Role Call!

Oh boy it has been quite a while, hasn't it? I feel like I've started my last 10 blogs like that, but in this case, it's true. I haven't written since before the baby was born, and that was six months ago today! As is common knowledge, there's not a whole lot of extra time for ranting on the Internet with a new baby around, so I was delighted to recently find the inspiration.

It was a lovely, happy night here at Trailer Hitch Studios. I had just gotten three loads of laundry done, the baby was finally asleep, and Mike and I were unusually chipper. So I had a couple glasses of wine, watched a few thrilling videos on the Gaza Strip and 9/11, and logged onto Facebook. A dangerous combination indeed! Like drunk dialing your hot poli-sci professor, but not so much drunk as just a little sweaty under the arms.

Whilst generally fucking about on that network to which we are all enslaved, I stumbled upon the current status of my best friend/hetero lifemate, a politically active little firecracker in our home state. I had just spoken to her earlier on the phone and inundated her with some hot gossip about the Israeli influence in American politics, including the role her own US senators are playing, and peppered it with a little 9/11 truth. I was excited to be able to talk to someone else who was interested, she being so politically ambitious and what-not. Her status was an enthusiastic expression of gratitude for her co-workers and volunteers and also a lament for those that "sit sedentarily bitchin." This was followed up with a small string of comments from a few of those friends and co-workers, affirming their roles of action and further annoyances over those that do not "spread the word" but instead "watch Glenn Beck and blog in response." I generally do not put my ten cents into a jar already crowded with ardent and spirited two-party affiliates, but I was feeling frisky and confrontational, so I left a comment of my own. Nothing too spicy, just my own lament over the commonalities of both Democrats and Republicans. To be specific, that "Democrats and Republicans alike are bought by the same people." Shortly thereafter I was met with a saucy response of something along the lines of how "fashionable" it is to be "against everything" because then I don't have to believe in anything. My first thought was, "Democrats and Republicans are everything? Holy shit, we're worse off than I thought!" But I followed it up with my own impassioned spiel (there goes that Jewish influence again) on the things I do believe in: how it doesn't matter to the Palestinians which Americans call themselves elephants and which call themselves asses when they are both being paid to support those that imprison them. I realize if we're just talking about local politics and domestic issues, then sure, there are fundamental differences. But when it comes to foreign policy, which is generally what I gravitate towards (it's just more juicy), both parties tend to walk hand-in-hand (with guns in both). The response I got was pretty typical and essentially that someone's Facebook status is no place for "bitching" (my quote, just for the sake of coming full-circle, not theirs) about Middle Eastern policies. I'd like to know what IS the right forum for such discussion? I'll argue that it's not just policy for the distant and conflicted Middle East, but that it directly involves the American people, therefore my ranting about it in random places is justified. Because in order to appear sane and rational we should only talk about the things that affect us. This bond between the US and Israel is not a secret, yet it's such a removed issue for Americans because a) We are supposed to hate Arabs and b) We are supposed to love all Jews and subsequently the state of Israel unconditionally--not for the practice of Unconditional Universal Love--but because they were victims of the Holocaust and should still be treated as such.

I was reminded that President Obama has "promised on numerous occasions" that he is going to step in on the issue of Israeli apartheid. Yes, he has promised this on numerous occasions. He claims to want to "bring peace" to the Arab-Israeli "conflict" (genocide/brutal civilian murder/societal devastation), yet according to a 2010 congressional report, for the fiscal year 2010 he still allotted $2.78 billion for Foreign Military Financing, aka Israel's military. Yay, a miniscule amount less than the Bush administration's $3 billion a year! Yes, Democrats and Republicans ARE different! If someone can explain how handing over billions of dollars to the Israeli military and at the same time expecting them to QUIT doing the job they are being granted to do makes any sense, I'd like to hear it. Actually, I wouldn't. Because it won't make sense. It is completely irrational. If Obama is being threatened, blackmailed, and extorted, then let's just call it what it is. Let's not present apples and call them oranges.

