Past_Champagne

In Search of the Champagne Life
by Jennifer Barnick

DESIGN your future: part I

“Cradle to Cradle: Remaking the Way We Make Things” by William McDonough and Michael Braungart is a moving book about how things were, how things are, and how things could be. They are not your ordinary environmentalists—they actually want to work with big companies, are not so sold on the effectiveness of recycling, and do not think “use less” is a workable option. Instead, they want to wholly transform how we think of making, selling, and re-making things: they want to change our current “cradle to grave” model of consumption to “cradle to cradle”. And this transformation has already proved itself possible today with buildings that actually generate surplus energy and fabric that can simple be thrown on the ground and be used (after it’s initial life) as nutritious fertilizer.

William McDonough is an architect and Michael Braungart is a chemist and together they have forged not only a business relationship, but a visionary one as well. Together they have constructed a philosophy and appending vision of abundance, health, beauty, and growth. It was fascinating reading an environmental book that was not all doomsday and did not suggest severe sacrifice on the part of humanity (including withholding from having children) in order for the planet to heal. Quite contrarily, both authors insist that with intelligent design we humans can have our cake and eat it too—we can have a world with economic growth, convenience, luxury, beauty, and—and, yes, a healthy planet.

“Reduce, reuse, and recycle” is absolutely the battle cry of most environmentalists, however McDonough and Braungart insist that that model is essentially only delaying the inevitable whereas their model cradle to cradle or waste equals food stops environmental destruction completely. Reduce, reuse and recycle essentially tells companies to try not to grow, it encourages often dangerous applications of waste materials and downgrades materials versus upgrades.

The first traditional tenet—reduce—is contrarily to our entire economic system which depends on growth for continued success and profit. Also, the need to request the population to reduce can often prove too demoralizing to have any lasting success. Most importantly, however, is that the problem with “reduce” is that it entails that manufacturers are not actually cleaning up their act or making safer products rather they are simply making less of them which eventually will lead to the same human and environmental health issues as before.

Reuse, the second major tenet for traditional environmentalists, also brings with it some serious problems. The key example the authors use is that of using plastic soda bottles for clothing fabric. At first when this product was invented and announced, it was touted as a great environmental breakthrough. The plastic bottles were finely shredded and made a polar fleece like fabric. However, the authors point out that those soda bottles were never made or considered with this application in mind therefore and while they proved to be relatively state in their virgin or original form when they were processed into cloth they “off-gassed” many toxic chemicals to people therefore making the clothes extremely dangerous to where. Additionally, these bottles were not meant to be finely shredded and worn against human skin. The friction would also release toxic particulates onto the wearer’s skin making the “eco-friendly” clothes actually toxic dangers.

Recycle is the last and most holy of traditional environmental thinking and for the authors of this book, should be seen as only crudely effective and in most cases causes more trouble than good. First off, like the example with the plastic soda bottle fabric many things that are currently being recycled were never designed to be recycled and reused and therefore often produce dangerous to people and the earth products. Additionally, for all of the trouble and expense of recycling the products are always downgraded into something less strong and valuable (not to mention toxic). These second lives of bottles, aluminum, and paper are often brief leaving the product to end up in a landfill with recycling only delaying the problem and not solving it.

Essentially, it is this final point that the current dogma of the environmental cry “Reduce, reuse, and recycle” merely delays a deadly problem and does absolutely nothing to solve it. And in some cases the tenets can prove more harmful to humans and the environment than if they were not employed. McDonough and Braungart are not, however, all gripe. The book is actually an up-beat call for change with re-life solutions and an incredible vision for the future. Tomorrow, I will be bringing you their rebuttal and solution to current environmental thinking.

Northrop’s The Meeting of East and West Part XIV

Practical Wisdom

Special note: while this is a multi-part series it is my intention that they be written so one does not need to read them in succession. There is a logic in the order in that I am discussing the book chapter by chapter in their found order, however, the ideas and questions do not necessarily depend on the succeeding columns and (hopefully) each column can be enjoyed as a “stand alone” essay.

If you are just joining the series note that it is a chapter by chapter covering of F.S.C Northrop’s “The Meeting of East and West: An Inquiry Concerning World Understanding” (1946). Today I shall be discussing chapter thirteen: Practical Wisdom.

This marks the final chapter of the prophetic masterwork as well as my final essay for the series. I will first say to those who have not read the book that the final chapter is oddly brief—particularly considering some of the more monolithic chapters. The final chapter is not an apology, however, it serves to be in some way in that Northrop hedges his optimism, idealism, and solution with some sobering insight—particularly when dealing with the pesky problems of theistic religions and the reality that while technology may be going one direction for the most part man’s heart remains with his past. This I believe is the most poignant matter that Northrop elegantly bemoans. He describes the perils of a torn modern man. He described the modern, democratic French man who has embraced science and technology and the thoroughly Lockean ideals of freedom and yet who still attends mass—though with a wink to his non-catholic friends. This concept—the idea of “going through the motions without deep and real faith”—Northrop contends is “playing with fire”. Northrop reasons that as man continues to practice religions that he does not truly have faith in then eventually man will struggle to believe in anything and will reach a level of despondence and meaninglessness. And while Northrop does see the peril of theistic religions in there relation to world harmony he also sees a peril of man living without profundity and spiritual nourishment.

Northrop also agrees that while science and technology appear to be evolving at lightning speeds the heart of man does not: for modern man still often bases his prejudices, society, and law on philosophic and religious beliefs that paradoxically man recognizes has been debunked by science. For instance, Newton’s discoveries absolutely proved Aristotle to be wrong in his theory of natural hierarchy. Catholicism is absolutely based on Aristotle’s science. It is difficult to see Catholicism this way, however, before Newton came along official Catholic dogma was not based on some supernatural mysticism rather on (what they thought was) hard science. People in the past were not torn like modern man is—they did not have the burden of faith we do now in that they thought their religion was scientifically proven whereas now man is asked to believe because they are told to believe.

While in the final chapter Northrop does point out all of the inherent problems with his solution—that is build a “world philosophy” that encompasses the best each culture has to offer and tosses out all that is both scientifically proven false and that is directly harmful to differing parties—however, Northrop also points out some ways he feels his “world philosophy” could genuinely come to pass: art. Northrop writes that art if allowed and encouraged to express these varying world philosophies that this new art could help feed the heart of man and fill in some of the emotional, spiritual gaps that science and technology have carved out of the soul of man. Northrop strongly believed that the world was becoming too economic-centric in its vision of society—he felt that if economic theory was the only guiding philosophy for a society that many would eventually suffer—whereas bringing art into society as a communal, ritualistic and integral part of life would bring a healthy, balanced world. Northrop argues strongly that while certainly man does need food—man also needs his spiritual, emotional side nourished as well.

Ending the book I have to admit I had many mixed feelings. On the one side I will never look at my civilization or other civilizations in the past quite the same way again. There was something eerie and empowering studying the roots of not only my worldview but also my culture’s worldview. It is a deeply humbling exercise for it challenges any solid footing regarding right “worldview” and wrong “worldview”. I believe in the end I somewhat fought his idea of developing a one-world view, however, when I finished I came away a little different—I suppose after closing the book and taking the dogs for a good long walk I loved the book. Two of Northrop’s sons were fighting in WWII as he wrote this book. It is a masterpiece of writing, insight and scholarship. I can only imagine the depth and seriousness he felt as he crafted his very best effort to end war on earth. And now as I write this—the present being nearly a week since I finished the book—I have come to see that the future Northrop was seeing was grim between the east and west including strife between the major theistic religions and now more than ever I hope that more and more people realize a little Northrop within their own hearts.

