When I look at my dog sleeping happily at my feet I don't wonder why he chooses to live with me rather than in the wild. He wouldn't survive a day in the wild, to be honest. He has absolutely no prey instinct, he refuses to be rained on, he hates cold, and he won't lie even on the floor without a pillow. He was born thoroughly domesticated, as dogs are these days.
The question of how wolves came be dogs has been pondered by researchers over and over again. Where were they domesticated, how, why? I've always figured that a couple of brave and friendly wolves were attracted by a fire and started spending nights sleeping by some of our ancestors, who started feeding them scraps. Then they started hunting together and hanging out 24/7, and before you know it the wolves were sleeping next to rather than near the humans, protecting the humans, helping out by pulling and carrying things for the humans, and a relationship that has lasted thousands of years was born. This is a happy story of codependency, but according to a story in yesterday's NY Times, it's bunk.
Using genetics, dogs have been traced back to one place of origin, a remote province of China. The disturbing thing is that this is one of those Chinese provinces where historically dogs are food, not pets. Thousands of years ago, once man had the ability to build cages and trap, wolves were caught and kept in pens, fattening up for the slaughter. Wolves came to live in proximity to humans not because wolves saw anything fortuitous in the relationship - what's good about being meat, after all - but because humans looked at wolves and saw lunch. Thus wolves began to be raised in captivity.
Travelers passing through this province then saw the wolves in cages, and instead of seeing lunch saw an animal that could be of some use for warmth, protection, hunting, hauling. They traded for these domesticated wolves and carried them off, dispersing them eventually throughout the known world. 10,000 or so years later you have Brody, shedding all over my pillow while he watches me type.
It's somewhat disturbing to rethink the whole human/canine relationship this way, but it also explains why, if wolves wanted to be domesticated, you never hear stories of humans camping and meeting some friendly wolves out in the wild. It also explains why dogs are so willing to be housebroken. It's not because they love us and want to please us, but because they don't want to be fileted.
Showing posts with label hunting and gathering. Show all posts
Showing posts with label hunting and gathering. Show all posts
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Friday, August 14, 2009
Cooking Project Update
A brief update on my "eat only what you cook" project:
If you're going to attempt this kind of thing, this is the time of year to do it. It's easy to stop at a farm stand, make a bunch of corn or buy some cucumbers, turn it into a salad and eat it for a few days. Plus, I prefer most vegetables raw, which means there's no work involved preparing part of my meals, so it's just been a matter of, say, grilling some chicken, eating some of it that night, and then using the rest in salads or sandwiches. I've learned there are a few things I won't be able to eat as long as I do this, though.
Pizza, for example. I can make something that resembles a pizza. I can make a flatbread dough, put toppings on it and grill it, and it tastes fine. It's not real pizza, though, not like the pizza from my favorite place. You clearly need a pizza oven to make real pizza, so I'm just going to stop experimenting and put that in the column of things I can only eat if I'm eating out.
I think I'm going to have to say that beverages are not part of this experiment. I love Diet Pepsi too much. I've been making mint tea, but really there's no replacing the chemical fizziness of Diet Pepsi. So I bought some yesterday, and I also bought some pretzels. I was having some friends over for drinks, and pretzels are time-consuming to make, and I didn't want to offer them green beans with their beer (which I also didn't make).
In fact, the healthiest thing about this is going to be the absence of snack food. I didn't think I ate a lot of such food, but I was fooling myself. The hardest thing has been wanting just a few bites of something and finding only fruit and vegetables in my kitchen - no Sun Chips, no wasabi peas, no Twizzlers. And no, I am not going to attempt to make Sun Chips. I'm certain that I lack the requisite chemicals.
In short, it hasn't been a particularly hard week and a half, but it's only been a week and a half. I'll keep going, and update as things progress.
If you're going to attempt this kind of thing, this is the time of year to do it. It's easy to stop at a farm stand, make a bunch of corn or buy some cucumbers, turn it into a salad and eat it for a few days. Plus, I prefer most vegetables raw, which means there's no work involved preparing part of my meals, so it's just been a matter of, say, grilling some chicken, eating some of it that night, and then using the rest in salads or sandwiches. I've learned there are a few things I won't be able to eat as long as I do this, though.
Pizza, for example. I can make something that resembles a pizza. I can make a flatbread dough, put toppings on it and grill it, and it tastes fine. It's not real pizza, though, not like the pizza from my favorite place. You clearly need a pizza oven to make real pizza, so I'm just going to stop experimenting and put that in the column of things I can only eat if I'm eating out.
I think I'm going to have to say that beverages are not part of this experiment. I love Diet Pepsi too much. I've been making mint tea, but really there's no replacing the chemical fizziness of Diet Pepsi. So I bought some yesterday, and I also bought some pretzels. I was having some friends over for drinks, and pretzels are time-consuming to make, and I didn't want to offer them green beans with their beer (which I also didn't make).
In fact, the healthiest thing about this is going to be the absence of snack food. I didn't think I ate a lot of such food, but I was fooling myself. The hardest thing has been wanting just a few bites of something and finding only fruit and vegetables in my kitchen - no Sun Chips, no wasabi peas, no Twizzlers. And no, I am not going to attempt to make Sun Chips. I'm certain that I lack the requisite chemicals.
In short, it hasn't been a particularly hard week and a half, but it's only been a week and a half. I'll keep going, and update as things progress.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Eat What You Make
Well, it's not Friday, but I'm back. I can't really be blamed for pretending my vacation lasted a bit longer than three days, can I? The most thought-provoking event of the past week was reading Michael Pollen's article in Sunday's Times Magazine on the way that, as we cook less and less, we watch cooking shows more and more. What interested me the most was not this phenomenon per se, but instead the history of how cooking turned into "cooking," to the point where microwaving something or pouring dressing on top of lettuce counts as having "made" a meal.
During WWII food scientists invented MREs and all sorts of ways to preserve food for soldiers overseas. The trick was finding ways to sell prepared and packaged food to consumers during peacetime. It took a while: a sexual revolution, the need for a two-person income, and women staying in the workforce rather than staying home with children needed to be factored into the mix, but food scientists ultimately prevailed. Pollen notes that as early as the 1940s manufacturers had the ability to produce just-add-water cake mixes, but women wouldn't buy them. They would, however, buy mixes where one needed to break and mix in an egg, the addition of that egg being some kind of line in the sand that defined what could be classified as "home-made." Today, the baking aisle is filled with just-add-water mixes; "home-made" now means anything one moves from package to bowl to pan. Actually, anything that gets heated up passes for home-made these days.
Naturally, a discussion of the lack of cooking leads to a discussion of obesity. The less we cook the fatter we get, and not just because we're sitting on the sofa watching cooking shows but because we're eating more calories, larger portions, less healthy food. Which leads to the "ah ha" moment of the piece, when Pollen gets a food scientist to admit what we all suspect: want to lose weight and be healthy? Just eat only what you cook yourself.
It makes sense. Honestly, if you could only eat potato chips if you sliced potatoes and deep fried them, how many would you eat? If you had to make mayonnaise before slathering it onto a sandwich, wouldn't you just as often skip it? So I've spent the past few days thinking about trying this as an experiment. Is it possible to eat only what one can cook? Can I do it? And what would the rules be? What would I do about, say, teryiaki, or vodka, or beer? Could I eat in a restaruant, ever?
