and this is to say nothing about Mr. Boaz's peculiar comparison between religion and news...

if I undertood it rightly, with federal $, npr reporting is threatened to be "under the government's thumb" for content, which is contrary to free reporting.

yet, npr is known for its liberal bias (hence, seemingly not under "the thumb").

better to let npr to be as wildly liberal as it wants (because I guess the only thing keeping it from sounding like pacifica radio is that it reins itself in because of the possibility of losing federal $).

furthermore, it is wrong to partially fund npr with taxpayer dollars from americans who disagree with npr's core values (as constrained in its liberal bias as it is)

therefore, we should eliminate federal funding to npr.

why do I detect a hint of sleightness-of-hand?

(this argument reconstructed from a discussion hosted by npr, voiced by David Boaz, executive vice president of the Cato Institute and longtime critic of federal funding for public broadcasting)

you can hear it too, at:
http://www.kqed.org/a/forum/R201103181031

Instant yoga butt?

I admit it: I can be pretty unaware sometimes. A little google poking indicates the phrase has been about for a while, yet I believe the first time ‘yoga butt’ entered the forefront of my consciousness was a few nights ago when I heard it pop out over the low-level background noise of the TV as I was making dinner.

I thought, “ermph?” and walked around the corner to see an Old Navy commercial, with their brand-identifiable-yet-ever-annoying mannequins sporting what I suppose are your average spandex-ey yoga pants, together with a bling and promise that upon putting them on, you’ll have instant yoga butt.

As I’ve been reading around about the apparent phenomenon of yoga butt, I’ve found sites devoted to viewing images – clothed and otherwise – celebrating the yoga butt, sites with a how-to-8-step-series-of-asanas that if a person practices them enough, then he or – most likely – she will acquire a yoga butt. I’ve also found saner (to me) sounding explanations that point out it’s not simply about an ass fetish (although it assuredly is for some folks), but that the localized term ‘butt’ actually is a shorthand reference to the overall good physical tone that a person can gain in the regular practice of yoga. That makes sense; hard to imagine someone who would have a well-toned rear end, while everything else falls apart. That would look weird, wouldn’t it? I guess ‘yoga body’ doesn’t sound as sexy.

And I’ve come across message boards and blogs by women angry at Old Navy, because the chain is marketing the $12 pants not only for women, but also a $7 version for young (younger than teenage) girls. To any intelligent person reading this, I’m sure you can a priori imagine their concerns, and I completely sympathize. I get it. But I’m not going there. Where I go I'll continue tomorrow.

But until then, if you haven't seen it yet, here's a url to their commercial.

http://www.facebook.com/video/video.php?v=1295271511906

On getting a reminder from the universe: mindfulness and practice

So I'm playing a little guitar with Dan the other evening, and we're aiming to dervish our way through "Blackberry Blossom" when I keep seeming to hit the wrong chord every time I went to play a C.

What the hell? Did I suddenly go terminally out of tune? Did I hit a peg and not realize it?

I kept going, thinking the problem must be on the fretting end, and in the dim candlelight I'm twisting the guitar and my body the way one does when you're trying to see what the fingers on the left hand are doing. Still couldn't see very well, so I called for a time out and simply tried the G-C-G-C transition a couple times.

Finally figured out that a confused index finger was going to the wrong location.

Seriously? My fine muscle memory spaced how to play a C chord? How long have I been playing C? Isn't this something that should work completely on auto-pilot?

Guess not.

So I did what I guess kind of amounts to a guitar version of a hard reset on the C chord, and everything went pretty smoothly after that.


(Well, except for trying to play "Blackberry Blossom" along with a Tony Rice version on my iTunes. That was just funny.)


Anyway, that happened a couple of days ago now, and the memory is still tapping at my consciousness. And it has me take pause this morning to think about how many aspects of my going about life operate on something like autopilot, and whether any of those might be a bit out of tune (so to speak). Maybe I'm not even aware of it, given how the thrum of everyday existence can be so cacophonous, I don't even hear my own contribution through the din. But even if my addition is small, it is something. Wouldn't it be well to be more mindful of even its small components, and make my existence ring as true and harmoniously as possible?

Sangraia Love, with notes on how I went about making it

What follows is the recipe that is the inspiration (that makes a pitcher-sized amount), line by line, where each line is followed by what I actually did in making a cooler full of the yum for final faire weekend. All ingredients just get dumped straight into the container.


Official fancy cooking magazine title: Peach-Riesling Sangrai.


1 750-ml bottle dry Riesling
I've got 3 bottles I picked up at Bev-Mo; I'll start with that.

1/2 cup peach schnapps
Hmm, so that's a cup and a half since I'm tripling it...shake bottle. There's so little left - what the hell, use the whole thing.

1 1/2 cups white cranberry-peach drink
I know from past experience this drink will knock a person on his or her ear after a glassful, and the cooler's looking mighty empty. Drop in 2 to 2 1/2 bottles of the drink.

3 tablespoons fresh lemon juice.
And I'm making this in the last second; do I really want to take the time to measure 9 tablespoons out? Nah. Halve a couple lemons. Yup, they're nice and juicy. I'll call that good.

2 tablespoons sugar
To add up to 6 tablespoons of sugar - seriously? No effing way. I do use 2, for a token sense of completeness.

1/2 vanilla bean, sliced sideways.
Damn these things are expensive! But the vanilla bean really makes it special. I use a whole one - use the thumb to scrape out the seeds, and deposit them and the beans themselves for extra good measure.

