In Search of the Champagne Life
by Jennifer Barnick

 Click here for introductory column

 

 

 

 

         One time I was at a local bar in Cambridge. This bar was a quasi-hipster watering hole just off of Kendall Square. Kendall Square is where MIT holds court and is arguably the biotech center of the world. Due to the Bill Gates phenomenon casual dress in the office rode to dizzying heights, and sadly has forged a very boring uniform. There is the polo shirt with chino look. There is the torn jeans and hip, ironic T-shirt look. There is the Carhart pants with flannel (and most likely) hip, ironic T-shirt underneath. And always, all of these looks are capped off with a leather jacket that either looks like or really is from Banana Republic and a messenger bag (the new handbag for gents). It is an okay look—okay in a sort of not going to upset anyone way—but boring nonetheless. Anyway, I was at this bar enjoying some cocktails with some friends (who were by the way, all wearing some variation of the uniform mentioned above). The bar was in the shape of a large “U” and almost taking up one whole line of the “U” was a line of handsome, youngish men all wearing suits (with their jackets off) with crisp white shirts (sleeves rolled up—but still managing the aura of crisp) and terrific dark ties. And as I was conversing with my friends I kept on admiring the gents with the ties—they were exotic—fascinating. They looked like a small flock of foreign geese that had just stopped by for a little refreshment before they continued their journey to some far off place. My reverie was wholly arrested when one of my gent friends leaned into me and said, “Hey, Jenn. Look at those dudes…I think they look disgusting.”

         One of my favorite books in the world is Chögyam Trungpa’s Shamhala—The Sacred Path of the Warrior. It is an elegant and poetic handbook of the Shambhala warrior way, and I assure you after hearing out Mr. Trungpa’s arguments one really, really wants to be a warrior. Chögyam Trungpa is best known as being a Tibetan Buddhist master, however, after years of teaching, traveling, and writing he came to see that the world needed a non-religious map. Mr. Trungpa felt there were too many divisions and worn out prejudices in many religious practices, and this had left a sour taste in many people’s mouth regarding religion. The Shambhala warrior path is based on an ancient, pre-Buddhist tradition from Tibet with an emphasis on right-conduct, and one whole section is dedicated to (what else): the dress of the warrior.

         Chögyam Trungpa, who personally fled the Chinese and then spent much time living in refugee camps saw a world that was exhausted and scared, and while for the better part of his life he taught Buddhism as a way to soften and alleviate the battered heart of humanity he came to see that the world needed something more: true noble warriors.

         The world is mechanized to such an extent that you don’t have to learn to count. You press a button, and a machine counts for you. Casualness has become increasingly popular, because people think in terms of efficiency rather than appreciation. Why bother to wear a tie, if the purpose of wearing clothes is just to cover the body? If the reason for eating food is only to fill your stomach and provide nutrition, why bother to look for the best meat, the best butter the best vegetables?

--         Chögyam Trungpa, Shambhala—The Sacred Path of the Warrior

         Chögyam argues that for the warrior, life is majestic—sacred. A warrior should not only train himself in impeccable behavior, but also in impeccable dress. A warrior dresses finely out of reverence for himself and the awesomeness of the universe. Dressing with care and attention gives dignity to not only the warrior, but to all whom the warrior addresses.

         I am certainly not laying out an argument that we should always dress formally, but perhaps we should all at least find a finer ground than sweats and hip-ironic T-shirts. There is a subtle reality behind taking care in one’s dress—for it lends a habit of diligence and attention—which can spill out beyond our relation to wardrobe.

         So to all of my beloved Sailors and Patrons it is my suggestion to you all today that instead of going for the jeans or sweats—bust it out—put on something fine and take a good hearty strut around town.

 

Health American Style Part IV

 

         Today marks my final installment of columns dealing with the newly released “Dietary Guidelines 2005” put out by the U.S.D.A. and the H.H.S. The Dietary Guidelines are a compilation of the latest research regarding optimal health and fitness as related to one’s diet and physical activity. For parts I thru III, I discussed the amount of science that went into formulating the Guidelines as well as the general information within the document. I have also suggested that one downloads the complete Dietary Guidelines and thoroughly read the complete publication. The information is easy to read and invaluable for anyone interested in making healthy life changes. It is particularly invaluable if one has or is nearing any of the chronic illnesses that have direct links to lifestyle such as Type II Diabetes, Hypertension, Cardiovascular disease, high cholesterol (particularly if statin type drugs have been suggested), and if you are overweight; also special groups with specific health/ nutrient issues such as minorities, pregnant/ lactating/ or wanting to get pregnant women, seniors, and children. The final issue I want to discuss is weightloss and weight maintenance and what I feel to be the biggest issue or rather problem with the Guidelines: while they may be absolutely accurate in their science and overall information the Guidelines are lacking one major section…one major guideline….. We got the message loud and clear, America needs to “clean up her act” (so to speak), however, after reading through all the requirements I have a hard time figuring out how working families and lower income families are to actually find the time and money to put them to practice. For constantly throughout the Guidelines we are told that the real “magic” of this health bullet—the new Dietary Guidelines—is that we don’t apply one or two of the principles rather, we take the whole thing in as a total lifestyle which for many people would mean a radical lifestyle change.

         Yesterday I referred to the new Guidelines as a pretty piece of “tough love” and nowhere is this more apparent as in the “Weight Maintenance” section. Want to lose weight, want to get physically fit? You want to keep from gaining weight, as you get older? Well, the good news is that for all of those things there is compelling science as to how one can…and the bad news is that cutting out bread, cutting out fat, or taking a stroll with the dogs every night has been proven to be utterly useless and in some cases as with diets that exclude or over emphasize a particularly macronutrient (such as fat, protein, or carbohydrates) can lead to serious chronic illnesses. Also for anyone wanting to lose weight quickly know that it will not work as far as long term health and stable weight maintenance is concerned, and again it can initiate many serious illnesses. In truth, if you want a slim, healthy body you must make it a lifestyle and know that as you nourish and exercise your body properly eventually you will find a lovely human specimen staring back at you in the mirror and for those who already have been diagnosed with a chronic illness or with being overweight know that compelling science has shown many conditions can be reversed with this method (whereas “diets” have been proven to be wholly ineffective). The only exception is in the case with morbid obesity where so far only weightloss surgery has provided any encouraging statistics (this is a big issue and I will be talking about it in the future…I am still in the middle of my research regarding Gastro Bypass surgery).

         So, what are the specific guidelines for weightloss and management? Essentially, to stave off weight gain over time one must “make small decreases in food and beverage calories and increase physical activity”. This “small decrease” is around 50 to 100 calories a day: meaning if you normally eat 2,400 cal. a day, each year you should lower that total around 50 to 100 calories. Also note that as one lowers their calories one must re-adjust their Discretionary Calorie Allowance: meaning if at 2,400 cals a day you were allowed 362 of added fats and sugars a day (candy, alcohol, or butter on your bread) then at 2,200 cals a day one must reduce their allowance to 290. This point, stressed as the new Guidelines major point, is that in order for humans to properly nourish themselves a profound amount of their calories must be from “nutrient dense foods” and if you only should eat 2,000 or so calories a day only a small amount is left over for empty calories. This is a valid point as increasing evidence is showing that supplements are absolutely lame replacements for food. If you want to lose weight versus simply maintain your weight, research has shown that one must decrease their daily intake of food 500 calories. And again that will mean you must adjust your allowance. In short, there is no easy way out of health…no magic bullet…just a lot of food planning and lifestyle changes.

          Physical activity levels currently found to be effective are profoundly higher than previously thought: and I mean profoundly…if you thought that half-hour walk a day was effective the research is not backing you up…and this I believe is where the “Dietary Guidelines” really begin to unravel as far as being a truly helpful document. In truth, while any extra exercise in you life “helps”, really until you push it up to 60 minutes of vigorous activity (not the usual call to garden or walk…but real heart thumping exercise) is the only level in which one can stave off gradual weight gain. And the real bad news is for those who want to lose weight: it is suggested that to lose weight research has shown that 60 minutes of vigorous activity everyday is the lowest level and 90 minutes of vigorous exercise a day is optimal. This is a lot of exercise. A lot. For those who were convinced they had “slow metabolisms”, a thyroid condition, or that it was impossible to lose weight the truth is that it is possible to lose weight, however, rarely does anyone even approach what has been scientifically found: 500 calorie reduction of one’s daily intake (which is a steep reduction) and 60-90 minutes of vigorous exercise. Tough love indeed….

         Here’s the big problem: the Guidelines are impressive and after exhaustive research I will say that the science involved is profound and authoritative. Truly, if you are in the mood for an absolute lifestyle change—and a super fine booty—then download this document and get gardening. During WWII much effort when into government propaganda issues such as war bonds and hysteria as well as the problem with food shortages (that is where margarine came into the American kitchen). One of the massive federal programs was the “Victory Garden”, and across the nation people were encouraged to grow their “Victory Gardens” to stave off possible food shortages. And actually the campaign worked: seeds, even instructions for “urban gardens” (for city dwellers), were dispensed throughout America. In truth, to afford the new guidelines' requirements many middle and lower income families would have to grow their own “victory garden” for the reality is that the foods they are now telling us will kill us are the one’s that are both cheap and require little to no refrigeration. Besides money issues (which the Guidelines do nothing to resolve), there are profound time issues surrounding the lifestyle they are touting, and again, unlike the “Victory Garden” program, the new Guidelines offer no real suggestions as to how on earth people can fit in all that exercise, grocery shopping, and cooking. I believe that considering the incredible amount of effort that was put into the Dietary Guidelines not getting professionals in fields such as Home Economics and Time Management seems to me to be a profound oversight.

         Personally, I found that I was inspired by the new Guidelines and all in all I appreciate a little dose of tough love. I also found the Guidelines to be of absolute value for anyone who has currently been diagnosed with a lifestyle correlated illness (such as hypertension and Type II Diabetes), and tough love or not these people should really move mountains to make this new plan work. The problem is that most of the lifestyle correlated illnesses do not happen over night but silently creep up in significance over time: meaning that many people think they have a lot more time to eat poorly and avoid exercise longer than they think. However, because these illnesses are relatively slow and silent it is absolutely a challenge to get “healthy” people to change their lives. But the most crucial issue one that I do not believe has been addressed is how do working or low-income families put any of these new guidelines to practice? I have thought about this for a couple of weeks now and I must admit that this issue should have been dealt with the same profound intensity as the actual dietary and fitness plan. The Guidelines are up-dated and released every five years and it is my hope that next time for a little more consideration regarding how one can actually follow the Guidelines.

         Wanting to leave you, my beloved Sailors and Patrons, with some insight and I believe to be the ultimate Dietary (and life) Guideline is from none other than Buddha: “Moderation in everything…including Moderation”.

         Have a great weekend! See you on Monday.

 

Health American Style Part III

 

         Special note: yesterday I made an error regarding dates: today (Thursday) I shall be discussing the food group serving breakdown along with the Discretionary calorie allowance and some key foods that are suggested for optimal health. Tomorrow (Friday), I will be talking about the Dietary Guidelines’ findings regarding weightloss and weight management along with the newest guidelines on physical activity.

         Throughout this week I have been discussing the new Dietary Guidelines (released by the U.S.D.A. and the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services, H.H.S). The Dietary Guidelines are released every five years and are legally mandated to adhere only to compelling scientific evidence. In my research I was both impressed and surprised by the immense compilation of latest scientific research that went into the document. And this is important to note as the final document is written, although for legislators, educators, and people in the medical professions, the Guidelines are still very straightforward with the specialized scientific language toned down for mass reading. The one problem with the necessity of using laymen language is that one could think that the suggestions were based on opinion, lobby, or government wishes, which could lead as I have found in many “quack” diet books (which I read as many as I can—and actually—I collect them) savvy writers to make these guidelines appear to have little weight beyond their clout as being a legally mandated project. However, one only has to plow through the countless transcripts meticulously recording the entirety of both the scientific discovery process as well as the debate and sifting process to see that this document (regardless of how relatively simply the wording and organization is) genuinely is a compilation of the most authoritative science currently available. I stress this point because, in truth, I will say that although I was impressed with the document I too found myself more than a little stiffened by the clear message of “tough love” found in the new guidelines. And when I say “tough love” I mean it. The new suggested diet and lifestyle that current research has found to be optimal is no slide, in fact, the new guidelines are not going to be making fast friends (from both the American people and many powerful lobbies). However, as someone who has more than one person in my life whom I dearly love and who already has some of the chronic illness linked to lifestyle (i.e. diet), I found myself both wanting to follow the suggestions and wanting the people in my life to do the same. Type II Diabetes really is that bad so is hypertension and cancer, and the problem is that most people only begin to consider changing their diet when a complaint lands them in the doctor’s office and usually by then the issue as become chronic.

         So, with all that said what are the food groups in the Dietary Guidelines and how much should we eat from each group? I will use the calorie maximum of 2,000. Some people will of course require more and some less, but 2,000 is the median number in the chart for recommended daily calories. One must calculate age, activity, gender, and weight in order to find their personal number (you can do that online). The food groups are: Fruits, Vegetables (dark green veg., orange veg., legumes, Starchy veg., other veg.), Grains (whole grains and other grains), Lean meat and beans, Milk (dairy), Oils, and Discretionary calorie allowance. The serving breakdown is:

Fruit: 2 cups or 4 srv.
Vegetables: 2.5 cups or 5 srv.
Grains:
   Whole grains: 3 srv. (approx. 1 ounce each—1/2 cup rice or pasta—1 slice bread)
  Other grains: 3 srv.
Lean meat and beans: 5.5 ounces (1/3 cup beans equals 1 ounce meat)
Milk (Dairy or equivalents such as fortified soy products and dark leafy greens): 3 cups
Oils: 27 grams (with emphasis on vegetable oils with saturated fats to be limited and trans fats to be nearly eliminated)
Discretionary calorie allowance: 267 calories (butter on your potato, sugar in your coffee, a chocolate bar, a glass of wine, etc…)

         Foods that are emphasized in the guidelines could be wrapped up in one sentence: Eat your vegetables! Overwhelming evidence shows that people who eat a large amount of fruits and vegetables do not get many of the chronic illnesses from Type II Diabetes to many cancers. Within the vegetable group dark green and deep orange vegetables (which are extremely nutrient rich) are emphasized. Eating whole fruits versus fruit juices is also emphasized as whole fruits are filled with important fiber whereas fruit juices are comparatively high in calories (1/2 cup of juice is around 100 calories and rarely do people drink just ½ cup of anything). Whole grains are also heavily emphasized for multiple of reasons from a fiber perspective as well as their micronutrient profile. Lean meats and soy alternatives (such as veggie burgers and breakfast sausage) are emphasized and fatty meats particularly processed meats are heartily discouraged. Low fat Diary is emphasized, both for men and woman (men actually suffer from osteoporosis in large numbers—in contrast to the popular myth that it is a “women’s disease”). Oils are both recommended and integral to a healthy diet (super low or no-fat diets have been proven to be detrimental to one’s health), however, these oils should come from nut and vegetable sources. Processed foods in general are to be reduced or avoided, as they are the key sources of trans fats and sodium. Fish is encouraged, however, due to the high mercury content in today’s fish many people including pregnant and lactating women as well as children should abstain from many types of fish. Sugars, apart from those naturally found in foods such as fruit, should be only used as part of the Discretionary Calorie allowance (which as you saw is not much: a glass of wine will leave you with just about a tablespoon of butter for your bread and maybe a little sugar for your coffee).

         The Discretionary Calorie allowance is to be seen literally as “the cherry on top” of an otherwise whole foods diet. The amount allotted its startlingly low, however, if one were to keep to a 2,000 cal. day and eat the amount and types of food required for proper macro and micro nourishment then the amount of calories left over really is minimal. It is also stressed in the recommendations that a vitamin supplement will not help you in this regard for countless research has shown that in no way does a supplement replace a food source. Considering the evidence that chronic illness can result from obesity and malnutrition (which actually go hand in hand—while Americans may be fat—they are not all that well nourished).

         That is all for today. Tomorrow I will be directly dealing with the Guideline’s recommendations for weightloss, weight management and physical activity.

 

Health American Style Part II

 

          Yesterday I discussed a little about the history of the “Dietary Guidelines 2005” (put out by the U.S.D.A. and the H.H.S) and everything that went into creating the document. Essentially, the new guidelines (that are released every five years) are a condensation of the latest scientific research regarding dietary health and fitness as well as correlations between diet, food handling, and special groups such as minorities, seniors, and pregnant women in relation to both diet and chronic illness. Other special concerns are obesity, children, supplements, alcohol consumption, and the reversibility of many chronic health conditions through diet (as well as the diet based causes of many chronic illnesses). The makers of the “Dietary Guidelines” are legally mandated to only espouse dietary recommendations based on exhaustive and overwhelming scientific evidence and in doing research it is quite clear just how many scientists, M.D.s, and peer reviewed papers went into forming this document. And personally, after reading the new guidelines I found myself impressed by the sober authority, the clarity of condensation, and overall intent.

          What is both striking and clear when you read the guidelines is that they were not written to become best sellers; meaning, their advice pays little regard for ease and profit. The new guidelines are a sober wake-up call to a country that is growing not only very fat, but very sedentary and plagued with chronic diseases that are clearly lifestyle linked such as type II diabetes, hypertension, and cardiovascular disease. It is not to say that fit, healthy people do not get these chronic illnesses, however, there is an overwhelming amount of evidence that for many Americans these diseases can not only be prevented by lifestyle changes, in many cases, they can be made less deadly and in some cases, completely reversed. However, this cannot be achieved by some clever or remarkable formula. Conversely, the advice given in the new guidelines is soberly simple. Taken from the Dietary Guidelines Introduction and Summary: “Poor diet and physical inactivity, resulting in an energy imbalance (more calories consumed than expended), are the most important factors contributing to the increase in overweight and obesity in this country…. In order to reverse this trend, many Americans need to consume fewer calories, be more active, and make wiser choices within and among food groups. The Dietary Guidelines provides a framework to promote healthier lifestyles.”

          But what is this new “framework”? Soon there will be some new lingo circulating America regarding one’s diet: nutrient dense foods, eating pattern, and discretionary calorie allowance. Essentially, what the latest research has found is that large amounts of fruits and vegetables (I mean a lot…up to nine servings) must be consumed in order for a person to acquire the appropriate amount of micronutrients (vitamins and minerals) as well as dietary fiber; a person must also place carbohydrates as the basis of their macronutrient (protein and carbohydrates) requirements, however, these carbs should be whole grains (at least half of your daily intake from this group: breads, grains, pasta etc…); protein is over ingested in this country and can (if over eaten) lead to chronic disease both from an organ standpoint caused by too much protein in the diet and a displacement of nutrient standpoint: meaning that if you eat too much protein you displace other key food groups required for overall health; dairy or dairy replacements (such at leafy deep green vegetables and fortified soy products) should be included daily; other foods such as nuts and nut oils should also be made part of their diet for vitamin E and many of the important essential fatty acids (such as Omega-3, Omega-6, and Omega 9) are insufficient in most Americans’ diet and critical for health, particularly cardiovascular health (fish oils, nuts and flaxseed oils are rich in these nutrients).

