit, something about it still feels like home. . . maybe it's the sunshine, the crisp ocean breezes, the early morning mist, the fog that rises up over the Bay, the rocky, windy coastal highway, and the way strangers engage in conversation at the moment you're seeking conversation instead of being intrusive. Somehow, you feel less alone.

I've heard it said many times that "it's the light." The way the West Coast sun shines on things gives a different impression -- almost a glow -- in the way a person who is in love has a face that just beams brightly. San Francisco is a city in love, eager to share its joy with anyone who wants to belong.

The first four days of my visit were spent lodging along Fisherman's Wharf at the Fort Mason hostel. I know, I know... a hostel... "Aren't those just for young people?" "Don't you have to be a member?" "Aren't the rooms horrendous?" Well, no, not exactly. Technically, they're budget accommodations for those who travel. You get a bed, linens, breakfast every morning and free use of the kitchen to make your own meals if you choose. Sure, you share your room with 3-4 other people and the bathroom and showers are down the hall, but how can you beat $26 a night in San Francisco??! It's kinda like returning to the dorm days of college, only minus the keg parties and self-absorbed cliques. Even families with young kids make a go of it, and everyone respects each other's space and privacy, so it's a pretty nice arrangement. In fact, I'd even go so far as to say that the social aspects made traveling solo feel less lonely. Check out the view of the Wharf from outside the back entrance:

Later in the week I ventured to the hostel at Union Square, which was quite a different experience. Instead of the ocean sounds of seagulls and foghorns to lull me awake each morning, there were busses and cars and "street people" and the light of a parking garage across the street to kept me awake all night. Ah, that's excitement for you. Nonetheless, considering the Hilton shared the same corner as my lowly hotel, I felt I got another bargain. All their guests walked out onto the same street every day as I did.

Once I get all of my photos uploaded and cropped, I'll have more to Blog about. . . the restaurants, Slow Food Nation conference, Slow Food Rocks concert, Green Gulch and SF Zen Center, Muir Woods, Sausalito, Muir Beach, the Japanese Tea Garden, Golden Gate Park. . . (sigh. . . ).

Canoe, Can you?

It really feels like summer lately, with the hot sunny days followed by afternoon thunderstorms. And there's nothing I like more than to get out to the water to cool off on those balmy afternoons. Whether it's the ocean or a lake, or even a stream that I can wade in, something about flowing water is so peaceful that troubles seem to just drift away...

One of my favorite water past-times is canoeing. Many, many years ago I was escorted on my first canoe trip by my ex-husband while we were still dating. (I think canoes really are the best way to bond.) Our vessel was a beatup and borrowed metal hulk of a thing, but it was clean inside and it floated. For a 6-pack of beer, his friend let us take it out on the lake for a day and even helped hitch it to the roof of George's Ford Fairmont with some rope and a few towels to protect that fine mottled grey paintjob. I knew nothing of paddling, so this first excursion was an opportunity to enjoy the scenery, do some birdwatching (hello, heron!) and get a sunburn. Ah, the joys of youth.

Here it is nearly 20 years later, and I found myself bookended in the hull of another canoe, also paddleless and still enjoying the scenery. We spotted several egrets, ospreys, willets and herring gulls, one of which nearly dropped its fishy lunch into our lap. The current was strong after two days of steady rain as we meandered unassisted under two overpasses and into a swirl of whirlpools and waves. I think the fact that it was high tide as we started down the Branford River towards the beach and returned up river amidst a receding tide had something to do with the adventure that followed.

We couldn't make it back. Yeah, I know. Pretty lame. We did put in a valiant effort, but the little waterfalls we effortlessly rode down suddenly became Indiana Jones quests to ride back up. So we had to get out three times and walk the canoe to safer waters. The first bridge had a nice little path alongside the river, as if others had followed a similar course. The next one was a little more rocky as we upset a roosting pigeon and slipped on the slimy rocks getting out. The third time proved fatal to my left flip-flop which got sucked into ankle-deep quicksand-like mud and refused to release itself from my foot. A struggle ensued. Alas, my flip-flop lost. But we're survivors. And it was still pretty fun.

What's growin' on?

Eary this spring I took a training class at Community TV in Hamden to learn how to use a digital camera and editing equipment in order to produce a show for public access tv. I had high hopes of doing a cooking show since everyone keeps telling me I should do one (peer pressure, ya know). Then I started digging in the garden, and became a little distracted...

That cooking show idea is on hiatus while I tend to my Chapelseed garden. I seeded my tiny plot back in April with radish, broccoli rabe, snow peas, snap peas, nasturtiums, tomatoes, stringbeans and basil. If you scroll down a bit, you can see how things looked way back then, a mere 3 months ago. The radish have now been harvested and eaten. The broccoli rabe was enjoyed for a couple meals until it bolted. I've picked an armload of snap peas and the snow peas will be sauteed in a stirfry tonight. I was even lucky enough to have adopted a patch of asparagus from a previous tenant.

Now, the nasturtiums have taken over, spilling past the borders and into my neighbor's plot, though we agree it's nice having their bright and cheerful presence while we water. And the bees love them. The flowers also make a pretty, peppery addition to salads.

Giant

There's a lot to be said about two-wheel locomotion. Mostly, I'm glad to be back in the saddle again.

About a month ago I had the misfortune of getting my bike stolen literally right before my eyes (well... almost). I thought the safety of my garage would be enough to foil the average petty thief, but alas, my landlady left her side wide open a few nights in a row and that must have been enough of an inticement for the criminal element to swoop in. When I walked around my car that morning something seemed amiss. "What the...??" Had someone moved my bike? (yeah, that was my brilliant initial conclusion.) Then it finally sunk in: OOHH, I get it, someone stole my bike! Well that sucks. Instead of riding to the garden I walked there, through the park, past a drug-fueled tete-a-tete, picking up the pace whilst humming a happy little ditty to myself in order not to fall into despair. I made it there in 15 minutes, but it just wasn't the same. So my mission for the past few weeks had been to get some new wheels.

I purchased my green Trek Antelope mountain bike in 1992 with the aid of my husband at the time. I knew nothing about bikes so he picked it out for me, being that he was a cyclist and could take it apart and put it back together while I tied my hair in a poneytail. I liked it, though. It was chunky and sharp, and made me feel invincible riding it through the park. I was looking forward to trips to and from the Chapelseed garden this summer, so I was crushed to discover it missing about a month ago. All that changed last week when I took some new bikes for a spin at the Amity Bike Shop in Woodbridge.

My budget was limited: basically, I have none. So I was looking on Craigslist for something cheap I could pay cash for, figuring maybe a Yale student might have something decent they're willing to part with at the end of the semester. My hopes fell short - I rode a couple that needed tune-ups or were just plain icky. And then my Economic Stimulus Check arrived in the mail (thank you, George Bush, though I still hate you). $398 - just enough for a bike and a new helmet, with about $10 left over.

I chose the Giant Cypress hybrid - a nice little road bike with fatter tires that make it suitable for rides on hiking trails and paths through the woods, which is about as adventurous as I get. It's blue and it makes me happy. And compared to what I'm used to, it's speedy, too. I like those grip shifters which make it so much easier to ride. I never knew which gear I was in before. So, in a way, whoever stole my bike propelled me into the modern age with this new contraption. All is well again.