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My stories on how, with global warming, soil depletion, water shortages and the wonderful economy, sustainable agriculture is going to save our food system:
How Do I Wear This? Pt.2: Khaki Slacks
13 years ago
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Sustainable Agriculture Rocks
Check it out:
My stories on how, with global warming, soil depletion, water shortages and the wonderful economy, sustainable agriculture is going to save our food system:
Sunday, February 1, 2009
Santa Cruz
We drove the curves of Highway 17 for what seemed like miles. It was dark, and our headlights were offensive to the trees lining the one-lane road we turned onto in, I think, the middle of nowhere.
When we arrived, it was like entering a dream. The high windows of the lodge-like house emitted a warm glow of yellow light from the inside. Above, thousands of stars dotted the darkness like a pointillist painting.
"What's that light smudge in the sky, right there?" asked Nick, pointing to a blurry spot amongst the stars.
"That's the Seven Sisters, the Pleiades," answered Valentina while gathering an armful of freshly fallen lemons off the driveway.
"Oh. You can't see those in Santa Clara."
Upon entering the house, all five of us became breathless with affection for the place. Long, dark wooden beams held up the high slanted ceiling and rich honey-colored glossy wooden boards layered the walls. Candles lit throughout the house spoke of the yellow glow we first noticed from the driveway.
Fresh vegetables, pizza and grapes adorned the kitchen table, untouched. We tiptoed into the main room as a guitar strummed, stumbling upon a complete setup of drums, bass, two guitars, keyboard, and several amps facing a comfortable array of cozy couches and thick beige carpeting.
Max's reggae band was a work in progress. For the first couple of songs, the four of us "audience members" just drank green tea and Coronas and lounged. But then, the drummer's mother, the renter of the house, came in.
Her long blond hair and blue floral dress were straight out of the psychedelic era, as were her dance moves. Eyes closed, swaying, arms flowing freely to the rhythm of the music, this woman was a true embodiment of the hippie movement. Later, when she joined the band members in smoking out of a bong, this impression was confirmed. Darleen was a free spirit.
Darleen's carefree attitude, dancing, and encouragement to the band was contagious. After a few minutes, all of us were on our feet, swaying, bumping, nodding our heads to the reggae beat.
It couldn't be helped. On a dark night in the middle of nowhere Santa Cruz, in a secluded house with candles and food and weed, dancing was destiny, a hippie medicine to the Silicon Valley dwellers' woes of "real life." And so, we danced.
When we arrived, it was like entering a dream. The high windows of the lodge-like house emitted a warm glow of yellow light from the inside. Above, thousands of stars dotted the darkness like a pointillist painting.
"What's that light smudge in the sky, right there?" asked Nick, pointing to a blurry spot amongst the stars.
"That's the Seven Sisters, the Pleiades," answered Valentina while gathering an armful of freshly fallen lemons off the driveway.
"Oh. You can't see those in Santa Clara."
Upon entering the house, all five of us became breathless with affection for the place. Long, dark wooden beams held up the high slanted ceiling and rich honey-colored glossy wooden boards layered the walls. Candles lit throughout the house spoke of the yellow glow we first noticed from the driveway.
Fresh vegetables, pizza and grapes adorned the kitchen table, untouched. We tiptoed into the main room as a guitar strummed, stumbling upon a complete setup of drums, bass, two guitars, keyboard, and several amps facing a comfortable array of cozy couches and thick beige carpeting.
Max's reggae band was a work in progress. For the first couple of songs, the four of us "audience members" just drank green tea and Coronas and lounged. But then, the drummer's mother, the renter of the house, came in.
Her long blond hair and blue floral dress were straight out of the psychedelic era, as were her dance moves. Eyes closed, swaying, arms flowing freely to the rhythm of the music, this woman was a true embodiment of the hippie movement. Later, when she joined the band members in smoking out of a bong, this impression was confirmed. Darleen was a free spirit.
Darleen's carefree attitude, dancing, and encouragement to the band was contagious. After a few minutes, all of us were on our feet, swaying, bumping, nodding our heads to the reggae beat.
It couldn't be helped. On a dark night in the middle of nowhere Santa Cruz, in a secluded house with candles and food and weed, dancing was destiny, a hippie medicine to the Silicon Valley dwellers' woes of "real life." And so, we danced.
Friday, January 30, 2009
Dad's Oral History
It’s 8:26 p.m. He is still in his work clothes, jeans and a sweater. He’s dressed casually, because as the boss of his own consulting company, he designates the dress code. The reception is bad when he answers the phone. He speaks slower, trying to get his voice heard over the hundreds of miles between him and his daughter. She wants a story about his past, about the 60s. He scratches his head, a mop of salt and pepper hair—inclining toward the salt—that will never go bald. His soft blue eyes wander longingly to the UCLA basketball game playing on the TV in the family room. Standing in the kitchen, white sports socks keeping his feet warm on the cold tile floor, he begins to tell her a story.