          Now here is where the newest, most critical lingo comes in: in order to fit all of the necessary foods that a human needs daily while not surpassing the caloric requirement, one needs to select foods that are “nutrient dense”. Basically, that little donut will kill you…just kidding…but in a way that is the reality of what actually goes into making a healthy, vibrant human animal. Eating a donut, which is virtually void of any nutritional value displaces a person’s ability to fit in foods (while keeping within the amount of calories allotted to prevent weight gain) that are actually necessary for proper bodily functions such as fighting off diseases (the immune system), bone density, growth and repair, and effective circulation. It is important to quickly note that there is increasing evidence that in no way do vitamin supplements make up for food nutritional values. Fruit, vegetables, and whole grains not only have vitamins and minerals, they have also several other compounds that not only fight many diseases (including many cancers) but also are absolutely integral to human health.

          That is all for today. Tomorrow I will be discussing the breakdown of suggested amounts of food to be consumed along with the Discretionary calorie allowance (basically how many empty calories we can include while staying healthy i.e.: extra fats such as butter, sugars such as candy, and yes, beverages such as wine), and some key foods that are recommended for optimal health. Friday I will be discussing the new recommendations regarding physical activity as well as the current guidelines’ recommendations for weightloss and weight management.

 

Health American Style

 

         For the most part the waters I have sailed have been very existential, however, over the past couple of weeks I have been beginning to research and explore the physical aspects of the Champagne Life. In this case “physical” means bodily. Today I want to begin a multiple part series on the new “Dietary Guidelines for Americans 2005” put out by the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services and the U.S. Department of Agriculture. This lengthy and exceptional document can be found (and downloaded) at www.healthierus.gov/dietaryguidelines.

         I would first like to say that normally when it comes to government anything I am very often suspicious and/ or ambiguous, however, after much research I have come away impressed and surprised by the science, thoroughness, and effort put into this document which will, by the way, guide many federal mandates regarding food production, federal food programs, and health education over the next five years. The document itself is designed and made for lawmakers, educators, and people in the health professions and will be the template from which public education will be drawn from i.e.: pamphlets, television ads, medical insurance guidelines, and classrooms. However, I found the actual document to be absolutely accessible for the non-scientist or medical professional and really it is my suggestion to you to forget about buying any get thin quick scheme and download this document. I say this because after going through the hundreds of pages of transcripts taken from official scientific disclosure meetings I will say that regardless of how one feels about the U.S. government when it comes to this document, “Dietary Guidelines for Americans 2005”, science, the most exhaustive collection imaginable, was the rule for the day.

         The interesting thing for me was actually how fascinating it was researching the laws and requirements of the U.S.D.A and the H.H.S. (Department of Health and Human Services) behind making this document. I could not believe how I really did not want to be torn away from reading the transcripts over my weekend and it was intriguing to “sit in” on a massive government hearing (the transcripts are all public and can be found online). Also after reading the transcripts it was exciting to finally read the finished product: for the transcripts span over the course of five years as to what is compelling science and what is drivel. The Salt lobby which primarily represents food processors did not move the outrageously PhD. and M.D. heavy audience and it was completely evident when one reads the final document, also the meat industry did not wholly get the super-healthy-to-eat-a lot-of-meat press they heartily espoused in the hearings: this was interesting to see that regardless of one’s mistrust for government or the intelligence therein after extensive research one came to see that at least for compiling the latest scientific research big lobbies were not able to penetrate the committee members. In fact, as I will discuss in tomorrow’s column, which will deal with the actual contents of the new Dietary Guidelines many of the major lobbies for meat, food processors, alcohol, and sugar are not happy campers right now. In addition, the vitamin lobbies will only have partial satisfaction, for the Guideline heavily emphasized the importance of micronutrients (vitamins and minerals) coming from one’s diet and not a pill (some special cases are outlined), and anyone still thinking that a high protein diet is effective and healthy will rapidly see that they have been wholly duped by propaganda and not hard science which not only reveals the ludicrousy of the diet but more grimly the danger these diets posses. And actually, I will say that after reading both the complete Dietary Guidelines and several of the scientific papers as well as compiled data of several studies, one comes away knowing that the biggest mistake one can make is to purchase a “weightloss book” and to come to see that losing weight and getting fit or holding one’s weight and fitness level from deteriorating takes time, effort, and intelligence.

         The Dietary Guidelines were first legally mandated in 1980 and their legal goal and responsibility is to formulate a document based on the most advanced and current science regarding health, dietary needs, and fitness as well as other issues such as dental care (which plays a profound role in geriatric nutrition), safe food handling (to prevent food bourn illnesses), effective health education, and supplement usage. Again, it can be downloaded in its entirety at: www.healthierus.gov/dietaryguidelines (which I heartily recommend). Tomorrow, I will be directly dealing with its contents and recommendations.

 

Raquel Welch’s Body and Mind

 

         Wanting to open up my Champagne adventures to slightly more earthy travels I have been researching and looking into health and fitness of the body. I mean what good would it do to completely understand moral relativity or some great Zen parable if one fundamentally feels uncomfortable in their skin? Having a fit and beautiful body can make even the toughest existential dilemma tolerable…I mean you may not know if you were meant to be on Earth but with a great body at least you can have some fun while you are figuring the heavy stuff out. And perhaps the two, the mind and body, are so interconnected that learning how to finely tune and fuel one’s physical vessel could in fact improve one’s philosophical and cognitive challenges. Personally, I have to wholly admit I watch what I eat and exercise not because I want to be healthy or not because I have some lofty consideration between the mind/ body connection but because I want to look hot. However, “looking hot” can translate into many things: meaning when I feel I look “hot” my sense of self-confidence rises, my sense of optimism rises, and my sense of playfulness and overall charity rises, so with that said perhaps my want for “looking hot” has a bit more teeth than readily assumed.

         Last week I reviewed a fitness tape by Anna Kournikova. Personally, I own several fitness tapes and I find them to be invaluable. Study after study consistently shows that no diet works in the long run, that for true weightloss, the kind that you keep off, requires a total lifestyle makeover with physical exercise being one of the most important cornerstones. Exercise tapes are a great way to learn and experiment with many different approaches to getting fit. Personally, I have tapes ranging from Tai Chi to absolutely eighties style aerobics and depending on my mood both can be incredibly fun and effective workouts. Today I am going to talk about a tape that was wholly opposite to Ms. Kournikova’s tape. While Anna Kournikova’s tape was definitely intended for the serious athlete or at least the very, very fit who want to take their training from strength and endurance to developing power, the tape I will be reviewing today is for absolutely everyone regardless of their age or physical prowess. The tape is Raquel Welch’s Body and Mind: Total Relaxation and Stress Relief Program (1989 HBO Video).

         I will first quickly say two things: while the tape is old, I could tell it is still a favorite at my local video store, and I did check, it is still wholly available for purchase…I say this because this is a tape I heartily suggest you purchase and considering I found a used copy on auction with an opening bid at one dollar ($1.50 extra for S&H), I really think this is one to buy.

         The tape begins with a brief introduction by Ms. Welch herself regarding the importance of stress reduction and the mind/ body connection. She is then briefly joined by a medical professional who was her technical consultant for the tape. Already I am in love with Ms. Welch…. Next we get to the actual routine…with a stage set befitting an existential Russian Science Fiction movie…think Solaris. This I find to be an awesome and mesmerizing detail for often I find it difficult for my television screen to hold my interest. Along with a superb space age set Raquel Welch is absolutely lovely. And her voice is so soothing and wonderful I am going to make a cassette tape of the video for driving. I just think the Boston metro area will seem wholly different with Raquel Welch purring in my car.

         She divides the tape into two halves: Body and then Mind. The Body section is akin to simple Yoga (which is a great relief as I hate all of these super complicated yoga stretches that I know I am not doing correctly) and classic stretches. She thoroughly walks you through the routine and talks you through the entire session (which as I said is awesome…you really have to check this tape out to fully appreciate what I am saying…but my friend who was doing the routine with me blurted out, “Oh, I want her to be my best friend!” and I heartily agreed). Besides being easy and a pleasure to follow, another great thing about her body relaxation routine is that it is relatively brief and designed so that one could at just about any time and in any clothes practice it.

         The second half of the routine is the Mind section. The Mind section is meant to focus on relaxing one’s mind with the logic that without a calm mind one will not find a healthy and calm body. Raquel essentially takes us through some simple breathing exercises then walks us through a great meditation. I have been a practicing meditator for over a decade and have primarily focused on Buddhist meditation. However, I still found her guided visualization meditation to be wonderful and very soothing. I also liked it because I felt anyone could easily follow and find benefit from the exercise whereas many meditation techniques not only require a teacher they require some practice in order to fully benefit.

         If Raquel Welch wanted us to feel totally relaxed after going through her routine I will heartily say it worked. Both my friend and I commented on how great we felt afterward and how easy, short, and doable her routine was. This is important for I feel that many people abandon things like yoga and meditation because they are too involved and require too much preparation. Any person of any age or fitness level could do this routine (which I liked) and Raquel Welch is unbelievably likeable. I was surprised by her genuine warmth and completely soothing voice. I was also surprised by the calm authority and faith regarding her subject: the importance of stress reduction and recognizing the mind/ body connection.

          So often, celebrity fitness tapes are simple vehicles for fast cash for the celebrity; however, one senses that Raquel Welch developed this tape not only for career advancement but also out of sincere belief in what she was espousing. This is definitely a tape worth checking out.

 

 

The Pimp: A Sociological Perspective

 

         Last night I saw the documentary The Hughes Brothers’ American Pimp (1999). Besides a DVD cover boasting that the movie was “outrageously entertaining!” (by those sages over at Entertainment Weekly), I was excited and intrigued to learn a little more about an integral player (or parasite) in the oldest game on earth. I will first begin by saying that if you have not seen this movie it was indeed engrossing, though I pause at the word “entertaining” for as the movie rolls on one finds themselves scrambling to decide if the pimp is indeed a parasite or a genuine helper to those ladies cast in red, and to say “entertaining” seems a bit awkward when the pimps discuss whether or not to “beat their hoes” and what it is like “when the bitch gets killed” (“…it messes with they pimps mind—for real—but he don’t be showing none of that to the outside…you know what I mean?”). (My personal immediate response was if it messes with your mind Mr. Pimp how did it mess with the hoe in question?) And right there is the amazing tension of the movie and one that makes this movie actually work: the Hughes Brothers’ manage to hold tightly onto a sociological perspective—the movie rolls evenly along without obvious judgment—which allows the viewer to be allowed to struggle with their own.

         Right off the bat you find yourselves really wanting to like the pimp. We actually begin with a lot of white people saying what they think of the “pimp” and the responses are all negative: words such as “sleazy”, “scum”, and “dirty” are common and emphasized. This we know is the filmmakers’ judgment for I am quite sure we could find just as many Caucasian citizens who find some mirth and respect for the pimp. Quickly the film then introduces us to a string of pimps, ones that we would follow throughout the rest of the film. They have great names: Charm, Payroll, Schaunté, Rosebudd (the double “dds” were noted by the namesake…. “I’m Rosebudd, man, the one with the double Ds…” who was one of the more fascinating and sentimental), Fillmore Slim (who was one of the oldest most long lasting pimps on the streets…he was spoken of, and referred to as a living legend), and Gorgeous Dre. All in all the pimps were engaging, funny, philosophical (“I’m a junkie…and that’s my fix…money.” And my personal favorite: “I do not buy dreams—I sell them.”). And of course the pimps were dressed the part…outrageous, gorgeous, whimsical, and fascinating, and I came to see that the pimp uniform was actually the pimp armor and in this light the movie ran away from its gaudy lighthearted opening (even showing a “Players’ Ball” in, I believe, Milwaukee) and found itself to be a genteel (I say “genteel” because that was the overall tone of the movie—which I found impressive—considering the subject matter) portrait of human frailty and grit.

         However, genteel portrait of human frailty or not, the real power of the movie comes from the continuous, burning question: is the pimp an evil parasite or an integral part of the success of the prostitute? Prostitution and the ethics therein is a tough question indeed, and surely the movie does cause one to pause and wonder, however, it is reasonable to assume prostitution is not (nor will it ever be) going away and in that light we are left to judge the pimps’ role in the game and not the game itself. “Game” mind you is what everyone in the business calls it.

         We learn in the movie that the pimp takes all of the proceeds and they all had some harsh words surrounding the idea of “giving the bitches a cut”. The pimps’ role is sort of like a father, husband, and manager. Protector, the claim, but all admitted that their protection was only so strong…for there was really no way to prevent violence between a trick and his girl…court costs and medical bills was usually the biggest their protection blanket got. The idea that the pimp takes all of the proceeds was new to me and it begs the question: what do the girls do when they retire? However, before one can harshly judge the precarious position of the money deal the pimps offer the girls, the few pimps we got to know also seemed to leave the business with nothing much more than memories. And with that you come to see that prostitution is part money and part lifestyle, and the pimps themselves are caught up as poignantly as the girls. This makes the parasitic quality of the pimp profoundly more complex. For The Game is a world and pimps are absolutely part of this world and if that is the case then the term “part of” seems more accurate than “parasitic” or “integral”.

         The most lingering scene for me, the scene that lead me to feel that the pimp was more neutral in its natural setting, meaning the pimp was to be taken as simply a part of a complex system and not a helper or a hinderer of prostitution, was near the end of the movie. It is of one of the younger (and more brazenly spoken—for many of the older pimps romanticized their profession) pimps. We find him lying between two of this “bitches” (they are bitches, hoes, and girls). He is drinking cognac from a proper snifter and one can sense he is trying to emulate pimp glamour and power. The problem is that the two ladies are no prom queens and while one was clearly intoxicated (and charmingly feeble minded) the other had the focus and personality of paste. The young pimp appeared suddenly small and human to me as he discussed the game in bed with his girls. One could easily see the kinds of frustrations involved in living with and managing these two girls. But what, for me at least, revealed the whole story, was when the film spliced back to him in the hotel with his girls. We left him nestled between them drinking cognac and talking tough, but we return to him standing over one puking in the toilet from drinking too much. And although, he does try to “talk tough” with her, one could readily see there was more frustration and care in his voice than any malevolence. This particular pimp had earlier admitted to being somewhat of a predator and he did troll for runaways and girls from broken homes etc…. And truly the ladies we found with him were no Valedictorians, and one could sense some truth when he lectured the girl that she shouldn’t drink that she got to take care of herself and it is hard to explain, but what I saw was a curious care and fascinating human softness when he tried to deal with his intoxicated girl—even under lines like “don’t give me no lip bitch”. For to be honest, if I had to manage the two girls he was dealing with (and the stakes could really mean life or death for the girls) I too might find myself speaking the same way.

         Lastly, the one striking thing I found regarding the pimp was that they all were philosophers and I rather liked the perspectives they gave. I did not always share their perspectives, but I felt a deep admiration for them being philosophers. This absolutely colored my take on their lives and person. And in one scene where the pimp is trying to explain or (perhaps) justify their roles in prostitutes lives and them taking 100% of the funds (which really is the most difficult pill to swallow) was his portrait of the relationship between the pimp and the whore. One of the key things about their relationship is that it is far more romantic than one might realize (though they are quick to point out that what they share is “pimp love” and not “square love”…however…it is also important to note that most of them had “one special girl” and Rosebudd actually married one, had a child with her, and got out of the business). In this one scene the pimp says a line that for me illuminated something about prostitution, pimps, and the nature of human social groups in general for as the pimp was trying to explain the relationship between him and his hoes (of course bulleting every statement with hyper-macho-speak) was this line that still strikes me: “It’s us against the world”. Surely, we all understand the politics that form under this dynamic, and surely their armor of clothes and language begins to make some haunting sense.

         Have a great Weekend! See you on Monday.

 

Champagne Thighs

 

         Today I want to begin what will be an ongoing series in which I talk about health and fitness. For the most part, the primary emphasis of my research has dealt with the mind and the spirit (with some comical interludes in-between). However, part of living the Champagne Life is having a champagne body. Personally, I am an avid exerciser. I have been extremely active throughout my life beginning with ballet at five (dance would continue until I was nineteen) and several other competitive sports throughout. Nowadays I do not play any competitive sports nor am I studying dance, however, I do work very hard to retain the body that did for many years. Exercise for me is my Prozac and Valium and Ecstasy all in one. A good long run will do more for me than any drug or rant. Besides stress relief I have found that regular exercise fills me with energy and I believe makes my love life profoundly more enjoyable. In short, having a strong healthy life is really a great deal of fun, and I strongly feel that without a vibrant and hearty vessel one will have great difficulty crossing some of the rougher channels of life…which is surely an integral part of searching for the Champagne Life.

         With all that said one of the best ways to get into working out or to put some new steps into your current workout is through exercise videos. My favorite workout with weights is still based on a great weightlifting video I purchased over eight years ago. I personally have several workout videos and I love them because, quite frankly, I hate the gym. However, I do believe that a good workout should be designed by a professional trainer, hence, a good video can be invaluable. Today I will be reviewing Anna Kournikova’s (the sex-pot tennis star) “Basic Elements: My Complete Fitness Guide”.

         I want to first say that this video should only be rented (or purchased…but I usually like to rent a video before purchasing) by two types of people: beginners or people who have fallen off the fitness wagon and athletes or people who are very, very fit. This tape is absolutely not recommended for beginners, however, I found it to be very inspirational to see such an incredible physique (Anna K.) perform such incredible feats. For the athlete or someone who has worked out regularly for some time this tape offers a very high level of intensity. In fact, throughout the tape most of Anna’s references are geared towards the aspiring athlete and not for a person looking to tame their beer belly and thighs. To put it in perspective, I work out around two hours a day with a combination of cardio, endurance, and strength training and yet, some of her routines I found to be outrageously painful. However, I also found that the challenges in her exercises gave me a renewed sense of “personal best-hood” and I was inspired to take my fitness to an even higher level…so for those of you in workout doldrums this may just be the right tape for you. The body can hit workout “plateaus” just like all dieters know the body can with losing weight. This is a good video to check out when one’s fitness level appears to have leveled off. It is also important to note that this is not a video meant to be watched and followed along. She provides several routines to be learned then executed independently from the video (unlike several other workout videos or DVDs).

         Ms. Kournikova claims that her workout requires very little equipment and would be good for someone who travels a great deal. This is plainly not true. Almost all of her exercises require some type of equipment and I hardly doubt one would want to travel with weights, a giant balance ball, a medicine ball, a workout partner, a rope ladder, and a large block. Another downside to this tape is that she does not properly take you through the technique. This is particularly troublesome during her strengthening routine with weights. Weight lifting routines should never ever be used without proper instruction, as the risk for injury is very high. Also, I want to stress again that another downside to this video is that it really was designed for the athlete, and I strongly suggest that the beginner does not attempt to begin with her routine. Her warm-up exercises would be for most a complete aerobic workout…not a prelude for a workout.

         The positive side of her workout was her medicine ball routine (which really was outrageously intense and fun), her work with simple pylons, and her emphasis on taking strength and cardio to the next level: power. The medicine ball routine is one of the better ones I have seen on video and requires a partner, but I find workouts that require a partner to be very fun and a great way to revive an old fitness regime. Again, I stress do not attempt these exercises until you have done some regular strength and cardio training as I believe serious injury might result. However, this is one of the reasons I really liked this tape Anna takes you beyond strength and cardio training and presents exercises that develop power and agility, and I believe someone who has been working out for awhile would find this stage of fitness to be very rewarding.