I decided the following. For as long as I can take it, I will not purchase manufactured food, with the exception of condiments and alcohol. I know I can make my own ketchup and beer, but that feels insane. The point here is to try to be healthy, not insane. I don't tend to eat out a lot anyway, so if I find myself wanting or needing to eat in a restaurant I will, but only socially, not as an alternative to grilling my own burger or frying my own eggs. How hard can this be? I have no idea. I'll post an update once enough time has gone by for me to have an idea, and in the meantime I'll be thankful that it's August, when so much is in season it will be easy to fill up on fruit and vegetables and throw things on the grill. If anyone else wants to give it a try, let me know and we can commiserate. And if anyone knows how to make their own Doritos, let me know that as well. I do love Doritos.
During WWII food scientists invented MREs and all sorts of ways to preserve food for soldiers overseas. The trick was finding ways to sell prepared and packaged food to consumers during peacetime. It took a while: a sexual revolution, the need for a two-person income, and women staying in the workforce rather than staying home with children needed to be factored into the mix, but food scientists ultimately prevailed. Pollen notes that as early as the 1940s manufacturers had the ability to produce just-add-water cake mixes, but women wouldn't buy them. They would, however, buy mixes where one needed to break and mix in an egg, the addition of that egg being some kind of line in the sand that defined what could be classified as "home-made." Today, the baking aisle is filled with just-add-water mixes; "home-made" now means anything one moves from package to bowl to pan. Actually, anything that gets heated up passes for home-made these days.
Naturally, a discussion of the lack of cooking leads to a discussion of obesity. The less we cook the fatter we get, and not just because we're sitting on the sofa watching cooking shows but because we're eating more calories, larger portions, less healthy food. Which leads to the "ah ha" moment of the piece, when Pollen gets a food scientist to admit what we all suspect: want to lose weight and be healthy? Just eat only what you cook yourself.
It makes sense. Honestly, if you could only eat potato chips if you sliced potatoes and deep fried them, how many would you eat? If you had to make mayonnaise before slathering it onto a sandwich, wouldn't you just as often skip it? So I've spent the past few days thinking about trying this as an experiment. Is it possible to eat only what one can cook? Can I do it? And what would the rules be? What would I do about, say, teryiaki, or vodka, or beer? Could I eat in a restaruant, ever?
I decided the following. For as long as I can take it, I will not purchase manufactured food, with the exception of condiments and alcohol. I know I can make my own ketchup and beer, but that feels insane. The point here is to try to be healthy, not insane. I don't tend to eat out a lot anyway, so if I find myself wanting or needing to eat in a restaurant I will, but only socially, not as an alternative to grilling my own burger or frying my own eggs. How hard can this be? I have no idea. I'll post an update once enough time has gone by for me to have an idea, and in the meantime I'll be thankful that it's August, when so much is in season it will be easy to fill up on fruit and vegetables and throw things on the grill. If anyone else wants to give it a try, let me know and we can commiserate. And if anyone knows how to make their own Doritos, let me know that as well. I do love Doritos.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Meet Me at the Fair
I had never gone to a farmers' fair until my mid-20s, and even then I only attended the first time out of sheer boredom. I was writing my dissertation and would do nearly anything to avoid all those blank pages that I needed to fill with Gertrude Stein's reception history. I'd polish my shoes, rearrange my records in alphabetical order, reorder my bookshelves by subject, clean the house, wash my car, anything to avoid sitting in front of my word processor and do the work at hand. That ultimately involved deciding to go to the Albermarle County Farmers' Fair one night, and I've never looked back.
I'm just glad that we still have enough farms to fill a farmers' fair, that 4-H Clubs still exist. This wasn't surprising in Central Virginia in the late '80s, but in suburban Pennsylvania in 2009 it feels like the simple existence of cucumber-growing must be celebrated. What makes a farmers' fair is not the carnival rides, nor the funnel cake, nor the rigged games of chance. What makes such a fair is the agricultural tents, the rows and rows of testimony to our agricultural heritage and the proof that we may yet have an agricultural future.
What can top the sight of a blue-ribbon zucchini, looking just like any other zucchini but for some reason crowned for some sort of waxy excellence? That can only be topped by a tent full of baby goats, goats of every variety running up to be petted, or a tent full of piglets squealing. Is anything more interesting than a display of winning ears of corn, each looking just like an ear of corn, its excellence a secret knowledge, or at least secret to someone who has always just grabbed corn, paid for it, and eaten it? Farmers' fairs are full of such secrets: what makes a great carrot, why one chicken is better than another. And they celebrate kids who grow these carrots well, kids who know how to raise a chicken. Our schools don't do that. Our culture doesn't do that. Our economy doesn't do that. Thank god for 4-H.
It's also not every day that you can watch a tractor pull. Or a 16 year-old from the middle of nowhere crowned Corn Queen. It's not every day that you can wander into a place where people still enter tractor pulls or fair queen contests. It's not every day that you can find a place where pie baking is a death match. Or where men in suspenders recline against picnic tables, listening to a weird but pleasant hybrid of country and polka. It's not every day that you are offered a glimpse of our vanishing rural culture, so for that one week a year when that glimpse is offered it's best to take it before it's too late.
The arrival of the cicadas signifies the slowing down of summer, the beginnings of the harvest, and the opening of county fairs everywhere. Locally, the Plainfield Farmer's Fair runs this week; the Warren County Fair begins next week. Even if you don't live in eastern PA, there's surely some sort of farmers' fair near you; support them while you can.
I'm just glad that we still have enough farms to fill a farmers' fair, that 4-H Clubs still exist. This wasn't surprising in Central Virginia in the late '80s, but in suburban Pennsylvania in 2009 it feels like the simple existence of cucumber-growing must be celebrated. What makes a farmers' fair is not the carnival rides, nor the funnel cake, nor the rigged games of chance. What makes such a fair is the agricultural tents, the rows and rows of testimony to our agricultural heritage and the proof that we may yet have an agricultural future.
What can top the sight of a blue-ribbon zucchini, looking just like any other zucchini but for some reason crowned for some sort of waxy excellence? That can only be topped by a tent full of baby goats, goats of every variety running up to be petted, or a tent full of piglets squealing. Is anything more interesting than a display of winning ears of corn, each looking just like an ear of corn, its excellence a secret knowledge, or at least secret to someone who has always just grabbed corn, paid for it, and eaten it? Farmers' fairs are full of such secrets: what makes a great carrot, why one chicken is better than another. And they celebrate kids who grow these carrots well, kids who know how to raise a chicken. Our schools don't do that. Our culture doesn't do that. Our economy doesn't do that. Thank god for 4-H.
It's also not every day that you can watch a tractor pull. Or a 16 year-old from the middle of nowhere crowned Corn Queen. It's not every day that you can wander into a place where people still enter tractor pulls or fair queen contests. It's not every day that you can find a place where pie baking is a death match. Or where men in suspenders recline against picnic tables, listening to a weird but pleasant hybrid of country and polka. It's not every day that you are offered a glimpse of our vanishing rural culture, so for that one week a year when that glimpse is offered it's best to take it before it's too late.
