THE SAGA OF MY SELF-ESTEEM
When I was in 5th grade, I was really arrogant. Or maybe it was well-adjusted. My parents might have an opinion on which it was. But anyway, I though I could do just about anything. I played tackle football with the boys on the playground after school, I wrote a partial novel about a girl and this horse she found in an old abandoned house, I did charcoal drawings (mostly of horses), I played George the dragon in the school play (though I was a bit offended at playing a male character, it really was the best part), I sang in church with my mom and sister, I rode horses. I was a miracle preteen! I had no fear! And no doubts that I was as talented as anyone on the planet! It was great.
In high school, I ran track, I had boyfriends and a wide range of friends. I still sang a bit now and then, worked on a dude ranch with my friend Joie, drove wrecklessly and made good grades. Still pretty hot stuff, though I definitely experienced more down days, and of course the uncertainty as to whether my pink cargo pants looked hot with that yellow checked shirt with the collar up.
In college, I got a bit of a rude awakening. I still thought my drawing was pretty good, even though I didn’t care much about it anymore, and I got cast in a play within my first month at school. But calculus and chemistry were really hard and I made my first Cs, including one in the relatively easy Spanish class because I spent all my time trying to understand calculus. I started to wonder if maybe I wasn’t such a genius after all.
The doubting trend and increased trepidation about new experiences followed me into adulthood. I had moved—alone—to Texas for an internship and then again—alone again—to Seattle to do theatre. So, some courage there. Then I did theatre and had office day jobs and took few risks. When buildergrrl introduced me to climbing, I felt like I was conquering the world again—but mostly because I had the courage to try something new after so long without doing so. That and getting really strong and feeling capable.
More recently—within the last six years—I took up Appalachian old-time fiddle. Flying Fish, a serious violinist at one time, came with me to judge tone and quality, and helped me choose an instrument. He also gave me some starting exercises to do to. I took lessons, did okay, but always felt like an incredibly slow learner and never got to the point of being able to jam with other folks. I broke my left hand and quit for several months, then never got back to the lessons. I still practice very occasionally, and consider starting again more seriously. The problem is, I think I’ve got no talent for music. I’ve always been able to carry a tune, I can harmonize if I can see the notes to give me some clues, and I can hear and find a note on the fiddle. But I don’t pick up new tunes quickly, I don’t recognize song structure when hearing a tune, I just don’t seem to get it.
When I was in Cardiff, I saw a BBC show about how music works. This particular episode was about rhythm. I’d never had anyone explain it to me. That pushing the tempo in this way makes it swing, that lagging a little makes it latin, and that piling up tempos is something you’ll notice in Cuban or African music. (I’m not remembering it correctly, perhaps, but the a-ha moment still happened for me.)
Unfortunately, I never saw another episode of this music show, but it did make me wonder if maybe music would make more sense to me, even come more intuitively, if I had the framework of music theory to put it in. So, when I’ve got some time on my hands, maybe I’ll give that a shot and take a class. Hey, it worked for lobbying – someone told me how you do it, they gave me the necessary background information, and suddenly it made sense and was no longer intimidating.
End of Ramble. Thanks for listening.
Sunday, March 25, 2007
CALL ME MASTER
I got my diploma in the mail a couple of days ago. I'm now a Master of Science, in addition to my previous distinction as a Master Composter/Soil Builder. Here's what my diploma says:
Ardystir drwy hyn fod
Appalachia
wedi derbyn radd o
Arhtro mewn Gwyddoniaeth
mewn Cynaladwyedd, Cynllunio a Pholisi Amgylcheddol
Rhagoriaeth
It also says it in English, but that's no fun. I think I might rename my blog Cynaladwyedd, which means sustainability.
BTW, Rhagoriaeth means Distinction. I just wanted to brag a little there.
I got my diploma in the mail a couple of days ago. I'm now a Master of Science, in addition to my previous distinction as a Master Composter/Soil Builder. Here's what my diploma says:
Ardystir drwy hyn fod
Appalachia
wedi derbyn radd o
Arhtro mewn Gwyddoniaeth
mewn Cynaladwyedd, Cynllunio a Pholisi Amgylcheddol
Rhagoriaeth
It also says it in English, but that's no fun. I think I might rename my blog Cynaladwyedd, which means sustainability.
BTW, Rhagoriaeth means Distinction. I just wanted to brag a little there.
Saturday, March 24, 2007
HOLLER AT 'EM DOWN THESE HALLOWED HALLS
I think I have some mental block that makes it difficult for me to fully conceptualize certain things unless I can experience them directly. If it’s abstract, I have no way in. For my entire life I’ve been hearing phrases like ‘appropriations committee,’ ‘discretionary spending,’ ‘marker bill’ and ‘lobbying,’ without really taking the time to think about how it all works in reality and on the ground. I know it affects me, but I guess I’ve mostly felt like it’s a huge machine that grinds along in it’s predetermined partisan way and that voting is really the only thing that makes a difference, and even then I’m just one voice and if my district is full of people who disagree with me about fundamental things, then too bad. I may be unusual in this ignorance and disengagement of the political process, but I suspect not. And it’s too bad, because direct involvement is easy, and it’s the biggest thing we can do to exercise our rights and have some say in what happens in our country. I recently went to Washington DC and exercised my right to have my say, and now I have a much clearer picture of how it all works (or at least parts of it). Not even because I saw it first hand, but because if I was going to go there, I needed to learn the process and for the first time I had a framework for the information, so it stuck.
I’ve been considering policy advocacy, or lobbying, as a possible career path, so I’ve been thinking about what it means, how it’s done and where it fits into the scheme of saving the world. And I’m determining that it’s a seriously important piece of the pie and that most do-gooder organizations and individuals don’t spend enough (or any) time and energy on it. I did some lobbying last week, as part of a small team (3 or 4 people, depending on the meeting). We were asking for some specific items to be included or changed in the 2007 Farm Bill—things that will support small to medium-sized farms and food producers, provide better access to and education about healthy, fresh food, and support more local food economies. I had spent the couple of days before (and the last couple of years, I guess) learning about the issues and the systems involved, and the Community Food Security Coalition had prepared the information on what asks would be productive and sufficient to make a meaningful change. So I went in knowing what I wanted my Senators and representative to do, and why. We waltzed right into the halls of power (there was a metal detector, but no ID check or sign in or anything) and to the offices of our members of Congress (one of us had called ahead to get appointments with each office) and had discussions with staffers with our requests and the evidence backing them up. Anyone can do this. And it’s incredibly empowering. The buildings really are grand, and being in the spaces where the policy work of the entire country is decided was inspiring.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I know there’s tons of pork (in the form of peanuts, tropical fish and dairy subsidies in the war funding bill, for instance). I know favors are done and money is earmarked and the big businesses will always have more money and more people in there working to influence policy. But I also know that if you have your ducks in a row, your facts researched and clearly articulated, and some well-written arguments to leave behind for your representatives to learn from, your voice can be heard. In the case of one Washington representative (from a rural area, not mine), his legislative director even treated us as partners of a sort, asking us to provide him with evidence to back up some things he (and we) supports, and to keep him updated on developments on the ground. The Farm Bill is hugely contested, it includes most of the food and farm policy in the US, and the money has to be divided among long-standing bad ideas like excessive subsidies for commodity crops grown by big agri-business, necessary safety net entitlement programs like Food Stamps (no longer stamps, and no longer called that), and support for innovation and improvement of our food system and access to it for those often excluded. The fight is a year-long struggle, with small-scale marker bills (preliminary bills with fewer issues to attempt to get support for an issue that will then be put into the larger bill) and coalition-building, ending in an authorization that may only be partially funded. But if without advocacy by and for those outside the big business lobby groups, there’s no chance for improvement. You better believe that industry is making sure its voice is heard. I’m now a true believer in making sure mine is too.
I think I have some mental block that makes it difficult for me to fully conceptualize certain things unless I can experience them directly. If it’s abstract, I have no way in. For my entire life I’ve been hearing phrases like ‘appropriations committee,’ ‘discretionary spending,’ ‘marker bill’ and ‘lobbying,’ without really taking the time to think about how it all works in reality and on the ground. I know it affects me, but I guess I’ve mostly felt like it’s a huge machine that grinds along in it’s predetermined partisan way and that voting is really the only thing that makes a difference, and even then I’m just one voice and if my district is full of people who disagree with me about fundamental things, then too bad. I may be unusual in this ignorance and disengagement of the political process, but I suspect not. And it’s too bad, because direct involvement is easy, and it’s the biggest thing we can do to exercise our rights and have some say in what happens in our country. I recently went to Washington DC and exercised my right to have my say, and now I have a much clearer picture of how it all works (or at least parts of it). Not even because I saw it first hand, but because if I was going to go there, I needed to learn the process and for the first time I had a framework for the information, so it stuck.
I’ve been considering policy advocacy, or lobbying, as a possible career path, so I’ve been thinking about what it means, how it’s done and where it fits into the scheme of saving the world. And I’m determining that it’s a seriously important piece of the pie and that most do-gooder organizations and individuals don’t spend enough (or any) time and energy on it. I did some lobbying last week, as part of a small team (3 or 4 people, depending on the meeting). We were asking for some specific items to be included or changed in the 2007 Farm Bill—things that will support small to medium-sized farms and food producers, provide better access to and education about healthy, fresh food, and support more local food economies. I had spent the couple of days before (and the last couple of years, I guess) learning about the issues and the systems involved, and the Community Food Security Coalition had prepared the information on what asks would be productive and sufficient to make a meaningful change. So I went in knowing what I wanted my Senators and representative to do, and why. We waltzed right into the halls of power (there was a metal detector, but no ID check or sign in or anything) and to the offices of our members of Congress (one of us had called ahead to get appointments with each office) and had discussions with staffers with our requests and the evidence backing them up. Anyone can do this. And it’s incredibly empowering. The buildings really are grand, and being in the spaces where the policy work of the entire country is decided was inspiring.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I know there’s tons of pork (in the form of peanuts, tropical fish and dairy subsidies in the war funding bill, for instance). I know favors are done and money is earmarked and the big businesses will always have more money and more people in there working to influence policy. But I also know that if you have your ducks in a row, your facts researched and clearly articulated, and some well-written arguments to leave behind for your representatives to learn from, your voice can be heard. In the case of one Washington representative (from a rural area, not mine), his legislative director even treated us as partners of a sort, asking us to provide him with evidence to back up some things he (and we) supports, and to keep him updated on developments on the ground. The Farm Bill is hugely contested, it includes most of the food and farm policy in the US, and the money has to be divided among long-standing bad ideas like excessive subsidies for commodity crops grown by big agri-business, necessary safety net entitlement programs like Food Stamps (no longer stamps, and no longer called that), and support for innovation and improvement of our food system and access to it for those often excluded. The fight is a year-long struggle, with small-scale marker bills (preliminary bills with fewer issues to attempt to get support for an issue that will then be put into the larger bill) and coalition-building, ending in an authorization that may only be partially funded. But if without advocacy by and for those outside the big business lobby groups, there’s no chance for improvement. You better believe that industry is making sure its voice is heard. I’m now a true believer in making sure mine is too.
Thursday, February 15, 2007
I Crossed the Line
Oh no. I've had a terrible realisation. It might never go back. I may have crossed over into another plane of being wherein there is never legitimate downtime or relaxation. Gone are the days of having a day job and watching tv after work while cooking a real homecooked meal. Gone is guilt-free hanging out doing nothing. Or at least that's what it feels like.