         Above all I found the tape to be inspiring. To see an athlete’s physique in action is beautiful (particularly in Ms. Kournikova’s case), and I definitely found that after watching the tape I wanted to hopefully catch just a little of the magic for myself…and perhaps putting myself through an hour of “Anna’s Torture with Pylons” will put a little Kournikova pixie dust on my legs.

 

 

 

Words Like Coins

 

         Words really are like money. It is good to have many tucked away for when you need them. It is good to acquire many. Today, I strove to find words that are relatively small, yet uncommon. Their meanings are still quite sharp and focused. Nietzsche spoke often of words that are used too often in popular speech: over time they become so used and so worn they barely retain any real meaning (like artistic, for instance, it really has no real meaning anymore). Putting sharp new words in your vocabulary can help deepen your ability to articulate yourself, which can prove invaluable in almost every arena. So much strife arises from misunderstanding, however, taking up the genuine practice of “well spoken” can prove to be a power skill that not only can reduce misunderstanding but also raise one’s effectiveness in making an impact. Too often though, “big” words are used to convolute (which isn’t so bad in some circumstances), so today I wanted to focus on new words with clear, impressive meanings. In addition to articulation, music in speech is for me a lost art that should not be allowed to die. Knowing several words for shadow, or daytime, or brush can allow a speaker or writer to consider rhythm and melody within their elucidation. Before literacy and the written word was common this practice of putting music in your speech was absolutely necessary for it hastened the listener’s ability to remember what was being said: instead of having everything written down and stored in print as we do now. Shakespeare wrote his plays in iambic pentameter not because he was gaga for difficult word pairings, but because in the seventeenth century plays were performed to a pretty rowdy audience. The musical quality of iambic pentameter (ten syllable lines that alternated—beginning with a soft emphasis with the next syllable being sharp) allows a listener to more easily follow, which was crucial when the audience was yelling, selling things, coming to and fro and of course, heckling. Also note translations of ancient texts: many times repetition and meter was utilized in order for the text to be broadly memorized in the light that mass printing was not invented or possible. The implication is that if one were to use music in their speech and writing then its overall impact will greatly rise, and in order to better put music into one’s writing or speech one needs as many words as they can find. With all that said I, once again, bring you a whole new batch of lovelies—of words like coins. Gold.

Acerb—adj. 1. sour or astringent in taste. 2. harsh or severe, as of temper or expression. Also, acerbic.

Adroit—adj. 1. expert or nimble in the use of the hands. 2. cleverly skillful or resourceful.

Adumbral—adj. shadowy; shady.

Adust—adj. 1. dried or darkened, as by heat; burned; scorched. 2. gloomy in appearance or mood.

Basilic—adj. 1. kingly; royal. 2. also, basilican, basilical. Of, pertaining to, or like a basilica.

Bort—n. a quantity of low-quality diamonds and small fragments, valuable only in crushed or powdered form. Also, boart, bortz.

Bosket—n. a grove or thicket. Also, bosquet.

Brannigan—n. 1. a carouse. 2. a squabble; brawl.

Cavil—v. –iled, --illing, n. 1. to raise irritating and trivial objections; find fault unnecessarily. –vt. 2. to oppose by inconsequential, frivolous, or sham objections. –n. 3. a trivial and annoying objection. 4. the raising of such objections.

Cenacle—n. the room where the Last Supper took place.

Chanfron—n. a piece of plate armor for defending a horse’s head.

Chiliad—n. 1. a group of 1000. 2. a period of 1000 years.

Dilatory—adj. 1. inclined to delay or procrastinate; slow; tardy. 2. intended to bring about delay; a dilatory strategy.

Dipsomaniac—n. a person with an abnormal, irresistible, and insatiable craving for liquor.

Dotard—n. a person whose mind is feeble, esp. from old age.

Dross—n. waste matter; refuse.

 

High School Revisited

 

         You know, I still have nightmares about high school…. I do. I do. Usually they either involve me getting caught (or trying desperately not to get caught) smoking, or I am in the wrong class totally unprepared and feeling completely overwhelmed. Sometimes my nightmares are social, but these are not quite as common as my typical discomfort with authority-themed dreams. Essentially, I was never—ever—a girl who “got with the program”. On my first day of boarding school all the new students were supposed to do this sort of “outward bound” group bonding afternoon with all sorts of clever do together, trust building exercises and I found myself ditching the scene, finding a graveyard off campus and sitting against a tree smoking cigarettes. But god was kind and as I wandered away I found an older student who saw completely my reasoning and she joined me under the tree. I believe my logic to still be sound in that event for all these years later that student I found is still one of my very dearest friends, and I will say that our bonds of trust and comraderie are as tight and strong as they come. I hardly believe leaping from a rope swing or doing group relay races would have produced the same effect.

         In class I found some solace as I was absolutely into learning, however, again, I did not always see eye to eye with my teachers’ syllabus and more often than not my grade wholly reflected where I stood with my teachers’ line of reasoning than any zeal towards studying. In short, I read, painted, wrote, contemplated, researched obsessively (as I still do now), but if the trail my heart knew to follow did not match the trail I was assigned to follow I could not, would not be swayed: this was at times irritating and even infuriating to most of my teachers…for it bit them oddly…were they boring or was I a slacker? Because I must also admit I was not so silent in my opposition, in fact, I was quite verbose in my derision during my teen years and I would many times take my teachers to task regarding the finer points of history, literature, or philosophy, and when I found myself on a very involved “research period” I would very often fail to come to class, only to return with fresh new (irritating) insights. Needless to say I spent the majority of my high school weekends in detention.

         With all that said on occasion I would find a teacher who truly took me to task and there I thrived and learned and rather than sending me to detention for swearing (angry Socrates had been so profoundly maligned…yes, I really was that much of a geek) they danced with me and taught me to take my reasoning and writing to even higher levels. However, I must confess that even as wonderful as this sort of teacher/ student relationship sounds I still more often than not would not find time to do my homework…I would if it fit my current obsession, but apart from writing papers (which I loved), more often than not I found the assignments to be a waste of time. Wanting to know the folly or perhaps wisdom of my high school career I have decided to revisit an old high school text and do the homework I never did. I want to see if the assignments really were as stupid and banal as I saw them or if I was just pigheaded in my judgments.

         Today, I am going to be taking a poem along with the questions that ran below the poem from my senior year literature anthology*. I must admit I am a little nervous…to climb back into my teenage skin…to finally do the homework I never did. And to you my beloved Sailors and Patrons I invite you (with much enthusiasm) to do the assignment along with me…if you do have any good points or insights please send them to me (letters2editor@thebetterdrink.com)…for surely I found constant debate in English class. And still today I relish a lively discussion….

Thomas Campion (1567-1620)

Cherry Ripe (1617)

There is a garden in her face,
Where roses and white lilies grow;
A heavenly paradise is that place,
Wherein all pleasant fruits do flow.
There cherries grow, which none may buy
Till “Cherry ripe” themselves do cry.

Those cherries fairly do enclose
Of orient pearl a double row;
Which when her lovely laughter shows,
They look like rosebuds filled with snow.
Yet them nor peer nor prince can buy
Till “Cherry ripe” themselves do cry.

Her eyes like angels watch them still;
Her brows like bended bows do stand,
Threatening with piercing frowns to kill
All that attempt, with eye or hand,
Those sacred cherries to come nigh
Till “Cherry ripe” themselves do cry.

Questions

1. What does the metaphor of the garden signify? What is the meaning of “roses and white lilies”?

The metaphor of the garden I believe is female fertility, but within that is female mystery, beauty and the promise of a paradise like ecstasy. “Roses and white lilies” could be seen as her pale skin and deeply blushed cheeks and lips, however, I believe it is not really her face we are dealing with or at the very least we are working with two female regions simultaneously. I mean “rose”…come on….

2. Paradise originally referred to a walled-in garden. How is this metaphor appropriate to the lady’s mouth? What are the “pleasant fruits” of line 4?

Are you kidding me? Um…I believe Paradise is referring to two regions of the lady’s anatomy and the walled-in garden is, I believe, her virginity. How this is an appropriate metaphor would really depend on how one feels about a lady whose region is “walled-in”. If paradise is expected then yes, I believe the metaphor to be appropriate. As for pleasant fruits…I believe this line to be of highly erotic nature and I hope we all have erotic enough minds to get this line. For in line 5 we are told “There cherries grow, which none may buy”…hum what is red and round and must only be picked when ripened…hum.

3. What is the metaphor of “orient pearl”? How is the simile comparing the lady’s smile to “rosebuds filled with snow” appropriate?

“Orient pearl” is at first go her teeth, but for the non-erotically-impaired, it again, carries a double meaning. Pearls come from oysters…I really do not want to (in this forum at least) elucidate any further. As for a smile like “rosebuds filled with snow”, again, two regions being expressed and the use of snow denotes both purity and coldness. As for the common use of white within red…my cheeks are now too red to explain any further.

4. What is the compliment intended by the comparison of the lady’s eyes to guardian angels, and her brow being “like bended bows”? Do these figures suggest anger, or protectiveness, or both?

Neither, I believe they signify intelligence. The lady though warm and inviting in her eyes is also conscious of her virtue and the importance that lies therein. There is some sense of protection there, but really it is a song of true courtship and the self-conscious understanding of the lady and her role. For she must welcome enough to “ripen”, but not be picked until she is ready.

5. What does the metaphor of cherries suggest? Why may no one buy them until they cry “cherry ripe”? Does ripeness refer to age? Maturity? Love? Anything else? In stanza 2, does “Cherry ripe” refer to honesty or spiritual worthiness, or both?

Cherries allude to both the lips of the lady’s mouth and to her nether region. It suggests both sweetness and fertility. You cannot buy them until they are fully sweet and fertile which denotes both age and readiness within the courtship. “Ripeness” refers to age, maturity, and love. Anything else? I believe “Cherry ripe” in stanza 2 refers to an idealistic virtue regarding feminine love: for she will not cave into any man, whether “peer nor prince” until she feels she is ready…until her cherries are fully ripe.

6. Does the progression of ideas about “Cherry ripe” through the three stanzas signify only desire, only admiration, only worship, or a combination of these? Explain.

I believe the progression of “Cherry ripe” throughout the poem is about admiration and within that admiration an argument or rather idealized example of true virtue is presented. She is lovely, she will not cave to even a Prince, and while she does protect her virtue she is no shrew for she balances her “bow” brow with the warm eyes of an angel. The poem “Cherry ripe” with its presentation of ideal virtue does rise above erotic banality. For it entwines ripeness and the idea of ripeness with not only age (when she becomes properly fertile) but also love and self-possession (meaning: she will embrace a gent when she is ready).

         Well, there it is…my long overdue high school English assignment…and again, I heartily encourage you to read this poem and see what kinds of answers you come up with. All in all it was good to take a poem to task like that and to be honest I am more than just a little tempted to do more high school homework…funny though…to do an assignment this late. Oh my, oh my, high school, high school. Surely to work through that experience is part of discovering the Champagne Life, surely.

* Literature: An Introduction to Reading and Writing by Edgar V. Roberts and Henry E. Jacobs (1986 by Prentice-Hall).

 

Comfort When Landing

 

 

         Sunday was my return to work from an amazing vacation. And I will be honest this human airplane was not ready to land…and it was not until early evening that I found a way to get used to touching ground….

         Vacations are funny things. If you go away (mentally or physically) for long enough more often than not one finds themselves eager to get back to their day-to-day lives, however, if you go for just the right amount of time one only grudgingly returns. I say “just the right amount” because when it comes to pleasure I believe ending it on a heavenly note is a good route for one’s memory of the event or experience: over time, it can deliver a quality of pleasure that cannot be found when one rings a pleasure dry. With this idea I found myself, after a truly wonderful week of absolutely nothing to do, a little restless and dreamy on my first day back in my life. But I know in a not so far off future this restlessness will transform into a mightily fine residue and in my darker hours of intense slogging I will know that vacations of true relaxation are possible and in the future will be had.

         Last night I found myself in a bit of a nervous malaise and was wholly unable to sit through any type of reading. This caused some anxiety, as typically I need to study something (for my instincts regarding the Champagne Life are still quite rudimentary) in order to plot a course for my ongoing journey. Then soup came.

         Today I am going to share with you my latest adventure regarding the lentil. Being a vegetarian one can easily divine that I have a lot of lentil soup recipes under my hat (this is very true), however, the lentil along with the split pea are still complete enigmas to me: for I still have not come up with the perfect soup with these lovely and noble legumes. Needing something to ground me (for truly I was prepared to quit my life and run off into the sunset last night) I decided to put myself in the center of my emotional world—my kitchen—and tackle the lentil. I put on some Romantic guitar (my newest musical craze) and allowed Julian Bream to guide my rocky landing with Paganini, Mendelssohn, Shubert, and Tárrega and set out to make a lentil soup that I truly found delicious. (On a side note: if you have not heard Julian Bream on the guitar I strongly suggest to do so. Throughout my vacation I believe I listened to him an hour a day. I believe I am in love. His is not ordinary music.) And while the results of my labors have not convinced me that my lentil journey is over, it is a good soup, an easy soup to make, and I believe the recipe is well worth sharing and trying.

Rocky Landing Lentil Soup

First put on some amazing music: preferably from the Romantic period (late 18 th to middle 19 th centuries).

Sort and rinse 1 pound dry lentils and put in a large stockpot or soup kettle

Then add: 8 cups water

1 bay leaf

1 Tablespoon dried parsley

1 Tablespoon dried thyme

1 Tablespoon olive oil

2 teaspoons truffle oil

1 vegetarian (or chicken) bouillon (preferably low or no salt…salt while cooking beans will toughen the skins…so it is good to begin with as little salt as possible)

1 packet “Ham Flavor” by Goya (this is paradoxically vegetarian and it can be found in the Goya brand foods section of your supermarket…it is truly invaluable in bean soups and is used like crazy by my Puerto Rican girlfriend who also is a professional chef…she is actually the one who turned me onto this crazy stuff) Note: if you cannot find it just throw in one more bouillon

one 8 oz. can tomato sauce

2 carrots chopped

2 celery stalks chopped

1 large onion chopped

black pepper

Then salt to taste after the first hour of cooking.

Throw everything above into pot, bring to boil, cover, reduce heat and simmer gently for two hours. Make sure to check on this soup, as lentils tend to sink to the bottom of the pot and burn easily, so make sure you stir occasionally and monitor the simmer level…you want to be gentle with the lentil. Note: the soup may be a little too thick. Simply add more water to desired consistency. Makes around twelve cups.

 

We're the Same (7/13/04 No. 12)

 

            Some time ago I was in Seattle having a fine Mexican dinner with some friends.   A woman, whom I was meeting for the first time, was there and she was clearly unhappy.   She had studied in college, and grad school, all the things one studies in order to save the world.   She was a director (of sorts…I cannot remember exactly her title…I was thoroughly enjoying the Mexican fine art of margarita-merry-making…) of a homeless shelter and was frankly disillusioned.   Her face and voice were bitter and it wholly ruined an otherwise exceptional beauty that nature had bestowed upon her.   I was her cross-mate at the table and while enjoying her relatively unusual occupation—grilling her about the homeless shelter experience—as the night progressed (and the margaritas) I found myself envying the laughter at the other tables.

            Her major complaint was that the residents at the homeless shelter were rude ingrates who not only were not grateful they acted as though they deserved everything they got and more.   This had really angered her, and she was in the process of leaving the save-the-world sector and moving into the sunnier pastures of straight capitalism.   I never saw her again (as I was living in New York at the time and only visiting Seattle), and it was not until my Can Lady came into my life that the woman I met over dinner in Seattle returned to my mind.

            Somehow, over a complicated series of events I have acquired my very own personal can lady.   Approximately every other day she stops at my house, and I give her cans (for a five-cent refund) and toilet paper.   She is old (although claims to be in her forties) and a bit “touched”.   She has been in my life steadily for two years, and in that time we have built a most curious relationship.

            The first day she came I was shy towards her as well as deeply happy to give her my cans.   I, however, felt a bit embarrassed by the obvious gulf of fortune between us…but that would begin to change.   By around the fifth day of our arrangement (for she came so out of the blue into my life I had, by then, began to suspect that Zeus and Hera were up to something…) I managed the courage to pause and chat with her.   “What is your name?”   I asked.   “Jenny,”   she belted-out in her part elf, part husky-trucker voice.   “What's yours?”   she hollered.   “Jennifer,”   I answered (noticeably wide-eyed).   Jenny then looked deeply into my eyes—hers blue like mine—and said,   “We're the same!”   (I knew then absolutely Zeus and Hera were up to something.)

            Over time, our relationship grew, and I came to know more and more of her life…she had been a singer in a “hillbilly” band…she was currently engaged (but was adamant that they had not had sex yet!)…and she was still expecting that her luck would, in fact, change.   These things, however, are natural in all growing associations, but the real surprise was her gruffness, yelling, lying, impatience, swindling, and over all ability to show up very, very early in the morning.   She will ring the bell over and over—causing my dogs to go crazy—and if I do not fly immediately out of bed and make it to the door during the “forty-ring warning” she will then begin to bellow:   “Jennifa!   Jen-ni-fa!   Jen-ni-fa!   Jen-ni-fa!”   I then find myself standing in my open front door in various states of nudity, trying to settle my barking and lunging dogs, looking at her with obvious (and now unmasked) anger, and she looks at me smiling like a crazy old tomcat and plainly says,   “Got any cans?”

            I stare at her, sigh, and then dutifully march to my back deck (in rain and snow) so tired and crabby that I do not care that I am in my underwear and fill a bag with cans, a bag with toilet paper, and sometimes, a bag with soup and chocolate mints.   And I hand them to her…and sometimes she makes me reorganize and re-bag some of her other found recycle—all the while harping at me how to do it—not caring or noticing my bare feet and legs.

            And, and, and…I could not be more pleased.   I am not embarrassed or shy when I am around her, and I find myself loving and needing her as any niece loves her (albeit eccentric) great aunt.   Thank you Zeus and Hera!   I so dearly miss (and still need) all my beloved great aunts that have long since left Earth.

Have a great weekend! I will be back from vacation with all new columns on Monday.

 

Interview with a Better Drinker (9/22/04, Vol. 2 No 4)

 

            Throughout this fall issue I am going to interview the contributors of The Better Drink.   All of the writers and participators of the magazine are, in my opinion, some of the most interesting people I have met.   Some of them I have known for years and others are quite new to me.   Today, I am going to be presenting Felisha D. Foster.   Felisha (whose close friends call Flea) is our new sales and marketing goddess.   I say goddess because when I asked her what her title should be she smiled and said, “Goddess.”   And I said, “Okay.”

            My interview with her took place in my cozy painting studio.   We tasted some great Spanish Cava, some great French Savennieres, and a plucky, French Burgundy.   Dr. Smith (The Better Drink's co-founder) was with us as we were finishing up a long Better Drink meeting regarding T-shirts (which are coming soon!), an upcoming interview with a Spanish, young She-winemaker who is making some hot new cavas, and a feature Felisha will be writing for our Jan/ Feb 2005 issue.