The arrival of the cicadas signifies the slowing down of summer, the beginnings of the harvest, and the opening of county fairs everywhere. Locally, the Plainfield Farmer's Fair runs this week; the Warren County Fair begins next week. Even if you don't live in eastern PA, there's surely some sort of farmers' fair near you; support them while you can.
Monday, June 15, 2009
Life Eternal
I was glad for the return of True Blood last night, not because I think it's necessarily a television show of the highest quality, but because I'm there for pretty much anything that's about vampires. From the days of Barnabas Collins right up to the present, if it's got vampires in it, I'm reading it or watching it. There are two types of people in this world: those of us who, if given the opportunity, would become vampires, and those of us who would not. I am firmly in the former camp.
I know this would mean that I would be undead and would have to give up my human life for a different kind of lifestyle, but in exchange I'd get to live forever. I'd never grow old, and I wouldn't fear death. Although the absence of the aging process is definitely a benefit, the main plus is that I'd get to find out what happens, and watch it all happen, and I'm nosy. Living forever would be fascinating, particularly because I'd have vampire friends to discuss it all with.
Spending eternity with others probably does get problematic, and I'd probably have some vampire enemies as well as friends, but I figure that the fact that vampires are a self-selecting bunch would guarantee me some sort of peer group. Because vampires are self-selecting, it makes sense that the only humans made vampire are the best looking, most engaging, most intelligent among us. An ugly boring person just wouldn't be chosen to be around for eternity. I have no doubt my vampire friends and I would need to take the occasional break from one another, say every hundred years or so, but in general I'd be in good company.
Blood drinking doesn't need to be a barrier to vampirehood. Right now we humans are dealing with deer overpopulation, so if I was made vampire tonight I'd start right in on the herd that lives next door to me, eating my plants and freaking my dog. There are plenty of deer where those came from, as well as rats, pigeons, and other pests. Human blood probably tastes the best and is the most nutritious, but for that I could target rapists, murderers. I know this would make me a vigilante and deny the rapists and murderers due process, but look at all the taxpayer dollars I'd be saving. I'd actually be a benefit to humanity.
Money would never again be a worry if I were a vampire. I wouldn't need money per se, just clothes and a place to sleep. The internet is probably the vampire's best friend. Before anyone knew I was undead I could convert everything I've got into a cash account, feed on and rob drug dealers to keep the balance up, and order everything I need from Amazon. I'd buy a house someplace where no one knows me, some bedroom community where no one will miss me during the day. See, vampirism is easy, once you think about it.
The only difficult decision would be what to do with my dog. On the one hand, he'd be a great companion for eternity, but on the other hand it's hard enough to find dogsitters as things are. How would I keep a vampire dog fed for eternity? What would I do with him while I'm off looking for rapists to kill? There must be a reason none of Ann Rice's vampires have pets. All in all, the dog is a complication I can work my way through. Listen up, vampires: I'll be home tonight, ready and willing.
I know this would mean that I would be undead and would have to give up my human life for a different kind of lifestyle, but in exchange I'd get to live forever. I'd never grow old, and I wouldn't fear death. Although the absence of the aging process is definitely a benefit, the main plus is that I'd get to find out what happens, and watch it all happen, and I'm nosy. Living forever would be fascinating, particularly because I'd have vampire friends to discuss it all with.
Spending eternity with others probably does get problematic, and I'd probably have some vampire enemies as well as friends, but I figure that the fact that vampires are a self-selecting bunch would guarantee me some sort of peer group. Because vampires are self-selecting, it makes sense that the only humans made vampire are the best looking, most engaging, most intelligent among us. An ugly boring person just wouldn't be chosen to be around for eternity. I have no doubt my vampire friends and I would need to take the occasional break from one another, say every hundred years or so, but in general I'd be in good company.
Blood drinking doesn't need to be a barrier to vampirehood. Right now we humans are dealing with deer overpopulation, so if I was made vampire tonight I'd start right in on the herd that lives next door to me, eating my plants and freaking my dog. There are plenty of deer where those came from, as well as rats, pigeons, and other pests. Human blood probably tastes the best and is the most nutritious, but for that I could target rapists, murderers. I know this would make me a vigilante and deny the rapists and murderers due process, but look at all the taxpayer dollars I'd be saving. I'd actually be a benefit to humanity.
Money would never again be a worry if I were a vampire. I wouldn't need money per se, just clothes and a place to sleep. The internet is probably the vampire's best friend. Before anyone knew I was undead I could convert everything I've got into a cash account, feed on and rob drug dealers to keep the balance up, and order everything I need from Amazon. I'd buy a house someplace where no one knows me, some bedroom community where no one will miss me during the day. See, vampirism is easy, once you think about it.
The only difficult decision would be what to do with my dog. On the one hand, he'd be a great companion for eternity, but on the other hand it's hard enough to find dogsitters as things are. How would I keep a vampire dog fed for eternity? What would I do with him while I'm off looking for rapists to kill? There must be a reason none of Ann Rice's vampires have pets. All in all, the dog is a complication I can work my way through. Listen up, vampires: I'll be home tonight, ready and willing.
Monday, June 1, 2009
Cookbooks Without Cooks
In these tough times the nation turns its lonely eyes to cooking shows. Anyone who has ever wielded a chef's knife publishes a cookbook and gets at least a half hour on the Food Network, and suburbanites drive miles to wander through farmers' markets in order to purchase some artisan bread and call themselves locavores. The interest in local food and local growers is wonderful, as is the interest in cooking and eating well. The problem is, even as interest in these things proliferates, the number of people who actually cook continues to shrink.
While showing off the White House garden, Michelle Obama admits that she's happy to have someone cook for her, that she doesn't like to cook. The press reflects on the refreshing honesty of this statement, but what about the mixed message being sent? Access to fresh, healthy, local ingredients means nothing if you're incapable or unwilling to, you know, prepare those ingredients. You can buy all the produce in the world at farm stands, but if you don't then cook, or at least wash and dress the produce, all you've done is waste money and resources.
My local chain grocery stores have added "grown local" sections for those wanting to purchase the bounty of local farms rather than the bounty of South America. In every case, that section of the store is a mere speck compared to the prepared food aisles. In some ways, the grocery stores are really take-out joints. Sure, one can still purchase cheese and eggs and vegetables, but more popular is the salad bar, the pizza counter, the sandwich counter, the seafood counter where the fish has already been seasoned and comes with heating directions. Why buy a pound of pasta when there's a pasta bar two feet away? When did it become too difficult to make our own salad, to cut cheese into cubes ourselves? Why are we buying premade peanut butter and jelly sandwiches? When did a sandwich become too difficult for us to make ourselves?
Cooking food yourself saves money and is always better for you. Food you prepare yourself isn't full of preservatives, fat, sodium. But we are lazy. We watch cooking shows but don't know how to turn on our stoves. We go to the farmers' market and buy cookies. It's time to get off the couch and prepare our own food.
While showing off the White House garden, Michelle Obama admits that she's happy to have someone cook for her, that she doesn't like to cook. The press reflects on the refreshing honesty of this statement, but what about the mixed message being sent? Access to fresh, healthy, local ingredients means nothing if you're incapable or unwilling to, you know, prepare those ingredients. You can buy all the produce in the world at farm stands, but if you don't then cook, or at least wash and dress the produce, all you've done is waste money and resources.