Northrop’s The Meeting of East and West Part XIII

The Solution of the Basic Problem

This chapter was not only the most difficult to comprehend it was also the most bizarre in that Northrop goes from sober, brilliant scholar to outrageous, mad philosopher. There were some great moments when describing the definition of man as it pertains to economic theory in relation to the Marxist view of man and the Lockean view. Northrop wonderfully illustrates one of the fundamental reasons why America and Communism do not like each other. Man for Marx was a being that required (e) energy from without with e being primarily food. Therefore the function of a good state is to put emphasis on providing this “incomplete” being (man) who is necessarily incomplete do to its dependence on energy from without, a sufficient amount of energy (food). This concept is also the base for Marxist economic theory. Locke posits that man is a mental substance wholly independent and autonomous. This mental substance is the owner of their body like an owner of land. Therefore the function of a good state is to solely provide protection of an individual’s land (including one’s body). That means that what one’s property (including one’s body) requires is solely up to the discretion of the owner of said property (the mental substance). It is this basis in which America’s government and economic theory has evolved.

There are, however, moments in this long and complex chapter that leaves one scratching their head and nowhere does wide-eyed disbelief come than when he deals with theistic religions. Now certainly we all know the obvious problems theistic religions bring when striving for world peace. Each theistic religion (such as Christianity) claims that it is absolutely perfect and that everyone else is wrong. Unfortunately, Islam and Judaism make the same claim. Northrop’s idea for making Christianity more “world friendly” is to me beyond insane, and I feel he wholly presupposes that it is doctrine that rules the religious heart whereas I believe faith and the religious experience (which is beautifully dealt with by William James) rule the religious heart. He suggests that Christians take up the steady, whole, and devout worship of the Virgin Mary as is found with the phenomenon in Mexico with the Lady of Guadalupe. This he reasons will balance the over-masculine, theoretical basis of God the Father as it pertains to the Christian vision of god. This balance will allow Christianity to better merge with the people of the east causing better world harmony. Northrop also writes that missionaries should cease coming to Asia in order to convert the people, but instead should come in order to better learn about Asian culture and to only share in their scientific and medical knowledge. The idea that we should get Christians to worship the Virgin Mary as an equal to God the Father is to me crazy. I do not know if Northrop knew many Christians but I cannot wholly understand how a renowned scholar from Yale could seriously suggest the plausibility of getting the whole of Christendom to betray one of their most precious tenants: monotheism.

Essentially, Northrop is building a theory that if we are to get along we must formulate and adopt a worldview or world philosophy that is the blend of the best of what the world has to offer philosophically and reject the ideas that do not work. I believe in his theory in that all major, world “groups” and movements from Christianity to Islam to America to Soviet Russia were all created from a philosophy espoused by either a prophet persona like Jesus or Mohammed or by a philosopher as in Locke or Marx. So to this I agree that to change the world one begins with a philosophy brought to the world by either a philosopher or a prophet. The second important factor is of course who decides to embrace the philosopher or prophet and usually things do not take off unless humans in power decide to embrace the philosophy. With that said one wonders that unless the world is ruled by a singular force Northrop’s one world philosophy plan could never work. How can a leader who rules only a part of the world bring about a philosophical change throughout the whole of the world? One can easily see through the history and eventual collapse of Soviet Russia when a provincial worldview pretends itself as being a pan worldview only to find that just because one nation thinks they have found a way towards universal utopia it does not mean that others will agree.

I only have one more chapter to go from this massive undertaking of a book and I look forward to hopefully finding some resolutions to what I see are massive flaws in his ambitious plan.

Northrop’s The Meeting of East and West Part XII

Contemporary India, Japan, and China

One of the most curious aspects of reading anything “contemporary” several decades later is that one can gain some fresh insight as to how people (for instance) felt about the world in 1946 versus reading the perspectives of 1946 through the lens of a 2005 scholar. The differences are profound. Northrop, though incredibly impassioned in his goal for world peace is oddly indifferent to some of the more horrific realities of foreign occupation. He even goes as far as saying (or at times implying) that western imperialism has proved helpful to the oppressed nations. Definitely, as in the case of China, western science and the widespread use of an alphabet, theoretical friendly written language were all pressed upon China during the time of the oppressive unfair treaty system in which the major western nations including Japan somehow decided they had the right to control and rule over all of China’s ports (which was done with gun boats and inland governors). However, there is also a chance that China would have learned about, evolved and adopted western science without losing her dignity.

Remembering that this book was published in 1946 is important when considering India, Japan and China and surely one could not find three hotter nations. India was now absolutely insisting on emancipation from Britain and Gandhi was just ramping up, China was about to become communist, and Japan had been brutally defeated. Of the more interesting prophetic failures in the book was the downplaying of Gandhi’s influence; the marginalizing of Mao, and most importantly the tension and absolute consequence communism would have on our world. Personally, it was almost impossible to believe how Northrop, for all of his immaculate brilliance, did not see the upcoming cold war. Of the more successful prophetic moments was his discussion or Mohammedanism (or Islam) and its current and future influence in India and elsewhere, and many of the conflicts we are seeing now Northrop beautifully prophesized and explained. He also described wonderfully the Christian paradox that actually encourages violent wars, and I believe he would be none too surprised of the current situation in the Middle East. And while Bush and no doubt many others see the current wars as a “here and now” crisis based on contemporary issues, after deconstructing our most fundamental cultural and philosophical grounds one can see the conflict years in advance.

Contemporary India, Japan, and China is now India, Japan, and China in 1946. It is eerie to read intelligent perspectives on things that have now already come to pass. This chapter also made me wonder about the authenticity or rather accuracy of history. There really were differences between how Northrop saw things in the nineteen forties and how things were taught to me regarding the nineteen forties. The whole point, however, of this book is not eerie history lessons—Northrop is on a mission and his mission is world peace and while so far I feel I have learned a great deal about the east and the west I still have not grasped the magic bullet that is to save us all.

Northrop’s The Meeting of East and West Part XI

The Meaning of Eastern Civilization

For the first time in Northrop’s book I am starting to sense that Northrop, though brilliant and idealistic, is beginning to reveal within his own work the challenge of his goal: mainly by fully understanding the pros and cons of western and eastern philosophies one can then forge a “one-world” philosophy based on the best of both hemispheres. The whole point being world peace, and the theory is that a common philosophy could provide world peace. Obvious considerations like getting all the people of the world to base their worldview on a “one-world” philosophy so far have not been dealt with by Northrop. However, what I am starting to see is a not so subtle distinction between Northrop’s dealing with the west and the east. I will first say that any cultural bias is not conscious nor do I believe Northrop had any intention on being one-sided, in fact, I thoroughly think that Northrop believed he was being every bit the man of the “one-world” spirit. However, as someone who does have some scholarly sense of the east I will say Northrop grossly over-simplifies and glues the whole of the east together in one big glop whereas when he dealt with the west he gave much attention and time to the many complex and not always complimentary west (as in the case with Kant, not Locke working in Germany). With all that said, however, the book is still quite elegant and I believe richly insightful, and while I do think he should have worked harder on his dealing with the east as I read I am still drawn by the overall project and look excitedly forward to the punch line: the “one-world” philosophy Northrop has been cooking up.