The expansion of Israeli settlements on stolen Palestinian land is illegal according to the International Court of Justice and the UN Security Council, not to mention ME! Why then are they still permitted to expand? Furthermore, why is America still PAYING them to do it? What is the point of having an International Court of Justice if they can't do anything about those that defy it? There can be no viable "peace talks" when the unwavering financial and military support of the US is behind one side while the other side struggles just to survive every single day.

You want people to actually DO something instead of sitting around bitching? It starts right here, with lowly civilians like myself, drudging up the messy Middle Eastern policies and sensitive issues that fire us up. Otherwise those conversations are resigned to stay around designated philosophical tables and behind contrived podiums. This attitude that we dare not bring these topics up unless we are specifically at a political meeting, rally, or office is absurd and exactly why the average American doesn't KNOW about the most pertinent issues we face today.

I'll argue that blogging is action. The spreading of information is an important role many have undertaken, many in conjunction with other activities, but some as their sole contribution to political/social concerns. I know I've learned a hell of a lot more truth from the average person's blog than from 99% of endorsed politicians. We all have our roles. Some hold signs, some march, some run for office, and some read people's Facebook comments and blog in response.

Why Horrific Births Really Get My Goat

Ugh. I just watched the most horrific birth. Probably not the most horrific, but pretty disturbing. Remember when I promised to give my thoughts on the show "16 and Pregnant"? You're about to get my three cents. Yes, I admit, I am sickeningly addicted to this weekly MTV trash. Mostly I subject myself to it because not only do I gain another reference to societal ills, but I tend to come out feeling exponentially greater about my own values and upcoming experiences.

This week's episode, which is ending as I speak because frankly I stopped caring after the birth, follows a (you guessed it) 16-year-old girl Samantha who got pregnant and now has to deal with the consequences! Those damn consequences. She and her boyfriend actually get along which diverges from the usual conflict of the show, so producers had to find one. In this case it's between the mothers of the two young parents. That's really not important though. The sticky part begins when she walks into the hospital to be induced at 38 weeks.

That's right, she's getting induced at 38 weeks, unless the little clips which head the scenes were all completely off on the number of weeks along she was. At 38 weeks she says her due date has passed, and since babies are allegedly supposed to adhere to medical estimations, that must mean there's a problem and she must be induced. For those who don't know, due dates are typically estimated at 40 weeks, and "normal" birth occurs anywhere between 37-42 weeks. She could have reasonably cooked that bun another month if the doctors believed in nature. But no, you'll see that concept is quickly laid to rest with an easy and thoughtless round of drugs.

Once they've dosed her up with her first round of Pitocin (the drug which stimulates the uterus to forcefully contract, which usually results in longer, more painful contractions, followed by the necessary epidural to numb the unnecessary pain), she sleeps a full night in the hospital without feeling much of anything. The next day they continue to pump her with the drug until she does feel something. Around 15 hours into labor the pain becomes severe, yet she is still not dilated past 1 or 2 centimeters. Epidurals are not generally given until dilation of 3 centimeters, so she is told she must endure the excruciating pain until she gets to that point. That never happens. This poor girl is lying there literally screaming because the pain is so intense, and it's a wonder to everyone why her cervix isn't opening and allowing the baby to pass. The nurse says this is an indication that the baby "just isn't gonna fit," as if it's at all a mistake made by Nature that both the baby and her mother have been injected with a severely stress-inducing drug, compounded by Samantha's natural stress hormones which are no doubt secreting off the charts at this point. Biologically, the production of stress hormones like cortisol and adrenaline causes muscles to contract and close, as if to turn white and flee the scene if they could! It is completely obvious that this baby and the incredibly intelligent tissues that surround it are stressed, threatened, and refusing to birth because of all the unnecessary stuff that's been done to them.

Of course, after over 20 hours of torturous and unfruitful labor, the interventions come to a climax when she is wheeled into the OR for a relieving C-section. Sure, Samantha's own mother had two, so why shouldn't she have one? She undoubtedly thinks this is normal, that there is something wrong with her body--she probably still thinks the baby wouldn't "fit"--so thank God the good doctors were there to save her and perform the medical miracle. Yes, it is good that the doctors were there to finally put her out of her misery and skillfully cut the baby out, but the need for that would most likely never have arisen if the doctors (more like the nurses following doctor's orders) had never touched her in the first place.