My local chain grocery stores have added "grown local" sections for those wanting to purchase the bounty of local farms rather than the bounty of South America. In every case, that section of the store is a mere speck compared to the prepared food aisles. In some ways, the grocery stores are really take-out joints. Sure, one can still purchase cheese and eggs and vegetables, but more popular is the salad bar, the pizza counter, the sandwich counter, the seafood counter where the fish has already been seasoned and comes with heating directions. Why buy a pound of pasta when there's a pasta bar two feet away? When did it become too difficult to make our own salad, to cut cheese into cubes ourselves? Why are we buying premade peanut butter and jelly sandwiches? When did a sandwich become too difficult for us to make ourselves?
Cooking food yourself saves money and is always better for you. Food you prepare yourself isn't full of preservatives, fat, sodium. But we are lazy. We watch cooking shows but don't know how to turn on our stoves. We go to the farmers' market and buy cookies. It's time to get off the couch and prepare our own food.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
In the Hood
Once or twice a day Brody goes on a walkabout around our little neighborhood. I know I'm not supposed to let him do that, but he confines himself to the immediate area and mainly goes from house to house looking to visit with one or another of his dog friends on the block. Often, he'll come home carrying some delectable treat found in a neighbor's yard. The Bichon down the street buries his soup bones, for example, and Brody likes to dig them up, bring them home, and try to hide them in my bed.
In the past year, Brody has also found three antlers, part of a deer hoof, and rawhide chews in various states of decomposition. None of this is weird. Here is what is weird: at least once a week he returns home with an entire piece of fried chicken in his mouth. It's always a thigh, and it's always whole. This never happens on trash day, so wherever he's finding the chicken it's not by rooting through someone's trash. It appears that someone on my block is simply buying large amounts of fried chicken and leaving it out somewhere.
In the summer, the chicken was putrid from the heat. These days it's frozen, and today's piece was coated in snow. I like fried chicken as much as the next person, but I have yet to buy a bunch of it and leave the leftovers in my yard. Why is Brody finding friend chicken in someone's yard? Why is it always thighs? Thighs are the best part. Neighbor, whoever you are, eat the thighs! If you must leave chicken in your yard, leave the wings.
Also, neighbor, fried chicken isn't good for you. Chicken also tastes good roasted, broiled, or grilled. I'm just saying. Also, Brody likes mashed potatoes with his chicken, and maybe a biscuit or two. If you're going to leave a meal in your yard, at least try to make it well-balanced. Finally, neighbor, if this is leftover chicken that you're saving for lunch, well, I'm sorry. Try storing it in the refrigerator next time.
In the past year, Brody has also found three antlers, part of a deer hoof, and rawhide chews in various states of decomposition. None of this is weird. Here is what is weird: at least once a week he returns home with an entire piece of fried chicken in his mouth. It's always a thigh, and it's always whole. This never happens on trash day, so wherever he's finding the chicken it's not by rooting through someone's trash. It appears that someone on my block is simply buying large amounts of fried chicken and leaving it out somewhere.
In the summer, the chicken was putrid from the heat. These days it's frozen, and today's piece was coated in snow. I like fried chicken as much as the next person, but I have yet to buy a bunch of it and leave the leftovers in my yard. Why is Brody finding friend chicken in someone's yard? Why is it always thighs? Thighs are the best part. Neighbor, whoever you are, eat the thighs! If you must leave chicken in your yard, leave the wings.
Also, neighbor, fried chicken isn't good for you. Chicken also tastes good roasted, broiled, or grilled. I'm just saying. Also, Brody likes mashed potatoes with his chicken, and maybe a biscuit or two. If you're going to leave a meal in your yard, at least try to make it well-balanced. Finally, neighbor, if this is leftover chicken that you're saving for lunch, well, I'm sorry. Try storing it in the refrigerator next time.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Endurance
What if money was worthless? What would our lives be without money?
I assume none of us would work, or at least not work as we currently understand it. Why slave away in an office if the return is useless paper? We'd only do a job that resulted in tangible returns: food, clothing, fuel. The only jobs that would result in such returns would be jobs that produced something that could in turn be bartered. In other words, we'd work only to produce commodities that could be exchanged for other commodities. Press releases and brochures are not such commodities, so if I wanted to work, I'd need to change careers fast.
Very few of us have any experience producing commodities these days, though. Those of us who now hold production or manufacturing jobs, those of us who now do the manual labor and are not the best compensated, would become those who are best equipped to survive. White collar workers, on the other hand, will be relegated to the bottom of the food chain. Us white collar workers won't have jobs to go to, anyway. If money is worthless, we won't need bankers, investment advisors, insurance agents, analysts. We won't need people to sit in chairs all day emailing and taking meetings.
I assume we'll be allowed to stay in our houses since the "banks," which won't be around anymore, won't have any use for a nation full of empty structures. All of us white collar workers will have to learn to grow our own food if we want to have something to eat, and if we want to possess a commodity that we can barter. The only way to have fuel in the winter will be to produce food in the summer. Maybe more of us will take up hunting, assuming we have something to trade for the bullets and the guns. Now that I think about it, a thinning of the deer population around my house would be one positive outcome of the total unraveling of our economy.
If we have nothing to barter with, we won't have any gas for our cars. We'll walk everywhere, or use what public transportation is available (I assume the government will try to put people to work by trading surplus grain and cheese for labor). The end of our economy would be good for the environment not only because we would of necessity produce as much of our own food as possible, thereby ending agribusiness, but also because we'd stop burning so much fossil fuel. With nothing to trade for heating oil or gas or for electricity, those of us with fireplaces would gather wood and brush to burn, ending the production of yard waste. Waste in general would be a thing of the past. Cans and bottles would also once again become commodities, things to be reused rather than discarded.
Without money, we'd end up knowing each other better, more intimately. Electricity is a commodity that will be available only to those who can generate it themselves or trade something for it. Until the day that each of us has our own solar panel and/or windmill, or some sort of hydroelectric system, we'll live with periods of darkness when we can't afford to power our computers and televisions. We'll turn to each other for entertainment and information, we'll rely on personal interactions. We'll live closer together in order to have access to information and resources, thereby ending sprawl.
Sure, life would be harder, much as it was harder hundreds or thousands of years ago. Access to medicine and education would be limited. The rule of law would be harder to enforce. In many ways, it would suck. But if money was worthless, I would never have to spend another day like this one, thinking about the fact that I need to find a job.
I assume none of us would work, or at least not work as we currently understand it. Why slave away in an office if the return is useless paper? We'd only do a job that resulted in tangible returns: food, clothing, fuel. The only jobs that would result in such returns would be jobs that produced something that could in turn be bartered. In other words, we'd work only to produce commodities that could be exchanged for other commodities. Press releases and brochures are not such commodities, so if I wanted to work, I'd need to change careers fast.
Very few of us have any experience producing commodities these days, though. Those of us who now hold production or manufacturing jobs, those of us who now do the manual labor and are not the best compensated, would become those who are best equipped to survive. White collar workers, on the other hand, will be relegated to the bottom of the food chain. Us white collar workers won't have jobs to go to, anyway. If money is worthless, we won't need bankers, investment advisors, insurance agents, analysts. We won't need people to sit in chairs all day emailing and taking meetings.