Jenn—Where are you from?

Felisha—Baton Rouge, Louisiana

Jenn—I know you are not only crazy about wine but very, very knowledgeable.   How and when did this passion of yours begin?

Felisha—Mid-twenties…it's strange…I'll just say it…you decide how to write it….   My father has a refrigerator that holds over 400 bottles, and it piqued my interest, and then I just started to read and taste on my own—mind you, not having a clue what I was doing.   But after coaching women's basketball at the collegiate level, I resigned and started bartending.   After six months I decided to just open my own bar.   So, I opened a martini and wine bar…with martinis being the emphasis.   The first employee I hired…who ended up being a dear friend…which, later led me to hiring her husband who was a wine director for a local restaurant.   Through him I broadened my wine horizons.

Jenn—What do you think it is about wine that has created such a love affair?

Felisha—It's seductive—it seduces the senses.   It teaches you to pick up on subtle nuances, which, is a key to a better way of life…I think…in my humble opinion.

Jenn—Besides wine what other passions do you have?

Felisha—Sports, chocolate, salt, and sparkling water.   (She laughs.)   I'm a strange being wouldn't you say?

Jenn—(I then laugh.)

Felisha—(she then adds)…and people…wouldn't you say?   I love people.

Jenn—To you how is sparkling wine different from still wine?

Felisha—That one goes back to seducing my senses…it's sexy, it's seductive, it's inviting, it's engaging….   I think one of the most appealing things about sparkling wine is its range of style.

Jenn—What do you mean by “style”?

Felisha—From the lean and crisp austere to the yeasty-toasty-biscuity style…and don't forget Rosé.   I think Rosé is the champion of sparkling wine.   (Felisha then goes on to say,   “Jenn if you put me on a deserted island, and I could only have one wine it would be champagne…and that champagne would be a Rosé…it's gorgeous, just gorgeous.)

Jenn—What is you favorite movie of all time and why?

Felisha—Umm…Jesus…I don't really have one…ouch…”American History X”.   No, it might be “Sexy Beast”.

Jenn—I have never heard of those flicks.   What are they about?

Felisha—“American History X” is about racism—particularly white supremacy, and “Sexy Beast” is about a retired mafia guy from England who resides in Spain who has been called back to England for one last hit.   The movie is beautifully shot…I love the artistic quality of the movie…the way it was filmed.   “American History X” is just real—raw and real.

Jenn—Do you think you have described yourself?   Would you say you were a combination of “artistic quality” and “raw and real”?  

Felisha—(she laughs) Absolutely.

Jenn—With no hidden psychological agenda in mind, what is your favorite type of food and/ or dining experience?

Felisha—A favorite food (she mumbles)…I don't really have one.   I do have a weakness for pommes frites.   I don't know.   I think it's about the whole meal.   It's about quality including ingredients, wine, and people.   Because I've had some fantastic meals, but the company sucked so they'll never make the list.   And I've had some so-so dining and wine experiences, but the company was fantastic, which I guess inflates the overall experience.   Ahhh…but I had fantastic meals in France.   Michelin one stars…those people know how to dine… and drink.

Jenn—In one sentence tell me what you think the meaning of life is?

Felisha—Can it be a long sentence?

Jenn—(I nod yes)

Felisha—Life is about relationships and connections, family and friends, having fun and living in the moment, and ultimately one should strive for balance in every aspect—which I definitely fall short of from time to time…and I laugh…'cause I always laugh…it's all good…have fun.

 

An Independent Redemption Part II (1/7/05 Vol. 3 No.27)

 

            Today I am going to continue my discussion on Chekhov’s final short story The Fiancée.   (click here for part I)   The Fiancée is a curious and deceivingly quiet and simple story about a young woman’s quest for personal happiness and fulfillment and how ultimately the price for such a redemption meant to live solely for one’s own self and not for the happiness of others.   Simple right?   In fact, it sounds rather like many self-help books and talk show themes today…and it certainly, at least nowadays, is portrayed as the healthy thing to do…to help thyself first.   And I believe it is in our own time that the most curious anthem of wisdom was coined:   that in order to properly love others one must first love one’s self.   The problem with phrases and ideas like these, that one must fall in love with one’s self before one can properly manage loving others, is that on the surface (and certainly if said often enough—particularly by celebrity psychologists) they might sound rather profound even wise, however, under rigorous examination major questions arise.   This is where writers like Chekhov are so wonderful:   they challenge our take on life and living.   The story The Fiancée is no exception.

            Before I go on I shall breeze through a quick run down of the story line.   Nadya is a twenty-three year old woman living with her wealthy grandma and widowed mother.   She is about to be married to a handsome, kind man of some wealth and no set profession (as of yet).   Sasha is a consumptive family friend who essentially grew up with Nadya, but who is an intellectual living in Moscow and who holds Nadya’s life and world in contempt.   Through Sasha’s continuing pressure Nadya flees her life in her provincial and backwater town and runs off to St. Petersburg to enroll in college.   Quite unlike many stories of this time and genre (1903) Chekhov allows Nadya to do very well in college and not to somehow be punished (see Henry James’ Portrait of a Lady to see what a writer could do to a woman who goes for independence and adventure).

            Chekhov is one of my favorite writers, and one of the reasons I think he is such a genius is that he does not give in easily to histrionics.   His stories are deceivingly quiet and simple…that if one were to bully their way through his work one is liable to miss the story…and I relish the daring of his subtlety.

            You see, as one first runs through this story one is relieved and surprised by Nadya’s release:   she is allowed to leave her fiancé at the altar, reject tradition and her family’s wishes, and survive safely and happily on her own.   However, as the story winds down a peculiar discomfort arises regarding Nadya and her happiness.   Three key things are very, very, subtly included as the story ends, and I stress that without care Nadya’s escape and run to school in pursuit of a life of meaning and purpose (as Sasha told her a life of meaning, work, and purpose was the only life worth living—and her and her mother and grandmother were just lazy wastrels who lived pitiful lives without any meaning and at the expense of others) could be seen as the apex of the story and the end was simple a tidy wrap-up of Nadya’s triumph.   However, as above-mentioned three key things caused my mind to stumble a bit and take pause:   had Nadya found the noble cause of pursing a life of purpose and meaning as Sasha had pressed her to do?   Or was Nadya simple, impetuous, and spoiled?   And was there something to be said about self-sacrifice?   Could self-sacrifice offer a happier life than self-fulfillment?   Because one of the most curious and fascinating ideas that arises is that if one lives under the ethos of self-fulfillment will one ultimately live a life of continued searching and will this restlessness cause life to ever-dwindle into tedium and dissatisfaction?   The best part of this story is that Chekhov does not answer these questions.   However, he does give us a meaty enough story to use as a springboard for debate.

            As triumphant (or perhaps as non-punished) Nadya returns home she stops over in Moscow to visit Sasha the man who had brought about her decision to leave home.   She was surprised to find a weak, dying (he was always weak and dying) man who was poor—and here’s the kicker—and well, a little dull, a little provincial.   Suddenly, Nadya’s bold hero was no hero at all; in fact, to her he appeared downright lame.   When Nadya arrives home at her grandmother’s house all has changed.   The once nice home was now not so impressive and due to Nadya’s decision her mother and grandmother are no longer part of any type of social scene.   When Nadya was engaged the ladies entertained frequently, now however, they live in shame and isolation.   Nadya, however, doesn’t really pick up on this but rather notices how boring, ugly and lame everything is back home including her mother and grandmother.   It seems that now that Nadya is a bold, intelligent sophisticate from St. Petersburg her other life is more pathetic than ever.

            What is interesting here is that when the story begins Nadya is quite happy with her life and quite in love with her fiancé.   And actually while Sasha’s claims were partly correct, they were not wholly correct.   For Nadya’s fiancé had recognized Sasha’s claims that he was living a life without purpose and had told Nadya (as they toured what was to be the newlywed’s house) that after their wedding he was going to set out to find a vocation of meaning and purpose.   And upon further examination one senses that part of Sasha’s contempt had more to do with Nadya getting married to a healthy handsome man than of Nadya's lack of purpose.

            Nadya’s world falls apart as Sasha constantly tells her that her world is terrible.   Nadya goes on to live the life Sasha had pressed and with that decision her mother, grandmother, hometown, and even Sasha become dull and stupid, and somehow one can’t help but sense all that Nadya’s bold escape did was make her a terrible snob—and one has a hard time believing that any sort of great redemption was had.   One also has a hard time (at least I did) with the quiet, but obvious ruin Nadya’s flight brought to her grandmother and mother.   For one realizes that Nadya’s marriage also meant a great deal to the survival and success of the whole familial unit.   But even before my heart and mind can wholly stand on these ideas that Nadya was a terrible, selfish brat, I cannot help or avoid the reality that Nadya absolutely did not want to, as the date of her marriage closed in, marry her fiancé, and that Nadya absolutely loved college, was successful at it and unlike her mother (who was not a happy lady) had found a life she loved and enjoyed.   But did she?   Had young (and I stress the word young) Nadya truly found an enduring happiness through pursing self-fulfillment?   Somehow, I feel that her subtle but very real trend of seeing people and places that were once dear as dull and pathetic was a dark foreshadowing of her future.   Was Chekhov delicately showing the peril of pursing happiness based on personal predilection—above all else—at the cost of others’ happiness?   The peril being that if personal happiness and self-worth become the goal of one’s life then will one find themselves in a treacherous footrace against boredom and a continued sense of dissatisfaction.   Would her sense of things once grand going dull continue and move beyond her family and hometown?   Would college become dull?   St. Petersburg tedious?   And would this trend of restlessness become somewhat habit forming—because ultimately nothing could ever match the adventure and exhilaration of her first escape—would this sense of escape and personal adventure perpetuate a miserable trend of dissatisfaction and flight?  

            However, if Nadya had stayed in her hometown and married her fiancé would her life play out any better?   I do not know, but I do know this is why I love Chekhov…I shall be talking about this story and these ideas for sometime…most likely in my kitchen with friends, food, and good wine.   And most likely great arguments will arise…and all from a little story written a hundred and two years ago…with ideas that today seem more relevant than ever.   For in my time, Nadya’s decision is no longer in question, but rather obvious:   of course she was right in leaving her fiancé and going to college.   However, when I look at my own time I do not see an altogether happy population, and perhaps if we as a society were to look at our assumed anthems of wisdom such as the key to happiness is found in a deep love for one’s self, then a more complex, helpful and illuminating wisdom could be arrived upon.   Perhaps Chekhov could see the tide that has finally wholly washed up and perhaps with deeper consideration some clues for resolution are somehow tucked underneath Nadya’s skirts or the purring samovar on Grandma’s grand old table.

 

 

An Independent Redemption Part I (1/6/05 Vol. 3 No.26)

 

            Chekhov first came into my life the last day of my senior year in high school.   For my graduation present I purchased myself a lovely old leather volume of The Complete Works of Chekhov.   The book would add little more than decoration for some time.   During the spring of my freshman year of college while living in San Francisco I finally decided to open my lovely, outrageously soft leather copy of Chekhov’s works.   To say it affected me would be a more sober description of what happened once I began reading the dear, contemplative Russian.   In truth, I found myself so overwhelmed and absorbed by Chekhov that I began to dress, think, and most likely (and I admit this with much embarrassment) speak differently.   It was an odd contrast to the general company I kept—being an art student most of my friends were tattooed, pierced, punk-rocker, anti-establishment types—for I found myself wearing exceedingly lovely dresses, curls in my hair, silk scarves around my neck, flowers in my room, and a general air that can only be described as existentialism mixed with theology.   Oddly, it was at this time in my life when I would find myself in the company, not of other artists’ crying foul to the world, rather an old friend from my home town of Modesto who was shamelessly greedy, ambitious, and who carried a general sense that his overall happiness is what living was about and everything else was to be treated as light-entertainment.   I say oddly because it was at this time wine became a big part of my life for he and I would seek out and taste as many fine wines as we could afford, and as we would sip very fine wine we would argue about the nature of life, the world, god, and just about everything else under the sun.   Yet we also would laugh heartily and together come to love wine with such a depth that now he owns a restaurant in Northern California with a decided wine theme, and I co-founded a magazine that is half-soaked with sparkling wine.

            But back to Chekhov….   Although in truth, the above story is not so removed from what I hoping this wildly straying column to be about:   namely Chekhov’s very last story The Fiancée and the troublesome idea that ultimately redemption must be a selfish endeavor.  

            I have some question as to how much I should “blow” the story, meaning if I don’t give you the ending I cannot really explain Chekhov’s wonderful survey of redemption, however, if I tell you the ending then I risk taking away the joy of discovery if one were to choose to take up reading Chekhov (a highly recommended activity by the way).   I have decided in this case to give the ending because I feel that Chekhov’s writing is so wondrous and amazing that it surpasses being a clever story, and that like Shakespeare while we all know the ending to his plays it in no way takes away our enjoyment of them because the themes are endlessly engulfing.   Essentially, I can tell you what happens in The Fiancée, however, the deeper themes of redemption, responsibility to others, to oneself and to tradition, and the morals surrounding happiness I believe will be forever fresh and complicated.   I heartily suggest you read this story and then see if this writer’s take comes anywhere close to how you saw it…or perhaps you can get a friend and a fine bottle of wine and argue together over it…for it can be read in a matter of a half hour.

            I shall breeze us through the story:   a twenty-three year old girl waiting to be married, living with rich grandma, and mom in a large but out-dated home where the servants still sleep on the kitchen floor and where there is no indoor plumbing or running water.   Male, youngish, consumptive, lives in Moscow, educated, maybe a little in love with above mentioned girl, but dying and more in love with education, modernity, and the idea that all people should have purpose…not, as in the case of the ladies he is staying with, lying around all day having servants do everything.   Sasha is the consumptive’s name and slowly over the course of a few months manages to really get to Nadya the young fiancée.   Her perfectly safe and quaint life including her perfectly handsome and sweet fiancée are now suddenly dull and terrible and she finds herself in a pretty hefty panic.   This is classic nineteenth-century stuff, however, this was to be Chekhov’s last story and it would be written in 1903—a very important time for the world and a very, very, interesting time for Russia.   What happens next is truly (if you’ve read a great deal of late nineteenth century and early twentieth century fiction) shocking:   Nadya leaves her family and fiancée and runs off with Sasha.   However, even more shocking is that it is not some man/ woman thing for Nadya only departs with Sasha, but then heads up to St. Petersburg alone and enrolls in college (Sasha lives in Moscow).   And then what makes this story outrageously shocking is that she succeeds!   Chekhov does not punish her for pursuing personal fulfillment.   Her family forgives her she does well in school and basically knows she has done the most wonderful thing in the world.

            Chekhov though is no mere master for he gives the story a subtle but complicated ending.   An ending that brings to surface the nature of happiness and perception and the tantalizing question that is fulfillment a noble-enough quest for an individual or is it simply hubris?

            That is all I have room for today.   Tomorrow, I will be continuing my discussion of Chekhov’s The Fiancée.

 

Healing Words (10/19/04, Vol. 2 No 21)

 

            Last week I attended “Stone Soup” a 33 year Boston poetry tradition.   The guest MC for this open microphone poetry night was Felipe Victor Martinez.   Jack Powers, the founder and regular MC was currently in the hospital.   Two things struck me regarding Mr. Martinez:   his powerful and emotional reading style and one thing he said,   “Poetry totally changed my life.”   It was clear that for Mr. Martinez poetry had a meaning and power beyond artistic satisfaction.   I was intrigued by the idea that poetry could help someone transform so I asked Felipe if I could chat with him a bit regarding the subject.   I explained to him that I am searching for the Champagne Life…as were my dearest Sailors and Patrons…and that I would be profoundly honored if he would share his story with us in order to perhaps assist us on our journey towards transformation.

            Felipe Victor Martinez is 34 years old and was born and raised in Medford, MA.   He is self-employed.   He founded and owns a company called Astro Imaging ( www.astroink.com ).   Astro Imaging repairs laser printers and sells recycled consumables for laser printers.   Currently, his poetry can be found at www.bostonpoet.com .

Jenn—When did you first discover and begin to write poetry?

Felipe—I think I began to write poetry probably when I was 15…16.   When did I discover poetry?   Probably when I was 21…22….   I actually don't even think it is poetry—I think it's more how I feel.   I think it is not discovering that you write poetry, rather, accepting that you write poetry.   What really changed the way that I perceived everything was going from just writing poetry to reading publicly at poetry readings.

Jenn—You said poetry changed your life.   Could you explain?

Felipe—Well, I started writing because no one would listen.   In the situation where I was with my family—where I came from—no one would listen—so, I started writing all my questions, feelings, and trying to read them afterwards and understand it ‘cause no one would listen.

Jenn—This was when you were a teenager?

Felipe—Yeah.

Jenn—As you grew up did your poetry help you along?

Felipe—I don't know if it helped me along…it helped me get through life.   It was an outlet—instead of doing something else that would get me in trouble.

Jenn—Was it rare or considered odd in your family and neighborhood to write poetry?

Felipe—Yeah.   Mostly in my neighborhood where I grew up as a child, and growing up in such a dysfunctional family, that my family couldn't explain to me what poetry was or literature.   Because of their background you could not even have a normal conversation with my family…I still can't.

Jenn—Why was communication so difficult with your family?

Felipe—There are only three people in my family who have a high school education.   There was no ambition in my family.   They weren't able to give me what I needed as a child, a teenager, as a young adult intellectually.   This is actually why I started writing—because of that.

Jenn—In your poetry you deal with drugs, abuse and neglect.   Is this a reflection of your home life growing up?

Felipe—Yes.   It was the way that I understood things and by writing I came to understand things a little more.

Jenn—Explain how poetry helped you understand things.

Felipe—When I wrote I wrote in a rant style.   I still do, and when I write it comes out as I feel it so when I write I am actually feeling it.   So, it's very emotional…sort of inspiration that usually doesn't stop until the end of the poem or rant.

Jenn—Now that your poems are being published and you are reading them publicly how do you feel about your poetry?   Do you still see your work as solely therapeutic or are you beginning to see yourself as an artist?

Felipe—Interesting…an artist…in my family…it doesn't seem possible…but so, did an entrepreneur in my family look possible?   Growing up it looked bleak.   I could have ended up in jail or dead or in a rut like my family.   If people want to perceive me as an artist or a poet they can, but at this time I just think I am a survivor of life.

Jenn—How did you go from just writing poetry for yourself to doing public readings?

Felipe—Something happened in my life.   I was in a transition in my life, and I needed another outlet to express who I was.   The outlet was the spoken word, and the people that I met who understood me, guided me through that transition.   I feel like I owe my life to them.

Jenn—Who are these people that influenced you so greatly?

Felipe—First of all Jack Powers who was the founder of “Stone Soup” (see “Stone Soup” column vol.2 No. 16 in my previous columns below if you want a fuller account of this Boston poetry tradition), and every single poet that ever went through the open mic experience.   I didn't even know about Jack Karouac, Gregory Corso…Alan Ginsberg…I like the beats.   It was through Stone Soup that I learned about these greats…it was like I was put there for a reason.   I had very low self-esteem and I realized it was a normalcy between my writing and I.   I had a better understanding within myself…of why I was alive.