I was about 17 years old. This was my second band. We were just your typical rock ’n roll band. We played a lot of Rolling Stones songs and stuff like that. This was the psychedelic era, around 1967 or ’68, so we’d wear loud colors and wild ties. Two of us used to wear double-breasted jackets from the 30s that my dad had. Of course, you have to understand, if you’re wearing heavy clothes to play in a band, you sweat like crazy. It was cool, but it was hot.
We played different places around town. There was a radio station in town that played rock ’n roll music. It was a small, local station in Garden Grove only a few blocks from my house. They decided they were going to have a festival where lots of rock bands would play. The whole purpose was so that they could make enough money to keep the radio station in existence.
The bands would play for exposure, they wouldn’t get paid to play. Our band went down to audition. Two guys in the band actually got to know one of the disc jockeys pretty well. The disc jockey would be on the radio in the afternoon. The name of our band was Destiny. One day, I was driving home and I heard the disc jockey say, “This is Gentle Dental. I’m talking to Bill and Scott from Destiny,” and I said, “What?!”
Anyway, we were feeling pretty good about playing in the festival, and actually the radio station said, “Well, you have a good band, you can pick when you want to go on.” There were like thirty bands at the festival that played all day long. So, of course, we were young and we didn’t know any better and it was going to be at this big speedway, the Orange County International Speedway. It was torn down years ago to build houses, but it was in the Irvine area.
So we decided, let’s go on during the evening about 8 o’clock, the featured time. Well, what we didn’t know was that it was going to be very cold out. It was wintertime, probably in the 40s. By the time we even got there, it was so cold, there were not really even that many people. Most of the bands who had any crowd at all were during the day.
And there was another problem in that we showed up to play at the stage and they said, “Oh, you can use your own instruments, but you have to use the amplifiers that are up there.” They played like three bands at the same time on different stages. We were on one of the main stages, and we couldn’t use our own amplifiers. So, when we got up there I was up on one side of the stage and I was playing keyboard. Our guitar player was playing on the other side of the stage and the drummer was in the middle. And I absolutely could not hear anything.
They’d be playing and strumming their guitars, and I couldn’t hear a thing. I couldn’t hear the guitar player. I couldn’t even hear the drummer. I could hear myself a little bit. They couldn’t hear me at all. We couldn’t hear anything. We thought this was going to be our big break, we’re going to be great and all that, and it was a complete and total disaster. People would come up and start to listen to the band, shake their head and walk away.
We were supposed to play for about forty-five minutes, and after twenty minutes, we just packed it in. We were so disappointed. This was supposed to be the big day. We really thought, “This is it. This is our big break. We’re really gonna make it now.”
We couldn’t wait to just get out and never look back. It was horrible.
The amplifiers that they used were just terrible. It was a terrible sound system. This was before Woodstock and all those other festivals, when they really started to learn how to put on a festival. Now, they understand sound systems.
We hoped to make all this money, but as it turns out, there was damage to the speedway from people trampling it, and the money they made from the people coming to the show they had to pay back to the speedway to pay for the damage. They didn’t end up making any money, and as it turns out the radio station went out of business.
That was before festivals were really well organized or anything. This was back in the 60s. It was my second band.
I was about 17 years old. This was my second band. We were just your typical rock ’n roll band. We played a lot of Rolling Stones songs and stuff like that. This was the psychedelic era, around 1967 or ’68, so we’d wear loud colors and wild ties. Two of us used to wear double-breasted jackets from the 30s that my dad had. Of course, you have to understand, if you’re wearing heavy clothes to play in a band, you sweat like crazy. It was cool, but it was hot.
We played different places around town. There was a radio station in town that played rock ’n roll music. It was a small, local station in Garden Grove only a few blocks from my house. They decided they were going to have a festival where lots of rock bands would play. The whole purpose was so that they could make enough money to keep the radio station in existence.
The bands would play for exposure, they wouldn’t get paid to play. Our band went down to audition. Two guys in the band actually got to know one of the disc jockeys pretty well. The disc jockey would be on the radio in the afternoon. The name of our band was Destiny. One day, I was driving home and I heard the disc jockey say, “This is Gentle Dental. I’m talking to Bill and Scott from Destiny,” and I said, “What?!”
Anyway, we were feeling pretty good about playing in the festival, and actually the radio station said, “Well, you have a good band, you can pick when you want to go on.” There were like thirty bands at the festival that played all day long. So, of course, we were young and we didn’t know any better and it was going to be at this big speedway, the Orange County International Speedway. It was torn down years ago to build houses, but it was in the Irvine area.