Of the actual content of chapter ten: The Meaning of Eastern Civilization, besides it being not much different from its proceeding chapter Northrop does introduce one new concept regarding morality and the east.

If you can think of the east of seeing that essentially the one truth or one reality is this sort of collective, yet empty undifferentiated continuum and that all differentiated things such as the color of the sky, pain, happiness, a flower are all transitory. Even man is to be seen as merely a transitory aspect of this one undifferentiated continuum. That implies that each moment in one’s life is ultimately unique or novel and that the only constant or truth is this “empty” field from which all transitory, differentiated things come and go. Things like pain or sexual passion therefore are not to be given too much importance because ultimately pain or sexual passion will disappear back into the undifferentiated continuum. With that said morality is then necessarily relative—because every moment of one’s life is novel. The west has fixed moralities such as “honor thy mother and thy father” and this moral is to be taken as true all the time. The east sees morality as always relative therefore though they too take seriously the idea of honoring their parents they also understand that there might be a time in which it is better to go against their parents. In one rather charming (and culturally arrogant) passage in this chapter Northrop retails the frustrations of an American Methodist missionary working in China who felt the Chinese could not ever keep to their commitments and what worked one day could be wholly abandoned the next. Northrop points out that while the western missionary saw this relative quality to be a sign of immorality, for the Chinese, excepting and practicing moral relativity is exercising the highest form of morality for in doing so they are recognizing and realizing the ultimate truth that all differentiated things are transitory and therefore must not be given importance over the undifferentiated continuum.

Northrop’s The Meeting of East and West Part X

The Traditional Culture of the Orient

This is Northrop’s opening chapter covering the Orient, and I will say it was long and somewhat opaque. There were some novel moments (remember this book was written during WWII and published in 1946). The British were still fully occupying India, Islam was called “Mohammedanism” and eerily for all of Northrop’s prophetic insight there appears to be not even an inkling of what was to almost immediately come: Mao and his communist regime. There was, however, some complex and illuminating insights regarding the eastern worldview or at least its ancient core in which all eastern religions have emanated and its difference from the western worldview.

Language is an immediate and profound way to see a major difference between the eastern mind and the west and nowhere it is more obvious than with the Chinese alphabet—or lack thereof—Northrop discusses the evolution of a character based written language and how it reveals a profoundly different worldview in contrast with the western alphabet. The core of this difference is in the western object/ subject view of the world: meaning we see and explain our reality based an internal viewing of an external public space. I see the boat. I am Jennifer. The boat is a boat. This absolute separation between subject and object has led to our sense of science and the theoretical, and our language allows a person to understand what it may or may not have ever experienced. Mathematics and physics are immediate cases of the theoretical being intellectually understood though never directly experienced. With a character based language it implies that an object or experience must be experienced by a person in order for the symbol to be fully comprehended. This type of language can bring profundity to poetry; however, can be impossible to use in the case of western scientific method. Ironically, after Northrop’s book was published a language revolution would commence in China in which a more universal, theoretical friendly language would spread. Before only the very educated and wealthy would have mastered written language. However, what their language does lend is a deeper experiential truth and here is where the most profound difference between the east and west lies.

For the east there is a “oneness” or common ground that unites all man to the universe. Confucius called it “man to manness”, Taoism called it the “tao”, Hinduism “Brahmin”, and Buddhism “Nirvana”. The idea is that through direct experience one can work to empty one’s mind and through that experience absolutely feel the nature of the universe—the oneness that binds all matter. And through this experience a person can realize the unchanging, eternal aspect of being. For the west, an unseen god is the eternal and unchanging and this god grants us our eternal life with our personality being spared. For the east even our personality is ever changing and will die and change as all “differentiated” objects do. For the east there is the undifferentiated totality that is the only unchanging solid reality and everything else from a blue curtain to an angry person to a barking dog are transitory and part of an ever changing continuum. Whereas the west focuses on the differentiated objects and this contrast can most boldly been seen in art. Western art focuses on discrete objects and ideas and views them as separate whereas eastern art focuses on the experience of the continuum and sees objects (such as mountains and streams and even the artist himself) as being part of a connected, ever changing continuum.

Tuesday, I will be continuing on with the next chapter where the meaning of eastern civilization will be further explored.

Have a nice weekend. See you on Tuesday.

The President and I are Back From Vacation

August was long—delightfully long—and this weary explorer much enjoyed her break. I had planned to immediately resume my lengthy series covering the entire classic “The Meeting of East and West: An Inquiry Concerning World Understanding” by F.S.C. Northrop, however, considering Katrina I felt no other subject should be discussed. Tomorrow we shall kick off the second part of the series commencing with exploring the East.

It was curious, being that I have a tendency to be a television addict that I did not know anything about Katrina until the day after. Somehow in my usual vacation routine of lots of eating and dozing in front of the television I found myself in a pocket of quiet and little did I know the Gulf Coast was being pummeled sincerely as I listened to jazz and fretted over my vacation ending. Consequently, when my normally programmed adventures were cut short by a news report concerning the aftermath of Katrina, I was more than a little stunned. Last night I watched the ABC special report on Katrina and found myself almost visiting the dawn contemplating the whole mess and the nature of life, and in this time I found a few exercises of solace that I can only hope will donate some light to our suffering southerners.

I suppose the first most basic thing anyone can do in times like these is pray. Pray is a complicated term particularly so if one does not wholly believe in God and even more so if one ardently believes in the absence of God. However, to this I say why not give it a go just in case. I do not mean this flippantly and considering the direness of the current situation I think a few rounds of asking god or the universe or whomever you can imagine to help out is well worth the effort. Natural disasters rip away all of our artificial notions of control. Prayer, I believe, is a natural counter balance to the human condition, and deep inside I believe that the immense comfort I feel when I am sending love and comfort out through the silence somehow reaches its destination. If you are uncomfortable praying to a god try just sending a message from your own heart to the suffering. I do not think much matters beyond the sincerity of intent.

Next to praying donating money or time (depending on your location) I believe is the next soulful protection a human can do in the face of tragedy. While surely, the victims of the storm are shouldering the brunt of the burden there is a curious pain that runs through all of man when we witness the mystery and power of disaster. We come terribly close to realizing our own profound fragility—we come to see the artifice of our lives and the supposed permanence of all we have worked for, of all we have loved, and of all we assume will come to pass.

Lastly, what I believe is the most important and I believe in the long run the best thing we can do in times like these is to not let the suffering come in vain. Now absolutely is a time to take stock in one’s life. Now is also a time to see all of the good in everyone and everything in our lives. By turning tragedy into a precious opportunity one can feel the eternal in the impermanence.

To all the people and families touched by Katrina I send my best hopes and wishes. I pray that solace comes swiftly.