I'd say one of the defining elements of the Cardiff time was a constant awareness that I should be doing work--reading more articles, going to more lectures, writing essays earlier so i can edit them more. And another defining element was not knowing what would happen next--where, when or if I'd get a job in my areas of interest, how my time or life would be structured. Oh yeah and a third was when I'd be able to settle in for a long-ish time of living in one flat and not be looking forward at the next move. And missing my friends. That's four defining elements, and I'm sure there are more, but that's plenty for now.
so now I'm back in Seattle, have been for nearly two months. And NONE OF THESE THINGS HAVE CHANGED. At least not enough for my taste. The painting and bathroom fix-up drags on, so I'm still not certain when we will move in, though it shouldn't be long now. I have too many tasks piled up that need to happen simultaneously--job searching, job applying, networking and involvement with local organisations in my field, house fixing-up, finishing up my report for Cardiff U., temping, cooking and eating a decent meal now and then ... Still don't know what the future holds in terms of jobs and the structure of daily life. And even though I'm in the same town with many of the friends I missed so much, I find that I still have only managed to see most of them once or twice, mostly for the reasons listed above. And like in Cardiff, I'm not sure I'd be much good for company anyway.
So, yeah, I wonder if it will ever end. I know that most of these things will stabilize and hopefully I'll have some less-guilty free time to spend with friends. But I have no way of knowing when for much of it. And I do think there may just be more and more things to plan and prepare for and live up to as I get older and try to become a professional. so I trundle along.
I'm not even particularly upset about these things. I'm just tired. As long as I can keep from doubting my own abilities and worth in the face of no response to job applications, I think I'll be fine. And so far I still think they're all insane for not interviewing me and learning how perfect I am for whatever job it is. Maybe the job that is perfect for me is still out there and in this dimension I've found myself in, patience is the biggest virtue and necessity.
Oh no. I've had a terrible realisation. It might never go back. I may have crossed over into another plane of being wherein there is never legitimate downtime or relaxation. Gone are the days of having a day job and watching tv after work while cooking a real homecooked meal. Gone is guilt-free hanging out doing nothing. Or at least that's what it feels like.
I'd say one of the defining elements of the Cardiff time was a constant awareness that I should be doing work--reading more articles, going to more lectures, writing essays earlier so i can edit them more. And another defining element was not knowing what would happen next--where, when or if I'd get a job in my areas of interest, how my time or life would be structured. Oh yeah and a third was when I'd be able to settle in for a long-ish time of living in one flat and not be looking forward at the next move. And missing my friends. That's four defining elements, and I'm sure there are more, but that's plenty for now.
so now I'm back in Seattle, have been for nearly two months. And NONE OF THESE THINGS HAVE CHANGED. At least not enough for my taste. The painting and bathroom fix-up drags on, so I'm still not certain when we will move in, though it shouldn't be long now. I have too many tasks piled up that need to happen simultaneously--job searching, job applying, networking and involvement with local organisations in my field, house fixing-up, finishing up my report for Cardiff U., temping, cooking and eating a decent meal now and then ... Still don't know what the future holds in terms of jobs and the structure of daily life. And even though I'm in the same town with many of the friends I missed so much, I find that I still have only managed to see most of them once or twice, mostly for the reasons listed above. And like in Cardiff, I'm not sure I'd be much good for company anyway.
So, yeah, I wonder if it will ever end. I know that most of these things will stabilize and hopefully I'll have some less-guilty free time to spend with friends. But I have no way of knowing when for much of it. And I do think there may just be more and more things to plan and prepare for and live up to as I get older and try to become a professional. so I trundle along.
I'm not even particularly upset about these things. I'm just tired. As long as I can keep from doubting my own abilities and worth in the face of no response to job applications, I think I'll be fine. And so far I still think they're all insane for not interviewing me and learning how perfect I am for whatever job it is. Maybe the job that is perfect for me is still out there and in this dimension I've found myself in, patience is the biggest virtue and necessity.
Friday, January 05, 2007
Guest Blogger: My Former Dramaturg Self
In toodling around the blogosphere, I followed some links about dramaturgy and playwriting and workshop etiquette. The workshop etiquette bit has mostly to do with being respectful of playwrights and their hard-earned plays, and approaching criticism/feedback in a way that seeks to learn what the play is on its own terms and offer questions and feedback to help it reach that, rather than offering criticism and suggestions based on what you (dramaturg, workshop responder, whatever) want it to be. I learned this the hard way, when I more than once got so caught up in the potential of a play in terms of where I intuitively (read: in my artistic world, not the playwrights's) thought it should go. I've had to nurture friendships and working relationships extra-carefully after some of my high horse moments of letting fly my harshest criticism, or doing at an inappropriate time. Anyway, that's not what this post is about.
This post is really just a venue for me to post something I discovered on Blogomatopoeia, which he in turn got somewhere else. It's Jose Rivera's thoughts about playwrighting, and I thought some of my readers might find it interesting. Lots of it is specific to playwriting, but even though I have no intention of writing plays, I think much of the advice is good stuff to think about. I was going to list or highlight the ones I find useful in other areas of life, but it's way too many and you should read it and let it resonate for your own life and work anyway. But do try to remember to replace playwriting and plays with whatever your own goals or struggles for greatness include.
36 Assumptions About Writing Plays
by Jose Rivera
Over the years, I've had the good fortune to teach writing in a number of schools from second-grade to graduate school. I usually just wing it. But lately, I've decided to think about the assumptions I've been working under and to write them down. The following is an unscientific, gut-level survey of the assumptions I have about writing plays, in no particular order of importance.
1. Good playwriting is a collaboration between your many selves. The more multiple your personalities, the further, wider, deeper you will be able to go.
2. Theatre is closer to poetry and music than it is to the novel.
3. There's no time limit to writing plays. Think of playwriting as a life-long apprenticeship. Imagine you may have your best ideas on your deathbed.
4. Write plays in order to organize despair and chaos. To live vicariously. To play God. To project an idealized version of the world. To destroy things you hate in the world and in yourself. To remember and to forget. To lie to yourself. To play. To dance with language. To beautify the landscape. To fight loneliness. To inspire others. To imitate your heroes. To bring back the past and raise the dead. To achieve transcendence of yourself. To fight the powers that be. To sound alarms. To provoke conversation. To engage in the conversation started by great writers in the past. To further evolve the artform. To lose yourself in your fictive world. To make money.
5. Write because you want to show something. To show that the world is shit. To show how fleeting love and happiness are. To show the inner workings of your ego. To show that democracy is in danger. To show how interconnected we are. (Each "to show" is active and must be personal, deeply held, true to you.)
6. Each line of dialogue is like a piece of DNA; potentially containing the entire play and its thesis; potentially telling us the beginning, middle, and end of the play.
7. Be prepared to risk your entire reputation every time you write, otherwise it's not worth your audience's time.
8. Embrace your writer's block. It's nature's way of saving trees and your reputation. Listen to it and try to understand its source. Often, writer's block happens to you because somewhere in your work you've lied to yourself and your subconscious won't let you go any further until you've gone back, erased the lie, stated the truth and started over.
9. Language is a form of entertainment. Beautiful language can be like beautiful music: it can amuse, inspire, mystify, enlighten.
10. Rhythm is key. Use as many sounds and cadences as possible. Think of dialogue as a form of percussive music. You can vary the speed of the language, the number of beats per line, volume, density. You can use silences, fragments, elongated sentences, interruptions, overlapping conversation, physical activity, monologues, nonsense, non-sequiturs, foreign languages.
11. Vary your tone as much as possible. Juxtapose high seriousness with raunchy language with lyrical beauty with violence with dark comedy with awe with eroticism.
12. Action doesn't have to be overt. It can be the steady deepening of the dramatic situation or your character's steady emotional movements from one emotional/psychological condition to another: ignorance to enlightenment, weakness to strength, illness to wholeness.
13. Invest something truly personal in each of your characters, even if it's something of your worst self.
14. If realism is as artificial as any genre, strive to create your own realism. If theatre is a handicraft in which you make one of a kind pieces, then you're in complete control of your fictive universe. What are its physical laws? What's gravity like? What does time do? What are the rules of cause and effect? How do your characters behave in this altered universe?
15. Write from your organs. Write from your eyes, your heart, your liver, your ass -- write from your brain last of all.
16. Write from all of your senses. Be prepared to design on the page: tell yourself exactly what you see, feel, hear, touch and taste in this world. Never leave design to chance, that includes the design of the cast.
17. Find your tribe. Educate your collaborators. Stick to your people and be faithful to them. Seek aesthetic and emotional compatability with those your work with. Understand your director's world view because it will color his/her approach to your work.
18. Strive to be your own genre. Great plays represent the genres created around the author's voice. A Checkhov genre. A Caryl Churchill genre.
19. Strive to create roles that actors you respect will kill to perform.
20. Form follows function. Strive to reflect the content of the play in the form of the play.
21. Use the literalization of metaphor to discuss the inner emotional state of your characters.
22. Don't be afraid to attempt great themes: death, war, sexuality, identity, fate, God, existence, politics, love.
23. Theatre is the explanation of life to the living. Try to tease apart the conflicting noises of living, and make some kind of pattern and order. It's not so much and explanation of life as much as it is a recipe for understanding, a blueprint for navigation, a confidante with some answers, enough to guide you and encourage you, but not to dictate to you.
24. Push emotional extremes. Don't be a puritan. Be sexy. Be violent. Be irrational. Be sloppy. Be frightening. Be loud. Be stupid. Be colorful.
25. Ideas may be deeply embedded in the interactions and reactions of your character; they may be in the music and poetry of your form. You have thoughts and you generate ideas constantly. A play ought to embody those thoughts and those thoughts can serve as a unifying energy in your play.
26. A play must be organized. This is another word for structure. You organize a meal, your closet, your time -- why not your play?
27. Strive to be mysterious, not confusing.
28. Think of information in a play like an IV drip -- dispense just enough to keep the body alive, but not too much too soon.
29. Think of writing as a constant battle against the natural inertia of language.
30. Write in layers. Have as many things happening in a play in any one moment as possible.
31. Faulkner said the greatest drama is the heart in conflict with itself.
32. Keep your chops up with constant questioning of your own work. React against your work. Be hypercritical. Do in the next work what you aimed for but failed to do in the last one.
33. Listen only to those people who have a vested interest in your future.
34. Character is the embodiment of obsession. A character must be stupendously hungry. There is no rest for those characters until they've satisfied their needs.
35. In all your plays be sure to write at least one impossible thing. And don't let your director talk you out of it.
36. A writer cannot live without an authentic voice -- the place where you are the most honest, most lyrical, most complete, most creative and new. That's what you're striving to find. But the authentic voice doesn't know how to write, any more than gasoline knows how to drive. But driving is impossible without fuel and writing is impossible without the heat and strength of your authentic voice. Learning to write well is the stuff of workshops. Learning good habits and practicing hard. But finding your authentic voice as a writer is your business, your journey -- a private, lonely, inexact, painful, slow and frustrating voyage. Teachers and mentors can only bring you closer to that voice. With luck and time, you'll get there on your own.
(c) 2003 Theatre Communications Group -- Jose Rivera
In toodling around the blogosphere, I followed some links about dramaturgy and playwriting and workshop etiquette. The workshop etiquette bit has mostly to do with being respectful of playwrights and their hard-earned plays, and approaching criticism/feedback in a way that seeks to learn what the play is on its own terms and offer questions and feedback to help it reach that, rather than offering criticism and suggestions based on what you (dramaturg, workshop responder, whatever) want it to be. I learned this the hard way, when I more than once got so caught up in the potential of a play in terms of where I intuitively (read: in my artistic world, not the playwrights's) thought it should go. I've had to nurture friendships and working relationships extra-carefully after some of my high horse moments of letting fly my harshest criticism, or doing at an inappropriate time. Anyway, that's not what this post is about.
This post is really just a venue for me to post something I discovered on Blogomatopoeia, which he in turn got somewhere else. It's Jose Rivera's thoughts about playwrighting, and I thought some of my readers might find it interesting. Lots of it is specific to playwriting, but even though I have no intention of writing plays, I think much of the advice is good stuff to think about. I was going to list or highlight the ones I find useful in other areas of life, but it's way too many and you should read it and let it resonate for your own life and work anyway. But do try to remember to replace playwriting and plays with whatever your own goals or struggles for greatness include.