So we decided, let’s go on during the evening about 8 o’clock, the featured time. Well, what we didn’t know was that it was going to be very cold out. It was wintertime, probably in the 40s. By the time we even got there, it was so cold, there were not really even that many people. Most of the bands who had any crowd at all were during the day.
And there was another problem in that we showed up to play at the stage and they said, “Oh, you can use your own instruments, but you have to use the amplifiers that are up there.” They played like three bands at the same time on different stages. We were on one of the main stages, and we couldn’t use our own amplifiers. So, when we got up there I was up on one side of the stage and I was playing keyboard. Our guitar player was playing on the other side of the stage and the drummer was in the middle. And I absolutely could not hear anything.
They’d be playing and strumming their guitars, and I couldn’t hear a thing. I couldn’t hear the guitar player. I couldn’t even hear the drummer. I could hear myself a little bit. They couldn’t hear me at all. We couldn’t hear anything. We thought this was going to be our big break, we’re going to be great and all that, and it was a complete and total disaster. People would come up and start to listen to the band, shake their head and walk away.
We were supposed to play for about forty-five minutes, and after twenty minutes, we just packed it in. We were so disappointed. This was supposed to be the big day. We really thought, “This is it. This is our big break. We’re really gonna make it now.”
We couldn’t wait to just get out and never look back. It was horrible.
The amplifiers that they used were just terrible. It was a terrible sound system. This was before Woodstock and all those other festivals, when they really started to learn how to put on a festival. Now, they understand sound systems.
We hoped to make all this money, but as it turns out, there was damage to the speedway from people trampling it, and the money they made from the people coming to the show they had to pay back to the speedway to pay for the damage. They didn’t end up making any money, and as it turns out the radio station went out of business.
That was before festivals were really well organized or anything. This was back in the 60s. It was my second band.
Friday, January 23, 2009
I remember..I don't remember: childhood
I remember...juice boxes, rolly pollies, cotton candy, my grandpa's camera, roller blades, 4th of July parties, sleepovers, construction paper, good books, pool parties, braces, carnival rides, lip syncs, junior high dances...
I remember the sound of the white ice cream truck coming around the corner
I don't remember the name of that wonderfully sticky spicy-sweet Mexican candy it sold
I remember Big Sticks, Push Pops, Neopolitan ice cream
I don't remember thinking that these had sexually suggestive names
I remember scorching summer soccer games, pizza parties, handmade scrunchies
I don't remember the trophies, awards, or what place we came into each year
I remember being afraid of the dark as a little kid—so much so, that it has slightly carried over to my present age. When it was time for bed, I’d jump onto my mattress, shimmy my body under the covers, and pull the bedspread up over my ears but under my chin, like the way my grandfather used to tuck me in. Then, I’d squeeze my eyes shut, daring a peek now and again into the lighted hallway and dark corners of my room to make sure nothing was lurking there just waiting to grab me. I dared myself to keep my eyes open, longer still, until I couldn’t take the fear any longer and slammed them shut again. I’d hold so still during these nights, that my long-sleeved pajamas would become damp with the sweat of anxiety that only a little kid can truly conjure up by imagination.
I don’t remember every single tantrum that I threw when I was little, but I’m still told, at age 21, what a brat I was as a young child. I do remember being frustrated, however, at everything: putting rough socks on my dry feet in the morning, stepping out of steamy showers onto the bitter cold tile floor of the bathroom, not being listened to a car full of people, not being able to sleep, itchy wool sweaters, washing the dishes, tight turtlenecks, not being able to accurately color within the lines…
I remember the sound of the white ice cream truck coming around the corner
I don't remember the name of that wonderfully sticky spicy-sweet Mexican candy it sold
I remember Big Sticks, Push Pops, Neopolitan ice cream
I don't remember thinking that these had sexually suggestive names
I remember scorching summer soccer games, pizza parties, handmade scrunchies
I don't remember the trophies, awards, or what place we came into each year
I remember being afraid of the dark as a little kid—so much so, that it has slightly carried over to my present age. When it was time for bed, I’d jump onto my mattress, shimmy my body under the covers, and pull the bedspread up over my ears but under my chin, like the way my grandfather used to tuck me in. Then, I’d squeeze my eyes shut, daring a peek now and again into the lighted hallway and dark corners of my room to make sure nothing was lurking there just waiting to grab me. I dared myself to keep my eyes open, longer still, until I couldn’t take the fear any longer and slammed them shut again. I’d hold so still during these nights, that my long-sleeved pajamas would become damp with the sweat of anxiety that only a little kid can truly conjure up by imagination.