Northrop’s The Meeting of East and West Part IX

The Meaning of Western Civilization

The Americas, and particularly the United States of America are absolutely the end product of Western thought. Beginning with Plato and his writings on Atlantis we commence a long tradition of a Utopian vision. For the West there is always a sense of a possible utopia and this utopia will be realized through science. Science for the West has two components: the theoretical and the empirical with the theoretical enjoying more or less the elevated status between the two. Additionally, the West has formed its society and ideologies with a preference for utility as valuation over emotional or aesthetical value.

The West is always in search of a utopia. What does this say about our culture and how does this affect our worldview? The belief and search of a utopia or perfected or ideal world or society posits man as explorer and posits one’s current time as essentially flawed—as only a small part of a continuum towards some supposed perfection off in the near or far distance. Immediately, we can see our religion in this model with the case of both heaven, Eden, and then the final Judgment in which God will re-assert absolute rule over man on earth. We can also see our sense of science as a way to cure all of our problems: physically, environmentally, and even psychologically. Today, regardless of your personal, current religious beliefs the want or need for perfection is absolutely a case of your “Western roots” showing. Believing in a time of everything finally being “great” or “perfect” or “finally happy” is really no different than believing in heaven. I cannot really say if the concept of utopia is correct—after all the whole premise of my column is based on the existence of a utopia—of the Champagne Life. However, I can say that the belief in a utopia can and has caused some serious problems.

The route in which the West has placed its faith in its search for a utopia has been the road of Science. For the West all ideologies—including theories regarding religion—are based on scientific evidence. For people today it is difficult to imagine God being taken seriously and used in “hard science” due to our current atheistic scientific environment, however, for Aristotle and Newton and even Einstein God was absolutely part of the picture. It is important to note that (theoretically at least) God is just as difficult to prove as he is to disprove—therefore one should never presuppose one’s own cultural primacy over another (many of our current understandings in Physics are just as empirically impossible to realize as God or the immortal soul). Essentially, remember that this current atmosphere of an atheistic science is based more on “fad” than on “fact”. How does the idea of worldviews being based on Science effect the West? Well, the big “effect” of basing worldview on science is its changing nature. For the West, ideology is not perfect or eternal it is simply “adequate” and will over time be replaced as man’s understanding of nature (science) evolves. This is a very important concept to understand if one wants to understand the West: for at the very core of the western mind is revolution. Utopia is the goal. Science is the way. Change or revolution is guaranteed. Which is, in all honesty, a most curious paradox and may explain our need for a lot of really good wine: on the one hand Westerners have faith in the existence of perfection and believe this perfection can be eventually realized through science, however, this science will never be complete—will never be perfect—one discovery will eventually debunk another. Lucky, for all of us, the West has come up with a pretty snazzy solution for this big bummer of a paradox: champagne.

The blessedness and ultimate compassion of champagne leads us to Northrup’s final analysis of the West and that is the primacy of utility and theory over emotional, aesthetical valuation and sensory experience. We can really say “blame it on Plato” for this issue and then blame Aristotle for taking it to an even harsher level of the theoretical as being the better of the empirical. Plato saw that for man and nature there were two elements to deal with: the theoretical and the empirical or sensory. The theoretical was the “good” while the sensory; empirical was the “evil”. Essentially, one could not trust their senses when it came to science. Empirical evidence (like a lab experiment) could only help to support a theory and could not provide a truth wholly within itself. This idea of the theoretic as primal—over the sensory—has developed a prejudice regarding the human emotional experience. Additionally, this rift between the theoretical and the sensory or empirical has also allowed for utility to rule over aesthetics when considering value and yet in reality there is no evidence that pure utility is indeed more valuable to society (or individuals) than sensory or aesthetical value. Personally, I have been known to budget my money not on utility but on aesthetics and on one notable occasion in college I spent my week’s food money on one bottle of vintage champagne—living off a box of Apple Jacks cereal and the memories of sensory heaven instead. Now, while today I am better fed, it is not the memory of hunger I hold, rather the memory of profound sensual courage I displayed at such a young age, and I hold this “sensual courage” to be more valuable than my current success of feeding myself properly. However, for the West to put sensory value over utility is near sacrilege, and already I can feel my mother blanching by my college tale.

For Northrop, the West can be wrapped up with four points: the constant quest and belief in the possibility of a utopia, the belief that science should be the foundation for an ideology that will produce a utopia, the belief of theory to be primal and empirical evidence as supportive of theory, and finally the preference for utility over emotional or aesthetical value. And I suppose the big question for you all today is do you believe Northrop’s assertions regarding the West? Do you believe his assertions still hold true today for the book was published in 1946? And if you do believe in Northrop’s assertions regarding the West do you believe in the assertions regarding utopia? Science? The supremacy of the theoretical? And lastly, what are your feelings regarding utility and emotional value? Is it better to be fed by food or by love or by beauty?

This marks the end of our discussion regarding the West. On September first I shall be resuming my series on Northrop’s “Meeting of East and West: an Inquiry Concerning World Understanding” where the East will be discussed.

We're the Same (Summer '04)

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.

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:

She is from Canada.
She was discovered at a hockey (I think it was hockey) game and became the Labatt Blue Beer Girl.
Inspired by being a Beer Girl she got fake boobs and dyed her hair very fair blonde.
Her big break came from being a “Tool Time Girl” on the television show “Home Improvement”.
She posed in Playboy, however, I do not know which came first…the chicken or the egg…Playboy or “Home Improvement”.
She appears to always be tan.
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.
She was in the television show “Bay Watch”.
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.”
She is a vegetarian and spokes person for PETA.
She has two sons.
She was married to rocker Tommy Lee.
He beat her up.
They had a large custody battle, but in the end all became chummy and lovie.
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.
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.
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….
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.
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.
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.
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.

The Spare Tire that Unites Us (Summer '05)

Personally, I love weight loss books. Growing up, my house was full of them, and I remember reading them as a little girl. Weight loss books are fun, I believe, because they are fundamentally weird, and as they age they get even weirder. I still remember an old diet book written in the sixties that had “the NASA approach”. It was written by a doctor that trained astronauts and felt if we were to train like the astronauts did, then we would all be thin, healthy, and happy (because mind you, all diet books have an underlying philosophy). This idea for a nine-year-old child was exciting, and I still remember envisioning myself gaining beauty and happiness through pretending to be an astronaut. And practically all of the suggestions he offered I saw being applied while dressed in a big, puffy space suit…helmet included. The book was weird. One would think a physician training astronauts would give a sound and reasonable plan for better living, however, (like all diet books) when the doctor was allowed a forum to express his inner “health utopia” (without all those pesky NASA onlookers) then things got pretty far out. The NASA doctor felt that food and exercise were not the issue. He felt that it did not matter what we ate or how much we ate. Rather, we were fat and unhappy when we did not have enough oxygen. And mind you, exercise was even scoffed at. Being overweight and unhappy would not be cured by exercise either. It was oxygen that we needed and were lacking. And so, the whole book was a lot of breathing exercises that would enable us to breathe our way to complete fitness.

Now, while it's fun to laugh at the diet books of yesteryear, today's fare I am quite sure will be seen as just as silly. But it is the actual expression (dare I say)—the actual art form of the diet book that keeps me loving them. It is funny and odd to see our diets blown up to philosophical and utopian proportions. Diet books are always written with such zeal and evangelism, that in truth, it makes me simply love people…I'll explain….