36 Assumptions About Writing Plays
by Jose Rivera
Over the years, I've had the good fortune to teach writing in a number of schools from second-grade to graduate school. I usually just wing it. But lately, I've decided to think about the assumptions I've been working under and to write them down. The following is an unscientific, gut-level survey of the assumptions I have about writing plays, in no particular order of importance.
1. Good playwriting is a collaboration between your many selves. The more multiple your personalities, the further, wider, deeper you will be able to go.
2. Theatre is closer to poetry and music than it is to the novel.
3. There's no time limit to writing plays. Think of playwriting as a life-long apprenticeship. Imagine you may have your best ideas on your deathbed.
4. Write plays in order to organize despair and chaos. To live vicariously. To play God. To project an idealized version of the world. To destroy things you hate in the world and in yourself. To remember and to forget. To lie to yourself. To play. To dance with language. To beautify the landscape. To fight loneliness. To inspire others. To imitate your heroes. To bring back the past and raise the dead. To achieve transcendence of yourself. To fight the powers that be. To sound alarms. To provoke conversation. To engage in the conversation started by great writers in the past. To further evolve the artform. To lose yourself in your fictive world. To make money.
5. Write because you want to show something. To show that the world is shit. To show how fleeting love and happiness are. To show the inner workings of your ego. To show that democracy is in danger. To show how interconnected we are. (Each "to show" is active and must be personal, deeply held, true to you.)
6. Each line of dialogue is like a piece of DNA; potentially containing the entire play and its thesis; potentially telling us the beginning, middle, and end of the play.
7. Be prepared to risk your entire reputation every time you write, otherwise it's not worth your audience's time.
8. Embrace your writer's block. It's nature's way of saving trees and your reputation. Listen to it and try to understand its source. Often, writer's block happens to you because somewhere in your work you've lied to yourself and your subconscious won't let you go any further until you've gone back, erased the lie, stated the truth and started over.
9. Language is a form of entertainment. Beautiful language can be like beautiful music: it can amuse, inspire, mystify, enlighten.
10. Rhythm is key. Use as many sounds and cadences as possible. Think of dialogue as a form of percussive music. You can vary the speed of the language, the number of beats per line, volume, density. You can use silences, fragments, elongated sentences, interruptions, overlapping conversation, physical activity, monologues, nonsense, non-sequiturs, foreign languages.
11. Vary your tone as much as possible. Juxtapose high seriousness with raunchy language with lyrical beauty with violence with dark comedy with awe with eroticism.
12. Action doesn't have to be overt. It can be the steady deepening of the dramatic situation or your character's steady emotional movements from one emotional/psychological condition to another: ignorance to enlightenment, weakness to strength, illness to wholeness.
13. Invest something truly personal in each of your characters, even if it's something of your worst self.
14. If realism is as artificial as any genre, strive to create your own realism. If theatre is a handicraft in which you make one of a kind pieces, then you're in complete control of your fictive universe. What are its physical laws? What's gravity like? What does time do? What are the rules of cause and effect? How do your characters behave in this altered universe?
15. Write from your organs. Write from your eyes, your heart, your liver, your ass -- write from your brain last of all.
16. Write from all of your senses. Be prepared to design on the page: tell yourself exactly what you see, feel, hear, touch and taste in this world. Never leave design to chance, that includes the design of the cast.
17. Find your tribe. Educate your collaborators. Stick to your people and be faithful to them. Seek aesthetic and emotional compatability with those your work with. Understand your director's world view because it will color his/her approach to your work.
18. Strive to be your own genre. Great plays represent the genres created around the author's voice. A Checkhov genre. A Caryl Churchill genre.
19. Strive to create roles that actors you respect will kill to perform.
20. Form follows function. Strive to reflect the content of the play in the form of the play.
21. Use the literalization of metaphor to discuss the inner emotional state of your characters.
22. Don't be afraid to attempt great themes: death, war, sexuality, identity, fate, God, existence, politics, love.
23. Theatre is the explanation of life to the living. Try to tease apart the conflicting noises of living, and make some kind of pattern and order. It's not so much and explanation of life as much as it is a recipe for understanding, a blueprint for navigation, a confidante with some answers, enough to guide you and encourage you, but not to dictate to you.
24. Push emotional extremes. Don't be a puritan. Be sexy. Be violent. Be irrational. Be sloppy. Be frightening. Be loud. Be stupid. Be colorful.
25. Ideas may be deeply embedded in the interactions and reactions of your character; they may be in the music and poetry of your form. You have thoughts and you generate ideas constantly. A play ought to embody those thoughts and those thoughts can serve as a unifying energy in your play.
26. A play must be organized. This is another word for structure. You organize a meal, your closet, your time -- why not your play?
27. Strive to be mysterious, not confusing.
28. Think of information in a play like an IV drip -- dispense just enough to keep the body alive, but not too much too soon.
29. Think of writing as a constant battle against the natural inertia of language.
30. Write in layers. Have as many things happening in a play in any one moment as possible.
31. Faulkner said the greatest drama is the heart in conflict with itself.
32. Keep your chops up with constant questioning of your own work. React against your work. Be hypercritical. Do in the next work what you aimed for but failed to do in the last one.
33. Listen only to those people who have a vested interest in your future.
34. Character is the embodiment of obsession. A character must be stupendously hungry. There is no rest for those characters until they've satisfied their needs.
35. In all your plays be sure to write at least one impossible thing. And don't let your director talk you out of it.
36. A writer cannot live without an authentic voice -- the place where you are the most honest, most lyrical, most complete, most creative and new. That's what you're striving to find. But the authentic voice doesn't know how to write, any more than gasoline knows how to drive. But driving is impossible without fuel and writing is impossible without the heat and strength of your authentic voice. Learning to write well is the stuff of workshops. Learning good habits and practicing hard. But finding your authentic voice as a writer is your business, your journey -- a private, lonely, inexact, painful, slow and frustrating voyage. Teachers and mentors can only bring you closer to that voice. With luck and time, you'll get there on your own.
(c) 2003 Theatre Communications Group -- Jose Rivera
Thursday, January 04, 2007
AND NOW WE'RE BACK...FOR REAL
Well, I'm pretty much healthy again now and diving into Seattle life. Recovered from the cold and then from the root canal. (Side note: I just want to say that either root canal technology has come a long way since the old days or all you who used to whine about root canals were fakin' it to get sympathy, becuase it wasn't bad at all and i can't even take pain killers and I'm saying that. It was just yesterday and I am already fully recovered unless I open my mouth too wide, which is about having had to sit there for an hour and a half wtih my mouth open and not about the drilling and poking of it all.)
Anyway, I've started to go full force on the seeing people I haven't seen for a year and a half and it's great. Every day or two I have another reunion in the form of tea or lunch, and it is being fully reinforced that I wasn't idealizing people while I was gone--they really are that cool and i was right to pine for them when I was away.
I think I also had a secret fear that I wouldn't relate to my friends anymore or that they would have no reason to see me now that I've become more focussed on food and farming and sustainability issues and will need to put my energies into that sector rather than theatre and film and the affiliated parties. So silly of me. My friends are not one-dimensional people and I love their art projects and their personal goals and also realized that we still have ways to interact over all sorts of projects. Just some examples of schemes or opportunities evolved from conversations in the last few days:
Plotting to have a cafe/arts cooperative/junk store with my film animator recycling obsessed friend (said coop to have hang-out space and also sewing machines and tables chairs and shelves and things from the dump that can be sold out from under us) We have friends who are bakers and knitters and clothing designers and painters and woodworkers and have all sorts of talents and skills--they need an outlet, dude. Maybe I could even combine it with my long ago plan to open light cafes to treat people with Seasonal Affective Disorder.
Among a thousand other business plans, I also want to start a yogurt business someday, based on Basque deliciously clean-tasting sheep yogurt in clay pots that can be returned for a deposit or kept as tiny flower vases. (If you steal this idea I will hunt you down) I mention this to a friend whose mother's best friend raises goats and sheep and makes yogurt in California and is from France and might be willing to let me do a short learning stint!
Other friends are working on an internet cooking tv show, and I've convinced them to let me ply them with sustainability factoids about the foods they choose to cook on it.
Let's see. Oh yeah, because I have no problem begging businesses to loan or donate things for good causes, I'm gonna maybe be an assistant to the Art Designer for my friend's cool sci-fi movie and get set pieces loaned in exchange for credits or ads or something. And I'm gonna put on my old dramaturgy hat and read through script drafts to give my 2 cents worth of feedback.
Now, you might say, but Appalachia, aren't you sabotaging your aforementioned new focus on food and sustainability by jumping into all these projects? Well, that remains to be seen. My inclination is that i do better when involved in lots of inspiring things at once. This because i am a classic case of extrovert. Not that I'm loud and obnoxious, though that is also sometimes true, but because I get energy by being with people--and specifically by working in collaboration with people when I feel I have something useful to contribute.
I'm also signing up for a once a week Small Farm Business class to give me a bit more knowledge and cred in seeking jobs to help farmers keep their sustainable agriculture businesses afloat and in compliance with legal and regulatory standards.
Ideally, I would actually take some more traditional business or marketing classes too. But those will have wait a bit, I think.
So, this was newsy and list-y, but that's what I'm about right now. Making lists of who to contact to jumpstart career and involvement possibilities, what projects need to be completed so I can move on to others, and friends I haven't yet seen and need to schedule some time with. If only it wasn't cold, dreary january. It makes me want to curl up in bed with books and increases the umph required to get out. But all i have to remember is that the more I see people, the more I'm motivated to see people and that's how I get things done. So, reason to get out of bed.
Well, I'm pretty much healthy again now and diving into Seattle life. Recovered from the cold and then from the root canal. (Side note: I just want to say that either root canal technology has come a long way since the old days or all you who used to whine about root canals were fakin' it to get sympathy, becuase it wasn't bad at all and i can't even take pain killers and I'm saying that. It was just yesterday and I am already fully recovered unless I open my mouth too wide, which is about having had to sit there for an hour and a half wtih my mouth open and not about the drilling and poking of it all.)
Anyway, I've started to go full force on the seeing people I haven't seen for a year and a half and it's great. Every day or two I have another reunion in the form of tea or lunch, and it is being fully reinforced that I wasn't idealizing people while I was gone--they really are that cool and i was right to pine for them when I was away.
I think I also had a secret fear that I wouldn't relate to my friends anymore or that they would have no reason to see me now that I've become more focussed on food and farming and sustainability issues and will need to put my energies into that sector rather than theatre and film and the affiliated parties. So silly of me. My friends are not one-dimensional people and I love their art projects and their personal goals and also realized that we still have ways to interact over all sorts of projects. Just some examples of schemes or opportunities evolved from conversations in the last few days:
Plotting to have a cafe/arts cooperative/junk store with my film animator recycling obsessed friend (said coop to have hang-out space and also sewing machines and tables chairs and shelves and things from the dump that can be sold out from under us) We have friends who are bakers and knitters and clothing designers and painters and woodworkers and have all sorts of talents and skills--they need an outlet, dude. Maybe I could even combine it with my long ago plan to open light cafes to treat people with Seasonal Affective Disorder.
Among a thousand other business plans, I also want to start a yogurt business someday, based on Basque deliciously clean-tasting sheep yogurt in clay pots that can be returned for a deposit or kept as tiny flower vases. (If you steal this idea I will hunt you down) I mention this to a friend whose mother's best friend raises goats and sheep and makes yogurt in California and is from France and might be willing to let me do a short learning stint!
Other friends are working on an internet cooking tv show, and I've convinced them to let me ply them with sustainability factoids about the foods they choose to cook on it.
Let's see. Oh yeah, because I have no problem begging businesses to loan or donate things for good causes, I'm gonna maybe be an assistant to the Art Designer for my friend's cool sci-fi movie and get set pieces loaned in exchange for credits or ads or something. And I'm gonna put on my old dramaturgy hat and read through script drafts to give my 2 cents worth of feedback.