I don’t remember every single tantrum that I threw when I was little, but I’m still told, at age 21, what a brat I was as a young child. I do remember being frustrated, however, at everything: putting rough socks on my dry feet in the morning, stepping out of steamy showers onto the bitter cold tile floor of the bathroom, not being listened to a car full of people, not being able to sleep, itchy wool sweaters, washing the dishes, tight turtlenecks, not being able to accurately color within the lines…
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Super Obama
Dear President Obama,All I want for the next four years are my two front teeth. And maybe a shopping center in Baghdad.
I’ve been a really good girl this past election season. I wore my “Obama rules” t-shirt to class every day during the campaign. When you were elected, we trashed our house with streamers and silly string to celebrate. I enjoyed four different types of tequila at house parties to ring in your inauguration this week.
When you said, “Yes, we can,” Mr. President, I cheered and screamed, “because Obama’s different!”
You’re the Batman of Gotham, the King of Rock ‘n Roll, the only real hope for this flailing country’s future.
I can’t wait for you to turn this recession into prosperity and to provide peace on earth. Without you, we’d be doomed to a life of hell.
Thanks, Obama. You’re the best.
Yours truly,
The American Naive
Yes, We Can
This is a moment in history. Our children will one day be asking us, were you there the day our first black president was inaugurated? And I can say, yes.
“Yes we can,” Barack Obama, who was signed into office the day after Martin Luther King, Jr. Day, tells us. Is it true? Can we really climb out of this recession—the worst one since the Great Depression—and get back on our feet?
At Santa Clara, where students still go to class and old palm trees are still uprooted and replaced with more attractive ones, the recession seems to be a myth. We push aside the promise of a terrible job market until our impending graduation, anxious to forget what lies ahead of us.
This isn’t really the real world, college. Here, cushioned beneath piles of homework and books, we’re safe.
“Stay in college for as long as you can,” my friend’s dad suggested. But, I can’t afford that. Maybe I’ll go abroad to teach English, but the world economy isn’t much better.
I suppose, for now, we’re just going to have to hang tight. Take what we can get.
The hype of “change” and the recent election has made Obama a somewhat idolized figure for weary Americans—especially, college students. Stressed about the worst recession since the Great Depression, a seemingly endless war overseas and the fear of unemployment after graduation, we tend to put this symbol of change in the newly elected Barack Obama up on an exaggerated pedestal.
But, Obama is no Santa Claus, superhero or Jesus Christ Superstar.
Like Obama himself said in his inauguration speech, change depends on ourselves as individuals.
"What is required of us now is a new era of responsibility - a recognition, on the part of every American, that we have duties to ourselves, our nation, and the world," Obama spoke, "duties that we do not grudgingly accept but rather seize gladly, firm in the knowledge that there is nothing so satisfying to the spirit, so defining of our character, than giving our all to a difficult task.
This is the price and the promise of citizenship."
We musn't assign our worries to "Super Obama" to solve them, but look to his presence as inspiration for change in our own lives. This may mean living frugally, making sacrifices to take care of our earth, and remaining hopeful despite our plight. But, we can do it, Obama suggests. And I think, Yes, we can.
“Yes we can,” Barack Obama, who was signed into office the day after Martin Luther King, Jr. Day, tells us. Is it true? Can we really climb out of this recession—the worst one since the Great Depression—and get back on our feet?
At Santa Clara, where students still go to class and old palm trees are still uprooted and replaced with more attractive ones, the recession seems to be a myth. We push aside the promise of a terrible job market until our impending graduation, anxious to forget what lies ahead of us.
This isn’t really the real world, college. Here, cushioned beneath piles of homework and books, we’re safe.
“Stay in college for as long as you can,” my friend’s dad suggested. But, I can’t afford that. Maybe I’ll go abroad to teach English, but the world economy isn’t much better.
I suppose, for now, we’re just going to have to hang tight. Take what we can get.
The hype of “change” and the recent election has made Obama a somewhat idolized figure for weary Americans—especially, college students. Stressed about the worst recession since the Great Depression, a seemingly endless war overseas and the fear of unemployment after graduation, we tend to put this symbol of change in the newly elected Barack Obama up on an exaggerated pedestal.
But, Obama is no Santa Claus, superhero or Jesus Christ Superstar.
Like Obama himself said in his inauguration speech, change depends on ourselves as individuals.
"What is required of us now is a new era of responsibility - a recognition, on the part of every American, that we have duties to ourselves, our nation, and the world," Obama spoke, "duties that we do not grudgingly accept but rather seize gladly, firm in the knowledge that there is nothing so satisfying to the spirit, so defining of our character, than giving our all to a difficult task.
This is the price and the promise of citizenship."
We musn't assign our worries to "Super Obama" to solve them, but look to his presence as inspiration for change in our own lives. This may mean living frugally, making sacrifices to take care of our earth, and remaining hopeful despite our plight. But, we can do it, Obama suggests. And I think, Yes, we can.
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