I have this one diet book (for indeed I collect them) that is based on a “poop your way to happiness” theory. And honestly, it really wasn't penned any subtler than that. Chapter after chapter with headings such as “The Real Poop” and “Something Stinks” ran rampant throughout the book. And again, an active and joyous colon not only brought thinness, but also happiness. So, why does this make me love people? First off, both diet books I mentioned were New York Times #1 best sellers, and to be honest I find it really heartwarming to think that somewhere out there people all over the world are trying goofy breathing techniques or working to become friends with their colons—all in order to feel a little better about themselves. I guess knowing that even powerful CEO's and macho truck drivers will find themselves experimenting with a high protein diet or a special live-enzyme diet reminds me how fundamentally vulnerable we all are. And the fact that countless people from all races, genders, ages, education levels, and classes will all try these clearly weird (and philosophical) diets—often life altering (have you ever seen a “wheat-free-er” or a “raw foods-er” try to negotiate a holiday dinner?) diets—shows that people genuinely are willing to experiment and try new things. And to think of humans as beings united by a sense of vulnerability and a continued earnestness for self-improvement is a very happy stance. Diet books seem to return me to that stance, and having a soft affection for humanity as a whole, I believe, can serve one well. I am not saying that people are these perfect, harmless creatures, but I am saying that no one likes a harpy. And taking a step back and thinking of your neighbor trying (and most likely suffering) the “Peanut Butter Diet” or the “Good Blood Sugar Diet” (which requires a very complicated daily eating schedule…very complicated…sainthood to all who suffered this one over a year) can, I assure you, really soften your heart when you interact with them.

Throughout history people have tried and espoused all sorts of diets. The fad diet (and the various attached philosophies) is not a new phenomenon. The Old Testament, Xenophon's writings on Socrates, and Benjamin Franklin's Autobiography all offer a prescribed diet that will not only make us slim and healthy, but will also improve our overall moral character. And while I personally do not believe there really is such a thing as a perfect diet, I do believe that people are trying to find one. And it is this spirit of hope and experimentation that makes people genuinely cool…and…a little goofy.

Have a great weekend! See you on Monday.

The OC (Fall '04)

For the past two months or so the Fox television network has been telling me that America's most popular drama on television was a show called “The OC”. They also went on to tell me that The OC “was the show that changed a generation” or was it “the show that transformed an era”? Either way this show was touted to be THE show to watch. Fox's claims were doubly backed up when MTV aired its “the real OC” which, was a reality show made with genuine OC kids whining, primping, and crying all over Southern California…all by the way completely synched up to soulful, complaint rock playing almost as loud as it would be in a rock video.

Wanting to experience the show “that changed an era or generation or transformed” I sat myself down (even with pen and paper) and watched Fox's “The OC” as intently and as soberly as I could…. And to be perfectly honest…. I Loved it!!! Just loved it!!!! And now I know that pretty much from here on out Thursdays between eight and nine are booked. First off, as expected everyone (except for the blond male lead) is really rich, and right off the bat we are informed that they are the way all Americans like their really rich: beautiful, jaded, and very very unhappy. There is a father character who I believe is a lawyer who seemed perhaps to have a soul, but early on you see nobody really listens to him. The other adults are as saucy and fashionable as their teenage co-stars and have big problems of their own to drink, pout, and silently stomp along with loud, driving pop music.

But the real treasure was the kids. Man do I love spoiled, depressed teens. I am actually not kidding here. To see two hot bikini clad teen-babes (who looked not a day under 25) drinking before noon by the pool and being suspected of having eating disorders (one teen suggests that the other hotter, taller, more depressed, and harder drinking teen was perhaps too thin…something only the very few and privileged are suspected of). And while, for at least the season opener it seemed the girls were getting all the really dramatic, rock-video, teen diary moments, the boys proved that they too can have diva fits and moments of tear-jerking silence while loud music drove home that life was INTENSE. And this dear friends was why I loved “The OC”, and why I love teenagers. I would simply give anything to feel life like that again. And as I think about last night's show, I realized the amazing thing teens offer to the table of life: heartfelt drama.

A boyfriend decides to leave home (threatening that it is for good) (leaving his new address and number) because his best friend moves almost what appears to be a half-hour away. The girlfriend of the boy who moved a half-hour away (to stand by a girl he had knocked up) begins to drink vodka straight from the bottle and while she was still this amazingly beautiful, posh young lady she cried a great deal when she was alone in the mansion and was really really curt to her glamorous mother. Frankly, these kids were managing better skin and more emotions than any adult could ever hope, and as I watched all I kept on remembering was the Fourth of July in my neighborhood. This past Fourth of July I had walked with my dogs to a park near my house where several people were gathering. I sat with my dogs on the grass a bit to enjoy the illegal fireworks a group of teenage boys were putting on. Teenagers were everywhere, and I found myself actually a little jealous. They were picking each other up, fighting, cussing, crying, and having torrid meetings about either love or hate. Best friends were inevitably dressed like identical twins and while they all still had these pouty-toddler faces one could immediately tell that their activities were not for the faint at heart. Oh, the passion of the teenager! May God Bless them all!

Just after watching Fox's “The OC” I quickly changed the channel to ABC's “Life As We Know It”, which is a sort of east coast, intellectual version of “The OC”. Here the kids are not as rich, not as tan, but just as beautiful and just as heartbroken, confused, angry, and passionate. It struck me as identical to the iconic show “Thirty Something”, and to be honest I have to say (once again) I LOVED IT! Unlike adult shows were everyone is being tough or subtle or working on a career or worrying about stuff, teens could not care less about anything but the present crisis before them and when teens are in crisis they are anything but subtle. They scream, drink heavy, hate everyone, lie, get in fist fights, make their families suffer immensely and show an almost deadly loyalty to each other...and all the while soulful, moody pop music roars and rolls…. Oh, the passion of the teenager! May God Bless them all!

I suppose my suggestion for today is that perhaps all of us subtle, well-healed adults could use a little teenager in our lives. I mean it, when was the last time you threw a chair after someone asked you a question? Or, when was the last time you daydreamed and wept about your love interest (all the while dressed in amazingly hip clothes and listening to the moodiest and deepest of pop music)? And how often do you solely value what you feel above all else? I suppose I am suggesting that while most of us would cringe at the thought of being teenagers all over again, perhaps we should not take leave of those awkward years completely. There is an honesty and passion to the teenager I think we all can learn from…not only do I believe it could help us find the sweet shores of the Champagne Life…I also believe it looks like a really fun time…. Just to make out one more time like a teenager…just one more time…man oh man. Oh, the passion of the teenager! May God Bless them all!

Warm, A Parable…. (Winter '05)

A very long time ago, when I was quite young and was just starting to want to understand fine living and my kitchen, I learned a very valuable lesson. The evening has become somewhat notorious and very comical now, particularly between the parties involved, but at the time it was a complete embarrassment.

I was at the time of the event very poor. I was painting my heart out—writing too—and living a life rich on life and art, but not much else. I had a budget of around thirteen dollars a week for food. The rest of my money (after rent and bills) went to cigarettes, beer, and paint. I had a lot of optimism then, as I still do today. My parents had come out to visit me and during their visit they had taken me grocery shopping. It was an utter treat, and it allowed me to use my precious funds on extra cigarettes, paint, and instead of beer I managed to buy wine. Glory days I assure you!