Now, you might say, but Appalachia, aren't you sabotaging your aforementioned new focus on food and sustainability by jumping into all these projects? Well, that remains to be seen. My inclination is that i do better when involved in lots of inspiring things at once. This because i am a classic case of extrovert. Not that I'm loud and obnoxious, though that is also sometimes true, but because I get energy by being with people--and specifically by working in collaboration with people when I feel I have something useful to contribute.
I'm also signing up for a once a week Small Farm Business class to give me a bit more knowledge and cred in seeking jobs to help farmers keep their sustainable agriculture businesses afloat and in compliance with legal and regulatory standards.
Ideally, I would actually take some more traditional business or marketing classes too. But those will have wait a bit, I think.
So, this was newsy and list-y, but that's what I'm about right now. Making lists of who to contact to jumpstart career and involvement possibilities, what projects need to be completed so I can move on to others, and friends I haven't yet seen and need to schedule some time with. If only it wasn't cold, dreary january. It makes me want to curl up in bed with books and increases the umph required to get out. But all i have to remember is that the more I see people, the more I'm motivated to see people and that's how I get things done. So, reason to get out of bed.
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
BACK IN SEATTLE ... SORT OF
Well, we made it back. Got in late Saturday night. And went to an amazingly perfect music show by flamingbanjo and the half brothers on Sunday. I was still jetlagged and emotional and tired, but really happy to see people and hear music with humor I get.
But then on Monday I got a horrible cold/flu something and haven't been able to bring myself to call anyone or even leave the house. It's no fun at all.
Now that I'm back in town and my readers are mostly all around me, I find myself reluctant to talk about anything here on my blog. I'll get over it. For now, it's enough to say that I'm really bummed out that I'm here finally but feel so bad I can't even have a conversation with people, let alone go see them. Sleeping most of the last two days doesn't seem to have fixed anything either. I'm hoping tomorrow things will get better and that it's just a cold and not dead fear of hanging out with people I haven't seen for a year and a half.
Well, we made it back. Got in late Saturday night. And went to an amazingly perfect music show by flamingbanjo and the half brothers on Sunday. I was still jetlagged and emotional and tired, but really happy to see people and hear music with humor I get.
But then on Monday I got a horrible cold/flu something and haven't been able to bring myself to call anyone or even leave the house. It's no fun at all.
Now that I'm back in town and my readers are mostly all around me, I find myself reluctant to talk about anything here on my blog. I'll get over it. For now, it's enough to say that I'm really bummed out that I'm here finally but feel so bad I can't even have a conversation with people, let alone go see them. Sleeping most of the last two days doesn't seem to have fixed anything either. I'm hoping tomorrow things will get better and that it's just a cold and not dead fear of hanging out with people I haven't seen for a year and a half.
Thursday, December 14, 2006
AUDI, AUDI, I'M A COWBOY
So, we're out of our apartment today. As soon as our landlord's lackey can make time for us. In true Cardiff style, we have no exit appointment, just a promise that "Peter" who we've never heard of before, will call us to come by and do a walk-through. It was implied that it would be morning, so we went to bed at 3am and set an alarm for 8am so we could finish cleaning, packing up odds and ends and dropping things by the charity shop. But I have a feeling, as we're finishing up here, that we'll end up sitting here most of the day waiting for him. Argh.
Moving is hard on us. We're sentimental like you wouldn't believe. We've lived here nearly as long as we lived in our apartment before moving, and longer than anywhere we've lived together before that (we lived in four places in 3 years before we bought our condo). And each time we work really hard to make a place feel like home. We get attached to the tiny things that gave us comfort in a strange place. Remember my first or second post on this blog, about living in separate dorm rooms while waiitng for our flat to be ready? I hung up magazine pictures, bought a desk lamp and two small ceramic cups, just to make it not so cold and alienating. Even before that, when we had to spend a night on the bare beds in the clothes we were wearing because our stuff was in storage, we bought two towels and a cotton blanket. Yesterday, we sold the lamp to a co-worker, along with random kitchen things, and we gave the blanket to the local Cancer Research charity shop. But we shipped home the two small cups and we're keeping the towels, and I tucked the magazine cutouts into a book we're taking with us. See, sentimental. And that's just one tiny example.
The thing is, as much as it sometimes seemed like we'd never leave here, and as much as we settled in to daily life and developed new habits, I'm pretty sure that when we set foot in Seattle again, this life will rush away into the distance and be hard to fathom. Like hard to believe we were ever here at all. That makes me sad, because I want to remember all the details and all the relationships, and I want it with clarity, surround sound and smell-o-vision. So we try to give things to people we like, so we can imagine them being used, and we're taking home probably more little things than was quite necessary, and I've walked the city with memorization in mind. But still, scared it will all disappear.
But I guess I don't really have time to ponder and fret--I need to go make the back yard presentable to non-hippies. Who are going to live in MY house and neglect MY garden and never even notice that there are herbs (with a silent "h") planted there.
So, we're out of our apartment today. As soon as our landlord's lackey can make time for us. In true Cardiff style, we have no exit appointment, just a promise that "Peter" who we've never heard of before, will call us to come by and do a walk-through. It was implied that it would be morning, so we went to bed at 3am and set an alarm for 8am so we could finish cleaning, packing up odds and ends and dropping things by the charity shop. But I have a feeling, as we're finishing up here, that we'll end up sitting here most of the day waiting for him. Argh.
Moving is hard on us. We're sentimental like you wouldn't believe. We've lived here nearly as long as we lived in our apartment before moving, and longer than anywhere we've lived together before that (we lived in four places in 3 years before we bought our condo). And each time we work really hard to make a place feel like home. We get attached to the tiny things that gave us comfort in a strange place. Remember my first or second post on this blog, about living in separate dorm rooms while waiitng for our flat to be ready? I hung up magazine pictures, bought a desk lamp and two small ceramic cups, just to make it not so cold and alienating. Even before that, when we had to spend a night on the bare beds in the clothes we were wearing because our stuff was in storage, we bought two towels and a cotton blanket. Yesterday, we sold the lamp to a co-worker, along with random kitchen things, and we gave the blanket to the local Cancer Research charity shop. But we shipped home the two small cups and we're keeping the towels, and I tucked the magazine cutouts into a book we're taking with us. See, sentimental. And that's just one tiny example.
The thing is, as much as it sometimes seemed like we'd never leave here, and as much as we settled in to daily life and developed new habits, I'm pretty sure that when we set foot in Seattle again, this life will rush away into the distance and be hard to fathom. Like hard to believe we were ever here at all. That makes me sad, because I want to remember all the details and all the relationships, and I want it with clarity, surround sound and smell-o-vision. So we try to give things to people we like, so we can imagine them being used, and we're taking home probably more little things than was quite necessary, and I've walked the city with memorization in mind. But still, scared it will all disappear.
But I guess I don't really have time to ponder and fret--I need to go make the back yard presentable to non-hippies. Who are going to live in MY house and neglect MY garden and never even notice that there are herbs (with a silent "h") planted there.
Monday, December 11, 2006
BUT WHAT ABOUT THE FOUR POTATOES STILL IN THE CUPBOARD???
You can always count on me to make moving all about the food. I've been planning for weeks to run out of foodstuffs just in time to leave Cardiff. Our canister of sea salt has mere tablespoons left in it. Our soy sauce has only drops left. Today was the day to make a mad dash to clear out the oatmeal, dried currants and apples, the bulgur wheat, the lentils, the brown rice and whatever bits and bobs of vegetables and tomato sauces are still around. Porridge with fruit for breakfast, lentil stew(with carrots, onions and potatoes) and brown rice for early dinner, and pizza with a bit of onion, pepper and zucchini for late dinner. Oh, and tabouli for tomorrow's packing sustenance. That's alot of home cooking for a day when I should be packing, but I like to think I'm doing my part. And besides, I have a cold/flu something and so am not good for much else anyway. For some reason, when I'm sick, with flu or even with migraine, cooking makes me feel temporarily better. I credit it with the energy burst that got me through sorting the random rubbish on my desk. Tomorrow I'll be using up the butternut squash, the walnuts, the onions and the honey.
Phil, Jason's partner in crime for the past year, came over from Bristol to visit tonight, so the two of them burned the furniture in a garbage can in the back garden. Well, okay, not most of the furniture, but all the ones Jason made from pallets last autumn--the ironing board that was attached to the kitchen wall, the printer and TV stands, the goofy little gadget that was supposed to let me hang journal articles from it so I could look and type at the same time. A couple of days ago we ninja-smoove took the windows we stole from rubbish tips last year back to illegally leave them in some other rubbish tip a year and some months later. The rubbish tip (basically a dumpster that a truck picks up and carries away when you're done with your demolition project) was in exacly the same spot, so maybe it belongs to the same guy. At any rate, the windows don't take up much space, so it shouldn't mess with their fees or their ability to fit in all the perfectly good stuff they're throwing away there.
Last night the excellent Uli came to adopt our worms and their grimy wet bin. He's enthusiastic and will be an amazing worm-carer, I'm sure of it. He was even kind enough to e-mail me the update about their new bedding this morning. To set my mind at ease, I imagine. Jason and I get rather attached and concerned about our worms. He says they work hard for us and it makes him want to protect them. I legitimately find them kind of miraculous and even cute.
Tomorrow I'm hoping to pass off my plants to my friend Chloe, and hopefully an assortment of kitchenware to Yoko, my research colleague, who's just moving to Cardiff this month. I'm hoping to convince Uli to take my garden tools, one of which is a really cool ancient forged digging fork Jason got for me at a junk shop. Uli says he and Francesca are getting an allotment soon, so I'm sure these tools will be used if he takes them.
We originally had planned to just sell things (books, kitchen ware, gardening tools, lamps and things) when we left, but there's not so much of a used market for things here, so you can sell appliances and tools to the Cash Generator (yep, it's really called that) and we'll do that since we got most there anyway. But pots and pans and books and clothes are generally just given to charity shops. There's one bookstore that buys used books, but they nearly always have a sign that they're not buying at the moment. So I'd rather give things to people who will use them. It's slower, but things are going to good homes daily.
The countdown is on. Two more days to pack, one to clean, and then we're out of here on Friday.
You can always count on me to make moving all about the food. I've been planning for weeks to run out of foodstuffs just in time to leave Cardiff. Our canister of sea salt has mere tablespoons left in it. Our soy sauce has only drops left. Today was the day to make a mad dash to clear out the oatmeal, dried currants and apples, the bulgur wheat, the lentils, the brown rice and whatever bits and bobs of vegetables and tomato sauces are still around. Porridge with fruit for breakfast, lentil stew(with carrots, onions and potatoes) and brown rice for early dinner, and pizza with a bit of onion, pepper and zucchini for late dinner. Oh, and tabouli for tomorrow's packing sustenance. That's alot of home cooking for a day when I should be packing, but I like to think I'm doing my part. And besides, I have a cold/flu something and so am not good for much else anyway. For some reason, when I'm sick, with flu or even with migraine, cooking makes me feel temporarily better. I credit it with the energy burst that got me through sorting the random rubbish on my desk. Tomorrow I'll be using up the butternut squash, the walnuts, the onions and the honey.
Phil, Jason's partner in crime for the past year, came over from Bristol to visit tonight, so the two of them burned the furniture in a garbage can in the back garden. Well, okay, not most of the furniture, but all the ones Jason made from pallets last autumn--the ironing board that was attached to the kitchen wall, the printer and TV stands, the goofy little gadget that was supposed to let me hang journal articles from it so I could look and type at the same time. A couple of days ago we ninja-smoove took the windows we stole from rubbish tips last year back to illegally leave them in some other rubbish tip a year and some months later. The rubbish tip (basically a dumpster that a truck picks up and carries away when you're done with your demolition project) was in exacly the same spot, so maybe it belongs to the same guy. At any rate, the windows don't take up much space, so it shouldn't mess with their fees or their ability to fit in all the perfectly good stuff they're throwing away there.