2 1/2-inch-thick lemon slices
I've got 2 lemons leftover from the store, in case I didn't use enough lemon juice before, I'll slice up the lot.

2 1/2 inch-thick orange slices
I've got 2 oranges from the store; slice up the whole lot.

2 peaches, cut into wedges
I bought 3 peaches at the store - is there really a thing as too much tastey fruit in sangria? Not where peaches are concerned - use the lot.

10 raspberries
And I bought 2 containers of raspberries. Add in one - stir it up. How does the balance of sangria goodness to fruit look? Sure, we can use more raspberries. Empty in the second container.

Ice


There ya go! For best results, let it sit overnight so the flavors can all blend.

Coupon fashion victim

I'd like to be the kind of person who saves money by using coupons, but it is ever disappointing to see the cover of the coupon section of the newspaper announce "save $30!" but upon looking inside find discounts for:



Makeup

Hair coloring equipment

More makeup

Age-defying emollients

Cheap cat food

Credit card offers

Checks with cute kitty and doggy pictures on them

Frozen pre-prepared food

Home alarm systems

Hideously ugly bras

Axe stinky soap stuff

Frozen pizza

Microwaveable brownies

Prune juice

Olive Garden

More pre-packaged frozen food

Yet more pre-packaged frozen food

Chocolate milk

Followed by kid's sized vibrating toothbrushes

Freight tools?

Really ugly flannel shirts

Therapeutic "cozy-toe" socks

Chuck-E-Cheese



Le sigh.

Seasons

In an idle but interesting conversation the other day with the OM and Anders, we were pondering which, if any, season we like best. The conclusion I reached was that in sooth I enjoy them all, but what I really like best is the sensation of their changing. To my perception, there's a difference in the air, sometimes subtle, sometimes more distinct, that announces itself as not just another fall/summer/spring/winter day. I find these assorted environmental whispers and declarations of change exciting.

It might be that even though the temperature and degree of cloud cover is similar to the day before, the air has a peculiar sort of briskness to it that announces: fall. Or, it might be that one day it suddenly hits me that the daylight is sticking around for a lot longer that it had been of late, and that communicates to me: summer (or, alternatively, that it's suddenly apparent that the light isn't, broadcasting: winter). Or, that the rain, as ever present as it had been on consecutive winter days, seems to possess a degree of gentleness and the scent of the earth emits a burgeoning potential that signals: spring.

It's kind of interesting. I know that there's a lot of noise made about the equinoxes and solstices and about how these astronomical alignments analytically define the first day of fall or summer or whatever. But in the fullness of my astronomy geekdom, I put little stock in that. At best, these points in the Earth's orbit around the sun mark the relative number of daylight to nighttime hours, but that's about it. To my mind, the seasons come with a change in the sorts of activities they sponsor or afford. And it's interesting, to me at least, to reflect on different places I've lived and what those affordances are and how the environment has signaled to me their statuses changing.

I've got Chicago on the mind now, and it's setup there of having, say, 9 months of winter immediately followed by 3 months of summer. Or something like that. I remember, after my first runthrough of the Windy City's seasons, how it was to my mind that right around Labor Day the temperatures would drop on friggin' dime, and it wasn't a "oh, this is just a chilly day, the temperatures will pick back up" kind of drop. I made that mistake in interpretation my first year, and spent several months of going "what the fuck? What the Fuck?!" No. Chicago's hit-you-upside-the-head drop in temperature broadcasts: "break out the waterproofing for your shoes and the tubs of winter clothes, because now I'm going to kick your ass and make you wonder how you manage to say alive. Now." It's a peculiar sort of overwhelmingness and sense of inevitability - that everything is about to Massively Change, and there's absolutely nothing you can do about it. Except gird your loins and waterproof your shoes.

In the Bay Area here, the change in seasons is more of the subtle variety. As with Chicago, there seem to basically be two, where here they are (1) persistently cloudy and often rainy, and (2) sunny and warm(er) with the occasional hot. And these of course do not neatly overlap with an ordinary sense of "winter" and "summer," for as those who live here or have visited know, while the rest of the northern hemisphere is enjoying their summer, it is unobligingly chilly (for the tourists, at least) and San Franciscans I believe are now heading in the autumnal months into the sunniest and warmest part of their year.

All the same, there are fallish signs. The air, in the morning at least before it warms up, does have a fall kind of briskness to it. The trees that can are starting to change their color. There are noticeably more dead leaves on the ground. The varieties of produce at the farmers market are changing. The days are remarkably shorter. Some nights are very chilly. All these signals transmit to me an upcoming change of activities. A difference in the foods we prepare; slow-cooked stew and pies; hearty fare whose long oven or stove times are welcome as they also help heat the house. The fireplace no longer is a mere dust-magnet, but beckons becoming another source of heat. The chances of rain in the weather forecasts are starting to shift, in places, from 0% to 20%, and maybe will afford me a car wash courtesy of mother nature.

Do the changes in the environment trigger in you your own sorts of behavioral differences?

Ecstacy

A gorgeous sunny afternoon in San Francisco
Sitting in Patricia's Green, that little park there in Hayes Valley
Puppies
Smiling, friendly people all around
A cute couple sitting a little down from me
Blue Angels flying right over top the skyline, just above us
The girl in that couple who got just as squeaky excited a I did, when the planes came close.
This great art piece, titled "Ecstasy" that I had hitherto thought was made of wood, but upon closer inspection see that it is constructed of metal.