After the major surgery she has just undergone, the new mother is too weak to even see her baby for over a day. The traumatized infant is kept in the nursery and fed synthetic formula. Whether this was Samantha's choice beforehand or not is not at all discussed, but it's clear that she doesn't seem to care either way. She finally shuffles at tortoise pace to the nursery to hold her daughter for the first time, but she is in too much post-surgical pain for the moment to be considered at all sweet.

Yes, this post is admittedly loaded with language designed to get you to see my side of it, but that's television's only purpose, so why should I respond to it any differently? I'm through holding my tongue. I'm not very good at it. I'm outspoken about what I see. And I don't just bitch for no other reason than to expose other people's faults because I'm some kind of angsty youth. If I express concern about an issue it's because the issue is important to both me and society or humanity at large. If the majority of women, especially young women, continue to believe that their bodies are faulted and only rich doctors taught and conditioned by even richer doctors know how to birth their babies for them, then our society will eventually lose what makes us human and we will forget who we truly are as spiritual, intelligent, and natural beings. Can you imagine a day when the innate wisdom of knowing how to have babies is stripped from us completely and we must look to "authorities" for all the answers? I hope not, because that will indicate that we are tapped of our humanity. We "just won't fit."

Of course television skews reality like a frog in a blender, but there is really no denying the general idea of how that birth transpired. I don't even know if I could call it a birth; it was truly little more than sheer labor. That may sound harsh and unfair, but even through the TV I can tell there is postpartum awkwardness between Samantha and her baby. The trauma experienced by both of them hangs heavily, though perhaps intangibly. When asked by her friend a couple of weeks later how different she feels now that she's a mom, the girl hazily claims she feels "a little different, but I don't know how to explain" as if she's in front of her math class, giving the answer to #12 on her homework.

Easy Black Bean & Corn Rice Dish

I just threw this simple recipe together for dinner tonight with some things I had lying around. Very filling, and Mike said it was spiced perfectly!

Serves 3-5 Cook time: 45 minutes

2 cups water
1 cup uncooked brown rice
1 15 oz. can black beans, drained and rinsed
1 15 oz. can corn, drained
3 tablespoons lemon juice
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 1/3 teaspoons sea salt
1/2 teaspoon cumin
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper (we like it spicy, though use less or none if you don't!)

Directions:
1. Cook rice. Bring water to a boil, add rice, turn to low heat and cover. Takes approx. 45 minutes.

2. Combine the rest of the ingredients in a large bowl. The canned beans tend to be a bit tough for my taste, so I boil them for just a couple minutes first.

3. Combine rice with other ingredients. Toss thoroughly and serve alone or Mexican-style in a tortilla with salsa and sour cream!

Chill-It Millet Salad Recipe

Well hello there and may I officially welcome you to Spring! I couldn't be more delighted that the season is changing, and the pages are turning. We've planted a few seeds but want tons more. I'm going to get some today to plant along with some strong intentions. Baby will be here soon, and I'm feeling an incredibly energizing shift. Part of that shift includes my learning to cook! I love good food but just didn't feel a connection with the cooking process. But after all these frustrating years of not understanding or feeling the art of flavoring, I think I'm finally catching on. So I just made this delicious vegan millet salad, and shit, I think anyone would eat it (maybe not My Sister the Barbarian, she's not into eating things without meat). I originally was going to make a quinoa salad, but Whole Foods was out, so I got millet instead. It's very similar in quality and nutritional value to quinoa (though it does take twice the time to cook), so feel free to use them interchangeably.

I must give credit where it is due; I got the basis for this recipe off http://www.recipezaar.com
The recipe is a Black Bean and Millet Salad, though I added or replaced ingredients where I saw fit, including the black beans. I didn't want to use my one can right now, so I just left them out. Also, I came up with the new name. So here ya go!

Chill-It Millet Salad Serves 6-10? Total cook/prep time: Took me over an hour, but I've been grooving to the Avett Brothers and Hothouse Flowers, so I enjoyed it.