I assume we'll be allowed to stay in our houses since the "banks," which won't be around anymore, won't have any use for a nation full of empty structures. All of us white collar workers will have to learn to grow our own food if we want to have something to eat, and if we want to possess a commodity that we can barter. The only way to have fuel in the winter will be to produce food in the summer. Maybe more of us will take up hunting, assuming we have something to trade for the bullets and the guns. Now that I think about it, a thinning of the deer population around my house would be one positive outcome of the total unraveling of our economy.
If we have nothing to barter with, we won't have any gas for our cars. We'll walk everywhere, or use what public transportation is available (I assume the government will try to put people to work by trading surplus grain and cheese for labor). The end of our economy would be good for the environment not only because we would of necessity produce as much of our own food as possible, thereby ending agribusiness, but also because we'd stop burning so much fossil fuel. With nothing to trade for heating oil or gas or for electricity, those of us with fireplaces would gather wood and brush to burn, ending the production of yard waste. Waste in general would be a thing of the past. Cans and bottles would also once again become commodities, things to be reused rather than discarded.
Without money, we'd end up knowing each other better, more intimately. Electricity is a commodity that will be available only to those who can generate it themselves or trade something for it. Until the day that each of us has our own solar panel and/or windmill, or some sort of hydroelectric system, we'll live with periods of darkness when we can't afford to power our computers and televisions. We'll turn to each other for entertainment and information, we'll rely on personal interactions. We'll live closer together in order to have access to information and resources, thereby ending sprawl.
Sure, life would be harder, much as it was harder hundreds or thousands of years ago. Access to medicine and education would be limited. The rule of law would be harder to enforce. In many ways, it would suck. But if money was worthless, I would never have to spend another day like this one, thinking about the fact that I need to find a job.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Would You Like a Side of Acorns with that Seal?
We know that sometime after the harvest of 1621 the Plymouth colonists shared a feast with their native neighbors. Although we don't know what they did eat, we have a good idea of what was not included on the menu. Surprisingly, some foods that we consider Thanksgiving staples did not appear on the original groaning board.
Ham, for example. Although the colonists had brought pigs with them from England, there's no evidence that they had butchered a hog at this point. They probably did eat wild turkey, goose, venison, or grouse; it's just as likely that the first Thanksgiving included some fatty and nutritious seal, which at the time was plentiful in the waters surrounding Cape Cod.
Although cranberries might have appeared on the table, the colonists lacked sugar, so their wild turkey was not adorned with cranberry sauce. There's little doubt corn was part of the meal, but it would have been dried corn at this time of the year. The season for fresh corn had ended before the harvest.
Neither sweet potatoes or potatoes were common in New England at this point in time, so if you're planning a historically accurate Thanksgiving you can leave these off the menu. The residents of Plymouth Plantation certainly had no notion of the marshmallow and, remember, no sugar, so candied sweet potatoes would have been as foreign a concept to them as General Foods International Coffee.
It goes without saying that not even Squanto possessed a ready supply of french cut green beans, cream of mushroom soup, and Durkee dried onion rings, doesn't it?
Finally, historians have uncovered no evidence of a Puritan recipe for pumpkin pie. In fact, the colonists not only lacked sugar, they lacked milk; no cows made the crossing on the Mayflower. Pumpkin would have made an appearance at the feast, maybe even stewed pumpkin, but no pumpkin pie.
Enjoy whatever you've decided to cook tomorrow. Rejoice in the fact that you're not huddled around a fire pit eating seal and are instead quaffing quantities of beer glued to the illuminated box of football. Plus ca change...
Ham, for example. Although the colonists had brought pigs with them from England, there's no evidence that they had butchered a hog at this point. They probably did eat wild turkey, goose, venison, or grouse; it's just as likely that the first Thanksgiving included some fatty and nutritious seal, which at the time was plentiful in the waters surrounding Cape Cod.
Although cranberries might have appeared on the table, the colonists lacked sugar, so their wild turkey was not adorned with cranberry sauce. There's little doubt corn was part of the meal, but it would have been dried corn at this time of the year. The season for fresh corn had ended before the harvest.
Neither sweet potatoes or potatoes were common in New England at this point in time, so if you're planning a historically accurate Thanksgiving you can leave these off the menu. The residents of Plymouth Plantation certainly had no notion of the marshmallow and, remember, no sugar, so candied sweet potatoes would have been as foreign a concept to them as General Foods International Coffee.
It goes without saying that not even Squanto possessed a ready supply of french cut green beans, cream of mushroom soup, and Durkee dried onion rings, doesn't it?
Finally, historians have uncovered no evidence of a Puritan recipe for pumpkin pie. In fact, the colonists not only lacked sugar, they lacked milk; no cows made the crossing on the Mayflower. Pumpkin would have made an appearance at the feast, maybe even stewed pumpkin, but no pumpkin pie.
Enjoy whatever you've decided to cook tomorrow. Rejoice in the fact that you're not huddled around a fire pit eating seal and are instead quaffing quantities of beer glued to the illuminated box of football. Plus ca change...
Monday, November 24, 2008
Squanto Would Have Loved This
I'm actually going to post a recipe here, or at least what passes for a recipe in my kitchen. The secret to cooking is to, at all times, attempt to make what has begun as healthy as unhealthy as possible, and to make what begins unhealthy as fat-filled and calorific as possible. Adhere to these standards and everyone will believe you are a good cook.
Keeping these tenets in mind, the only thing better than bacon is candied bacon. I know it sounds weird, but it's not. It's delicious.
First, buy some decent thick-cut bacon and fry it until it's medium-well, crisp but not too crisp. Put it aside, clean out the pan. In the clean skillet, melt together one cup of sugar or brown sugar, three tablespoons of honey, and two tablespoons of water. Cook on medium high until it stops bubbling and has turned into a syrup. Turn the heat to low and place the bacon strips into the syrup, turning once until coated. Put the coated bacon on wax or parchment paper and let it dry.
Eat the candied bacon until you puke.
Serves anywhere from one to six, depending on how much sugar and fat you and your friends and family can eat at a sitting.
Keeping these tenets in mind, the only thing better than bacon is candied bacon. I know it sounds weird, but it's not. It's delicious.
First, buy some decent thick-cut bacon and fry it until it's medium-well, crisp but not too crisp. Put it aside, clean out the pan. In the clean skillet, melt together one cup of sugar or brown sugar, three tablespoons of honey, and two tablespoons of water. Cook on medium high until it stops bubbling and has turned into a syrup. Turn the heat to low and place the bacon strips into the syrup, turning once until coated. Put the coated bacon on wax or parchment paper and let it dry.
Eat the candied bacon until you puke.
Serves anywhere from one to six, depending on how much sugar and fat you and your friends and family can eat at a sitting.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Why Burgers Grow on Stalks
Unfortunately last night's meeting did not feature fisticuffs. I did get home early enough to make a dent in my Netflix queue, and feel compelled to recommend King Corn, a smart, funny, engaging documentary about how our food is produced. While driving across the country, two friends realize that all the corn grown in Iowa is not edible sweet corn but instead the beginnings of processed food. They decide to rent an acre, move to Iowa to farm it, and follow their corn into the food chain.
