Fish? Where?

With all the notice climate change is finally getting, I wonder whether the collateral effect will be more notice for other environmental problems. I was impressed, for instance, on our visit to the New York Aquarium that the conservation message was wrapped so much into a slice of trained-animal-entertaiment like the sea lion show. The announcer talked about the kinds of fish that were environmentally-safe to eat while the sea lions clapped or shook their hands at the right moments. Great, right? but I do have to wonder how much it ever sinks in.

And then there are articles like this one from Sunday's Times. (Basic access is free.) The central point is this:

The eradication of our seafood bounty through overfishing is one of those Lorax-like stories that inspire sad books like “The End of the Line” and “The Empty Ocean.” Many biologists believe that the populations of large, commercially sought-after fish worldwide have been reduced by as much as 90 percent of their historical size.

As dire as this sounds, Greenberg goes on to make the point that most scientists believe that fisheries could heal themselves--if given the chance. For me, it's the last part that raises the real questions, the same questions as the other food supply problems I've touched on in other posts: Are we as a species capable of slowing our voracious appetite long enough to avoid killing ourselves and the Earth?

time, time, time

navel-gazing moment

The shooting sparked good things like writing, again. It sparked bad things like traumatic stress disorders. It also completely threw me off my game with the day-to-day matters of life, work, and parenting. Seven weeks later, I am still struggling to catch up and get back on top of all the little details.

Maybe tomorrow I'll have the time and energy for a pithy post about the PTA. (Fun with alliteration!) For now, though

No Surprise Here

From today's Washington Post:

American inspectors who arrived in China last week to investigate the two companies that exported tainted pet food ingredients found that the suspect facilities had been hastily closed down and cleaned up, federal officials said yesterday.

Why am I not surprised?

But what's most frightening as you read down into the article? This: "...as many as 198 U.S. fish farms and hatcheries may have received fish feed contaminated with the chemical melamine..."

Happy eating!

Green Design update

So the initial cost estimates for a publication with a Yupo (locally-produced) cover and Mohawk text (sourced from 100% PC content and produced at a wind-powered mill) literally doubled my expected budget for the job--taking us from my goal of $1.80/book to $3.75/book. If we were selling these or, better yet, were a private sector company with money to burn, I could probably argue for it. Sad to say, that neither is the case, and I've had to pull back significantly on my goals in favor of a more economical book.

Ethics are, indeed, expensive, and as we well know, ethics are rare in our government.

Does an almost-5 year-old ever get the concept of _now_?

First, a bit of background: in the last week, we have gotten a couple of boxes from Hanna Andersson. Really cute clothes that Banana really digs. She also got a pair of classic clogs which she was very excited about since another girl in her class has the same ones in a different color.

She was concerned that she couldn't wear them to school since they didn't have a back, until I showed her that the strap swings back. This was great news, greeted with the response, "But I'm not going to wear them to school." What? "I'm not going to wear them until my birthday." Fine, this is two months off. No big deal. I knew she'd change her mind in the meantime. I just wasn't prepared for when she'd change her mind.

Mornings are always a bit of a challenge. I'm not a great morning person, and between my increasingly late bedtime since the shooting and Anna's recent need to sleep past 7:30, we're usually scraping just under the wire to make it to school on time. This morning, as I'm going into the final get-us-out-the-door frenzy, she comes to me to say that she wants to wear the clogs. First off, it's a gym day, so I ask her not to. Second off, I just don't want to deal with it at that moment. I tell her to go put something else on. A couple minutes later, as I'm putting the dog's food down and heading to the door, I look into Anna's room where she is sitting on the floor--no socks, no shoes, and very proud look on her face as she tells me that she figured out how to get the strap down on one of the clogs. I was half an inch from exploding. And to add insult to injury, she decided to go back to the living room to get her blue mary janes.

In retrospect, I could have been either more stern or more accommodating, but the reality is that life with an almost-five year-old is a little crazy and weird. Kids' personalities are so clearly developing, as is their ability to reason and negotiate. Add to that the post-separation dynamics, and the fact that she lives with me full time. It becomes a constant search for the right mix to get us where we need to go.

potty accidents

A week or so after I was shot, Banana started having potty accidents. Nothing really seemed to precipitate it, and there doesn't seem to be a medical cause. Nonetheless, every few days she has an accident in her bed. She has also been waking up in the middle of the night, saying she's scared of the dark. Sometimes she'll talk about a dream she's had--a scary house, a monster, a robot--and that's the reason. She comes into my bed and seems to sleep all right rest of the night.

I've tried to reassure her that there are no monsters out there. She has a couple of cool IKEA nightlights to keep the room from being too dark. But nothing seems to help.

Time to do more research, I guess, to figure out if this is just a normal phase for her age--apparently the potty accidents are--or if this is somehow her channeling of my fears and anxieties. It's hard to say and doesn't help my own sleep difficulties.

Topsy

Dug this up because I'm thinking about going back to work on the book.