2 3/4 cups water
1 cup uncooked millet (rinsed, though I forgot to do this and is perhaps why it came out a bit sticky, or maybe I just needed a little less water)
1 medium cucumber, diced
1 medium carrot, diced
1 small-medium warm-colored bell pepper, diced
2 ribs celery, chopped
1 medium avocado, sliced into squares
a couple handfuls of walnuts, chopped
two branches of kale, destemmed and chopped
a handful or so of parsley or cilantro, to taste
2 medium tomatoes, diced

Dressing:
1/3 cup water
~3 tablespoons lemon juice
~1 tablespoon olive oil
2-3 cloves garlic, minced
1 teaspoon sea salt
1 teaspoon cumin
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
1/8 teaspoon cayenne pepper (more or less to taste)

Directions:
1. Rinse millet. Bring the water to a boil, add millet, turn to low and cover. Takes 25-30 minutes.

2. Meanwhile, begin chopping your veggies. I recommend saving the tomatoes for last because they really gunk up your cutting board.

3. When millet is cooked, take off heat and fluff with fork. Transfer to a large bowl to let it breathe and cool.

4. Steam your kale. Takes about 10 minutes. Take off heat when soft so you don't lose too many nutrients.

5. Prepare your dressing and toss everything together! I thoroughly tossed the veggies with the grain before adding the dressing. I don't know, it just feels better that way. Taste and adjust if necessary. Mine is extremely flavorful!

6. Serve chilled or room temperature. They're both good!

Enjoy the weather! It's a little cooler today than it has been this week, but that's okay because I hear millet is actually a warming grain. Combined with the cooling veggies, it's a perfect meal for a cool spring day.

Much love

Saying No to the Medical Mob

Well, we're moving steadily through week 36 now, and it's time to get serious about some serious things. I'm turning in our Birth Plan to our midwife at today's appointment, and the one question I'm leaving blank is "who is your baby's pediatrician?" I was uncomfortable with the idea of just picking a name out of a hat and hoping one would see me, as is the protocol at the facility I was assigned to by my insurance, so I made another call to a different medical center, closer to us and recommended on a long list of pediatricians given out by the Birth Center. I've already spoken to one doctor, but he is "uncomfortable" with seeing a family who is adverse to routine vaccinations. It's clear that the choice of vaccinating is not as simple as "just saying no," but it is something we must be absolutely clear on and able to back up and discuss. No problem!

There is something terribly wrong with the state of medical affairs in this country. The United States is the most vaccinated country in the world, yet is one of the sickest. Yes, Africa has AIDS and Haiti is buried in rubble, but America is the most powerful, "advanced," and allegedly most free nation. Why are we, and particularly our children, so ill despite all this technology that supposedly protects us? I'm not just talking about childhood diabetes and obesity and viral infections--more like neurological and immunological disorders that have started running rampant in the last 10 years. What has changed? We know our kids' diets are shite, but that hasn't changed much in the last 20 years. The rate and number of vaccinations our children receive is rising exponentially though, and along with that goes the rate of autism, ADHD, SIDS, and what appears to be "shaken baby syndrome." According to the CDC's website, children aged 0-6 should receive no less than 11 "routine" immunizations, and I'm not even counting all the doses those 11 vaccines entail (the deadly dTaP could be administered up to 5 times). The number is about the same for ages 7-18.

Sure, these kids aren't in wheelchairs from polio, but autism, Asperger's, and other developmental disorders leave these children and their families crippled in unspeakable ways. Once healthy and vibrant children suddenly become uncommunicative terrors. They lose the ability to speak, to connect, to interact normally with their family and the world around them. This doesn't just come out of nowhere! When heavy metals, particularly mercury, are introduced into the body and brain at such high levels (such as those of routine vaccinations), neurological damage is likely to occur. What is "likely?" How about 1 in 58 American boys? The number is slightly less for girls, though reasons why are still unknown. The mercury derivative thimerosal we've all been hearing about, despite ideas that it was removed from all routine childhood vaccines in 2001, is still not out of rotation. As of May 2009, the FDA website claims it is still "continuing its efforts in reducing or removing thimerosal from all existing vaccines." This has been going on since 2001, why are they making "efforts?" In the words of Yoda, "Do or do not. There is no try." Why don't they just remove it? Even in those vaccines that are allegedly thimerosal-free, trace amounts still exist. What's worse, the vaccines already on the shelf in 2001 when "efforts" began were never recalled, never taken off the shelf, and still administered to young children. Here we are nine years later at the peak age of autism onset, and were they to be tested, those kids would undoubtedly have extreme levels of mercury in their blood.