Jenn—Was it exciting to discover that your rant poems had a heritage…a school…like Ginsberg and Corso?

Felipe—Yeah.   After not fitting in after so many years and finally finding out at the age of 29 that I do actually fit somewhere in the scheme of life.

Jenn—What advice would you give to someone who may want to begin writing poetry?   Someone who perhaps has painful issues that they too want to work through?

Felipe—Start writing in journals.   Start asking yourself questions on paper.   Don't feel that whatever you write is silly or stupid or goofy.

Jenn—Lastly, what do you think the meaning of life is?   Cheesy question I know, but I try to ask as many people as I can.

Felipe—The meaning of life…(he looks away and grins) I don't want to sound cheesy (he smiles widely), but here was a movie Forest Gump and he said,   “Life is like a box of chocolates…” something like that….   You just never know…life is like a box of chocolates….   And the meaning of life is experiencing the unknown.      

 

Five Sonnets From Faith And Thinking

 

 

         Believe it or not April is national poetry month. Yes, hum, indeed. Poetry today is a strange duck, it does not have the popular weight it once had, and to be honest, this saddens me. Poetry is a literary form that retains all of its mystery—all of its wonder. Fiction gives you its very all—it must—for the reader to trust it. However, poetry can loom a bit, it can linger as a fog and slowly clear up for the reader over time. Some poems in my life are still quiet crimes to be solved, and yet they hold my imagination throughout the process of understanding—it is not unlike falling into attraction, then crush, and then love—so much you can’t understand and so happily you keep trying. Another aspect of poetry is the writing of it. I am a big champion of poetry and the healing qualities of writing it. I have been writing the stuff myself for many years, since I was a little girl. I have kept my poems over the years and have found that more than pictures or memories or home movies my poems transport me back into time. Also, the uncanny thing about sifting over my poetry from childhood up to present is that I see common themes that string them all together. It is curious and rich to see long threads that connect me to myself as a child. I was actually a person then. I was.

         Today, my beloved Sailors and Patrons it is my suggestion that you pick up the pen, steal away, and scribble out a few poems. I cannot stress to you enough how wondrous and rich the exercise is. So much life happens. So much spinning we all do to survive, to love, to cope, and when we sit down and write…even the quietest of poems…for just a lovely, strange moment the spinning stops. Keep these poems. Oh, please write some poems. Then read them to loved ones or hide them in your underwear drawer. Do not worry for talent. Every human is talented at being—even in their death there is some drama and show. Take just a few moments and picture a moment in your life or an obsession that has ruled your mind or a man or woman that has ruled your heart…anything that has seeped inside of you…and write a poem.

         Below is a little series of sonnets I wrote around four (almost five) years ago. It was a trying time in my life and I found myself needing to pray. This was awkward for me do to. Partly because of my shaky faith in any kind of god and partly because of my hearty respect for the teachings of Buddha. The Buddha taught that all beings eventually must become a human on earth in order to become fully enlightened—for only in the human form (versus god, animal, ghost, or demon) can a being finally reach nirvana (this lesson is not in the slightest lessened if taken only metaphorically...in fact, I believe it becomes more potent). In a very ancient Buddhist scripture the Buddha talks of the ultimate misfortune of the gods for eventually they themselves must come down to earth and live as a mortal human. Somehow, oddly, the idea that the gods I was seeking help and praying to also saw a precariousness in their lives did not deter my faith in them rather it gave me a sense of relation and compassion for all who ride high. And I suppose, more importantly (especially for me at the time), it gave me a healthier perspective for those riding low. I came to understand the one benefit of hell: there is nowhere to fall. And for those who are or have been in hell even the tiniest goodness can make all the difference in the world. So here goes…I must claim some embarrassment or maybe vulnerability sharing these poems…however, it is my hope that my bravery will foster some fire in your own heart and hand and this weekend you too will write some poetry. This is a heartfelt recommendation.

Sepius Minor written in five sonnets

I.
Strong Zeus and Hera take good care of me.
At times, indeed, act they so blind and bad.
Lame evermore move I, aware of He—
of Hera and that lucre turns were had.
So perfect gard’ners not are they, but why?
Say “Damn the Wheel” and know you spoke their bane.
To jump with mindful hearts says Hera, “Fie”,
says Zeus, “What rot!” and they wish sun in rain.
But why not Zeus or Hera jump with bliss?
Enlightenment is the most saving prize.
A mind without a stir or snarling kiss,
is surely worth pursuing know the wise.
Because one metal forges lush, sun dreams.
‘Tis golden gold is...can’t escape its gleams.

II.
Fine Hera sea-drifting, wearing gold abound.
Her countless bracelets shimmered off the waves.
A union more lovely could not be found—
a beauty making sun and Ocean knaves.
The beams of gold-light swirled like champagne.
The roll and lap gave bloom to poppied ears.
For drunk was she—not caring of her reign—
and now addition meant not counting fears.
Alert it lurked, swam, and sought fine prey.
Indeed, gray sharks see glint as well as man.
A trail to dinner served on a tray—
‘twas gilded limbs for where this all began.
But Zeus does protect his beloved from harm—
and whisks blind Hera away by her arm.

III.
His wife may need some saving from spry sharks.
However, mighty Zeus has problems too.
Some pulling Hera gets from hunter’s marks—
but gods who grab have things they rue.
With hands of velvet Zeus displays gold chains.
So dark, this fabric—plush too—gold just beams.
Not nourishment but luster that sustains—
not charity but gain that wrought his dreams.
Blasé romance rules love for Zeus the Scamp.
‘Tis really skill—not heart—that pulls poor Zeus.
For Hera, he doth love...but pass a tramp?
“Impossible!” he shouts, “This is my noose!”
These things are what bring trouble to the God.
They collar Zeus as if he was a dog.

IV.
Both Zeus and Hera hover grandly high.
Myself and Buddha know their lofty height.
But even gods, immense as these, must die.
Though time importunate they still have might.
Soft gold and life of clouds these two possess—
a fall as high as theirs will bring much pain.
They know, but haven’t learned which way they’re blessed—
this paradox is not a god’s domain.
So, Buddha gave his teachings to god and man.
But learn and practice Zeus did not combine,
and Hera slept while working on her tan.
Their fall will have more pain than yours or mine.
Us silly asses will not ever know—
what hell it is to jump from sun to snow.

V.
Where I do sit my view is a thick stand.
My feet press dirt where many insects roost.
It seemed good luck for me was nearly banned.
This mind did pray each nightfall for a boost.
But my ill fortune is but small and trite.
Poor Zeus and Hera’s gallows ‘twas made tall.
Espying Earth revulsion came with might.
A crash—their destiny—lamé—their pall.
Our Earth a planet with a core that boils.
While everybody squats and eats with primal need.
With shit and death creating its rich soils.
They grimaced at our grisly form of greed.
The Gods thought hard—contriving a fine plan.
To study Earth and get to know a man.

 

Have a great weekend! See you on Monday.

 

The Empress

 

         Since yesterday I did a little card reading and the leading card was none other than The Empress, I decided to once again write another installment of my ongoing series about the Tarot cards. The Tarot cards really are little pages of wisdom and are meant as tools of enlightenment more than aids for fortune telling. In fact, there actually are ancient curses to all people who take these cards for light entertainment. Now, I am not so sure about all of this cursing business, but I can say that the lessons each card holds are quite profound. As mentioned in earlier columns regarding the Tarot cards, it is best to see the deck as a sort of connected spiral of rings. Each ring is one whole cycle of cards, meaning the person has moved through all of the phases of the Major Aracana. When one circle is complete then the aspirant starts once again at the beginning (0 The Fool). Each spiral brings the person a little closer to enlightenment and becomes more complicated: for instance the Empress may teach and represent one thing at an early phase of one’s life, however, as that person evolves then The Empress will come to mean much more. Essentially, as one genuinely learns the cards Tarot readings become much more rich and do not have anything to do with fortune telling and have everything to do with becoming a Champagne Lifer. However, this is not to say that Tarot cards do not have practical divination qualities to them, quite contrarily, they do, but if they are “read” right then a reading should be more about personal growth than anything else. It is the idea that if you do not like your current situation then the cards can offer you clues or lessons in which you yourself can bail yourself out. So, is important to also note that a real card reader will not treat you or your future as passive—as hapless victims of fate—rather a good reader will teach you positive mental states to enable the Querent (the person having their cards read) to find a solution to their problem. Really, a whole book could be written regarding the proper use of the Tarot, however, today I want to bring the discussion back to the meaning of the individual cards, and today’s card is number 3 The Empress (see The High Priestess for my last installment).

         Every card in the deck has two ways in which they can be used. One way is singular contemplation, meaning you can pull a card and simply meditate on its inherent meaning and lesson. The other way is to use it in concert with other cards as in the case with divination. With divination, say your life is a mess and you want to know why and how you can clean it up, then the cards derive their meaning from what other cards surround them. This means that to really know the deck you have to spend some time with the cards, and even in the case with a singular meaning, I have found that one can spend a lifetime just trying to fully ingest their lesson or wisdom. The Empress is no exception to this rule for she very often has three distinct possibilities.

         The Empress at face value is a lesson on deductive reasoning. This card represents the wisdom or folly of our thought processes. The Empress is the portal in which our sub-conscious can be directly dealt with in our conscious mind. It is a lesson of deep thinking and the fertility that can result. The Empress is pregnant and is attributed to the goddess Venus. She is grounded in lush, fertile life and beauty, and yet her lesson is reason. The symbolism here is not wholly obvious for very often deductive reasoning is considered to be somewhat a cold thing and very often “instinctual modes” are given more to feminine or nature symbolism. However, the wisdom behind reason being an Empress, a beautiful pregnant Empress, is that all growth must necessarily come originally from the womb state. The Empress is the lesson that we must fully, deeply allow our thinking to grow if we want greatness to be born. We must keep a richly fertile mind in order to utilize reason with power. The deeper clue is the fact that The Empress is lovely, and is filled with love, and is deeply wound with nature and the cycle of life. How can we foster a mind that can give birth to greatness? Contemplate The Empress.

         The second “practical” meaning of The Empress can be found when doing a card reading. Sometimes The Empress can be a person. This is very rare, and it takes an advanced reader to know when a Major Arcana is representing a person. Usually, Major Arcanas represent significant life lessons and not people. However, when it is clear a Major Arcana is a real person in the Querent’s life, then it is important to note that the person is significant. The Empress as a person is (as you can imagine) quite a lady. She usually is wise, beautiful, and powerful. When she does come up as a person then it is a sign that a very special human is currently around to help you out. Empresses in the deep, esoteric sense are rare and if one should appear in your life feel lucky. Mostly, however, if The Empress card is in your reading it heralds either a call to get your thinker sharpened (as described above) or it can symbolize a time of great beauty, love, and fertility in one’s life. This makes The Empress a tricky card to read indeed, for one must deduce from the question, the Querent, and the other cards what The Empress card is trying to teach.

         So, today, my beloved Sailors and Patrons I put this contemplation to you: how or why is it that the ancients placed reason not in austere coldness, but rather placed it in a richly fertile and beautiful woman? And how is this symbolism the clue for us to learn how to deduce with great power and wisdom?

 

Wednesday Cards

 

         Socrates was a big proponent of divination, and so, dear readers, am I. His reasoning was thus: A man can find and marry a beautiful woman with every fine quality imaginable—this is Reason. However, a man cannot know whether or not he will have a happy life and marriage with said woman—this is Fate (an only the gods know situation). Socrates strongly believed that man should employ both tactics—reason and divination—if one wants to live a successful and productive life. Conversely, however, as Socrates warned against the conceit of acting on pure reason, he had a similar warning regarding divination. Socrates had sharp words for those who use divination when reason should be employed. In other words, do not bother the gods with things you can handle on your own.

         Today, for my column I have decided to act as High Priestess and do a little divination for everyone. I am going to use the Tarot cards for my reading. And while I in no way claim the title of Adept, I will say that I have been reading cards for over nine years and within that time I believe I have at least gained some insight. The Tarot consists of 78 cards. Twenty-two of them are called the Major Arcana cards. The remaining 56 are the Minor Arcana cards. The Major Arcana cards are both numbered (0-21) and titled: the Fool, the Empress, the Lovers, Death, etc. These cards are essentially the major life lessons that one must undergo in order to attain complete enlightenment. In a reading they usually signify the deeper significance to any one event. The Minor Arcana are much like normal playing cards. Like playing cards they are divided into four suits: Wands (clubs), Cups (Hearts), Swords (Spades) and Pentacles (Diamonds). And like playing cards each suit has court cards: King, Queen, Knight, and with the Tarot there is an additional card: the Page, which is the card for children, unmarried women (usually under 30) and for communication (letters, telephones calls visits etc…).

         While the history of the Tarot is still quite obscure a few things are known about it. It originated thousands of years ago and is directly related to a system of theosophy known as the Quabbalah (yes, that Quabblalah—Madonna’s Quabbalah). The Quabbalah is the name of the Jewish oral tradition or esoteric doctrine. Many people also believe that the Tarot perhaps has shared roots with the I-Ching or Book of Changes, which is the ancient Chinese oracle. The first known decks that are in their current form emerged in Italy around the fourteenth century and were used in a game called Tarocci. In fact, today Italian playing cards still use the symbols of Wands, Cups, Swords, and Pentacles verses the clubs, hearts, spades, and diamonds of American playing cards. The French word for Tarocci is Tarot and there we get the Tarot cards.

         My question: “What lesson or advice do all who read my column on Wednesday, April 6, 2005 need?”

         The answer: The Empress, The Sun, The Six of Wands, and The Six of Swords

         First, I just want to say wow…then I want to say wow again. Look, I shall be honest, if you do not have a killer day today then things really are going roughly for you right now…however…by the looks of these cards even if things yesterday were about to blow up in your face…I dare say they are not.

         The first card pulled is The Empress. It is a Major Arcana, which means it has a great deal of sway. The Empress is all about the fertility of thinking—active, conscious thinking—and the profound fertility that comes from this time of heavy brain pumping. The Empress is the “scheming and plotting” phase of conscious activity. In addition to heavy thinking, the message of Empress is that if you really put your thought into what you are doing then great things will result. Some successes are best to be executed by “the seat of your pants”, however, with this card the lesson is to really think out your plans. But the message is also that if you really think out your plans then things are really going to come to fruition—big time.

         Now, you take The Empress (which is already a powerful card) and then The Sun is plunked down next to it and you have a big power coupling: for The Sun has the most energy in the deck. It is tricky to say that one card has “the most power”, however, all the cards have various amounts of energy attributed to them, and this level of energy denotes the overall affect the card is meant to represent. Meaning, a low energy card, like the five of cups, represents a time of low energy and depression, whereas a card like The Sun is the highest energy card in the deck…which means, well, you are going to kick some serious happy butt today. The Sun is all about intellectual understanding—but at a massive, jubilant scale. The times when The Sun card pops up heralds a time when things finally become clear: you know what you want, how to get it (now this is important) or you will find people who do. The Sun also is a social card and very often it signifies great friendships, great meetings, great alliances of like minds. People you groove with today are very good people to talk and share with. Meetings under The Sun card are characteristically fun, brilliant, honest, and grounded in genuine goodness. There is no room for dishonesty or murky motives when this card is around. Very often The Sun card is represented with a naked child (or children) gleefully playing under the bright sun: this denotes clarity, joy, honesty, and innocence.

         The next card is the Minor Arcana, The Six of Wands. This is flat out a victory card. And very often it is victory after a battle. In most decks it is a military card, meaning the message is that you have been fighting, but victory is now at hand. With this card coming after The Empress and then The Sun, I can easily say that with a lot of good thinking—heavy duty thinking—and a lot of positive energy (perhaps coupled with finding other super positive thinkers) then victory will absolutely be yours.

         The last card is The Six of Swords. If you can imagine that The Six of Wands is victory after battle, The Six of Swords is relief from anxiety. Often this card appears when there has been heartbreak, physical illness, genuine survival issues as in lack of food or shelter, or great mental anguish…and it signifies that times are changing…relief is at hand. It is different from The Six of Wands, for The Six of Wands says that you will win the fight, but The Six of Swords says you will be relieved from all of the anguish of having to fight so much and so hard. This is a good card. It is not as flashy or as fun as the first two cards or even as The Six of Wands, however, for anyone who has genuinely suffered, relief is the most wanted blessing.

                  So, the message for you all today is to seriously think about what it is you want and how you think this can be accomplished. Secondly, to really enjoy being alive and to really keep a clear, bright perspective on life—for if you do then everything will go your way. Lastly, take heart my beloved Sailors and Patrons who while genuinely searching for the Champagne Life have found some painful passages along the way…today is a day where relief is coming. It is a good day to take good rich breaths again.

 

A Star Is Born 1937

 

         Lately, movies have been on this editor’s mind, and I must admit I have a great deal of mixed emotions regarding this art form. My current mental exhaustion surrounding this medium is due to the fact that The Better Drink’s next issue will be debuting a new column: “Film in Review”. This new column has me more than just a little nervous, for in truth, I actually minored in Film when I was in art school and from that experience I found myself to not only be wholly terrible at making movies I came to fear the whole society involved. Film people are very different from painting people (which was my better suited major). And when you study film, you must work with a lot of film people: which for me was mainly in the form of very crabby graduate students who ruled over all of the equipment, sound studios, and the dreaded editing room where undergraduate painting majors found only the bleakest open hours in which to work (not to mention film cutters that, no doubt, were made at the turn of the century). I did manage to learn enough to understand how much money and disaster goes into a film: like when spending forever getting everyone to put their beers and cigarettes down and getting the lighting just right only to find that after around fifteen seconds my camera began to emit a most curious sound. I gingerly lifted the door of my lovely hand-crank, 16 mm Bolex only to find the whole roll of film popping out at me like the spring-snakes from a gag-tin of candy. Filming would resume when I could starve my way into another $46.00 dollar roll of color film. I also learned that to make a good movie you needed to be a good hustler (that I was actually good at): I was known to be able to turn total strangers on the streets of San Francisco miraculously into proficient film crew. However, with all that said I did take away a good dose of film history, sound theory, and at the very least an inside appreciation regarding films and how they are made.

         Every once in awhile I like to completely brake with my usual lighthearted approach and see a movie not as someone needing some R & R, but as a truly critical viewer. It is a wholly different experience and one that I am suggesting to you my beloved Sailors and Patrons: for in taking in a movie as a work of art to be considered and contemplated upon one finds themselves not as passive viewers but rather as active participators. It is a rich creative experience, and last night I found myself buzzing with all sorts of delightful insights, theories, and questions…and I will tell you that to find one’s mind lush and darting on a Monday night is some feat…and one that I heartily suggest you all attempt. For my sleep was even restless—but a good restless—the kind of restless you get with a new crush.