Last night the excellent Uli came to adopt our worms and their grimy wet bin. He's enthusiastic and will be an amazing worm-carer, I'm sure of it. He was even kind enough to e-mail me the update about their new bedding this morning. To set my mind at ease, I imagine. Jason and I get rather attached and concerned about our worms. He says they work hard for us and it makes him want to protect them. I legitimately find them kind of miraculous and even cute.
Tomorrow I'm hoping to pass off my plants to my friend Chloe, and hopefully an assortment of kitchenware to Yoko, my research colleague, who's just moving to Cardiff this month. I'm hoping to convince Uli to take my garden tools, one of which is a really cool ancient forged digging fork Jason got for me at a junk shop. Uli says he and Francesca are getting an allotment soon, so I'm sure these tools will be used if he takes them.
We originally had planned to just sell things (books, kitchen ware, gardening tools, lamps and things) when we left, but there's not so much of a used market for things here, so you can sell appliances and tools to the Cash Generator (yep, it's really called that) and we'll do that since we got most there anyway. But pots and pans and books and clothes are generally just given to charity shops. There's one bookstore that buys used books, but they nearly always have a sign that they're not buying at the moment. So I'd rather give things to people who will use them. It's slower, but things are going to good homes daily.
The countdown is on. Two more days to pack, one to clean, and then we're out of here on Friday.
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
PACKING DETAILS
We're packing up around here, slowly. It's hard to put things in boxes or sell them, or give them away, before the last minute. This is always true for me, but is particularly so this time round, since we've only bought the bare minimum for living here and that means anything we pack is something we can't use in our last week here. So far, we've only been willing to let go of summer clothes and books. We've had conversations about which kitchen things can come with us and which need to stay here. I'm off to London again for interviews on Thursday and Friday, and we're seeing friends this weekend, so we're really getting down to the wire.
I looked at the airline requirements for baggage and I'm pretty annoyed with American Airlines at the moment. When we came over, we invested in the biggest size suitcases allowed on planes, and we packed them to within ounces of the weight limit. We also carried our hiking backpacks full to the top. And I had my fiddle in its case. We were loaded down and it wasn't much fun to get from Heathrow to Cardiff, but hey, everything we carried was something we didn't have to ship or leave at home. And we saved lots of money and lived in relative comfort by having the things we brought. The weight limit was 70 pounds per bag, on both airlines from Seattle to Heathrow. That weight limit is still true within the EU and on the first leg of our trip home. And the weight limit is allowed on American Airlines, the second leg of our trip BUT they now charge $25 for any bag weighing over 50 lbs. So, we can pack the same amount as we did coming over, but it will cost us at least $50 to make good use of our huge suitcases, the whole point of which was to avoid shipping charges and extra cargo flight miles and stuff.
Now, this is really a matter of principle, mostly. We knew the trip home would be expensive, and we've planned for it. But really, charging extra for what is standard elsewhere in the world annoys me.
I'm sure you're going to tell me that extra weight means extra fuel use and extra carbon emissions and my jet-setting self should have to pay for that. Probably true. But american airlines should also have to pay fuel tax and they don't, so whatever. I'd feel so much better about this whole thing if we'd been able to take a cargo ship home.
UPDATE: Our internet friend, DG, whose wife is a baggage handler for a major airline, wrote the following response:
"Extra weight also means extra chance of injury for the people who have to throw literally thousands of bags a day. Unfortunately, most airlines have been trying to get the same number of agents to throw more bags in less time... making Ramp Agents more likely to get injured on the job than any other job in the country (including long-standing favorites fishermen and loggers).
Not that I think AA gives half a shit about their workers, if it weren't for the union they'd be making them throw 800 pound bags and paying them a nickel a day. But I can't complain about anything that gives my wife a greater chance of making it through the year without winding up in traction."]
We're packing up around here, slowly. It's hard to put things in boxes or sell them, or give them away, before the last minute. This is always true for me, but is particularly so this time round, since we've only bought the bare minimum for living here and that means anything we pack is something we can't use in our last week here. So far, we've only been willing to let go of summer clothes and books. We've had conversations about which kitchen things can come with us and which need to stay here. I'm off to London again for interviews on Thursday and Friday, and we're seeing friends this weekend, so we're really getting down to the wire.
I looked at the airline requirements for baggage and I'm pretty annoyed with American Airlines at the moment. When we came over, we invested in the biggest size suitcases allowed on planes, and we packed them to within ounces of the weight limit. We also carried our hiking backpacks full to the top. And I had my fiddle in its case. We were loaded down and it wasn't much fun to get from Heathrow to Cardiff, but hey, everything we carried was something we didn't have to ship or leave at home. And we saved lots of money and lived in relative comfort by having the things we brought. The weight limit was 70 pounds per bag, on both airlines from Seattle to Heathrow. That weight limit is still true within the EU and on the first leg of our trip home. And the weight limit is allowed on American Airlines, the second leg of our trip BUT they now charge $25 for any bag weighing over 50 lbs. So, we can pack the same amount as we did coming over, but it will cost us at least $50 to make good use of our huge suitcases, the whole point of which was to avoid shipping charges and extra cargo flight miles and stuff.
Now, this is really a matter of principle, mostly. We knew the trip home would be expensive, and we've planned for it. But really, charging extra for what is standard elsewhere in the world annoys me.
I'm sure you're going to tell me that extra weight means extra fuel use and extra carbon emissions and my jet-setting self should have to pay for that. Probably true. But american airlines should also have to pay fuel tax and they don't, so whatever. I'd feel so much better about this whole thing if we'd been able to take a cargo ship home.
UPDATE: Our internet friend, DG, whose wife is a baggage handler for a major airline, wrote the following response:
"Extra weight also means extra chance of injury for the people who have to throw literally thousands of bags a day. Unfortunately, most airlines have been trying to get the same number of agents to throw more bags in less time... making Ramp Agents more likely to get injured on the job than any other job in the country (including long-standing favorites fishermen and loggers).
Not that I think AA gives half a shit about their workers, if it weren't for the union they'd be making them throw 800 pound bags and paying them a nickel a day. But I can't complain about anything that gives my wife a greater chance of making it through the year without winding up in traction."]
Sunday, December 03, 2006
FUTURES TRADING
And you thought the Welsh snails were pretty. France's got the best snails in the world! My theory is that they're preserving species diversity to provide premium escargot for future generations, while the rest of us are killing them so they won't eat our swiss chard. It all comes down to food preferences, really.
So, anyway, I was gonna post this series of pictures of animals in the French Pyrenees, without comment, because I hadn't gotten around to writing anything for it. But of course, as soon as I started uploading them, I also started writing commentary and even some tangents. So, I'll keep working on that post, and leave you hanging for another day or two. (I gave you the snail above to keep you from feeling too teased.)
Instead, I give you .... the tangent:
In college, my friend Jenny and I had this elaborate plan wherein her brother would have a sheep farm in New Zealand, Jenny would be an environmental activist and live in the Pacific Northwest wildnerness and I would have an awesomely cool loft and direct theatre in New York City (yeah right, I know). The plan was we would just trade lives every now and then. You know, because we wanted all three lives but in our youthful wisdom figured we'd never have time to do all three. I think we were right, mostly.
I don't think her brother ever even knew he was a key part of our life plans, so I'm assuming he hasn't fulfilled his part of them. As far as I know, Jenny still lives in Charlottesville, sans sheep or environmental activism, though I think she did work for PIRG at some point. I've given up theatre for the time being, but I do live in the Pacific Northwest and I am working on getting a career related to farms and the environment, so I've done my part better than any of us would have guessed! I mean, I've been to New York and I did theatre for years, though mostly as a dramaturg and only rarely as a director. And, yeah, I lived in Wales, which is in many ways like living on a sheep farm. If you see Jenny tell her its her responsibility to fit New Zealand in somehow.
Snail, St. Bertrand de Comminges, France
And you thought the Welsh snails were pretty. France's got the best snails in the world! My theory is that they're preserving species diversity to provide premium escargot for future generations, while the rest of us are killing them so they won't eat our swiss chard. It all comes down to food preferences, really.
So, anyway, I was gonna post this series of pictures of animals in the French Pyrenees, without comment, because I hadn't gotten around to writing anything for it. But of course, as soon as I started uploading them, I also started writing commentary and even some tangents. So, I'll keep working on that post, and leave you hanging for another day or two. (I gave you the snail above to keep you from feeling too teased.)
Instead, I give you .... the tangent:
In college, my friend Jenny and I had this elaborate plan wherein her brother would have a sheep farm in New Zealand, Jenny would be an environmental activist and live in the Pacific Northwest wildnerness and I would have an awesomely cool loft and direct theatre in New York City (yeah right, I know). The plan was we would just trade lives every now and then. You know, because we wanted all three lives but in our youthful wisdom figured we'd never have time to do all three. I think we were right, mostly.
I don't think her brother ever even knew he was a key part of our life plans, so I'm assuming he hasn't fulfilled his part of them. As far as I know, Jenny still lives in Charlottesville, sans sheep or environmental activism, though I think she did work for PIRG at some point. I've given up theatre for the time being, but I do live in the Pacific Northwest and I am working on getting a career related to farms and the environment, so I've done my part better than any of us would have guessed! I mean, I've been to New York and I did theatre for years, though mostly as a dramaturg and only rarely as a director. And, yeah, I lived in Wales, which is in many ways like living on a sheep farm. If you see Jenny tell her its her responsibility to fit New Zealand in somehow.
Thursday, November 30, 2006
THUNDERBALL AND GREENWICH PARROTS
[NOW UPDATED WITH PHOTOS!!] I did what I consider the healthy thing and spent Thanksgiving weekend with friends and not on the computer or behind a camera (okay a little bit behind the camera). I'll spare you the normal list of things I'm thankful for (though I'll acknowledge that I'm extremely lucky in my life and grateful for the people in it), and give you some of the smaller things that come to mind just based on this past weekend.
*SEEING MY FIRST JAMES BOND FILM. I know, it's crazy that I've never seen one. Oci told everyone in the Greenwich video store and they all expressed the required amounts of shock and amazement and encouragement on my endeaver, even though most agreed I should start with Dr. No, which the store didn't have. At first, we looked for Bond films and didn't see any. We asked the dude (yep, he was definitely a "dude" and I said he was cute and Oci told me after we left that he used to have a crush on her, but was too young for her at the time) and he reached under the counter and pulled out about 10 VHS Bond movies and displayed them on the counter. This store had a really great collection of all the cool movies and required classics displayed normally on the shelves--why they keep the Bond stashed away like the good drugs you have to be in the know to ask for is beyond me. But, I'll still say that Thunderball was exactly as ludicrous and fun as I had hoped. And Sean Connery was once young.
*WALKING THROUGH GREENWICH PARK ON AN AUTUMN DAY. I've done this a few times recently. It's beautiful, and has an amazing view across the Thames. Last time I visited, Oci and I saw a flock(?) of green parrots.
*COOKING AND EATING WITH FRIENDS.
Figuring out how to make pie crust with Oci. Jason and Oci sitting at the kitchen table chopping mushrooms, leeks, and garlic for the stuffing. Late night discovery of Cats' second lasagna in the oven from the party earlier that day and digging in with forks before going off to bed. (yes, Cats is a person's name) Possibly the last dinner with Mari and Ben for a very very long time. (I've managed to plant the seed of an idea to visit Seattle within the next couple of years.)
*SHOPPING FOR THANKSGIVING IN LONDON'S BOROUGH MARKET.
Jason and I spent Friday afternoon in the market, tasting things, enjoying the sites (piles of wild mushrooms and fragrant herbs, mountains of cheese wheels, little walls made of bakery loaves), and buying vegetables for Thanksgiving, which was held on Sunday.
*SPENDING TIME WITH LAZY TABBY CATS. Jason is usually highly allergic to cats, and we've resigned ourselves to not having any, but we both stop to admire cats on walls when we go for walks, and are sad to have to avoid them. This weekend, miraculously, the cats at Oci's house didn't cause hardly any symptoms, and so we sat up late one night just petting a cat and getting our fill of that purring and kneading thing and the narrowed eyes of a comfy cat.