As I watched my heavenly food evaporate, I decided before my return to beans and rice and soup I would have a gent over for a “fancy” grown-up dinner. I had this vision of me as a sort of Doris Day, Jasper Johns hybrid where I would be this totally glamorous yet still wildly bohemian hostess and serve up genteel heaven amongst paint stained hands, clothes, and furnishings. The gent was perfectly on time, excited, and brought good wine. He too was very poor, but since I was providing food he was able to buy wine instead of food—in essence, it was an exercise in the pooling of resources.

And what resources I had: real butter, fresh onions, fresh garlic, some good beef, two large portabella mushrooms, some leftover wine (a rare find indeed!), and…much to my chagrin…some sour cream.

The night was going perfectly. Lots of talk and really terrific jazz. I felt divine in being such a glamour-puss kitchen goddess as I sautéed and marveled at what good food looked like (namely not requiring lots of water to make edible as in the case with dried beans or Top Ramen). And for a while all was well. Table was set, dining music on, egg noodles nearly complete and my beef, mushroom, with wine was simmered, tender and wonderful. But then, but then…. Oh, if only we could turn back the hands of time! I had this flash idea: why not go for broke and make it even better…even richer…why not throw in a tub of sour cream?! It would become Beef Stroganoff! Beef Stroganoff…one of my favorite meals in the world! So, I stirred in the sour cream as my dinner guest was already anxiously sitting at the table when I came to see that mixing white into a dish that had a lot of red wine would turn your meal bright purple. I am not kidding here: my beef with mushrooms and wine was now bright purple and actually managed to taste bright purple. I panicked. This was terrible. And we were so hungry…so very hungry…the wine for the night had meant that we would not have much for the day. But it was bright purple!

Being an artist I decided to approach the problem from a color standpoint, however, not being a cook I failed to recognize you really couldn’t approach food that way. I added a can of chopped tomatoes thinking the deep red of the tomatoes would soften the terrifying harshness of the bright purple. How wrong I was. Now we had a brash hot pink dish on our hands that went from tasting like bright purple to scary. It was sort of gritty too…somehow the canned tomatoes had affected the sour cream. I was ready to cry, and I really didn’t think putting anymore into this mess was going to help…besides, all I had left in the house was some frozen burritos…I highly doubt they would have saved the day if stirred in.

I decided on putting as much salt and pepper as I could and lots of dried herbs (in a last minute attempt to tone down the hot acid pinkness of the dish), and I served up the nightmare on a pile of egg noodles.

My dinner guest, though shocked by what was presented before him was a true gent and after a long, longer than usual toast, for surely he was stalling, he daringly took the first bite. I looked at and oddly hoped that somehow between all of the extra dried herbs, extra salt and pepper, and with the generous pile of egg noodles underneath that perhaps my dish would come to together and be this sort of exotic new food-wonder (as surely the cook who realized Beef Stroganoff did). Waiting on a response I too decided to tackle my plate, for I was terribly hungry, and what I saw even made me blush. You see, I had spent so much focus on the hot pink aspect of the dish I had not really noticed that the long strips of portabella mushroom and beef when swimming in a sea of red, lumpy, hot pink sauce looked really, really creepy. It was very close to vomit in appearance, but a little more sinister: really the beef and the mushrooms looked like the terrible, massive sand worms in the movie Dune.

Finally, my guest finished his bite. I couldn’t even speak…not even to apologize…this meal really went too far for any kind of sorry. He then took up a glass of wine, raised it to me and said, “It is warm, nice.” And I looked at him completely shocked, and then burst out laughing. My gent had found one thing good about my dish and with total honesty and sincerity negotiated a very fine evening (for surely after that response he managed to charm the hostess). I laughed very hard and agreed that the meal was warm, and then declared that that was the name of my dish: Warm. And while I highly doubt Warm will ever take the place of Beef Stroganoff I will also say that I highly doubt the chef who invented Beef Stroganoff enjoyed as fine an evening (after dinner) as I did. Perhaps, there are some times when Warm is more effective than Beef Stroganoff….

A Zen Parable (Holiday '04)

A great scholar was traveling on a pilgrimage carrying commentaries on the Diamond Sutra. He had dedicated his life to the holy Buddhist scriptures and found no equal to his knowing of the Diamond Sutra. He was excited to teach and share his findings with other great masters he had heard about. One day he passed an old lady selling fried rice cakes, and he decided to stop for a light repast.

The old woman asked him what he was carrying and he told her that he was carrying the Diamond Sutras and that he was a scholar of them. The old woman then said, “I have one question for you. If you can answer my question then I will give you the cakes as an offering. However, if you cannot then you will have to buy them somewhere else.”

The scholar agreed and the woman asked, “It says in the Diamond Sutra that it is impossible to catch hold of the past mind; it is impossible to catch hold of the present mind; it is impossible to catch hold of the future mind. Reverend monk, then with which mind will you satisfy your desire for something light to eat?”

The scholar had no answer and the old woman directed him to Ryutan, a Buddhist master.

The scholar went to see the great master. By nightfall the master came to see the scholar and said, “Why don’t you leave?”

The scholar was about to leave when he noticed it was dark outside. He went back to the master and said, “It is dark outside.”

The master then handed the scholar a lit paper torch, and as the scholar took it the master then immediately blew the flame out. The scholar then suddenly experienced a profound enlightenment. The scholar, so overwhelmed by the experience and his revelation that for all he had studied it never brought him enlightenment, burned his commentaries of the sutras immediately after.

A great medieval Japanese Zen master named Bassui told this parable to his students. Bassui is one of my favorite Zen masters. He was rebellious and honest. He cared little for the strict adherence to the ceremony and ritual of the monastery. For him pursuing enlightenment was the only goal for a Buddhist whether one was a monk, a nun or a layperson. This parable came from Bassui’s collection of teachings called Mud and Water. The essays are all dialogues between Bassui and his students who were comprised of monks, nuns, and laypeople. The parable above comes from an essay entitled: On the Value of Knowledge.

After telling his students the parable of the scholar and the old woman selling rice cakes he explains the deeper meaning to the story. Bassui explains that regardless of how learned a person is if they have not discovered their true nature then they will never find enlightenment. However, Bassui also points out that simply keeping ignorant will also not lead one to salvation. The key is in the heart. Bassui teaches that gaining enlightenment wholly depends on one’s aspiration and not on whether or not one is educated. When the aspriring heart is shallow than lack of education becomes an obstacle for the ignorant, and knowledge becomes an obstacle for the learned. When the aspiring heart is deep, education becomes the basis for understanding the Way for the learned, and lack of knowledge becomes the basis for understanding the Way for the uneducated.

For Bassui, enlightenment was only to be found within. One can become great at anything—sports, writing, or even knowing the scriptures—however, only a deep earnestness and looking into one’s own self will ever lead one to the Way. For me personally, I think this teaching can be applied to just about anything of importance—that ultimately to succeed one must not depend on our depth of knowledge rather our depth of commitment. For some, what they understand will lead them to greatness, and for others it is what they do not understand that will lead them. However, for all who have achieved success the heart is always the road they traveled.