         The movie that caused all the commotion was the 1937 version of A Star Is Born. Janet Gaynor and Fredric March star as the doomed, yet engrossing “Vicki Lester” and “Norman Maine”, and William A. Wellman directs. The story was by the director and Robert Carson (in which they won an Academy Award), and later the money man David O. Selznick would bring on Dorthy Parker, her husband Alan Campbell and a few others to write the script (often to the consternation of the director William A. Wellman). The cinematography was by W. Howard Greene who was a pioneer in color cinematography. Mr. Greene was brought on because Selznick insisted that the movie be made in the newest triple Technicolor process. Mr. Greene would earn a special plaque at the Academy Awards for his work on A Star Is Born. There are two other remakes of the movie: a 1954 musical version starring James Mason and Judy Garland and a 1976 version starring Barbra Striesand and Kris Kristofferson. Most critics argue that the 1937 version is by far the best, and some argue that A Star Is Born was actually a remake of the 1932 movie What Price Hollywood? directed by George Cukor (in which it is notable to include that Mr. Cukor actually directed the 1954 remake with Judy Garland).

         First, I want to say that this movie is amazing. It was actually the first time I had seen it (or any incarnation). I was glad I waited for this icon for I believe it is a movie that requires some heartache and maturity to really appreciate: most likely it will be even better as I age (I have already found this to be the case with Hemingway). The movie is essentially an elegant morality tale: something of great value exacts a great price. However, what keeps this movie from becoming trite is its open stance regarding this concept: in the beginning of the movie as our young, would-be starlet is off to storm Hollywood her encouraging grandmother tells her that, “Remember, that it is your heart, and you have the right to brake it.” This is not a usual stance: that yes if you want a big bite from this world you will be bitten in kind, however, as long as you asked for it than the scars are tattoos of honor not folly. This idea alone kept me pacing my house.

         Another thing that separates this movie from being obvious is its controlling use of light and dark. A Star Is Born is about karma: it is an emotional take on the physical reality behind “what goes up must additionally go down”. Throughout the whole of the movie every scene is shot with a dramatic use of light and dark. It is hard to remember as one watches the movie that, generally speaking, Hollywood is a sunny place, for always the characters and their surroundings are chiseled deeply with light. It is a rendering that causes the viewer to never really get a complete hold of what they are seeing: particularly with the characters. This is beautiful as it almost palatably causes the viewer to lunge forward, yet still feel like they are just an observer to the action and not a participant (which some movies foster). This dramatic use of light and shadow married beautifully the dark themes surrounding this movie, and I do not believe many of the darker sequences (or even the uncanny “light” ones) could be as subtly rendered had not light been used as part of the story telling. It is also notable to see a color movie use light and shadow with such genius as too often color movies fall terribly flat (compared to their black and white cousins) in this respect.

         I loved the movie. And what I also loved was watching the movie as an active participator. And today it is my suggestion that you seek out a great classic and really take it on as a work of art and afterwards really open up your big brains and delight in what spirals forth.

 

Fifty Things I Can Say About Pamela Anderson

 

         It is Sunday for me and I was in a right panic. For I had a dinner party this evening which meant that I would not have my usual time to come up with, research, and write a good column. In addition to my angst, instead of spending my Saturday reading I opted to goof around all day and then top my evening off with a friend. We spent the evening listening to very old Robyn Hitchcock and Nancy Wilson albums. It was a good night and we talked a great deal about the Pope and the history of the papacy. However, I really couldn’t see myself doing the legwork involved in writing up a good historical piece regarding what happens now after the Pope has passed away (which was suggested by my friend as I moaned that I hadn't a clue what to write about). My condolences to all who mourn him, and my hope goes out for a new Pope with wisdom and genuine grace…this world could use a good Pope. Popes are good topics…St. Catherine spent almost the whole of her career on this topic…and if I were one to pray for this type of thing (and if you are praying about this) I would most definitely light a candle and put a quarter in the box for St. Catherine of Sienna. If anyone could pick and help bring about a good Pope then this Saint would be it. “Oh St. Catherine, raise your sword.” For that was my quiet little prayer.

         However, as I above mentioned I just do not have the energy to give you the whole lowdown regarding the ancient burial and selection rites. They are, I will tell you rather marvelous and rich indeed, but not a good Sunday activity for a weary writer needing to smell and look gorgeous by early evening.

         In a panic, I called a friend desperate for something to write about. He suggested Pamela Anderson. I said, “Pamela Anderson?” And he returned, “Yes, Pamela Anderson.” He then said, “Without any research see if you can say fifty things about Pamela Anderson. It would be a great experiment regarding fame. Could you actually, without researching her in any way, come up with fifty things about her?”

         So, being that I am still in my pajamas, and I know I will not be able to write a gem after my dinner party I have decided that I have no other choice but to take up my friend's most curious challenge. So, without any more stalling…here goes…fifty things I can say about Pamela Anderson:

1. She is from Canada.
2. She was discovered at a hockey (I think it was hockey) game and became the Labatt Blue Beer Girl.
3. Inspired by being a Beer Girl she got fake boobs and dyed her hair very fair blonde.
4. Her big break came from being a “Tool Time Girl” on the television show “Home Improvement”.
5. She posed in Playboy, however, I do not know which came first…the chicken or the egg…Playboy or “Home Improvement”.
6. She appears to always be tan.
7. My friend from the U.K. told me there were a great deal of rumors regarding how much is “real” regarding Pamela Anderson and two of the rumors were that she ditched a rib for the “Bay Watch” gig and that she had pumped up her lip size.
8. She was in the television show “Bay Watch”.
9. I read a tabloid in the nineties where she said, “People keep on saying I’ve been with all these men, but really I’ve only slept with like fourteen guys.”
10. She is a vegetarian and spokes person for PETA.
11. She has two sons.
12. She was married to rocker Tommy Lee.
13. He beat her up.
14. They had a large custody battle, but in the end all became chummy and lovie.
15. She lives in Malibu, CA. I saw her house on some see my house show and it appeared very cluttered…this irritated me as I like empty everything…but I did like that everything was ultra-fearlessly girlie. So, I sensed some real bravery there.
16. She is now fooling around with some younger guy. He is an actor, however, I have no idea who he is or what he has been in, however, on the television show they were talking about the gent as if he was something quite big.
17. She had her fake boobs removed, then had super fake boobs put back in. They are very weird now I think. Fake boobs are fascinating, but if pushed too far they just become weird. I wonder what she thinks about her weird boobs? I actually do….
18. She has her own company selling things. I know this because I am always looking for glamorous vegetarian shoes, boots, belts, and purses. This is difficult as most non-leather items are either very cheap or very, very crunchy-granola. However, Pam is a glamour vegetarian and has now made some sexy vinyl for us softhearted Fem-Fatales.
19. Oh…man…I do not think I am going to make it to 50. I shall lower my standards to 25…Pamela has been on the top of Howard Stern’s “wish list” for so many years that two years ago he announced that he was taking her out of the running to give the other girls a chance.
20. Pamela was with Kid Rock for some time. I don't know why but I was never wholly convinced. With Kid Rock I just sort of saw them hanging out and drinking canned beer.
21. Did I say 25? I meant 21. Pamela Anderson was once violently and terrifyingly mobbed on some beach in, I believe, Brazil (somewhere in South America). I felt very bad for her. I kept on thinking that she was this girl, this slim human, trying to do her best for promoting (I think it was Budweiser this time) and being rushed by a hot mob of strangers in an angry, lust crazed moment. I can still perfectly think of her in that event, and promotion, and smallness, and humanity, and fame, and the insanity of mass devotion, and bosoms and very fair blonde, and quickly my mind returns to my first thought regarding Pamela Anderson: She is from Canada.

 

 

Blue Bird Fool

 

 

         I have a sister. She is a good sister. I love her. And I believe she loves me too. However, never would one find any two girls so wholly night and day. Growing up we fought A LOT. And not just verbal fighting but down and dirty physical fighting too. Looking back, though, I find more mirth than anything when I think of our altercations…and I do have some pride that while at first glance I may appear as the supreme prissy book-girl…I actually am (thanks to my sister) a very, very vicious and effective boxer. One of my favorite memories was during the summer when I believe I was thirteen and my sister sixteen. We both were at golf and tennis day camp. The whole of the day she and I had exchanged various pot-shots at each other. Our across the court insults ranged from the type of bodies we had to the level of our virtue regarding gents. Occasionally, intelligence was discussed (through classic epithets…of course), and things got heated when crushes were revealed to the whole of the country club. By the time we got home (my sister drove) tensions had risen to dizzying heights. I, not really understanding the total danger of the situation, went for one more zinger as we entered the kitchen…and I would see quickly my sister had been moved by my artistic verbal skills for when I turned (laughing surely) I found a sixteen year old girl raising a tennis racquet as if to (seriously) land on my person. Being smart on my feet I reached for my golf clubs and pulled out one of my woods. Her eyes widened and my choice of weaponry only seemed to stir her…the chase was on. I ran and she ran all over the house. We both managed to get a few good swings at each other while in flight. Finally, back in the kitchen we tacitly agreed to stand and fight and my sister swung at me with all her might. I braced myself for the blow only to be saved by a tile counter: for she swung at me so hard that as her shoulder ran into a tall tile counter it took the whole corner off bringing immediate cruel pain to the swinger, my sister. We both dropped our weapons and looked at each other with much fear for the truth about sisters is that no matter how much at odds they are with one another when it came to parents and the prospect of us getting in trouble we were a highly cooperative and unified front of lies and protection.

         Today is April Fool’s day and as you can imagine my sister and I have put each other through some torture. However, one prank my sister pulled on me was so good that even now I cannot be angry…her prank was just too good. So today, in honor of siblings that while they love each other do not have the gushing pedigree of a Brady, I shall share with you one of the greatest pranks ever pulled on me.

         When I was in the second grade I became old enough to join the Blue Birds. The Blue Birds were the junior group of the Campfire Girls (just like the Brownies were to the Girl Scouts). I was deeply drawn to the Blue Birds. Almost all of the girls were Brownies, fearlessly commencing their Girl Scout career. I wanted to be a little different…I was in love with the girls in blue. Their uniforms were terribly smart and I could only imagine all of the wonderful craft projects and things to sell and to memorize I would have to do in order to earn badges. Blue Birds did not mess around with sugar like those Brownies—Blue Birds sold straight candy whereas Brownies, those baby Girl Scouts, peddled cookies. I was obsessed. I believe I got my uniform a few weeks before the actual first meeting and I would check on it daily and dream of my triumphant strut to and around school in my Blue Bird blue uniform: for when you became a Blue Bird you wore your uniform to school on meeting days. Brownies did too and I really enjoyed the idea that I would be waltzing around in my glorious blues while the other girls would be simply wearing there little light browns.

         The night before my official first Blue Bird meeting I was a wreck—an absolute wreck. I could barely eat dinner. I could barely do anything for all I could think of was BLUE BIRDS. Finally, night really came and it was time to go to bed. I hung my uniform outside my closet and admired it from my bed as I drifted off to sleep.

         “Hurry…hurry! Jennifer, you slept in…it’s your Blue Bird meeting day…hurry!” My sister was at my door flicking my light. I shot out of bed in panic. “Hurry!” she would insist. I was so excited…beyond any measure an adult could understand…I tore out of bed and rushed into my uniform. I then quickly brushed my teeth and hair…only to have my sister saying, “Hurry, Jenn, your late. No time…you better go…it is Blue Bird time. Hurry…you slept in!”

         To this day I do not fully understand how or why I fell for this…but as I finished brushing my teeth I ran for the door, grabbing the packed lunch my sister had ready for me. When I burst out my mind crashed. I could not understand what I was seeing or experiencing…for it was nearly pitch black outside. I turned around towards the front door and found my sister standing in the opening laughing hysterically. Somehow in my half-sleep state, somehow in my total Blue Bird mania, and somehow in my tender age of seven I did not notice that the house was dark and asleep and that it was in the middle of the night.

         But you know…it worked…I was the Blue Bird fool. And you know…I still laugh about it…I still pull it out at parties to much glee. So you know dear sister of mine I have to fully give you honors and triumphs for this prank…for you not only got me good you gave me a great memory.

         Have a great weekend! See you on Monday.

 

You Hit My Nerve

 

         You hit my nerve Ms. Merriam…and I wanted to bite you back for it…but in no time at all…I wanted to sit on your lap and kiss your cheek…you naughty Mother Goosey.

Hickory Dickory Dock
The Crowd ran up the block.
The cop struck one,
A rock got thrown;
Hickory Dickory riot.

                   —From Inner City Mother Goose

         The above poem was taken from a book of poems by Eve Merriam entitled Inner City Mother Goose. The book was published in 1969. Upon its release it was greeted with much critical acclaim, however, quickly the tide would turn. Because Ms. Merriam was primarily known as a children’s poet and author, Inner City Mother Goose caused much alarm. In response Ms. Merriam explained that the book was meant for adolescents and adults and not for children. The title alone proved too inflammatory and her book of poems would become one of the most banned books in America.

         I came to know about Inner City Mother Goose when I was researching another book of her poems: Finding A Poem (1970). The copy I read was found in the children’s section of my local library. I was intrigued by the publisher’s introduction on the book flap: “It’s a plastic age. An age of computers, of time for everything and time for nothing, of masses of people and lonely individuals, of new discovery and numbing sameness. To display and protest this world, Eve Merriam has written poems that speak of the terrifying every day.” Now remember two things: this was written thirty-five years ago and this book was intended absolutely for children.

         At first I will say I hated the book. I thought it was a doomsday report without any solution. And for me that is the key for doomsdaying: for I will suffer the cries of any man as long as he offers suggestions for relief. Essentially, I do not like people who simply piss on the world. Be polite offer an umbrella. However, as the evening wore on and as I researched the life and works of the poet, Eve Merriam, I found myself experiencing an absolute change of heart. I re-read the poems and wanted to say a little sorry for my jump to bite.

         What I came to realize was that Ms. Merriam had brought a solution with her acidic shower—dialogue. For anyone who has a child or who is near to one they will know that children’s books are made to be read out loud. Even children alone will read out loud. This immediately opens up discussion for surely many of her poems will leave a lot of unsettling questions (most likely more for the supervisng adult). In truth, war, pollution, crime, and loneliness are wholly part of a child’s world. Darker still, too often it is the child that intimately experiences these darker aspects of life. Poetry, even the reading of it, is a profoundly creative exercise and I came to see that for adults and children alike reading these poems was a way to not only work through some of these frightening aspects of life and the world around, it also brings in a pro-active mode of contemplation and discussion. And maybe just maybe the tender churls that were read honestly beautiful poetry will be refreshed and haunted enough to grow into umbrella makers and perhaps even problem solvers. And for the adults perhaps some creative contemplation will make us savvier in dealing with sorely bitten nerves.

         Eve Merriam was a poet, playwright, director, and lecturer. She was born in 1916 in Philadelphia. Her first book Family Circle (1946) was selected for the Yale Series of Younger Poets. In 1981 she was named the winner of the NCTE Award for Excellence in Poetry for Children. She died in 1992.

THEY is another useful word.
You can use THEY to scare people.
Like on Hallowe’en.

                   —excerpted from the poem Basic for Further Irresponsibility (from the book Finding a Poem)

Praise of plastic thus we sing,
Plastic over everything
Keeps us cool and safe and dry:
It may not pain us much to die.

                   —excerpted from the poem The Wholly Family (from the book Finding a Poem)

as mugger to purse,
bad to worse,
so, dearest one,
I yearn to be your mate.

                   —excerpted from the poem The Happy Cynic to His Love (from the book Finding a Poem)

         And I think this last poem I excerpted from “The Happy Cynic to His Love” completely reveals the larger truth of Ms. Eve Merriam…that for all the bad in the world one profound good remains and persists…. Love.

 

Words Worth

 

         It is time, once again, my beloved Sailors and Patrons to put on your thinking caps and really throw some effort into the ol’memory. Yes, it is not a day to discuss a most worthy and delightful poet…rather it is a day to delve into his medium. You guessed it…thought after high school you’d be through with it…vocab day. I am just going to state this plainly: the better command one has of their language the better command they will have of their audience. Part of living the Champagne Life I believe is having a rather large grasp of one’s own reigns, and dear me, life can be a wild horse. And part of self-possession is both understanding (which can sprout wisdom with patience and luck) and the ability to express oneself clearly and succinctly (which can sprout all kinds of things: jobs, friends, favor, and even lovers). So with all of that said I hope that my pitch for continuing education has excited you enough to really have a go with today’s words. Remember when it comes to words the cliché “use it or lose it” really comes into play. Try throughout your day to really sneak these charmers into your sentences as frequently as you can. Be creative and remember the use of allegory, metaphor, and hyperbole can really give you a lot of a latitude when it comes to usage.

Bibber—n. a steady drinker; tippler (usually in combination): winebibber.

Bibelot—n., pl. –lots  a small object of curiosity, beauty, or rarity.

Clerisy—n. learned men as a class; literati; intelligentsia.

Diurnal—adj. 1. of or pertaining to day or each day; daily. 2. of or belonging to the daytime (opposed to nocturnal). 3. Bot. Showing a periodic alteration of condition with day and night, as certain flowers that open by day and close by night. 4. active by day, as certain birds and insects (opposed to nocturnal). –n. 5. Liturgy. A service book containing offices for the daily hours of prayer. 6. Archaic. A diary. 7. Archaic. A newspaper, esp. a daily one.

Embosk—v.t. to hide or conceal (something, oneself, etc.) with or as with foliage, greenery, or the like: to embosk oneself with a grape arbor.

Erose—adj. 1. uneven, as if gnawed away. 2. Bot. (esp. of a leaf) having the margin irregularly incised as if gnawed.

Gormandize—v., --ized, --izing, n. –v.i., --v.t. 1. to eat like a glutton. –n. 2. Rare, epicurean selectivity in choosing one’s food and drink.

Hestia—n. ancient Greek goddess of the hearth, identified by the Romans with Vesta.

Hindmost—adj. farthest behind; nearest the rear; last.

Keratoid—adj. resembling horn; horny. (Now surely my beloved Sailors and Patrons you can find a good sentence to tuck this fine word in…I'm thinking you could even throw in bibber and clerisy with this word...and most definitely embosk and theroid...and though it might be a stretch, a real word-smith could couple keratoid with Hestia or use it to check a rather unruly parvenu.  There just is no ending the fun you can have with words.)

Parvenu—n. 1. a person who has suddenly acquired wealth or importance, but lacks the proper social qualifications; an upstart. –adj. 2. being or resembling a parvenu. 3. characteristic of a parvenu.

Sapor—n. the quality in a substance that affects the sense of taste; flavor.

Theroid—adj. having animal propensities or characteristics; brutish.  

         That is all for today and already I know my mind is heartily crafting fine new ways to slip these lovelies off my tongue. I shall be delightfully irritating for the rest of the day, and it is my hope that you too form bold new sentences that dazzle (and surely cause much running to the dictionary) for all of your friends and family.