*TRAINS AND TUBES. Reliable and affordable public transportation rocks. One of my favourite things about living here this past year is how great it is to hop on trains to get most places. Granted, there are some higher-end foodie areas of Wales that seem specifically designed to keep the riff-raff without cars from entering, but other than that, the trains have served us well in the UK and abroad. It's such a logical and comfortable way to travel. London, in particular, is so easy to navigate.
*THE LONDON EYE.
Before we left London, in case we don't make it back together in the few short weeks we have left, Jason suggested we take the highly touristy step of riding the London Eye. After much hemming and hawing and visions of being still on the top of this extremely slow-moving thing while our train to Cardiff left without us, we decided to do it. It's the big ferris wheel thing you see in pictures and it really is humongous. We went at night, and the city lights go on to every horizon. And Westminster and Big Ben are incredibly beautiful.
*INTERNATIONAL INFORMATION SHARING. Cats had a party on Saturday, where I met several of her friends and had a great talk with Phillipo, who does AIDS nutrition work in Nairobi and used to teach fruit farmers in the Amazon how to preserve their produce into jams and jellies for sales to cities. He told me about a project in a Brazilian city (town?) that works to provide all the food for its people by supporting farming in its surrounding green belt. He's enthusiastic and entertaining and excellent.
A pretty varied and random list, I grant you, but varied and random is part of what has been great about moving to a new place and taking what comes. I wouldn't trade it.
[NOW UPDATED WITH PHOTOS!!] I did what I consider the healthy thing and spent Thanksgiving weekend with friends and not on the computer or behind a camera (okay a little bit behind the camera). I'll spare you the normal list of things I'm thankful for (though I'll acknowledge that I'm extremely lucky in my life and grateful for the people in it), and give you some of the smaller things that come to mind just based on this past weekend.
*SEEING MY FIRST JAMES BOND FILM. I know, it's crazy that I've never seen one. Oci told everyone in the Greenwich video store and they all expressed the required amounts of shock and amazement and encouragement on my endeaver, even though most agreed I should start with Dr. No, which the store didn't have. At first, we looked for Bond films and didn't see any. We asked the dude (yep, he was definitely a "dude" and I said he was cute and Oci told me after we left that he used to have a crush on her, but was too young for her at the time) and he reached under the counter and pulled out about 10 VHS Bond movies and displayed them on the counter. This store had a really great collection of all the cool movies and required classics displayed normally on the shelves--why they keep the Bond stashed away like the good drugs you have to be in the know to ask for is beyond me. But, I'll still say that Thunderball was exactly as ludicrous and fun as I had hoped. And Sean Connery was once young.
*WALKING THROUGH GREENWICH PARK ON AN AUTUMN DAY. I've done this a few times recently. It's beautiful, and has an amazing view across the Thames. Last time I visited, Oci and I saw a flock(?) of green parrots.
*COOKING AND EATING WITH FRIENDS.
 |  |
Figuring out how to make pie crust with Oci. Jason and Oci sitting at the kitchen table chopping mushrooms, leeks, and garlic for the stuffing. Late night discovery of Cats' second lasagna in the oven from the party earlier that day and digging in with forks before going off to bed. (yes, Cats is a person's name) Possibly the last dinner with Mari and Ben for a very very long time. (I've managed to plant the seed of an idea to visit Seattle within the next couple of years.)
*SHOPPING FOR THANKSGIVING IN LONDON'S BOROUGH MARKET.
 |  |  |  |
Jason and I spent Friday afternoon in the market, tasting things, enjoying the sites (piles of wild mushrooms and fragrant herbs, mountains of cheese wheels, little walls made of bakery loaves), and buying vegetables for Thanksgiving, which was held on Sunday.
*SPENDING TIME WITH LAZY TABBY CATS. Jason is usually highly allergic to cats, and we've resigned ourselves to not having any, but we both stop to admire cats on walls when we go for walks, and are sad to have to avoid them. This weekend, miraculously, the cats at Oci's house didn't cause hardly any symptoms, and so we sat up late one night just petting a cat and getting our fill of that purring and kneading thing and the narrowed eyes of a comfy cat.
*TRAINS AND TUBES. Reliable and affordable public transportation rocks. One of my favourite things about living here this past year is how great it is to hop on trains to get most places. Granted, there are some higher-end foodie areas of Wales that seem specifically designed to keep the riff-raff without cars from entering, but other than that, the trains have served us well in the UK and abroad. It's such a logical and comfortable way to travel. London, in particular, is so easy to navigate.
*THE LONDON EYE.
Before we left London, in case we don't make it back together in the few short weeks we have left, Jason suggested we take the highly touristy step of riding the London Eye. After much hemming and hawing and visions of being still on the top of this extremely slow-moving thing while our train to Cardiff left without us, we decided to do it. It's the big ferris wheel thing you see in pictures and it really is humongous. We went at night, and the city lights go on to every horizon. And Westminster and Big Ben are incredibly beautiful.
*INTERNATIONAL INFORMATION SHARING. Cats had a party on Saturday, where I met several of her friends and had a great talk with Phillipo, who does AIDS nutrition work in Nairobi and used to teach fruit farmers in the Amazon how to preserve their produce into jams and jellies for sales to cities. He told me about a project in a Brazilian city (town?) that works to provide all the food for its people by supporting farming in its surrounding green belt. He's enthusiastic and entertaining and excellent.
A pretty varied and random list, I grant you, but varied and random is part of what has been great about moving to a new place and taking what comes. I wouldn't trade it.
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
TAKIN' A BATH DAY
When I was living in Seattle and working only half time, I had Fridays off. Normal people had to work, and I felt like every Friday was a sneaky sick day, and I treated it like one. I called them "Ballard Days." I would go to Ballard and just hang out all day, sitting in the cushy leather chairs in the wine shop with a book, window shopping at the hipster art shops and boutiques, or playing on my computer in coffee shops. Sometimes I'd meet someone for ice cream, or go for a walk by the waterfront, or take photos. Those days are what I think of when cheesy magazines remind me to "take some personal time" or "give yourself a treat now and then." Which of course I'm already doing if I'm reading a cheesy magazine--that's another thing I did on Ballard days. I'd buy some green-living, permaculture or home design magazine and curl up with it all morning, or take it to the coffeeshop with the sunroom in Fremont. So anyway, pretty perfect days and at the time, guilt-free, because I was able to live on the half-time job and and no real reason to need more than that. And I was still doing lots of theater at night, so I felt like I was keeping busy and productive overall.
This school year has been a little like that. I had to go to classes, work in the bistro, and do all my coursework, which involved piles and piles of reading. But most of my time was mine to organize as I pleased. So if I needed to take a walk to clear my head, I could. If I decided to sacrifice a full day to wander in the yuppie waterfront suburb, I could. I just had to get my work done in the allotted time.
Now, my school life is over, and my flexible self-driven research project will soon be done, too. Soon I'll be back in the real world, hopefully with a full-time job. And most likely my time will be scheduled for me. No more flex-time. So I'm trying to enjoy it.
Today, I went to Bath with a colleague of mine to conduct an interview with someone doing sustainable food supply chains work with an NGO. It was great--we got some names and anecdotes to lead us to the next stages of our study and learned some of his ideas for solutions to complicated problems. Also, we had lunch at the all organic, local, seasonal restaurant we had tried to go to when Corey was here and couldn't get a table. (yep, it's been on my mind since April--I walked straight to it without a map.)
Then my colleague left, and I spent the rest of the afternoon having a "Ballard Day." It was rainy and cold, but when isn't it here? Bath has beautiful buildings, all made of the yellowish smooth "Bath stone." I wandered through charming but fairly standard boutique shopping areas and trolled the used book stores for something to read on the train ride back to Cardiff. I lingered in the tiny one-room "Book Exchange" and talked to the eighty-something year old man about Thomas Hardy and Raymond Chandler. I wandered by the riverside and the cathedral and touched the sweaters in the fancy fashion shop. I had some coffee and checked my e-mail in an internet shop by the train station, and then I dozed on the train ride home.
Oh yeah, and I almost got run over by a bus. Early in the day, before the interview. It's hard to explain how it happened if you haven't seen their assinine system for street crossing here. Suffice it to say that from my side of the road, I was looking at a walk sign and walking toward it when a man on the corner yelled at me. I stopped and turned to him, thinking he was joking or mocking me or just being random (I couldn't hear what he said). I think I heard a horn and I turned back and there was a bus two feet in front of me. It had taken a left turn and probably was going very slowly anyway, but still, it seemed to me, and apparently to others around, to have been a close call. I wish I could describe the man who then came bounding over to introduce himself as my "black knight in shining armour." All I can say is that he was black and friendly and dressed kind of brightly. The fact is I can't remember well enough to make it a compelling story element. I'm sort of assuming he had a Caribbean accent, but I can't remember. Anyway, he came over, shook my hand vigorously, and gave me a hug. And I have to say I needed one, and was grateful for it.
Bridge in Bath, April 2006
When I was living in Seattle and working only half time, I had Fridays off. Normal people had to work, and I felt like every Friday was a sneaky sick day, and I treated it like one. I called them "Ballard Days." I would go to Ballard and just hang out all day, sitting in the cushy leather chairs in the wine shop with a book, window shopping at the hipster art shops and boutiques, or playing on my computer in coffee shops. Sometimes I'd meet someone for ice cream, or go for a walk by the waterfront, or take photos. Those days are what I think of when cheesy magazines remind me to "take some personal time" or "give yourself a treat now and then." Which of course I'm already doing if I'm reading a cheesy magazine--that's another thing I did on Ballard days. I'd buy some green-living, permaculture or home design magazine and curl up with it all morning, or take it to the coffeeshop with the sunroom in Fremont. So anyway, pretty perfect days and at the time, guilt-free, because I was able to live on the half-time job and and no real reason to need more than that. And I was still doing lots of theater at night, so I felt like I was keeping busy and productive overall.
This school year has been a little like that. I had to go to classes, work in the bistro, and do all my coursework, which involved piles and piles of reading. But most of my time was mine to organize as I pleased. So if I needed to take a walk to clear my head, I could. If I decided to sacrifice a full day to wander in the yuppie waterfront suburb, I could. I just had to get my work done in the allotted time.
Now, my school life is over, and my flexible self-driven research project will soon be done, too. Soon I'll be back in the real world, hopefully with a full-time job. And most likely my time will be scheduled for me. No more flex-time. So I'm trying to enjoy it.
Today, I went to Bath with a colleague of mine to conduct an interview with someone doing sustainable food supply chains work with an NGO. It was great--we got some names and anecdotes to lead us to the next stages of our study and learned some of his ideas for solutions to complicated problems. Also, we had lunch at the all organic, local, seasonal restaurant we had tried to go to when Corey was here and couldn't get a table. (yep, it's been on my mind since April--I walked straight to it without a map.)
Then my colleague left, and I spent the rest of the afternoon having a "Ballard Day." It was rainy and cold, but when isn't it here? Bath has beautiful buildings, all made of the yellowish smooth "Bath stone." I wandered through charming but fairly standard boutique shopping areas and trolled the used book stores for something to read on the train ride back to Cardiff. I lingered in the tiny one-room "Book Exchange" and talked to the eighty-something year old man about Thomas Hardy and Raymond Chandler. I wandered by the riverside and the cathedral and touched the sweaters in the fancy fashion shop. I had some coffee and checked my e-mail in an internet shop by the train station, and then I dozed on the train ride home.