Those autism commercials you see on TV have been saying the rate is between 1 in 166 and 1 in 150, but the number continues to grow. It is now somewhere between 1 in 58 and 1 in 38. Ten years ago it was 1 in 10,000! That is an alarming statistic, yet studies are all still "inconclusive," and to even mention the correlation between vaccination schedules and the onset of disorder symptoms is considered so taboo it's like saying the Holocaust didn't happen. What's worse, there have been no major studies by any public health departments on autism rates in unvaccinated children. The CDC won't study Amish children (who are of course unvaccinated) because they think their "genetics" will be too different from those of mainstream kids (shouldn't that be a red flag in itself? What are the reasons that these people would be so genetically different that it would be impossible to study a sound sample?). We are in the middle of an epidemic, and the most powerful nation in the world is going to sit twiddling its thumbs? They come up with excuse after excuse for not studying the unvaccinated population. Why is that? I can only infer that they are too afraid of what the studies will show.

I did find one study, however, conducted by a non-profit organization called Generation Rescue: http://www.generationrescue.org/survey.html
This is a small sample group, 9000 boys ages 4-17 in California and Oregon, but as it is the only sample group we have to learn from, it speaks pretty clearly. Their results found that all vaccinated boys have a 155% greater chance of having some sort of neurological disorder. They are 224% more likely to have ADHD and 61% more likely to have autism. Further, of boys ages 11-17 (as most symptoms do not onset until ages 8-11), they are a staggering 112% more likely to have autism. What the fuck! I draw my own conclusions, feel free to draw yours.

There is a very good reason for the hush-hush attitude of linking severe neurological disorders with vaccines. There is the theory that the manufacturers and distributors of vaccines are humans too, and they may be quite embarrassed and even legally at fault to be exposed as having knowingly caused these crippling disorders in our youth. But I say that's a cop-out. What about the families who have fallen victim to these chemicals (if you believe in victimhood)? What about the families who cling desperately to an explanation for why their perfectly developing children suddenly turned into mush or even died unexpectedly? They were only following the Good Doctor's orders! If the truth were to come out, I think they would say "fuck you" to the "embarrassed" vaccine manufacturers. We must have accountability. Why should the most organized crime syndicates in this society get bailed out and excused (not the mob, but pretty much: AIG, Goldman Sachs, Merck) while individuals routinely get punished, sometimes irreparably, for made-up crimes and accidental fraud? Ever heard of Tax the Rich? They are the richest of the rich in terms of connections, power, and deep pockets. They must be held accountable if they are at fault! But no, the drug companies are big, big, companies. They have big, big wallets, big, big lawyers, and nothing is stopping them from getting their product to the masses right now.

Merck is contracted with 24 vaccine distributors. According to the World Health Organization, there are almost three dozen influenza vaccine manufacturers alone. Continue to add the numbers up, and this is big business. Like, multi-billion dollar business. You think they're going to roll over and call it quits if some serious accusations were to surface about their business practices? There is a bit of a silver lining, though! Despite the Bush administration's attempts to make it illegal to sue a drug company over a drug that's been FDA approved, the Supreme Court ruled last year that it is legal and possible. Though what do we really get in the end of even the success stories? Someone gets paid a few million bucks--the drug company loses about a drop in its bucket of water, and nothing continues to change for the rest of us.