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.

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.

Stop To-doing (Summer '05)

A few years ago I read this really snappy and terribly helpful self-help book, and while unfortunately the title of the book and its author elude me now the lessons I learned within the pages do not. It was written by a life coach (a new societal craze and profession), and while at first I really thought it would be a good laugh (for I still sort of wince at the idea of a “life coach”—I found having a soccer coach in high school to have been trying enough) the book turned out to be a fantastic read loaded with all sorts of profound and practical wisdoms. And while sadly I am unable to remember the author’s name or the book title (nor can I find it—for half of my home is packed to move) I will say that it was wonderful, and when I un-pack I will share another of her wondrous pearls and give you the title information.

The little great wisdom today I want to talk about is her insistence on getting rid of the To-do list. Yes, an absolutely buttoned-up, clearly type-A life coach spends a whole chapter on ditching The List. Shocking, but true. And although I cannot recollect her name right now I can immediately call up her picture, and I will tell you that one needs to only gloss over her image to realize that this woman absolutely has her life in order. I almost needed sunglasses as I read her book for her clarity and glowing sense that life could be far more together than one previously imagined was blazingly bright.

Her argument against the To-do list can be broken down into three main points: flexibility, the importance of developing habitual wisdom, and removing the “life is a race” mentality.

Flexibility she argues is truly the mark of a champion—a life champion. One of the big problems she found in helping her compulsive “listers” was that they tended to nurture both a myopic worldview and a false sense of control. In truth, life whether personally or in the work place is filled with many unexpected crises and events. If one is only seeing their day within the boundaries of their To-do list, then they might not pick up on a more pressing problem: a problem that they did not plan on dealing with and did not foresee when they formed their list. Listers tend to have difficulty being flexible with life, and very often are unable to sense or see when they need to change the course of their day. This is not a good habit or way of living, as true success often comes from a broad and encompassing world view: basically if you are focusing on your list you are not paying attention to what is actually going on around you, and you might be missing some key or more pressing issues that deserve your time and attention. By removing the list one shifts their mindset and bases their daily activities on what is actually important rather than what one predicted to be important. This list-free world view will in time teach one a profound ability to not only be flexible but to be aware.

The second reason one should get rid of their list is that as long as one uses the “crutch” of the list for their compass then they will not fully force their minds to develop habitual wisdom. If, you are facing life with flexibility and awareness and acting on what is important at hand and not trying to hold onto what you insist should be or you thought would be important then you begin to develop wisdom. And the more you allow this sense of wisdom to develop then eventually this wisdom becomes habitual. Habitual wisdom is not unlike muscle memory. Anyone who has taken a dance class or has played a sport knows that the moment one “thinks” about what they are doing is the moment they mess up. One practices and practices their moves so that when they are on the stage or on the field they are able to “just do it” and not think about it. The same goes for habitual wisdom. If you take away your list you will begin to develop an inner knowing of prioritization. As you move through your day more and more you will simply just know what it is you should be doing, and operating on this deeper, instinctual level is far more wise and effective than hanging on to a list that was made beforehand. The To-do list is really an big wish for control; surely an illusion; in truth, we do not really know what the day will bring; and if we can get rid of that false control then a real sense of life mastery will be allowed to flourish. Essentially, the To-do list short circuits our ability to learn how to develop sharp instincts, how to trust those instincts, and then how to act on those instincts regarding what one should be doing to most effectively use their day.

The last major argument against the To-do list is the idea that as long as someone reduces their day to a list then they perpetuate the idea or mentality that “life is a race”. In truth, life is not a race. Life just is. We can sculpt and perceive our lives anyway we want. To-do lists really are stress producers not stress reducers. For they are based on an illusion: that one can wholly control the world around them. The only thing a person can control is one’s perceptions of the world around them. Living your daily life off a list creates a perpetual sense of “got to”, “have to”, and “should”. However, living in a sort of future-based hypnosis prevents one’s mind from truly seeing and experiencing the moment and it constantly engenders a sense of urgency and risk of failure; for really there is only so much time in one day and many things that were wholly unforeseen will take up that time you had so boldly promised yourself to fill with items on you list, hence, making the To-do list is absolutely an exercise in futility. And what this life coach found was that To-do listers become extremely stressed out and wholly ineffectual as they constantly try to support and insist on a futile schematic.

So, for today my dearest Sailors and Patrons it is my suggestion that you all experiment with letting go of those lists. Now, I know that telling a lister to not make a list is rather like ripping a security blanket away from a small child…but then again shouldn’t that analogy say it all?

Third Place Gets the Girl (Summer '04)

Today I am going to talk about defeat. Never give up dearest sailors and patrons…never give up. Lately, I have been doing a lot of research in an effort to learn all I can about the Champagne Life and all the paths that might lead one there; and to be frank, the “winners” are getting a little on my nerves. I recently read one self-help book where the author's stance was thus: “Hey everybody, everything I have done in my life has turned out great! I have a hot wife, and we do it all the time. My kids are angels (because I parented so well), and I made a whole lot of money in my life from telling people I never lose…and this is why…”

Needless to say I read his advice with little faith—how could someone who has never had their butt kicked (badly) really learn a good defense…let alone prevention of further butt kickings? Losers, however, are the go-to people. I know a man who growing up was very poor, and very often he was ridiculed by the other kids because of the state of his clothes and living circumstances. Now, he is very rich and makes very sure his clothes and living circumstances are in order. At first glance you could argue he is a “winner”. No, he is most definitely a loser of the highest order. Losers are different than winners, and their successes are grounded in a different perspective than winners.

First off, you cannot mess with a loser who has succeeded (although I really wouldn't recommend messing with a loser who has not…generally speaking losers are tough folks). Losers are bright. They have superior memories. They have above average tolerances for discomfort. Losers are not good to cross—they are very, very, patient—and not afraid to lose. Losers are special. They take nothing for granted. They tend to respect chance, and understand the strength of personal power better than winners.

They are often a little sad though…losers. However, this only makes them more interesting and allows them a vulnerability that usually makes them very successful romantically. (Remember Heathcliff? Mr. Rochester? Mary Magdalene?) Losers all have a story and deep into the night with moonlit tears in their eyes they will tell you that story, and when they do…well…. And it's important to note that losers never have to succeed to be successful romantically. Every time a loser loses, a piece of their ego is chipped off—allowing someone to peer a little deeper into their soul—and this folks can be irresistible to hotties of both sexes! Oh sure, losers can by day often put on the thickest lion's mane and walk as proud as a boxer, however, any good lover knows when the moon becomes high and small the little black portals of a loser's ego glint like jet.

So, my dearest sailors and patrons know that failing will not impede your progress in searching for the Champagne Life. Be proud of those second and third place ribbons. Crack open a good bottle of bubbly and recount your fondest disasters. Right now I sigh fondly as I think of an “F” I received in high school—it was a thrilling incident indeed—I believe I stormed into the teachers office, swore a great deal and threw things (ahh…not only a failure but a glaring example of poor self-control). Now, though, as I recall the incident I find myself laughing and quite pleased by the event. You must try this exercise: you must allow yourself to peruse all your greatest disasters and truly see the brilliance in them!