You won't learn anything from the film that you don't already know from the work of Michael Pollan. Our bodies are mainly corn. When we eat meat we're eating corn, because the cows have been confined on feedlots and quickly fattened with cheap corn. Drink a soda, or eat cookies or candy, and you're consuming corn in the form of high fructose corn syrup. By attempting to follow their crop from the field to the table the filmmakers show exactly how and why this is the case. Along the way, they give us the history of our current Farm Bill and the rationale behind farm subsidies that pay farmers to produce more and more corn, more corn than can be eaten fresh so by necessity more and more corn that, in its natural state, is inedible. We also watch them attempt to taste their crop, turn part of their yield into homemade high fructose corn syryp, and visit one of the feedlots that is the destination for about a third of their acre's bounty.
Most intresting is their simple illustration of the economics that leads to agribusiness. Once they arrive in Iowa, they sign up for government subsidies for their acre. That year's basic subsidy is $28/acre, paid half before planting and half after the harvest. Their yield was about 180 bushels, which where selling for about $1.58/bushel at harvest. After expenses, they were around $19 in the red for their acre. The basic subsidy offset this loss; add in additional government incentives (the amount of which they didn't explain - I'm making a guess here) and the profit was maybe $12 an acre. This is why the family farm can't sustain itself. The price of equipment isn't part of this formula, only the price of fertilizer, herbicide, and seed. In order to make barely enough to lease and service the large tractors needed for this kind of farming one would have to farm at least 1,000 acres, although bringing in $120,000 a year might not be enough. Farms must get bigger and bigger, with greater and greater yields, in order to be profitable.
The only real solution would be a change in our subsidy policy, to go back to subsidizing controlled yields in order to keep the price of grain high rather than encouraging overproduction and therefore cheap grain. On the other hand, because of our current farm policy, the price of food is cheaper than it's ever been. Remember when steak was a luxury? Cheap corn makes beef affordable, and makes the dollar menu possible.
Rent the film and see all this for yourself. In addition to being thought-provoking, it has a killer soundtrack and is beautifully shot and edited. You'll be glad you saw it.
You won't learn anything from the film that you don't already know from the work of Michael Pollan. Our bodies are mainly corn. When we eat meat we're eating corn, because the cows have been confined on feedlots and quickly fattened with cheap corn. Drink a soda, or eat cookies or candy, and you're consuming corn in the form of high fructose corn syrup. By attempting to follow their crop from the field to the table the filmmakers show exactly how and why this is the case. Along the way, they give us the history of our current Farm Bill and the rationale behind farm subsidies that pay farmers to produce more and more corn, more corn than can be eaten fresh so by necessity more and more corn that, in its natural state, is inedible. We also watch them attempt to taste their crop, turn part of their yield into homemade high fructose corn syryp, and visit one of the feedlots that is the destination for about a third of their acre's bounty.
Most intresting is their simple illustration of the economics that leads to agribusiness. Once they arrive in Iowa, they sign up for government subsidies for their acre. That year's basic subsidy is $28/acre, paid half before planting and half after the harvest. Their yield was about 180 bushels, which where selling for about $1.58/bushel at harvest. After expenses, they were around $19 in the red for their acre. The basic subsidy offset this loss; add in additional government incentives (the amount of which they didn't explain - I'm making a guess here) and the profit was maybe $12 an acre. This is why the family farm can't sustain itself. The price of equipment isn't part of this formula, only the price of fertilizer, herbicide, and seed. In order to make barely enough to lease and service the large tractors needed for this kind of farming one would have to farm at least 1,000 acres, although bringing in $120,000 a year might not be enough. Farms must get bigger and bigger, with greater and greater yields, in order to be profitable.
The only real solution would be a change in our subsidy policy, to go back to subsidizing controlled yields in order to keep the price of grain high rather than encouraging overproduction and therefore cheap grain. On the other hand, because of our current farm policy, the price of food is cheaper than it's ever been. Remember when steak was a luxury? Cheap corn makes beef affordable, and makes the dollar menu possible.
Rent the film and see all this for yourself. In addition to being thought-provoking, it has a killer soundtrack and is beautifully shot and edited. You'll be glad you saw it.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Oh, the Excitement
So far the month of October has passed in a kind of sameness. The election, the Dow, the election, the Dow. Anger, disbelief, frustration, anger, disbelief, frustration. No wonder all those people are lining up to see Beverly Hills Chiuaua. Movies are one avenue for escape, but here in my corner of the country the most popular frivolous activity would appear to be eating.
Locally, the biggest news of the past two weeks was the opening of a Sonic Drive-In. Here's how divorced I am from the world of fast food: I had no idea a Sonic was coming to the area, or was in fact open, until I drove smack into a traffic jam on my way to the grocery store. Yes, the opening of the Sonic created such excitement that cars have been lined up out of the parking lot and into a busy roadway. The first week the Sonic was open people would wait over half an hour to get into the lot to order their fast-food burgers.
What's the big deal? It's a fast-food product delivered to your car by a teenager wearing roller skates. The roller skates might make the teenager a bit more fit, but they don't make the food any better, or healthier. We had suffered no previous shortage of greasy burgers. The Sonic is located literally across the street from a shopping center that contains a McDonald's, Burger King, Arby's, Red Robin, and Applebee's. True, these other chains lack the roller skates, but at the end of the day isn't all crap food pretty much created equal? A friend actually waited in the long line of cars, dedicating over an hour of his day to procuring a burger that gave him the same indigestion he could have acquired at any other fast-food outlet. Maybe I'm just old and cranky, but I truly don't get it.
This same thing happened in the early 90s, when a Boston Market came to Charlottesville, VA. I have never seen such a mania for overcooked and overpriced rotisserie chicken. For weeks, people would line up to take home some dry chicken and steam table side dishes, as if the South had never before experienced the joys of creamed spinach, mac and cheese, or chicken. As if every gas station in C'ville didn't sell fried chicken. As if never before, in the annals of the American South, had a take-out dinner been offered.
Of course, we now know how that story ends. Boston Markets began sprouting like weeds all over the country, grocery stores and convenience markets began selling overcooked and overpriced rotisserie chicken, most of the Boston Markets ended up shuttered. People in Charlottesville went back to buying chicken where chicken rightly should be purchased, at gas stations.
If there's any sort of moral to this narrative it would be thus: wait another week and there will be no line at the Sonic.
Locally, the biggest news of the past two weeks was the opening of a Sonic Drive-In. Here's how divorced I am from the world of fast food: I had no idea a Sonic was coming to the area, or was in fact open, until I drove smack into a traffic jam on my way to the grocery store. Yes, the opening of the Sonic created such excitement that cars have been lined up out of the parking lot and into a busy roadway. The first week the Sonic was open people would wait over half an hour to get into the lot to order their fast-food burgers.
What's the big deal? It's a fast-food product delivered to your car by a teenager wearing roller skates. The roller skates might make the teenager a bit more fit, but they don't make the food any better, or healthier. We had suffered no previous shortage of greasy burgers. The Sonic is located literally across the street from a shopping center that contains a McDonald's, Burger King, Arby's, Red Robin, and Applebee's. True, these other chains lack the roller skates, but at the end of the day isn't all crap food pretty much created equal? A friend actually waited in the long line of cars, dedicating over an hour of his day to procuring a burger that gave him the same indigestion he could have acquired at any other fast-food outlet. Maybe I'm just old and cranky, but I truly don't get it.