Richmond local edition

Two years after moving from Robinson to Morris, World Cup closed a couple weeks ago. They are being taken over by Crossroads Coffee in Forest Hill. For those who know the intersection, a funky star-shaped mingling of streets, the name is perfectly appropriate. What pleases me further about it is that they will be serving coffee from Rostov's. It's always nice to see another local business get a boost.

Tuesday, depressing news edition... What is wrong with people?

The little girl will survive, but she's going to have a sad legacy to deal with. I can't imagine being the person who has to tell her what happened to her mother. No doubt the messenger will find the nicest way to describe the indescribeable. But what of her reaction years from now when she learns the details? Sad, sad...

Being a single dad

It's not like the sitcoms. I'm not rich like the Drummonds or the Schroeders or any number of the single dads we grew up with on TV. I'm closer, maybe, to The Courtship of Eddie's Father, except that I don't have a nice Asian housekeeper to rely on for day-to-day matters. Some days, I think I'm just a variation on Caracticus Potts from Chitty, Chitty Bang-Bang.

One of the hardest things about being a full-time single parent is keeping up with everything. Keeping the house clean and (relatively) neat, washing the dishes, making sure the refrigerator is stocked at all times, paying bills and not losing mail, walking the dog (as much as possible), washing and folding and putting away the clothes, cooking meals, keeping up with Banana's homework (even in pre-K), turning in all of the forms and little collateral items from school on time, making plans for the future... it goes on, of course, and it's not news to anyone has gone through it.

Mornings like today, parenting gets funny, weird, and irritating all at once. After a rough night--one wake up from bad dreams and another from a potty accident, and not such great sleep on my part either--I was slow-moving, and Banana was late and slow in waking up. Once we finally got moving, things seemed to be pretty smooth. Breakfast happened. Her lunch was packed. Reilly was fed. She decided to clean the bathroom sink rather than brushing her hair and putting on her shoes... and with that we ran late. When I got her to school, the teacher asked me if I had any PTA raffle or lotto tickets to turn in. One more thing. One more. The lottery tickets--for little things they were going to do for winning students--were sitting on the kitchen counter where I'd left them the night before. Right next to the forms for the school pictures that were due on Friday.

Yeah, it's about keeping up, and some weeks it works, some it doesn't. Before I got shot, we'd gotten into a pretty good rhythm and the loose ends were tightening up. Ever since the shooting, however, I've been struggling to get back on my game.

Venting over, for now...

Clemens

I used to curse Steinbrenner for buying Clemens years ago. Along with Giambi, he seemed to be one of the stupidest acquisitions. Oh, but how things change... the news that they're bringing him back gives me hope that the Yankees might eke out a winning season.

Who are these people?!?

After watching part of the GOP debate last week, I was stunned at how frighteningly ignorant these men were who harbored ambitions of running the country. The flat-earth society seemed to have found its mouthpieces. Furthermore, the anti-choice factions had found their scions. What I didn't realize was that a few days later Mitt Romney would prove himself to be even scarier in his ignorance and pandering than I'd even thought possible:

"In France, for instance, I'm told that marriage is now frequently contracted in seven-year terms where either party may move on when their term is up. How shallow and how different from the Europe of the past."

Honestly, who the hell are these guys? And who are the people who believe things like this? I don't get it; then again, I also don't get how thirty percent of the populace can still support Bush&Co.

UPDATE: Wonkette gets it.

Spring Beers pt. 6

Yet another installment...

1. Bock from Anchor
This was a tasty bock with a sweet, malty turn to the flavor. I would almost be tempted to describe the sweetness as chocolatey. The body was full, but not so full that I couldn't drink a few of them. (Full disclosure: this is the first one I've bought in a six-pack.)

2. Two Hearted Ale from Bell's
Yes, it's another beer from Bell's. Clearly, I have a bit of an obsession with Bell's these days. And there's good reason. This one is another damn fine example of its style, in this case the classic IPA. The flavor is sharp, crisp, and full of hops. At 7%, it's got a bit of a kick, but any good IPA should. There are certain breweries--Brooklyn and Fat Tire, for example--that rarely make a mis-step; Bell's is now in that category.

Our Brand Is Crisis

I've had the urge to watch Rachel Boynton's documentary Our Brand Is Crisis since it was released and got a lot of press last year. The film is a fascinating document about the ways in which the U.S. has exported its political inventions along with so much more of our culture.

Boynton followed James Carville, Tad Devine, Stan Greenberg, and Jeremy Rosner to Bolivia as they joined the 2002 Gonzales presidential campaign in Bolivia. In the course of developing the relationships with the consultants and the candidate, she clearly developed a remarkable level of trust. Her camera follows the events of the actual campaign as they craft the message--the brand--and work to build Goni's poll numbers. But it doesn't just follow the movements of consultants and candidate; the camera seems to be part of the process, an omniscient but intimate collaborator and recorder. It is stunning work, particularly when you consider that the process is, at times, a frightening validation of electoral cynicism.

Spoiler alert... stop reading if you don't want to know what happens.