I am quite sure this column seems terribly “tongue and cheek”, however, I assure you it is not. Defeat should be held as high as triumph. Only the gods truly know what is for the best…so let us not be so quick to judge ourselves or others. Perhaps, one loss can lead to saving your life? One can never tell. So, if you do find yourself in the bottom position hold your head high and never give up the quest for the Champagne Life…because, oddly enough this explorer, at least, believes that the Champagne Life will not give up on you.

1832—Failed in business. Bankruptcy

1832—Defeated for legislature

1834—Failed in business. Bankruptcy.

1835—Fiancée died.

1836—Nervous breakdown.

1838—Defeated in election.

1843—Defeated for U.S. congress.

1848—Defeated for U.S. congress.

1855—Defeated for Vice President.

1858—Defeated for U.S. Senate.

1860—Elected president. (Abraham Lincoln)

The Circle (Holiday '04)

I have two dogs.two beloved dogs. For many years now I have lived on the east coast with all of my family in California. This modern family-less existence has forged an uncommon bond between me and my dogs. They have become my family. Fricka, my oldest at twelve has been with me since she was a puppy, and when I look back at pictures of me when I first got her I can see I was not far off from being a puppy either. Arthur is my other dog. He is only one and is still quite new to me. Arthur is different from Fricka. Arthur is clippy and light-hearted whereas Fricka is soulful and has suffered much in her long years. When Fricka was only a year she nearly died from some unidentified illness. This illness would plague her for many years, and over the course of ten years she would face death many times sometimes so thin and frail that I hardly could believe a being could still breathe. At six Fricka was run over by a car and suffered immense injuries. One of her front legs was torn off at the wrist (it was surgically re-attached), three of her paws were torn apart destroying the nail beds (she now has at times six or seven toe nails growing in all directions from her feet), and some of her teeth were knocked out including one of her upper fangs (I still have the fang-a friend of my found it in the cuff of his blood soaked pants-he had helped me take her to the hospital). With all that pain and near death experiences my Fricka has somehow managed to see old age.

Old age. Caring for Fricka has not been unlike caring for an aging parent or grand parent excepting for the bizarre relationship in that I see her more as my child-and it is a curious thing to have to deal with geriatric care of one's child. She has become somewhat incontinent, and now I need to have several washable beds, a large unfolded diaper underneath her at all times, and frequent bathings to assure she does not get "urine scald". Her poor teeth are going bad so I have had to switch her to canned food, and on more than one occasion I've panicked on her walks because I had walked too far from home and she was really stumbling, and I knew I would not be able to both carry her (she still weighs sixty pounds) and hold on to Arthur at the same time. Many times now she gets up at night and nervously paces, and I have to comfort her and re-show her her bed and cover her up snuggly with a blanket.

While all of the above has been trying at times (including the sixty dollar bottles of high grade Cosequin) the toughest part of all is the absolute stress of seeing her near death. Absolute stress sounds too light-outright fear would be better. And seeing her struggle to get up from her bed or worse (the worst sight in the world) see her fall over is heartbreaking. There is also the terrible death scares in which Fricka falls into a very heavy sleep and I panic when I see her thinking she has passed away.

However, it is just this-this circle of life that spins so quickly for our beloved canine family members that is perhaps the greatest gift dogs give us humans. Fricka is teaching me and helping me prepare for the winter of life: the winter of my parent's life and the winter of my own life. Whenever I think too much, or rather, worry too much about my beloved Fricka.and then my beloved parents.and then my beloved self my mind always goes to one of Shakespeare's poems, and whenever I read the poem somehow my heart softens and somehow senses that all truly is well.

So, to all owners of old dogs or owners of old bodies or owners of lives that are embroiled with worry I give you this poem. And Dad, I think, this is my tape measure.

The Wind and the Rain

William Shakespeare

When that I was and a little tiny boy,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain:
A foolish thing was but a toy,
For the rain it raineth every day.

But when I came to man's estate,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain:
'Gainst Knaves and Thieves men shut their gate,
For the rain it raineth every day.

But when I came, alas, to wive,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain:
By swaggering could I never thrive,
For the rain it raineth every day.

But when I came unto my beds,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
With toss-pots still had drunken heads,-
For the rain it raineth every day.

A great while ago the world begun,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
But that's all one, our Play is done,
And we'll strive to please you every day.

Can’t Get You Out of my Mind (Winter '05)

Two Buddhist monks walk into a bar….

I have been chipping away at Buddhism for the better part of a decade, and while I cannot really say if I’ve taken any solid ground I can say I have enjoyed the trip. One of the teaching styles utilized is the parable. Today I want to share with you one of my personal favorites. This is a Zen parable and is oddly clear in its meaning—many Zen parables are opaque and only slightly open up—even over great periods of time.

Two monks are walking together through the countryside on their way back to the monastery. As they approach a crossroad they see a beautiful young woman weeping in front of an enormous lake-like puddle caused from a flash summer storm. The older monk approaches her right away and asks her what is wrong. She explains that she is in her finest clothes—for she only has two dresses—her work clothes and her formal clothes. She was on her way back from visiting her relatives and that explains why she was dressed in her finest dress. The problem she cried was that if she were to cross the enormous puddle-lake caused from the storm she would ruin her fine silk dress, and going around it was not possible for the fields and woods were deep with mud. The young woman was terrified of the trouble she would get in if she were to come home in ruined clothes. Surely, she cried, she would be beaten.

The older monk with lightness and ease said he had a solution: if she would allow him, he could carry her across the lake. He laughed that surely being carried by a celibate monk would not be improper—particularly considering the situation. The young woman much relieved acquiesced.

The monk hoisted the woman up and carefully carried the woman across the flooded area of the road and placed her gently down on safer, drier land. She was overjoyed with both her dress and honor intact.

The two monks continued their journey back to the monastery in silence. However, later that night the younger monk, deeply distressed confronted the older monk. The younger monk was visibly angry when he addressed his older traveling partner. The older monk, much lighter in expression and mood asked the younger monk what was the matter. The younger monk said, “Today on our journey I lost my faith in you…you know we are not to speak to women…and not only did you approach her, but you carried her. I could not believe my eyes…it was terrible to witness, and I am finding that it has me so upset that I finally needed to confront you.

The older monk still with much good humor looked at this younger comrade and laughed. He then exclaimed, “Well young monk the difference between you and I is that I left the young woman at the other side of the road…you appear to have carried her all the way home!”

This is a good parable to carry around in one’s mind. How often do we not leave the girl safely on the other side of the road…how often do were carry her home? So often we allow ourselves to be overcome by our mental loops. One of the goals in Buddhist practice is to learn how to not become hapless victims of our own obsessions—our own self-perpetuated dramas. Viewing the two monks from the outside it seems wholly obvious to root for the wise, older monk, and laugh at the judgmental (clearly projecting),

In Search of the Champagne Life (Past Columns)

In This Issue

Daily Column

Sparkling Wine

First Person

Art & Literature

Other Goodies

In Search of the Champagne Life
by Jennifer Barnick

In Search of the Champagne Life (Past Columns)

In This Issue

Daily Column

Sparkling Wine

First Person

Art & Literature

Other Goodies

In Search of the Champagne Life by Jennifer Barnick

In Search of the Champagne Life
by Jennifer Barnick