This same thing happened in the early 90s, when a Boston Market came to Charlottesville, VA. I have never seen such a mania for overcooked and overpriced rotisserie chicken. For weeks, people would line up to take home some dry chicken and steam table side dishes, as if the South had never before experienced the joys of creamed spinach, mac and cheese, or chicken. As if every gas station in C'ville didn't sell fried chicken. As if never before, in the annals of the American South, had a take-out dinner been offered.
Of course, we now know how that story ends. Boston Markets began sprouting like weeds all over the country, grocery stores and convenience markets began selling overcooked and overpriced rotisserie chicken, most of the Boston Markets ended up shuttered. People in Charlottesville went back to buying chicken where chicken rightly should be purchased, at gas stations.
If there's any sort of moral to this narrative it would be thus: wait another week and there will be no line at the Sonic.
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Fine Dining
Today's Times includes a review of a restaurant in Brooklyn that has only two items on the menu: dumplings and Hawaiian shave ice. There's no reasoning behind this other than the fact that the owner likes dumplings, and spent his Hawaiian honeymoon eating shave ice. Once he returned to Brooklyn he missed shave ice, so he decided to serve it at his restaurant.
Most restaurants have a theme, or focus on a particular type of cooking. But it really doesn't have to be that way, does it? A menu can be developed any way at all. If you're going to own a restaurant, why not own one that serves only the food you want to eat? With that in mind, I decided to create a menu comprised of my favorite foods. I'd name the restaurant "Like," because it would be a place I'd like. I wouldn't have any tables. Instead, I'd have a bunch of couches and TVs; diners could eat off the coffee table while watching Big Brother, just like I do at home. Here's the menu; there are no appetizers, salads, entrees, etc., because everything comes in a dinner-sized portion just like at home, where I'm too lazy to cook more than one item for dinner:
Garlic bread
Cantonese noodle soup with wontons
Asparagus
Lobster tail
Spare ribs
Grits
Raw fresh peas
Bagels and lox
Salad greens with goat cheese and candied walnuts
Roasted capon
Twizzlers (strawberry)
Hunks of cheese with one small piece of bread
Wild rice
Ribeye steak
Dark chocolate Klondike bars
Pigs in a blanket
I feel certain this would be the most popular restaurant ever. On the other hand, maybe there's a good reason why I'm not a restauranteur.
Most restaurants have a theme, or focus on a particular type of cooking. But it really doesn't have to be that way, does it? A menu can be developed any way at all. If you're going to own a restaurant, why not own one that serves only the food you want to eat? With that in mind, I decided to create a menu comprised of my favorite foods. I'd name the restaurant "Like," because it would be a place I'd like. I wouldn't have any tables. Instead, I'd have a bunch of couches and TVs; diners could eat off the coffee table while watching Big Brother, just like I do at home. Here's the menu; there are no appetizers, salads, entrees, etc., because everything comes in a dinner-sized portion just like at home, where I'm too lazy to cook more than one item for dinner:
Garlic bread
Cantonese noodle soup with wontons
Asparagus
Lobster tail
Spare ribs
Grits
Raw fresh peas
Bagels and lox
Salad greens with goat cheese and candied walnuts
Roasted capon
Twizzlers (strawberry)
Hunks of cheese with one small piece of bread
Wild rice
Ribeye steak
Dark chocolate Klondike bars
Pigs in a blanket
I feel certain this would be the most popular restaurant ever. On the other hand, maybe there's a good reason why I'm not a restauranteur.
Friday, March 28, 2008
Employment Journal, Part III
Joan Crawford needs a job. Her name is Mildred Pierce; she's left her husband, and she can't bake enough pies to keep her bratty daughter Veda in piano lessons and expensive frocks. So Joan goes out to pound the pavements of Los Angeles, ending the day with only sore ankles to show for it. Four-inch pumps will do that to you. Joan does the only sensible thing, which is to go to a restaurant for a cup of tea. Spending money is the only remedy for feeling broke, after all. In the restaurant, waitresses are bickering. The place is so understaffed not even Eve Arden can control the chaos. "Can I have a job," Joan Crawford asks. No, she doesn't have any experience, but yes, she'll learn. And learn she does. After a short montage and voice-over she's made enough money to open Mildred's and hire Eve Arden to be her manager.
There are too many ways this could never happen today to enumerate, but most laughable is the thought of being hired to waitress in middle-age without any previous experience.
Although I knew I would get nowhere because I've never tended bar or waitstaffed, I decided to see what restaurant jobs might be available. For me, none. I decided not to lie, and was told everywhere I went that only the experienced need apply. This was as much the case at a diner as it was at a finer restaurant. After my fourth stop I decided to stop the ruse and began just going into places and telling managers that I'm a freelance journalist writing about the local economy and wondering how the downturn has effected staffing. Has turnover decreased? Have applications increased?
The good news is that, for those who are unemployed but who have restaurant experience, there are jobs to be had. About half of the ten places I visited yesterday are either hiring or taking applications. The bad news is that none of those positions would have paid particularly well, since all were in mid to low-priced places, all were for lunch shifts, and none were for more than a couple of shifts a week. Maybe a job like that would bring out the Mildred Pierce in some of us. I'm just glad that I don't have to spend 20 hours a week on my feet dealing with people and end up unable to pay my mortgage.
Turnover has decreased at finer establishments, according to my unscientific study. Those who have dinner shifts, frequent shifts, and who work at places where the tips are high are not switching jobs with the frequency that was seen until about a year ago. I was told applications are up at the higher-end restaurants, and that they were about the same everywhere else, except that those looking for work in the mid and lower priced places were coming in with more experience than is the norm. Make of all that what you will. I take it to mean that I'd lose my house before I'd find anything other than dishwasher or busperson.
By the way, I ended up staying for something to eat or drink at the last four places I visited. There's no better way to feel well-off than to spend money, after all.
There are too many ways this could never happen today to enumerate, but most laughable is the thought of being hired to waitress in middle-age without any previous experience.
Although I knew I would get nowhere because I've never tended bar or waitstaffed, I decided to see what restaurant jobs might be available. For me, none. I decided not to lie, and was told everywhere I went that only the experienced need apply. This was as much the case at a diner as it was at a finer restaurant. After my fourth stop I decided to stop the ruse and began just going into places and telling managers that I'm a freelance journalist writing about the local economy and wondering how the downturn has effected staffing. Has turnover decreased? Have applications increased?
The good news is that, for those who are unemployed but who have restaurant experience, there are jobs to be had. About half of the ten places I visited yesterday are either hiring or taking applications. The bad news is that none of those positions would have paid particularly well, since all were in mid to low-priced places, all were for lunch shifts, and none were for more than a couple of shifts a week. Maybe a job like that would bring out the Mildred Pierce in some of us. I'm just glad that I don't have to spend 20 hours a week on my feet dealing with people and end up unable to pay my mortgage.
Turnover has decreased at finer establishments, according to my unscientific study. Those who have dinner shifts, frequent shifts, and who work at places where the tips are high are not switching jobs with the frequency that was seen until about a year ago. I was told applications are up at the higher-end restaurants, and that they were about the same everywhere else, except that those looking for work in the mid and lower priced places were coming in with more experience than is the norm. Make of all that what you will. I take it to mean that I'd lose my house before I'd find anything other than dishwasher or busperson.