What she also achieves beautifully is building the two parts of the story--the story of Goni and Bolivia, and the story of the consultants for whom losing is not part of the equation. Ultimately, these lines come together explosively when Boliva melts down in the year after Goni is elected--with far less than a majority, I might add. The consultants have to face failure, and Goni returns to the States where he was raised after his own father went into exile.

As a writer, what fascinates me about this is that she could not have known the outcome of this when she took on the project in 2001. I wonder, in fact, what kind of storyline she envisioned as she began writing and shaping the documentary. How did it end up on storyboards? And yet, in a bittersweet turn of fate, she ended up with compelling film because all hell broke loose in ways none of the parties involved predicted.

On a personal note, watching the film and listening to part of the director's commentary reminded me of meeting Boynton at Interlochen in 1989. She was studying theater — fifteen, sharp and intellectually mature beyond her years. It's good to see her succeeding.

mellow

navel-gazing moment...

We're on our third day of intermittent rain in Richmond. This is great for the gardens—for me, not so much. This weekend is the first since the shooting that Banana and I have had in Richmond and with nothing on the docket; this weekend also marks the one-year anniversary of the meltdown. It's hitting me harder than I expected.

It's been hell of a ride over the past year. No question about that.

heartbreaking

From Gothamist: A New York woman lost her toddler in a freak accident. Two months before the boy was born, her husband was killed in Iraq.

Chinese "Food"

I've been paying close attention to the growing controversy over Chinese food exports and production, and this piece on Consumerist was more than a little revolting and frightening. It also reminded me of a few things.

When I traveled to China for a couple of months in 1996, food was one of the more interesting adventures. Not just in terms of knowing what or how to order, but knowing what in fact you were being served. This wasn't as much a problem with the private cook my mother shared with a few other professors in Nanjing or with the the bigger, more reputable restaurants in large cities. Rather, the problem came up more often at "tourist" restaurants where you were herded into a large space and fed a "traditional" chinese meal of egg roll, sweet and sour pork, green vegetable (usually either bok choy or choy sum), and duck.

A few times in such restaurants, particularly when we were traveling down the Yangtze, I made the mistake of asking what we were being served because the meat was clearly nothing I had tasted before. In every case, however, the answer was the same: Pork. Apparently, pork is the universal choice for feeding westerners who, as a rule, do not speak the language. Even if it's not pork. There were no pigs to be seen anywhere in these towns, and these are not places that bring food in.

Anyway, they were treating our tourist groups like rubes the same way their agribusiness has been treating us like rubes by intentionally filling food ingredients with dangerous additives. What is truly frightening is that companies in China produce an increasing amount of our food ingredients, including shrimp, crawfish, rice, and much more. If neither we nor they are really policing the safety of production, how far will this reach?

For lots of reasons, I see a correlation with the number of incidences of toys made in China coming up with warnings for lead poisoning hazards; a quick search of the CPSC site for "china lead" turns up 1,451 recalls.

Is it possible that our drive for ever-cheaper and more abundant is catching up with us—with dangerous results?

Acting

You'll have to excuse this and other occasional navel-gazing moments...

In the past few years, I've spent a lot of time reassessing my life, from soup to nuts. I've thought back on relationships and jobs, music and travels, decisions and living-by-chance, childhood and what it means to be an adult. One of the things that I've spent a lot of time thinking about was the way I "acted" through life. That is to say, I figured out what part to play, and I played it. It's a really lousy habit.

Tighten up to the last year and the introspection becomes more intense. After the final marital meltdown a year ago, a lot of patterns became clear. All the thinking and talking I'd done about family history clarified as well. In the end, it became clear that I couldn't "act" any longer; doing so was too dangerous for me—and for Anna, since I officially have sole responsibility for her. The shooting was, in a sense, the final step in the process.

When a bullet comes within less than an inch of killing you, everything changes.

Spring Beers pt. 5

For tonight's selections, I moved out of the Midwest and opted for the other coast and another flavor — Pilsners from Cali...

1. Scrimshaw from North Coast Brewing
The label calls this a "Pilsner Style Beer," an apt description of this mild pils. It has a nice clean hoppy finish, but I can't get over how mild it is. Maybe I'm spoiled by some of the really hoppy pilsners out there, but this one didn't leap out the way I'd hoped.

2. Lagunitas Pils from Lagunitas Brewing
I'm curious to taste more from these guys. This was a crisp, interesting brew with enough hops to give it good character, but not so much that it overwhelmed the other flavors. I have to give these guys props for label design, too. The weathered look and line-drawing are something I've become partial to lately. I like the weaving of random copy into the design, too. In particular, I love the small-caps note in the deposit line: "(WHOA...)"

My shoulder hurts

This isn't too surprising, I know. There's a bullet in there, and a hole that's still healing up. Even so, it's rainy here this morning and I feel like I should be saying something like, "Eh, there's rain in the air. I can feel it in me bullet." Ah well... The pain and discomfort change as time goes by. The medication the doctor gave me--Neurontin--has helped with some of the worst discomfort. That doesn't change the fact that it's downright weird to feel that the lump on my back has gotten more pronounced as the bullet works its way out.

All together now: "Ewwwwwww."