I don't know what to do about the world at large or these large-scale drug pushers. You know, I don't even know what effect vaccinations have had on these diseases they are purportedly protecting us from. Vaccinations might have had a positive effect on debilitating physical diseases--I mean, when's the last time you saw someone with polio (it doesn't matter that hundreds of kids were confined to wheelchairs and ten died after the initial, world-changing round of polio immunizations)? But the risks involved in the rest of the ingredients in vaccinations are far too high to fuck with, in the opinion of both Mike and myself. It does not resonate with our beings to inject a tiny, fragile immune system with remnants of infectious disease, chemical neurotoxins, and heavy metals in the name of preventative health. That is not preventative health. Babies are not born "wrong." We intend on raising a healthy child, and we are just simply not in fear of him contracting a life-threatening illness on his own. Were we to inject him with a life-threatening illness, that would be a different story. All we can do is give an informed and resolute "no" to our pediatrician and look upon this new and perfect little spirit with the respect and reverence he deserves.

P.S. By the way, I HATE that there is a drug ad on my blog right now. If you see it, disregard it. I have no interest in making money off your misery. Fucking Google.

In the Home Stretch at 34 Weeks!

It feels like I've been pregnant forever! Well, three months shy of a year is kind of a long time to harbor a growing, mobile parasite. Beautiful, exquisite, miraculous parasite of course, but I think technically a parasite nonetheless! I haven't written in over a week, but it seems like things have begun to exponentially speed up. Thanks to Mom and Peter, the nursery just came together in like two days. They brought home a crib, dresser, rug, crib set, and lamp. Then Mike and I assembled the bassinet, and voilà, suddenly we have a baby room. It's like watching time-lapse footage on those home improvement shows. Mom had bought me some diaper covers and the like already, but we went out together to get a few more items. Whereas I had almost nothing besides clothes a few days ago, now I have almost everything we're going to need to begin this thing.

I've exploded in size just in the last three days I think--we snapped a few pictures the other night, and I was shocked at how big I am. Unless the camera adds 50 pounds?! I've only gained 22, but it must be all in my belly because a friend of ours commented that it looks like I'm carrying more than one! Maybe it's a case of not noticing when your appearance or those you see every day changes because you're too close. But when you take a step back, WHOA!

Mike and I saw my midwife yesterday, and things couldn't be better. I'm gaining perfectly (22 lbs., not bad!), he's just the right size, and he is indeed pointed head down, ready to slide on out. Hold on one more month, Baby! We finally got a tour of two of the three birthing rooms upstairs; someone was in the third. Hopefully we get to see it next week (I'm going for weekly appointments now), as everyone says that is the biggest and best room. It has the most space and the largest jacuzzi tub. All three rooms have tubs, but in the smallest one you cannot actually birth in the tub, only labor. I'm just counting on being the only one having a baby at the time, so I get free reign!

My sleep is still quite satisfying; last Sunday was the only night I had a hard time dozing off. I'm sure that was just because we were going to buy our new car Monday morning, and I had a list of annoying things to do before leaving town at 9am. I was slightly stressed about keeping it all organized. But everything worked out perfectly, we do have our new (used) car, and once again my sleep is peaceful and sound. For the last two nights I've even woken up (to pee for the third or fourth time, of course that hasn't changed) on my back, comfortable and breathing easily. This is new. I guess it differs from day to day; sometimes I can lie on my back for as long as I want, and other times I immediately get to huffing and puffing if I even attempt it!

On Tuesday I went to another On the Ball Conditioning class at the MamasMove Center, the place where Mike and I are taking HypnoBirthing classes starting next week. It was better than the first class; the routine was varied from the first, which we can all appreciate. I wondered if it would be more or less challenging because I grow so much in just a week's time now, but I think it was about the same, if not slightly less. Baby and I made an agreement on the way there that I wouldn't push him too hard if he didn't push me too hard, and it worked out great. It was still challenging, in a good way, but I didn't feel like the goon I had been last week. Some of the instructor's modifications were better suited to my needs, but sometimes not. The leg work is great and leaves me sore for days afterward. I'm happy to notice the muscles I haven't been pushing over the last eight months. Since I'm doing all this naturally of course, I'm going to need the strength!

Okay well I am sick of sitting down, so I'm going to pop on over to Target in search of pants that fit and a yoga/birth ball. Next time I'll tell you what I think of MTV's "16 and Pregnant"...

Love!