By the way, I ended up staying for something to eat or drink at the last four places I visited. There's no better way to feel well-off than to spend money, after all.
Monday, March 24, 2008
Employment Journal, Part I
I read in yesterday's New York Times that even though we might expect the current economic "slowdown" to last several years, we don't need to worry about a repeat of the Great Depression. According to the economists interviewed, unemployment levels will never again approach the 25% of the early 1930s. The worst we can expect, according to this article, is that people will have to start selling their possessions on eBay. How reassuring.
I realized that I have no idea what the employment situation in eastern Pennsylvania might be. I know that it's taking people a while to find professional positions; I know that if I were to put together a resume and look for a position in marketing or publishing it would probably take me a while to find something. But what if my situation were more dire? What if I needed a job, any job, as soon as possible? I've decided to find out.
I thought about doing a Nickeled and Dimed kind of thing and pretending that I have no education and am simply looking for a job in the service sector, but that's been done. I've decided to be who I am, with my education and with my actual job experience, and to pretend that I've been unable to find a while-collar position and that I'm in search of whatever work I can find.
I have a PhD in English. I taught at the college level for seven years, then left academia and worked in PR and marketing for eight years. Almost five years ago I started a local publication. For the past four years I've edited and published that magazine and been a freelancer and consultant in marketing communications. I've decided to leave out the freelance parts of my resume, and to tell potential employers that my business has gone under and I need work while I get on my feet again. I will say that I've been looking for a professional position but haven't been able to find one and just need a job.
I've never worked in a restaurant, or in retail. The first part of my quest is to see if there are in fact any jobs around here to be had, the second part is to see if anyone would hire me. What if my scenario were the truth? What if I had my mortgage and my bills to pay and my business and my savings were gone? Would I be able to find enough work to keep me out of foreclosure?
Today, I'm going to the malls. I figure I'll start my quest with retail. I'll let you know tomorrow what, if anything, happens.
I realized that I have no idea what the employment situation in eastern Pennsylvania might be. I know that it's taking people a while to find professional positions; I know that if I were to put together a resume and look for a position in marketing or publishing it would probably take me a while to find something. But what if my situation were more dire? What if I needed a job, any job, as soon as possible? I've decided to find out.
I thought about doing a Nickeled and Dimed kind of thing and pretending that I have no education and am simply looking for a job in the service sector, but that's been done. I've decided to be who I am, with my education and with my actual job experience, and to pretend that I've been unable to find a while-collar position and that I'm in search of whatever work I can find.
I have a PhD in English. I taught at the college level for seven years, then left academia and worked in PR and marketing for eight years. Almost five years ago I started a local publication. For the past four years I've edited and published that magazine and been a freelancer and consultant in marketing communications. I've decided to leave out the freelance parts of my resume, and to tell potential employers that my business has gone under and I need work while I get on my feet again. I will say that I've been looking for a professional position but haven't been able to find one and just need a job.
I've never worked in a restaurant, or in retail. The first part of my quest is to see if there are in fact any jobs around here to be had, the second part is to see if anyone would hire me. What if my scenario were the truth? What if I had my mortgage and my bills to pay and my business and my savings were gone? Would I be able to find enough work to keep me out of foreclosure?
Today, I'm going to the malls. I figure I'll start my quest with retail. I'll let you know tomorrow what, if anything, happens.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
On Boredom
I read somewhere once that the average American changes careers four times, the average American woman seven times. I'm assuming the higher number for women has to do with time off to have kids, although I haven't had any children and right now I'm contemplating career number four. I can only speak for myself and will say that the reason for the career changes is incredibly easy to pinpoint. I get bored. What's odd is that I've managed to make several careers out of doing things I love to do, things I willingly do in my spare time. Why then do I get bored once those activities become tied to my income?
Here's another way of looking at it. When I'm at home, I never get bored. I can amuse myself endlessly reading, writing, watching a movie, talking to the dog, whatever - a day goes by before I know it. Move my butt to an office, though, and the very same activities - surfing the web, or writing copy, or even making phone calls - become torture. I spent the last couple of months at my last corporate job staring at the wall most of the day, dreaming of quitting. And now I spend some time every day staring at the wall, dreaming of what I'll do with my life next.
Boredom is undoubtedly a large component of all lives, and one that gets little attention. No one wants to admit to getting or being bored; it feels like a failure of will, or of imagination. And it feels selfish, given the quality of contemporary lives and the variety of amusements available to us. Slaving 12 hours a day in a sweatshop wouldn't leave much leisure time for boredom, after all. In that sense boredom is a commodity available only to those who can afford it. I should be thankful that I have the luxury of my ennui.
Or is that not it at all? By that theory, a homesteader would have never been bored because of the continuous labor involved in building and keeping the home, and in growing and harvesting crops. The single mother who works three jobs in order to pay the bills would never be bored. The manual laborer would never be bored. Yet accounts of homesteading include discussions of the relentless loneliness and boredom associated with life lived in that kind of isolation. I have a diary kept by a Pennsylvania farm wife at the turn of the last century and reading it makes evident the fact that she was incredibly bored even though her days were filled with labor. Perhaps boredom is simply part of the human condition.
Perhaps the problem is that we are meant to live in packs, traveling together and subsisting communally. Once we decided to break off into smaller family units and stay in one place to raise crops it was all over for us. Maybe we're meant to be constantly on the move. Hunting and gathering doesn't make much sense these days, so I may as well just keep changing careers.
Here's another way of looking at it. When I'm at home, I never get bored. I can amuse myself endlessly reading, writing, watching a movie, talking to the dog, whatever - a day goes by before I know it. Move my butt to an office, though, and the very same activities - surfing the web, or writing copy, or even making phone calls - become torture. I spent the last couple of months at my last corporate job staring at the wall most of the day, dreaming of quitting. And now I spend some time every day staring at the wall, dreaming of what I'll do with my life next.
Boredom is undoubtedly a large component of all lives, and one that gets little attention. No one wants to admit to getting or being bored; it feels like a failure of will, or of imagination. And it feels selfish, given the quality of contemporary lives and the variety of amusements available to us. Slaving 12 hours a day in a sweatshop wouldn't leave much leisure time for boredom, after all. In that sense boredom is a commodity available only to those who can afford it. I should be thankful that I have the luxury of my ennui.
Or is that not it at all? By that theory, a homesteader would have never been bored because of the continuous labor involved in building and keeping the home, and in growing and harvesting crops. The single mother who works three jobs in order to pay the bills would never be bored. The manual laborer would never be bored. Yet accounts of homesteading include discussions of the relentless loneliness and boredom associated with life lived in that kind of isolation. I have a diary kept by a Pennsylvania farm wife at the turn of the last century and reading it makes evident the fact that she was incredibly bored even though her days were filled with labor. Perhaps boredom is simply part of the human condition.
Perhaps the problem is that we are meant to live in packs, traveling together and subsisting communally. Once we decided to break off into smaller family units and stay in one place to raise crops it was all over for us. Maybe we're meant to be constantly on the move. Hunting and gathering doesn't make much sense these days, so I may as well just keep changing careers.
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