 

A Road I Refuse to Travel

 

         Yesterday I was struck by an odd question, “Do more people die at night or at day?” Not really knowing where to begin to find the answer I commenced my research with the Internet. This seemed particularly right being that I write a column for the Internet. Quickly, however, I realized that punching in the question, “Do more people die at night or at day?” will bring you into very dark electric waters. The first page of Yahoo was a loose collection of various death tolls from wars or disasters. This was only slightly lightened up by a very energetic and excited page dedicated to Hell with really good feverish writing regarding the absolute existence of Hell. The author wove in bible verses and scientific facts more fearlessly and with more artistic interpretation than I have seen in a long time. By the third page my stomach felt weak. There were many suicide pages. And finally, this explorer, found one of her first real-live cyclopses on her perilous journey searching for the Champagne Life: it was a quasi-scientific site dedicated to explaining to people that We Were All Doomed. The curator of the site had collected several essays and scientific papers on themes such as the social implosion of Africa, over population, global warming, bio terrorism, and many other weak-in-the-knees-ideas. It was an ironic moment for me because in this site I had essentially found my evil twin for as he was doing everything in his power to insist you should not get out of bed I was putting in eighty hours a week under the premise that we should all most definitely awake mightily. I am no Pollyanna; I understand the world around me as well as anyone; however, I have come to believe that for all the dark there is light, and that the theater of life is a comedy no matter how convincing the villains are. So, in an effort to rebel—fully completely reject the doomsayers—I have decided to list a few things on this planet that have brought me much joy. And it is my hope that some of these things you will try out yourself and most importantly, all of these things will get your mind rolling around the things in life that give (or have given) you great happiness.

         Believe it or not this “high-brow” literary gal actually has a fondness for a little guilty pleasure from time to time…. One of my favorite things to do, so favorite that I do it very, very seldomly, is to run out and get some terrible Dunkin Donuts and listen to Howard Stern. Once, I actually had to flip over a profoundly sincere anthology of poetry because it felt too wrong to be laughing over a man who could “sing” songs with farts as I downed several rainbow-sprinkled lovelies.

         A long time ago a very wise boy who was quite handsome and desperately poor took me out on a heavenly date. It was early in the evening at summer and the dusk was warm and sweetly bright. He picked me up and was dressed finely. He then drove me to a park and walked me to a grand old Sycamore tree. He then informed me that this was one of the most wonderful trees he had ever seen and that he wanted me to see it. We walked around and studied and sat underneath the tree the whole of the evening. And it truly was the most wonderful tree in the world. The bark appeared as lovely and ornate as a Gustav Climpt painting. I traced the ornate puzzle pieces with my fingertips. The branches were low and long—they were better than mothers’ arms—you could wrap your arms around them tightly and the limbs filled your entire torso. We did not eat or see a movie or hear a song or even take a drink of water and yet when he dropped me off I went to bed completely satiated. Now whenever I see a Sycamore tree I feel utterly happy. What a wise man.

         Just a few days ago I was awoken by the sounds of geese coming home. I immediately leapt out of bed and struggled to see the arrow as it passed overhead. I actually pressed my cheek against the glass. No luck, but their “hello, hello, hello, we’re back, did you miss us” was enough to make me feel completely spring-rainly happy.

         One day I was completely bored with my life and completely bored with myself so I decided to pretend I was someone else. I pretended I was a charming gay man who wrote and designed beautiful coffee table books. That day, I (as the charming gay man) was working on a book about scones. A friend came over and completely—tacitly understood—so my friend also became a charming gay man. My friend's new persona was a physician’s assistant who had a reckless fondness for vintage BMWs. It was heavenly to have a day off from being me. My friend agreed.

         The surprise joy of siblings…. When I was perfectly new to the city I found myself out with perfectly new people. One gent was a little nervous from all of the newness and drank himself out of even being cab-able. So me and another new gent had to drag him back to my place. We had to walk by a beautiful almost cathedral in my neighborhood and I simply would not let him vomit in front of the church. So we kept swearing at him and kicking him lightly to keep him from puking. When we got him back to my place we draped him over my toilet where he puked several times and then passed out over the toilet. I took his cell phone out of his pocket and called what I hoped was a friend of his (for I did not know him very well). It turned out to be his brother. His brother came to pick him up. He coolly walked in my house checked out his moaning, vomit covered brother who was still draped over my toilet and then joined me and my other guest in the kitchen. “Hey, are these paintings yours?” he asked me. I answered “yes”. He then said, “Cool. You got a smoke?” I then gave him a cigarette and a beer and he leisurely smoked and drank and chatted about art—and then—finally saved his brother. That moment still cracks me up…oh the surprise joy of siblings. They will pick you up in the middle of the night when you are covered in vomit.

         Surely, there is enough to find pain and fear in, so for today, my beloved Sailors and Patrons, it is my suggestion that you contemplate what it is that gives you happiness and mirth. It is I believe a road of rebellion that when traveled can vanquish even the best of the hairy ogres.

 

The Trouble With Angels

 

         Recently, a friend of mine confided to me that his mother told him that she now completely believes in the existence of guardian angels. This was fantastic news for me because I know his mother and she is no weirdo. She is wise and educated, worldly and chic. Essentially, if she in her early sixties has come to believe in the existence of angels then, at least for this weary wanderer, I have come just a little closer to believing in them myself. I have wanted forever to believe in these winged wonders, and yet so often I find myself crippled by doubt. After hearing this amazing news I decided to put this question to my Yahoo tool bar: “Do guardian angels exist?” And what I received was exactly what the trouble with angels is….

         Angels, at least the ones everyone seems to be seeing and believing in, are supremely, overwhelmingly…tacky. And this saddens me beyond measure…and it splits my brain in two. On the one side when terribly chic, well-traveled ladies of uncommon wisdom say they exist then I cheer with delight and my imagination stirs. However, on the over side when I cruise the internet (or bookstore or mall—angels are everywhere) and see all of the images and descriptions of these angels my stomach turns…how could these wondrous loving entities be so badly stuck in the late Renaissance as realized through the nineteen seventies? I mean in one site the Archangel Michael looked like a cross between Conan the Barbarian and Farah Faucet circa Charlie’s Angels. And really the tackiness doesn’t end with bad hair and even worse get-ups and I stress the term get-up because so far in my angel research I find these winged lovelies opting for the weirdest costumes imaginable, and I still do not understand why in the time when pants have reached supreme comfort and elegance do these angels still insist on frilly nightgowns? Terribly frilly nightgowns…I mean in one illustration, Archangel Gabriel (who was actually fighting some demon thingy) was wearing this sort of flowing negligee topped off with a sort of leather looking breastplate…it was just terrible and I really cannot see how flowing chiffon could aid one in real otherworldly battle…let alone keeping me from serious injury. I just have a hard time with the idea that my guardian angel could be dressed like this. I am sure our fashion designers today could really work with the difficulty of fitting the wings and allowing for total comfort and range of motion…look at the latest advances in dog fashion…surely, if designers can now make dogs look like Queen Elizabeth II, then a wing-heavy angel could wear a sports coat.

         Bad fashion is not the only terribly cheesy thing about angels. It appears they also have absolutely weird names and political arrangements. In one site (and this was corroborated by several other sites) I was informed that angels actually have a ranking system and this system is usually called something like (ee-gads!) “the celestial hierarchy of Nine Orders”. And these “Nine Orders” are: Seraphion, Cherubium, Thrones (thrones?!), Dominions, Virtues, Powers, Principalities, Archangels, and finally Angels…just plain angels. Other odd “political arrangements” are that angels appear to prefer shoulders for perching, they battle “fallen angels” a lot, and there is some discrepancy with regards to Jesus being their ruler or his father or they are more like an independent contractor for a mysterious all knowing power in the universe. It is clear that within the angel community at least, angels are not dead relatives watching over you. Those are different. Angels were always angels and were never human. However, some angels do live on earth and appear human in order to more closely work with us humans. In one site these “secret angels” often do not know they are angels and very often show up in psychotherapists’ offices for being unnervingly co-dependant.

         Angel merchandise is not helping their cause much either, and I assure you there is a lot of angel merchandise. I do not really have to go much further on this note excepting to say that what made the merchandise worse was the aching sincerity of the peddlers.

         I really, really want to believe in angels. I did as a child. I want that belief back more than even my smooth skin and my ability to spin around without getting sick (now just watching something spin will get me queasy). When I believed in angels I owned the art of spinning round and round. No county fair would claim my deep fried dinner—ever. However, the trouble with all of this angel business is that they and their biggest evangelists are just so tacky and the angels they purport range from being sickly sweet to having the qualities of a science fiction monster-slaughtering hero. I need an angel. I hope I have a guardian angel. But the angels I want are outrageously hip. They know jazz. They understood Cézanne. They like fashion or at the very least have refined tastes. I need angels that I would actually want to hang out with…for maybe a cry…or maybe a laugh. I seriously could not have a cross dressing swashbuckler with flowing golden locks in my kitchen. I just couldn’t. And I am not sure I like all of the “glow” reports. It appears many angels glow all sorts of colors from “serene pink” to “healing golden rays” or in some (special cases) “a shimmering rainbow aura”. I do not want to hang out with someone, particularly someone that has dedicated himself or herself to having my back, who is shimmering pink or purple. It would frighten me, and at best I could not take anything they said seriously.

         No, I need my angels to be cool.

 

 

A Brilliant and Cloudy Night

Part II

 

         Yesterday, I wrote about (and was surely consoled) by a hilarious play: Aristophanes’ Clouds (423 B.C.). My primary discussion then surrounded the fact that it lost and was panned at its premier at the prestigious Dionysia (which was also a competition as in the case with Cannes). There were really three main reasons I wanted to deal with and discuss why it is important to know the reception of this play: first, Aristophanes’ (as mentioned yesterday) does bring it up and one can tell by his personal address within his play—which was very unusual at the time—that this play and its need for redemption meant something to Aristophanes’. The second reason I felt it was important to discuss its original “failure” really ties the three together, namely, the tastes of the masses should not readily be depended upon for measures of greatness. For, in truth, not only would Aristophanes’ go down as being the greatest comic of his time the play Clouds would become slavishly studied, translated, questioned, and yes, performed…over two thousand years later. The third reason to discuss Athens’ not so favorable reception of Clouds relates to what I am going to discuss today. One of the most talked about and mysterious aspects of Clouds is that Aristophanes chooses to lampoon Socrates. What makes this so odd is that the two gentlemen were friends, and there is absolutely no evidence that this relationship ever changed or soured. Plato does twenty years after Socrates’ death directly address Aristophanes’ critique of his mentor, however, neither Socrates’ nor Xenophon (who was closer in age to Socrates and who was not really a student rather a friend) directly rebuts Aristophanes’ play. The third reason it is important to understand that this play tanked at the festival is because it directly correlates to why I think Socrates laughed his behind off at the premier and the rest of the audience sat uncomfortably.

         Satire is tricky business, and in some cases depending on the political climate at the time it can be dangerous business. A playwright must (in order to both keep his head and audience) tuck his agenda deeply into a character in which they will not recognize their own face. Aristophanes was a social and political critic in the highest order. He was a patriot of Athens and deeply felt the sting of her decay. Long years of war and social decadence had already eroded what once was a fine democratic state. The key to understanding Clouds, I believe is understanding who or what is really being attacked.

         Yes, in the beginning of the play we are given a Socrates the Buffoon. However, in no time at all one can clearly see that it is really old man Strepsiades and his pompous, spoiled son Pheidippides that is really being critiqued. In truth, it was not Socrates that Aristophanes was after rather it was the citizens of Athens. Strepsiades was not unlike many of the citizens of Athens at the time: he had married up, was greedy, self-interested, and saw the use of sophistry as a means to avoid paying his creditors, as a way to escape personal responsibility and obligation. His son was wholly concerned with having fun with the boys and being rich and popular—even if it meant potentially ruining his family. Socrates in contrast is presented as a curious oddball and he may be goofy, but at least he is earnest in his endeavors and believes in what he is doing. In real life, Socrates was an oddball, and often he would in his method of dialogue “play the fool” in order to lure the other party into a false sense of comfort and supremacy. Clouds is an indictment of an entire way of life: lawsuits, greed, insolence and sophistry. And it is entirely important to note that Socrates too railed against these aspects of Athens—and Socrates like Aristophanes was an immense patriot—it was in fact one of the reasons he chose not to flee for his life after his trial. Essentially, Socrates is really the bait that leads the viewer into a darker comedic transition, one that an audience might not so comfortably follow. It is much easier to laugh at Socrates than oneself. Again, why it was important to note that this play was cheered by crickets…and in my imagination, by my favorite odd gent, Socrates.

         Socrates: O great august Clouds, it is apparent that you heard me calling you.
         [To Strepsiades] Did you perceive a voice and bellowing thunder, divinely august?
         Strepsiades: Yes, and I revere you, much honored ones, and wish to fart in response…. To the thunder, so much do I tremble and fear before them. And if it is sanctioned—right now, in fact, even if it isn’t sanctioned—I want to take a crap.

         Have a great weekend! See you on Monday.

 

A Brilliant and Cloudy Night

Part I

 

         It is safe to say that yesterday was a nightmare. And like most terrible days one really can only find ways to console oneself later in the night. At least this is usually true for me. Consolation, evening consolation, came in the form of a most amazing play: Aristophanes’ Clouds. Clouds was first performed in 423 B.C. in a massive and prestigious drama competition (just like Cannes) and was heartily panned. This was a bitter bite for Aristophanes because his previous play, his sort of youthful darling, his first comedy Banqueters, stole the hearts of the competition and gave him much fame. This little detail regarding the comedy Clouds is very interesting, and I shall deal with it further down. Clouds is a bawdy and at times, down right crude comedy about Socrates. Aristophanes lampooning Socrates does cause some stir within the scholarly community. For one thing it is known from other sources that the two gentlemen were friends, or at the very least, on pleasant terms with one another, also, at the time the play was performed Socrates was still a relatively young man, in his middle forties, and had not yet stirred the rancor of Athens that would later lead to his arrest. Consequently, this hilarious, though scathing, critique of Socrates comes as a surprise. Several scholars have their own pet theories as to how and why this roast of Socrates was written, and tomorrow your brave, wholly under-qualified adventurer is going to share her own. For as someone who is a blatant and outspoken lover of Socrates, I felt Clouds to be making more fun of the interpreters of Socrates than what the real man was actually about. And it is my little cherished theory that not only was Socrates not insulted, it appears by the audiences’ reception that (now this is only my completely unfounded idea) Socrates was the only one laughing in the stands. However, being that this play is still being performed, written about, slaved over, researched etc. etc…2,428 years after the fact…and this play tanked at the competition…I would think that perhaps one cheering Socrates is worth more than a million cheering sophisticates. (And for you big brains out there sophisticates was an intentional pun…but I’ll get to that later….)

         Why bring up the fact that Clouds was received disastrously at its premier? Because Aristophanes brings it up in his play. You see, the surviving version of Clouds is actually his re-write of the original and in the version that survived Aristophanes actually directly addresses the audience in the play defending his beleaguered Clouds. This is interesting, because Aristophanes, like Socrates in real life, found public derision for his work, and like Socrates, Aristophanes continued to hold that his work held merit, and uncannily, like Socrates, we find ourselves studying the ideas of these men thousands of years later. Which for me is an interesting illustration of the perils of falling prey to popular opinion. Perhaps, my beloved movie: Hamburger The Movie will find a loftier reception a few thousand years from now versus the “turkey” rating it received in my movie review anthology? And before you guffaw by this suggestion let me give you a few of the many delightful moments had in Aristophanes’ Clouds:

         When old man Strepsiades first enters Socrates’ “Thinkery” in an effort to learn fancy speech so he can worm out of his money collectors’ lawsuits he encounters a small group of students bending over at the waist. Strepsiades asks one of the students of Socrates what is it that he is doing and the student replies, “I am studying the underworld.” Strepsiades then asks the young student, “Why then is your anus pointing up to the sky?” The student then retorts, “It is studying astronomy.” I nearly fell out of my chair. On another moment of utter delight Socrates, in an effort to instruct the feeble-minded, old Strepsiades instructs the old man to lie down on a flea infested mattress and cover himself completely with an old flea infested sheepskin blanket. Strepsiades is wildly moaning, for he is being bitten mercilessly by fleas, but Socrates insists he remains underneath the covers until “he comes up with an original abstract thought”. After much complaining, Socrates asks if Strepsiades has managed to “get a hold of anything?” and Strepsiades then pops his head out of the blanket and replies, “Nothing but the dick in my right hand.” Surely there is justice in this world when lines such as these survive the capricious tastes of man.

         Well, that is all for now. Tomorrow I shall be dealing with the mystery as to why Aristophanes would use his friend, Socrates, as his comedic mark, and why I think that Socrates is not really the one on the block.

 

A Brave New Bra

 

         Victoria’s Secret is taking the release of a new bra technology to the same dizzying heights as the release of the Windows operating system. Its name is the IPEX (patent pending). Usually, bras are named things like Maidenform or La Perla, but the IPEX…I don’t know if I want that on my boobs. They never harmed anyone. Why do they now require advanced technology in order to keep them in place? Were boobs really becoming so unruly that Victoria’s Secret had to lure would be Noble Laureates in an effort…an international effort mind you…to find a way to tame those breasts?

         According to the highly respectable journal of ladies intimate apparel, namely, the Victoria’s Secret Catalogue: “IPEX is the result of an international collaboration of designers, scientists and engineers using the latest in digital and laser technology and proprietary manufacturing processes and equipment.” Wow, and to think all of this effort and ingenuity was put forth for one thing and one thing only: better nets. Geeze, and to think I feebly work night and day on searching for enlightenment…without ever considering that perhaps half of my problem was that my boobs were being held by the most precarious dark-age thread. This thought was not helped by the fact that I also came to see that my adolescent sense of being an outsider still might be the case for me now. For as I have been merrily pleased with the overall state of my bosom department a groundswell movement regarding bosoms was really hitting its apex and finally…finally something could be done (again taken from the Victoria’s Secret Catalogue): “For years, women have asked for a super lightweight bra that provided the coverage and confidence of a fully lined bra. It didn’t exist because, until now, it couldn’t exist.” Who were these women? Was I once again trolling the high school parking lot looking for a place to sneak a smoke while all the really cool girls—the upbeat, perky girls were demanding bras that were not only super lightweight but bras that also gave them confidence? Maybe these ladies were not as perky as I had previously imagined.

         All and all I am glad (I suppose) with all of this effort going towards advanced bra technology—but it is a little strange, and I believe something that might take a little time for me to get used to. There is still something eerie by the bold statement printed in bold print: “Only Victoria’s Secret could make technology this sexy.” And then on the next page a slightly more menacing wording (again written in bold print): “21 st Century Technology. 21 st Century Sexy.” I am not sure if sexy is ever or will be ever this complicated. And somehow I sense that sexy is sexy because it takes us to a sweet space quite away from complicated.

         Do not get me wrong I enjoy my constant hellos from Victoria’s Secret…as we all do…ladies and gents alike. And I do understand wholly the advertiser game of hoopla and whoopla. However, sometimes when I listen to people I can see they merge a little with the game…they slide a little out of their seats and began to think they are actually playing. I believe in this world today, part of living the Champagne Life is making translucent the cult of enticement. It is good to have good bras, good cars, and good insurance. Indeed. However, it is imperative to remember that what makes a breast sexy is not technology or Victoria’s Secret. And it is important to make a note of and to really think about the last line of Victoria’s Secret copy. For perhaps even they realize the truth: “Only Victoria’s Secret could make technology this sexy.” And on that note we can wholly agree: Victoria’s Secret has managed to make technology sexy. However, at least for this girl, Victoria’s Secret has nothing to do with what makes breasts sexy, and furthermore, with some contemplation I believe you could see it is quite the other way around. And with that logic really try to see through this game of sell, sell, sell, and maybe you will see how much of our human grandeur is being cheaply shone back to us. And maybe, just maybe we will all be better able to catch ourselves when we begin to slide off our stadium seat and into the gladiator’s ring. For the lion that tells us to buy and to need and to want is of uncommon strength. Though, he cannot make the wall to the stands, and he never will, and somehow this optimist believes he doesn’t really want to.