Oh yeah, and I almost got run over by a bus. Early in the day, before the interview. It's hard to explain how it happened if you haven't seen their assinine system for street crossing here. Suffice it to say that from my side of the road, I was looking at a walk sign and walking toward it when a man on the corner yelled at me. I stopped and turned to him, thinking he was joking or mocking me or just being random (I couldn't hear what he said). I think I heard a horn and I turned back and there was a bus two feet in front of me. It had taken a left turn and probably was going very slowly anyway, but still, it seemed to me, and apparently to others around, to have been a close call. I wish I could describe the man who then came bounding over to introduce himself as my "black knight in shining armour." All I can say is that he was black and friendly and dressed kind of brightly. The fact is I can't remember well enough to make it a compelling story element. I'm sort of assuming he had a Caribbean accent, but I can't remember. Anyway, he came over, shook my hand vigorously, and gave me a hug. And I have to say I needed one, and was grateful for it.
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
WHAT I'M THINKING ABOUT MOST DAYS LATELY
I'm still in the university town and nearly all of my classmates have left for the real world, so there's not much going on to talk about. I'm doing interviews and research work these days. And not much else. Which is really cool, but writing about it now becomes blogging about work, and that's not so professional and may come back at me some day. I think actually that the content of my interviews is part of a funded research project and not even officially publishable until the project publishes larger reports. But even if it's not so, it's still specialized information that should be published for real at some point, and not on my blog.
But some of it's general procedural and policy, and within that, some of it may be worth reading about even if you're not obsessed with the details of public procurement and school, prison and hospital catering.
So, today's lesson: Creatively procuring food in the face of restrictive regulations.
I find the convoluted regulations around catering and vendor contracts pretty interesting, since mostly it involves creatively working around trade restrictions in order to be able to buy fresh, seasonally grown food that didn't fly in from Greece. There's a built-in contradition in UK policy (and that of most EU countries) in that there is an EU and UK mandate to include sustainability and environmental considerations in all government policy and legislation, but also a mandate to open all public contract tenders without trade restrictions to local or home-national contractors. This means that you cannot specify local food from local suppliers, but must allow vendors from any EU country or anywhere in your own country a fair and equal chance. So you cannot directly choose to reduce food miles and carbon emissions, or to protect agricultural jobs in your region.
So the way to reach those goals, if you wish to, is to specify things like frequent deliveries and how soon after bread is baked must it be fed to your pupils. You can also design menus to be based on foods grown seasonally in your area. So you specify in your tender criteria that food is fresh, not frozen, deliveries are flexible and/or within certain time of baking or whatever, seasonal varieties are to be used, quick response capability for extra deliveries, etc. Things that will tend to favor local suppliers, because they'll have closer access and more flexiblity and cheaper access to food that is seasonal in the area. Once a supplier has won the contract, then catering managers and buyers can work more directly, asking for what apples are cheap, in season, overstocked, etc. There's no law against it at that point.
As you might guess, this process is not one that can be built into law, though policy guidance can encourage it. Generally, it requires an activist catering or procurement official willing to put in the time, learn about the local supply chains and vendors, and reach out to potential suppliers so they know how to bid on the contracts. It's not straightforward, and it's time-consuming. It would always be easier to contract with a large catering company who'll get you the required basic nutrition at the cheapest price. (And you'd save money on labour, too--fresh food takes more time and skill than tossing chicken nuggets in the oven) And therein lies the challenge to making sustainability a part of general practice in public catering. Somehow it's got to become either so popular (and pushed for by parents) that catering officers want to do it, or built into training and job requirements such that they have no choice. Our research is based on the idea that best practice needs to be identified and disseminated to interested officers so they don't have to reinvent the wheel.
Please visit again for tomorrow's procurement dilemma: Mums pushing burgers through school railings so their kids won't be forced to eat healthy food!
I'm still in the university town and nearly all of my classmates have left for the real world, so there's not much going on to talk about. I'm doing interviews and research work these days. And not much else. Which is really cool, but writing about it now becomes blogging about work, and that's not so professional and may come back at me some day. I think actually that the content of my interviews is part of a funded research project and not even officially publishable until the project publishes larger reports. But even if it's not so, it's still specialized information that should be published for real at some point, and not on my blog.
But some of it's general procedural and policy, and within that, some of it may be worth reading about even if you're not obsessed with the details of public procurement and school, prison and hospital catering.
So, today's lesson: Creatively procuring food in the face of restrictive regulations.
I find the convoluted regulations around catering and vendor contracts pretty interesting, since mostly it involves creatively working around trade restrictions in order to be able to buy fresh, seasonally grown food that didn't fly in from Greece. There's a built-in contradition in UK policy (and that of most EU countries) in that there is an EU and UK mandate to include sustainability and environmental considerations in all government policy and legislation, but also a mandate to open all public contract tenders without trade restrictions to local or home-national contractors. This means that you cannot specify local food from local suppliers, but must allow vendors from any EU country or anywhere in your own country a fair and equal chance. So you cannot directly choose to reduce food miles and carbon emissions, or to protect agricultural jobs in your region.
So the way to reach those goals, if you wish to, is to specify things like frequent deliveries and how soon after bread is baked must it be fed to your pupils. You can also design menus to be based on foods grown seasonally in your area. So you specify in your tender criteria that food is fresh, not frozen, deliveries are flexible and/or within certain time of baking or whatever, seasonal varieties are to be used, quick response capability for extra deliveries, etc. Things that will tend to favor local suppliers, because they'll have closer access and more flexiblity and cheaper access to food that is seasonal in the area. Once a supplier has won the contract, then catering managers and buyers can work more directly, asking for what apples are cheap, in season, overstocked, etc. There's no law against it at that point.
As you might guess, this process is not one that can be built into law, though policy guidance can encourage it. Generally, it requires an activist catering or procurement official willing to put in the time, learn about the local supply chains and vendors, and reach out to potential suppliers so they know how to bid on the contracts. It's not straightforward, and it's time-consuming. It would always be easier to contract with a large catering company who'll get you the required basic nutrition at the cheapest price. (And you'd save money on labour, too--fresh food takes more time and skill than tossing chicken nuggets in the oven) And therein lies the challenge to making sustainability a part of general practice in public catering. Somehow it's got to become either so popular (and pushed for by parents) that catering officers want to do it, or built into training and job requirements such that they have no choice. Our research is based on the idea that best practice needs to be identified and disseminated to interested officers so they don't have to reinvent the wheel.
Please visit again for tomorrow's procurement dilemma: Mums pushing burgers through school railings so their kids won't be forced to eat healthy food!
Saturday, November 18, 2006
BAYONNE
And now for something nearly the same, but not.... A Walk in Bayonne!
During our trip to France recently, I took piles of photos. I'm slowly going through them bit by bit. These aren't even my favorites, so keep watching this space for when I get around to those. Today you get Bayonne.
Bayonne is known for chocolate, so we headed first to the chocolaterie. We bought some chocolate, but also one of these gateaux basque, a basque specialty we saw throughout the region. They come with either cream filling or cherry filling. I prefer cream, and I have a recipe (in French) that I'll have to try over Christmas.
Soon after eating a piece, I got a headache. Not sure if there was corn something in the cake (the shopkeepers had assured us there wasn't) or if it was the perfume on the bus ride there. Anyway, the town was still pretty and we kept on walking.
Shopping seems to be a major point of going to Bayonne. We refrained, except for the chocolates, and contented ourselves with staring at buildings.
For me, the beauty of Bayonne was all in the details, like these windows with colored curtains and the little cozy balcony below:
Many of the buildings have this cool colorful style:
Along the river front was especially beautiful:
I saw this scooter. It wanted me to bring it home with me, but I told it I had another little scooter waiting for me in Seattle, which missed me very much, and would be sad if I brought another one home.
We also went to the excellent Basque history museum, but I have no photos of that to show you. Sorry 'bout that. It was too dark to get any good ones. Besides, the best thing was the film from the 1920s or so, showing the Basque shepherds and their cool espadrilles and berets and their sad young men heading off to America to make their fortunes. There were also some pretty great farm tools which I intend to copy when I'm old and grey and living on a farm with lots of time on my hands.
After this trip, I definitely want to be Basque when I grow up.
And now for something nearly the same, but not.... A Walk in Bayonne!
During our trip to France recently, I took piles of photos. I'm slowly going through them bit by bit. These aren't even my favorites, so keep watching this space for when I get around to those. Today you get Bayonne.
Bayonne is known for chocolate, so we headed first to the chocolaterie. We bought some chocolate, but also one of these gateaux basque, a basque specialty we saw throughout the region. They come with either cream filling or cherry filling. I prefer cream, and I have a recipe (in French) that I'll have to try over Christmas.
Soon after eating a piece, I got a headache. Not sure if there was corn something in the cake (the shopkeepers had assured us there wasn't) or if it was the perfume on the bus ride there. Anyway, the town was still pretty and we kept on walking.
Shopping seems to be a major point of going to Bayonne. We refrained, except for the chocolates, and contented ourselves with staring at buildings.
For me, the beauty of Bayonne was all in the details, like these windows with colored curtains and the little cozy balcony below:
Many of the buildings have this cool colorful style:
Along the river front was especially beautiful:
I saw this scooter. It wanted me to bring it home with me, but I told it I had another little scooter waiting for me in Seattle, which missed me very much, and would be sad if I brought another one home.
We also went to the excellent Basque history museum, but I have no photos of that to show you. Sorry 'bout that. It was too dark to get any good ones. Besides, the best thing was the film from the 1920s or so, showing the Basque shepherds and their cool espadrilles and berets and their sad young men heading off to America to make their fortunes. There were also some pretty great farm tools which I intend to copy when I'm old and grey and living on a farm with lots of time on my hands.
After this trip, I definitely want to be Basque when I grow up.
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
AND ON A SUNDAY...
We went for another walk. I know you were imagining our exciting British lives as something more adventurous, but most days we walk around--not so different from our free days in Seattle. Only here, we pass this castle on our way through the park:
And on to the farmers market across from the stadium, to get a chicken, eggs, goat cheese and some apples, and some glorious blackberry wine. Oh yeah, and to chow down at our favorite (and only) indian curry cart:
A not so photogenic day, this, or maybe I just wasn't in the mood to take photos. We went back by the tower side of the castle, and through the high street (what they call the main shopping street here in the UK) where we saw the ever-present drummer dude with dreadlocks and no rhythm.
Just one more stop--at the middle eastern deli/shop to get a lemon to roast with the chicken. And there we saw rows and rows and rows of pickled things. I never knew so many things could be pickled!
Finally, our bags full of goodies, we walked home via City Road, where all the shops are shut tight because it's a Sunday. Not as pretty as Saturday's walk, but certainly more productive.
We went for another walk. I know you were imagining our exciting British lives as something more adventurous, but most days we walk around--not so different from our free days in Seattle. Only here, we pass this castle on our way through the park:
And on to the farmers market across from the stadium, to get a chicken, eggs, goat cheese and some apples, and some glorious blackberry wine. Oh yeah, and to chow down at our favorite (and only) indian curry cart:
A not so photogenic day, this, or maybe I just wasn't in the mood to take photos. We went back by the tower side of the castle, and through the high street (what they call the main shopping street here in the UK) where we saw the ever-present drummer dude with dreadlocks and no rhythm.
 |  |
Just one more stop--at the middle eastern deli/shop to get a lemon to roast with the chicken. And there we saw rows and rows and rows of pickled things. I never knew so many things could be pickled!
 |  |
Finally, our bags full of goodies, we walked home via City Road, where all the shops are shut tight because it's a Sunday. Not as pretty as Saturday's walk, but certainly more productive.
Monday, November 06, 2006
A WALK IN CARDIFF
I bet you were sitting around wondering what it was that Appalachia and Jason were doing last Saturday. Well, we were going to go to Tintern Abbey, but it was freezing and we were both trying to recover from colds, so we walked around Cardiff instead. You can come with us through the magic of photography!
First we walked down the alley, noticing the moss on the walls
To the Bakery in the alley
Then we walked through an underpass
and on to the park, where we saw strange and beautiful purple berries and a lemon tree, growing fruit outside in the Welsh climate.
We'd never bothered to go into the park's conservatory, but always meant to, so we decided to go in there.
It had a big central pond with carp and turtles, and a teenage duckling of some unusual variety in a nest on the ledge above.