 

Rigoletto June 1956 Part II

A Wholly New Tact

 

 

 

         For the most part I had intended on approaching Verdi’s Rigoletto much like I do many things for my column. I would first listen to it then do some research on Verdi and the Rigoletto and then sort of string it all together into a story…hoping of course that somewhere in all the effort I will come to a better understanding of something…of something…. And I suppose I am hoping that as I gain (or perhaps collect) better understandings of something then maybe, just maybe, I will find the Champagne Life. However, this time around I kept on thinking of the giver of the present: the gent who so generously gave me the 1956 recording of Rigoletto. He told me not to read the libretto…not to concern myself with anything…just listen to the music was really what he had instructed me to do.

         At first, I did not have that type of bravery. Hanging on to the libretto also meant that if I felt too weak or ignorant to write about the music than I could retreat nicely and write about the story, which surely is gripping. But is that really what opera is about? If that were wholly the case than it would be called Hugo’s Rigoletto…and while I am not implying that Hugo should not be held somewhat accountable for such a wondrous event that is Rigoletto I will say that after my round two…my wholly new tact…I have come to better understand something about opera.

         For my second round with Rigoletto I went as naked as I possibly could. I rose at four a.m.—guaranteeing that my fair city would be sound asleep (as well as all of my friends), and then I sat with headphones on and simply listened to the opera. No libretto, no story, just Verdi. And I found the most curious jewel in this treasure chest. It happened somewhere in the middle of the third act.

         I would have to say that Verdi does three really wild things with his music: first his handling of the chorus is mind blowing. I have never heard anything so all at once terrifying and beautiful. Verdi will make you physically ache when the chorus chants…your heart will sync up to a haunting beat that ordinarily hearts would never do…and it is wild to feel your heart out of its league. Secondly, Verdi has a special sense of time. I found my breath constantly being caught off guard by his uncanny ability to both build momentum and keep one constantly unsettled…this is almost nearly impossible for me to fully translate into words, however, I will say that time becomes quite new and fresh…as if one were a babe and had no sense of it…as one really becomes this opera. The third wild thing is most definitely the wild thing, and this wild thing is how Verdi manages to get his music out of the ethers and into the physical world and when these notes turn to matter they swarm. There would be moments of an almost boring slowness—but not a sleepy boredom—an edgy boredom. Then it would come…the swarm…and when it did every time I had chills head to toe, and when he called his swarm back they would leave with a boom of everything that Roman symphony had, and every time that boom boomed a searing shock of tears would hit my eyes. Not tears of joy, not tears of sadness, but absolute pure tears of experience, almost like a sharp wind. My oh my. Now I think I am beginning to understand you opera fanatics.

         I will say this experience took some discipline for waking up at four a.m. is no easy feat. However, I will also say that something else rose into my heart and mind as I sat alone in my dining room listening to Rigoletto. I do not know how to fully explain, or really perhaps I am a little too embarrassed to, but as I listened to Verdi I knew, I just knew that there truly was something profound to existence—to being—and somehow just knowing being meant something (though not knowing what that something is) I felt an intense sense of joy. Not happy joy. Not lucky joy. Not a joy caused by anything or anyone. I suppose what I am trying to say is that after listening to Verdi’s Rigoletto I had this deep sense that one should not be swayed into believing the slander of humanity.

         And so, my beloved Sailors and Patrons, it is my suggestion for you today that you too find a day to steal away and listen to Verdi from purple to bright blue.

 

Rigoletto June 1956 Part I

        First a memory, then a gift, and then Act I

 

 

         A little more than a few, yet not quite some, years ago I lived in the Finger Lakes Region of New York. The winters were long and the terrain (including cultural) sparse. However, I loved it there and I learned many lessons regarding people and culture and in this case by “culture” I mean art. In this patch of the world one must take great care to form friendships outside of the usual markers of age and similarity, rather one must truly open up to people with whom a sweet sense of spirit can be felt. For the land can be very gray and very bleak for several months and only the best souls are recommended company by an otherwise challenging psychic experience. In a place were good friends were hard to find (particularly if you are inclined towards bohemian behavior), I assure you a night of high culture was as rare as an impeccable shade of blue.

         One of the institutions that arose from that time of my life was the “Opera Night”. These were magical nights that involved not only the fine culture I surely needed, but also the good souls I was courting. We would first make a point to dress up. Girls wore fine dresses and boys wore their suits (although never were there more than four people—my rich yellow library and music room held only four with grace). Then I would spend all of the money I did not have and cook a dinner that took many cookbooks and lots of courage. Other rare treats like candles, flowers, and good cheese were purchased. After dinner we would then all gather in my library and listen to an opera in its entirety—following as faithfully as we could to the libretto—pausing on occasion—if only to mimic the intermission of a “real” opera. These were nights of absolute wonder for me…and I hope for the other parties involved…for we were not a grouping one would readily envision enjoying such a night. On one night we had a grounds keeper, a scientist and a bartender, on another we had a very young student, an intellectual drifter, and (as always) me, who at the time was a very poor and very idealistic artist hiding away in a tiny town with only one goal in mind: namely learn really how to paint and write.

         Just this past Christmas a very dear friend asked me what I wanted from him for Christmas. I told him (knowing that he was an opera fanatic and authority) that I would like a copy of what he thought was the finest recording of an opera ever—or at least what was his favorite recording. He took the mission up with great sonority (as is his way) and underneath my tree what I found was a 1956 recording of Verdi’s Rigoletto. The opera was recorded live in June in the Rome Opera House, Italy. Robert Merrill sang baritone, Roberta Peters soprano, Jussi Bjoerling tenor, Giorgio Tozzi bass, Anna Maria Rota contralto, and Silvana Celli sang mezzo-soprano. Jonel Perlea conducts.

         Needless to say I have been more than a little intimidated to listen to it…when someone gives you something that special one just can’t pop it on and finish their house cleaning. I really wanted to sit down with this one…not unlike my beloved Opera Nights. Recently, knowing that he must be wondering about how I felt about his most generous gift I wrote to my friend and told him that I was going to listen to it and then I was going to try to write about it. However, I wrote, that I was completely terrified as my understanding of opera was very slim and I felt wholly unqualified. I did say that one angle I was interested in was in the idea that too often music today has become simply background noise…something to fill in the quiet or drown out the crunching sounds at dinner. I wanted to explore the wonder and richness of taking music as people now only do for movies: to sit still, quietly, and listen. So with all that said…a memory…and a gift…it is now time to take you straight into Act I of Guiseppe Verdi’s “Rigoletto”.

         I think to be honest in this act the single musical moment that made me sit up straight in my chair was actually the overture. Only in Wagner’s “Das Rheingold” did I hear a more intense and moving introduction. Warning here: it is short so really have your mind and home settled before you commence this opera. I genuinely love the art of the overture and sometimes I wish filmmakers would better realize and understand this old, but amazing practice.

         At first, I will have to say, following your libretto faithfully will be nearly impossible. The action is fast and it is difficult to readily recognize the different character’s voices as they quickly exchange lines. This is a big problem, however, because the story is written very classically: so much of the story is portrayed and foreshadowed in the opening scenes. So, if you do not know the story of Rigoletto (which is based on Victor Hugo’s play “La Roi s’amuse”) than I heartily recommend you read the libretto before starting the opera.

         Once we get out of the clippie opening scene, the opera slows down and rapidly grows very dark. Very dark, and it was some experience hearing a musical genius give very dark. You could feel it. If you sat still and listened intently the notes would weigh down your belly. The startling contrast was when Gilda, Rigoletto’s beautiful and naïve daughter, sings. Roberta Peters’ voice was otherworldly and in many ways so was the character she was playing. Rigoletto kept his daughter in a prison of love and protection. He would not even tell her his name, just father he would tell her. He would never tell her what he did for a living (which was court jester), and he never spoke of them having any family. There was an eerie blend of sad, love, and creepy in the exchanges between daughter and father. There was this dark…this very dark that Verdi knew how to compose that hovered over every scene. Nothing was innocent in Act I, and while Gilda was an exception, the looming doom that surrounded her worked as well to educate as any crafty lover.

         Stay tuned…for tomorrow I take us through the rest of this most amazing moment that happened in June in1956….

 

A Timely Retreat (3/18/05 Vol. 5 No.2)

 

 

         I used to keep around my house a little blue velvet sack full of Runes. Runes, or casting stones, were the ancient oracle used by the Nordic peoples of Europe. The last time the Runes were used regularly was in Iceland in the Middle Ages. Runes have clear similarities with the Chinese oracle, the I-Ching, however, they also have deep European roots in the bronze age when the early Germanic peoples used pictorial symbols in lieu of script. There are several theories surrounding Rune practice and the ancient symbols that were used, and today little is still known about the practice. There are many surviving rock carvings that shed some light, as well as later medieval Teutonic and Viking writings such as the thirteenth century Saga of Erik the Red where a female Rune caster is vividly depicted. The most detailed depiction of Rune casting is by the Roman historian Tacitus reporting on German tribes (98 A.D.) where he noted that “To divination and casting of lots they pay attention beyond any other people”.

         I say I “used” to keep around my house a little blue velvet sack full of Runes because after a while I came to see a human compulsion, namely, the rapid addictive quality of pulling Runes. In no time at all almost all of my friends, instead of hugging me and opening up a good beginning to an evening, they were pulling out Runes and testing fate. And soon the Runes that sat quietly on top of one of my bookshelves were transported to my kitchen counter for more rapid and continuous use by my divination-crazed friends. They were even beginning to stop by during the day…not to see me…but to get a quick hit from the ancient oracle. Something had to be done, so I finally removed the Runes from my life. I did, however, keep the companion book, it was to be read and/ or memorized and used to explain what Rune you picked meant. The lessons are beautiful and absolutely spiritually based, however, I assure you people were not pulling Runes out of the bag because they wanted a small meditation in which to foster spiritual growth. Indeed not. They wanted to know if so and so liked them or if they were going to get the job they applied for. And somehow they were able to divine from clearly poetic writings regarding the spiritual quest of the Runes what the answer was.

         One of the lessons that still comes to mind is the lesson of the Rune Othila, which roughly translates as “separation” or “retreat”. This Rune has an interesting message: that sometimes in life to succeed one must make a timely retreat.

          So often it seems that in order to succeed one must doggedly push—without giving up—their agenda in order to win. However, what this Runes suggests is that sometimes one will not be effective in a situation and that the best thing, the thing that will ultimately set us on a course for success is to retreat, walk away. This is a very scary idea. I know because over the years when I have suggested this to others…when I have suggested that perhaps they should give-up and move on I have usually found a pretty hostile reaction (I include myself in this as well…it is very, very difficult to entertain the idea that somehow we will not be effective, our agenda will not be received…ever). However, scary or not I have come to believe that this highly unpopular, and clearly out of fashion idea is quite wise and should be utilized more often: the timely retreat.

          The timely retreat is very often the only action that could in anyway lead us to success. For as long as we push a losing cause we are unable to pursue a winning one. Also, losing causes or fighting battles in which we are under armed and under qualified can be both exhausting and damaging. Very often people who are bitter and angry regarding the outcome of their life are the way they are because they did not know when to cut their losses and move on…had they given up than perhaps they could have re-grouped, caught their breath, and found a mission that better suited their genius and temperament.

          So, I suppose today, my dearest Sailors and Patrons, it is my suggestion that the Champagne Life has many, many roads. Some require a keen ability to run fast while others need the consideration of the turtle or sloth. Perhaps, if you are finding that the more you run the farther you feel from the “Coast of Bubbly” then maybe, just maybe, a little timely retreat is in order. For never lose faith in that all of us are welcome to live the Champagne Life, however, do not fool yourself into to believing we all will get there the same way. And surely as long as we occupy ourselves with a losing venture we will be unable to participate in a winning one.

          Have a great Weekend! See you on Monday.

 

 

Get The Better Drink Fever (3/15/05 Vol. 5 No.1)

 

         It’s here…really here…the Spring Issue of The Better Drink! And I must say this editor could not be more proud of her fearless crew…for this adventure has proved to be no less perilous than some of the headier moments involving the Nina, Pinta or the Santa Maria. The Spring Issue was formed with the constant reminder that things rarely work the first time around, and in some cases, as with the Home Page, things rarely work the third, fourth, or fifth time around either. Every issue has a sort of feeling and it took forever to get the magazine’s Home Page to really marry what we felt the Spring Issue should be about. However, once the tone was set and we found our “dream image”, namely J. Blake’s wondrous photo of “hand with flower” the rest of the magazine really started to take shape. If I thought of one thing that marked this issue it would be amazing writing—truly heartbreakingly good writing. However, much like the trials with art direction, my writers all really had to push themselves this time…but push themselves they did…and the result is amazing. I feel safe and proud to say that this issue has some of the best writing you will find anywhere—online or in print. If there ever was an issue I would implore you all to really take the time and read cover to cover this issue would be it. I still cannot believe how The Better Drink has managed to cull some of the finest writers out there. I feel truly humbled by the quality, passion, and integrity the contributors of The Better Drink have furnished. It is a rare treat. Truly savor this issue.

         Our Sparkling Wine section is packed and I would like to personally thank Mr. Carl Thoma…what a boy wonder! Mr. Thoma is not only a leading venture capitalist he is also highly respected in the wine community and has been a leader in developing the Oregon wine industry through his dogged and inspired work on his winery The Van Duzer Winery. Mr. Thoma is, no doubt, a very busy man and I feel profoundly grateful that he took some time out to speak with our staff writer Dave Brown. Dave Brown did a fantastic job especially considering the weight of his interviewee. The interview is a difficult medium and Dave Brown really gave it his all and rose to the occasion. The feature in this issue is both enlightening and beautiful…as Dr. Timothy Smith served up some amazing photography…and both he and staff writer David Sirois teamed up to write a great piece on the sugar content of Champagne. Finally, we will all know the difference and history surrounding such terms as Brut, Demi-sec, and Extra Dry! Dr. Timothy Smith also wrote a great column (found in Arts & Sciences) regarding the tool that was invented to measure the sugar content in wine. We are all lucky to have such a big brain working for us!

         The First Person section of our magazine is one of the most impressive collections of essays I have ever seen in one magazine. Without a doubt my writer’s were inspired this time around…each one made me pause…each one made me so proud to be an editor and proud to be human. The HelloGoodbye column is one of the most touching, well written and fearless columns we have ever released. Felipe Victor Martinez and regular contributor, Anna Luciano have definitely given us all a rich draught to be sure! Andreas Matern, one of our very first staff writers and early supporters is back with an informative and lighthearted Passion Forum about his love for online adventure…. He is a gifted writer and I am truly honored that he is a member of The Better Drink family. Pete Hammer who heralds from England is a Better Drink newcomer and boy oh boy can he write. He delivers one heck of an “Under the Goldlight: true tales of drinking champagne”. Pete is a true storyteller and while his essay is all true he manages it to read like a great story. His piece really is what the column is all about!

         If that was not enough to rest on one’s laurels with, the adventure does not end there…for our Arts & Literature section is one of our finest. I feel safe in saying that The Better Drink has managed to snag some of the finest writers and artists around. The show in the Marcia Reed Virtual Gallery is our very first photography show. Regular contributor and poet of uncommon genius really stretches his artistic scope and delivers a beautiful, yet haunting collection of zoo photos. The Better Drink does not pay the artists who show in the gallery, however, Mr. Gordon worked as doggedly, and with the same standard as though he were being paid a king’s ransom. His sense of art and integrity is truly inspiring. Our poetry section this time has two featured poets: Ian Detlefsen and Suzie Sims-Fletcher. The poems this time around are wonders of spare beauty. It is quiet and rich in our Poetry section this time and as the snow fades to rain I suggest you visit this cool, grand space many times over. Lastly, our fiction submission is also an example of sparcity and quiet, and yet the emotions that arise as one reads tremble and do linger. George Mentis is a lover of language and sees the mechanics of writing to be as integral as the subject. Thank you Mr. Mentis.

         There are also a few people that I need to thank and acknowledge who contribute behind the scenes at The Better Drink. Felisha Foster, our fearless, energized, and incredibly witty Sales and Marketing Goddess not only helps “spread the word” she also is an invaluable authority of wine and the wine industry and perhaps, most importantly, she has become my friend. She is a good mix of optimistic and savvy and never do I come away empty after one of our, surely notorious, kitchen sessions. I feel so incredibly lucky that The Better Drink brought a person of such rarity into my life, and even better a person who really works hard to help realize The Better Drink. In addition to Felisha Foster, I would also like to give a special thank you to Dr. James and Elizabeth Smith who not only have been our biggest cheerleaders, and who have also contributed writing, they have recently given us a much needed boost in our coffers. No matter how much passion and belief one may have in something without the proper finances it is nearly impossible to succeed. In an unbelievable act of both love and confidence Dr. and Mrs. Smith have contributed generously to the magazine in order to insure that as we still ride through our infancy so we are financially stable enough to grow into what Dr. Timothy Smith and I believe to be a fine institution. I thank and love you very much Jim and Liz. I am still a little in awe of both your generosity and belief in what Tim and I are trying to accomplish, and in times of great exhaustion I find just drawing on your confidence in me is quite enough to get through the rough spots. Thank you…over and over again.

         “Can I trim your ear hair?” Oh…Dr. Smith…how you endure me! Yes, I did ask my co-founder, Dr. Timothy Smith that question while in the throws of making this magazine happen. Also, somewhere deep into the night, when the coffee no longer really mattered I asked, “Do you got any back zits I could pop?” Needless to say he kept on working diligently away…. It is also important to note that the sound track of this issue was none other than The Saturday Night Fever Soundtrack…so as Dr. Smith was trying to make what I wanted to happen happen the Bee Gees were swinging throughout my house…yet again…he kept on working diligently away. Dr. Smith is a brilliant, patient, and busy man. I still wonder how he manages to fit The Better Drink into his life with the intensity, focus, and true love that he does…but he does. He truly manages to keep me inspired. He is an impeccable creative and business partner and I still wonder what he’s doing with a dame like me.

         Finally, this is where the real love letter begins…the real reason Dr. Timothy Smith, the Better Drink contributors, and I really are quite exhausted…yet thrilled just the same…all of you…our readers…my beloved Patrons and Sailors joining us at The Better Drink on our mad, packed adventure searching for the Champagne Life. It is hard to remember sometimes but this world and life really is magical…sublime. Never in my life have I felt more humbled and more honored than when I think about the loyal readers (and hopefully new ones too!) that return to The Better Drink and really take her for a spin. She’s a fine vessel—one that I truly believe can deliver you to some of the better shores—one that only traverses the better drinks. Thank you. May we all one day share a fine glass of bubbly as our toes curl into the sweet shores of the Champagne Life. So with all that said, get your heart racing and get down to some serious clicking.

         And for you my faithful, and no doubt amazing, Champagne Lifers my new season of “Searching for the Champagne Life” columns will commence Friday, March 18, 2005…hopefully you once again will join me as I go everywhere and in between searching fearlessly for the Champagne Life.

Jennifer Barnick, editor
March 15, 2005