From there, we walked home. These are some of the random things we saw:
I bet you were sitting around wondering what it was that Appalachia and Jason were doing last Saturday. Well, we were going to go to Tintern Abbey, but it was freezing and we were both trying to recover from colds, so we walked around Cardiff instead. You can come with us through the magic of photography!
First we walked down the alley, noticing the moss on the walls
To the Bakery in the alley
Then we walked through an underpass
and on to the park, where we saw strange and beautiful purple berries and a lemon tree, growing fruit outside in the Welsh climate.
 |  |
We'd never bothered to go into the park's conservatory, but always meant to, so we decided to go in there.
It had a big central pond with carp and turtles, and a teenage duckling of some unusual variety in a nest on the ledge above.
From there, we walked home. These are some of the random things we saw:
 |  |  |
Thursday, November 02, 2006
TEA CEREMONY
In general, living in Britain for a year has not converted me from coffee to tea. But there is one thing about tea drinking that I hope to continue to have in my life. It took me nearly a year to realize how it works and what’s great about it, because I have made few friends here who I see in their homes. The main exception to that are my friends Phil and Oci. Phil is really the one I credit with teaching me about tea. Whenever he would come over casually to hang out, drop something off or whatever, we would do the greeting thing and then he would pause for a bit and then give in and ask me if he could have a cup of tea. (Not always, but I definitely remember it happening.) I still didn’t quite get that it’s what needs to happen whenever someone enters my home. Though I did note a trip where I went to pick up something from their house and Oci was out of town, so it was me going over and Phil inviting me in for a cup of tea. I accepted and we sat down for a tea-length chat. It was the first time I’d ever talked to Phil alone, as it usually works out that he’s over to hang out with Jason or that we’re all doing something as a foursome. It was quite cozy and felt like friendship.
More recently, I went to visit Oci and her friends and family for a campout weekend at her family’s field. Most drank tea, though some were happy to see that I’d brought my little camp coffee maker. There was no ritual. But on our way out, when we went to her step-grandmother’s house to drop off some things we had borrowed, she invited us in to tea. We accepted, and had a very pleasant tea-length talk. Tea-length talks are satisfying (unlike tea-length Gunne Sax dresses from the 80s). It’s enough time to pass along some interesting facts and opinions, to compare newspaper preferences and slightly revealing bits of family history. Later, when we got to Oci’s shared house, her roommate was there cooking dinner and immediately offered us tea, warming and welcoming and nice. The next day, Oci and I got up and had tea in our pajamas before breakfast.. And then later, when we were wandering around Greenwich looking at the Prime Meridian and the Cutty Sark we stopped by her mom’s house to say hi, were offered a cup of tea, accepted, and had a nice perfect-length conversation about the house, childhood, how the times they are a-changin’ etc. Then we helped move a dresser downstairs and were on our way.
It was that weekend that finally, after more than a year in the UK, really settled in my mind what tea is good for. The time it takes to make and drink a cup of tea is the perfect length of time for small, but meaningful conversations with new acquaintances, lingering musings with close friends, and cozy breaks in otherwise hectic days. It’s a small commitment with a definite end, and means that neither party need feel that they’re being kept from whatever important things they might be doing that day. Even stopping by unannounced is not a problem if a cup of tea is an easy timekeeper. Obviously, one or the other could then suggest a walk, or another cup of tea, or whatever other extension device is appropriate, and if it sounds nice, which it often does, things can continue from there. But having given, or accepted, tea is always an acceptable total interaction, so either party can then extricate themselves gracefully with social comfort and warmth still intact. It seems perfect to me. I think I’ll bring the ritual home with me to the States. But I think it works for coffee too, so don’t be afraid I’m going to try to get you to drink milky white Earl Grey when you ring my doorbell. But I do recommend you give it a try.
Recycled Cardiff Market shot from August 2005
In general, living in Britain for a year has not converted me from coffee to tea. But there is one thing about tea drinking that I hope to continue to have in my life. It took me nearly a year to realize how it works and what’s great about it, because I have made few friends here who I see in their homes. The main exception to that are my friends Phil and Oci. Phil is really the one I credit with teaching me about tea. Whenever he would come over casually to hang out, drop something off or whatever, we would do the greeting thing and then he would pause for a bit and then give in and ask me if he could have a cup of tea. (Not always, but I definitely remember it happening.) I still didn’t quite get that it’s what needs to happen whenever someone enters my home. Though I did note a trip where I went to pick up something from their house and Oci was out of town, so it was me going over and Phil inviting me in for a cup of tea. I accepted and we sat down for a tea-length chat. It was the first time I’d ever talked to Phil alone, as it usually works out that he’s over to hang out with Jason or that we’re all doing something as a foursome. It was quite cozy and felt like friendship.
More recently, I went to visit Oci and her friends and family for a campout weekend at her family’s field. Most drank tea, though some were happy to see that I’d brought my little camp coffee maker. There was no ritual. But on our way out, when we went to her step-grandmother’s house to drop off some things we had borrowed, she invited us in to tea. We accepted, and had a very pleasant tea-length talk. Tea-length talks are satisfying (unlike tea-length Gunne Sax dresses from the 80s). It’s enough time to pass along some interesting facts and opinions, to compare newspaper preferences and slightly revealing bits of family history. Later, when we got to Oci’s shared house, her roommate was there cooking dinner and immediately offered us tea, warming and welcoming and nice. The next day, Oci and I got up and had tea in our pajamas before breakfast.. And then later, when we were wandering around Greenwich looking at the Prime Meridian and the Cutty Sark we stopped by her mom’s house to say hi, were offered a cup of tea, accepted, and had a nice perfect-length conversation about the house, childhood, how the times they are a-changin’ etc. Then we helped move a dresser downstairs and were on our way.
It was that weekend that finally, after more than a year in the UK, really settled in my mind what tea is good for. The time it takes to make and drink a cup of tea is the perfect length of time for small, but meaningful conversations with new acquaintances, lingering musings with close friends, and cozy breaks in otherwise hectic days. It’s a small commitment with a definite end, and means that neither party need feel that they’re being kept from whatever important things they might be doing that day. Even stopping by unannounced is not a problem if a cup of tea is an easy timekeeper. Obviously, one or the other could then suggest a walk, or another cup of tea, or whatever other extension device is appropriate, and if it sounds nice, which it often does, things can continue from there. But having given, or accepted, tea is always an acceptable total interaction, so either party can then extricate themselves gracefully with social comfort and warmth still intact. It seems perfect to me. I think I’ll bring the ritual home with me to the States. But I think it works for coffee too, so don’t be afraid I’m going to try to get you to drink milky white Earl Grey when you ring my doorbell. But I do recommend you give it a try.
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
CARGO HOLD
For those of you not in Seattle, but instead somewhere on the East Coast, know that we had a plan that would involve a winding trip down the coast before coming to Seattle. In an attempt to reduce our carbon emissions footprint, we had decided to take a freighter home. As in a big barge. Across the Atlantic Ocean. We had researched it and it costs more than a plane, but feeds you for the ten day journey, and is about as much as business class plane fare. We would go from Liverpool to Philadelphia and then take trains to visit folks and then take a train across the US to Seattle. (This bit was still unresearched and may have turned out to be financially infeasible anyway) Then we could have written articles about it for green hippie journals looking for clever ways to beat the guilt and paid for it all out of our new career as eco-travel writers.
Unfortunately, in the kind of luck we've had in delay after delay and general uncertainty this autumn, we found out that I would not be staying here for a long-term job on THE DAY AFTER we could have booked passage on the last freighter heading east before winter.
So, not only will we not be lounging around reading books and playing fiddle in the middle of the ocean, but we will also not be able to visit East Coasters on the way home. I must admit that I hadn't really thought about how cold and miserable it might be in the middle of the ocean in November/December, and it may all be for the best that we couldn't do it now. We're also likely to be a bit unsettled and anxious during that in-between homes time, so you'd probably rather see us later anyway.
Biarritz Beach, September 2006
For those of you not in Seattle, but instead somewhere on the East Coast, know that we had a plan that would involve a winding trip down the coast before coming to Seattle. In an attempt to reduce our carbon emissions footprint, we had decided to take a freighter home. As in a big barge. Across the Atlantic Ocean. We had researched it and it costs more than a plane, but feeds you for the ten day journey, and is about as much as business class plane fare. We would go from Liverpool to Philadelphia and then take trains to visit folks and then take a train across the US to Seattle. (This bit was still unresearched and may have turned out to be financially infeasible anyway) Then we could have written articles about it for green hippie journals looking for clever ways to beat the guilt and paid for it all out of our new career as eco-travel writers.
Unfortunately, in the kind of luck we've had in delay after delay and general uncertainty this autumn, we found out that I would not be staying here for a long-term job on THE DAY AFTER we could have booked passage on the last freighter heading east before winter.
So, not only will we not be lounging around reading books and playing fiddle in the middle of the ocean, but we will also not be able to visit East Coasters on the way home. I must admit that I hadn't really thought about how cold and miserable it might be in the middle of the ocean in November/December, and it may all be for the best that we couldn't do it now. We're also likely to be a bit unsettled and anxious during that in-between homes time, so you'd probably rather see us later anyway.
Monday, October 30, 2006
GULPING FOR AIR
As you know, I’m no longer a student and I’ve been trying to figure out how the next part of my life goes. Well, next steps are now mapped. There was a whole thing with a possible research job here in the UK that would have been really cool and included a three week trip to New York and stuff. But it was a year-long position and I was unwilling to stay that long and they, even though they wanted me to work with them, were unwilling to have me for half a year when they needed someone for a year. Reasonable. So instead, I’m working with that Professor I’m always on about on his part of the research just for the next six weeks or so and then we’re coming on home. I’ll be doing some interviews and research on school m.eals service in London schools (including the borough where j.am1e Ol.iv.er did his School Din.ners tv series that brought the nation to attention about the horrible things schools were serving their kids and led to such things as Morrocan slow-stewed beef and couscous on primary school menus. He notoriously made a batch of chicken nuggets with the kids to show them what disgusting things went into it. Anyway, we’ll be updating research to see what’s happened since then—what are the long-term results of the “J.am1e effect.” Six short weeks of that, which will be awesomely fun and interesting and put something relevant at the top of my resume, and then back to Seattle.
So we’ll be there mid-December. Most of you, dear readers, are in Seattle. I can’t wait to see you. And to eat at my favorite breakfast joints and cafes. And to see some quirky theatre. And to look out at the mountains. And to walk the hills and parks.
More soon. Now that I’ve stopped holding my breath about what’s next, I hope to write and post pictures and things over the next little while.
As you know, I’m no longer a student and I’ve been trying to figure out how the next part of my life goes. Well, next steps are now mapped. There was a whole thing with a possible research job here in the UK that would have been really cool and included a three week trip to New York and stuff. But it was a year-long position and I was unwilling to stay that long and they, even though they wanted me to work with them, were unwilling to have me for half a year when they needed someone for a year. Reasonable. So instead, I’m working with that Professor I’m always on about on his part of the research just for the next six weeks or so and then we’re coming on home. I’ll be doing some interviews and research on school m.eals service in London schools (including the borough where j.am1e Ol.iv.er did his School Din.ners tv series that brought the nation to attention about the horrible things schools were serving their kids and led to such things as Morrocan slow-stewed beef and couscous on primary school menus. He notoriously made a batch of chicken nuggets with the kids to show them what disgusting things went into it. Anyway, we’ll be updating research to see what’s happened since then—what are the long-term results of the “J.am1e effect.” Six short weeks of that, which will be awesomely fun and interesting and put something relevant at the top of my resume, and then back to Seattle.
So we’ll be there mid-December. Most of you, dear readers, are in Seattle. I can’t wait to see you. And to eat at my favorite breakfast joints and cafes. And to see some quirky theatre. And to look out at the mountains. And to walk the hills and parks.
More soon. Now that I’ve stopped holding my breath about what’s next, I hope to write and post pictures and things over the next little while.
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