The Rise and Fall of Preggo Stardust

This morning I arose at the crack of 8:45 to catch a 9:30 On the Ball Conditioning class at MamasMove, the pregnancy/new mom-centered hub for fitness and baby education classes. It's where I'll be taking my HypnoBirthing classes in a couple weeks. I walked in, grabbed a yoga ball, and waited for class to start. I was expecting hardly anyone to be there, but apparently these women do not work on Tuesday mornings (who am I to talk?). It was packed! I plopped down on the ball and couldn't help but notice the conversations which buzzed around me: naptimes, hyper kids, more naptimes. I swear the naptime conversation went on for 10 minutes, and then continued when class ended. They were all in their mid-30s, or at least looked it; I felt a little out of place.

Class was an hour long, but it could have been two. It kicked my ass! Eight months of no aerobic activity has really done a number on me. I've been keeping up with my 15 minutes of daily gentle yoga and Pilates, but that's really chicken shit compared to all the hip raises and ball lifting and Tae Bo inspired sequences we did. My months with Billy Blanks might as well have never happened. About halfway through I no longer recognized myself as the dancer I once was, and I became a total tard--a red-faced, shaking, unbalanced tard. The instructor gave modifications, but in some cases they were more challenging than the original movements, just directed away from the abs. When it was over though, I felt great. Slightly weak in the thighs, but with a sense of physical accomplishment I haven't felt at all since I've been pregnant!

In fact my endorphins were pumping so copiously that I called my mom at work on the way home to tell her fighting is painful, and she not only 100% agreed but said she'd been thinking of me right as I called. For the next few minutes we eerily finished each other's sentences, as we were thinking the exact same thoughts, and agreed to talk civilly tonight. I don't know what happened between us, but hopefully it can be put away for a good long while.

So life was great until I went to the grocery store! I brought a WIC check, thinking this will be a piece of cake. I've been wary because lately every time I've used a WIC check, at least one item gets rejected. But I've gotten all of this cereal, bread, and peanut butter before, they can't possibly turn it away. They all fall under the guidelines of acceptable items. Wrong! It gets stricter every fucking time I use a check! I got two boxes of Honey Bunches of Oats cereal, which is fine, but not the 'Pecan Bunches.' So I switched it with almonds. Whatever. I couldn't get the bread, Arnold 100% Whole Wheat with Ancient Grains, because there are too many whole grains! Are they kidding me?! Not only is the brand acceptable, but it clearly says 100% Whole Wheat on the front. I thought that was the only guideline. But no. It is so particular, there can be no other grains mixed in with the wheat. As if wheat is even good for you! It's not! I had to get a different brand that's purely Whole Wheat (and sugar, and brown sugar, and maltodextrin, and gluten, and lecithin...), with nothing of any real value like quinoa, barley, millet, and flax (she offered me Wonder Bread--now are you really kidding me??!). And last but not least, I couldn't get the peanut butter I usually get, All Natural with Flaxseed, because it has flaxseeds. Too fucking healthy for WIC. I told the cashier and manager that I was told explicitly there are no restrictions on peanut butter--I could even get "all natural"-- as long as it's not organic (which itself is shitty, but I understand it's political bigotry hard at work). The manager tried to tell me all natural means organic, and I crisply informed her otherwise. All natural is a marketing ploy, not a scientific fact. The flaxseeds though, Jesus Christ. Flaxseeds are one of the richest sources of omega-3 fatty acids, which are detrimental to healthy fetal brain development among many things, and how many Americans really get their daily dose of this invaluable nutrient? A sad, sad percentage I'm sure. I am so frustrated with the WIC program, it's like I dread going to the store and using it because I am not only forced to get food that is significantly less nutritious than what I want, but it's humiliating to hold up the line over a loaf of bread. If their aim is to provide pregnant women with nutrition, then they should take a goddamn nutrition class and learn what it is. You won't find it in Wonder Bread and Vanilla Bunches.

Everywhere I look I see illusion and complacent, backwards faces.

Hyped About Hypnobirthing!

I'm whittling away the time until I really have to get back to work. The project I'm currently working on involves writing descriptions of literally thousands of Italian tourist attractions. Do you know how many churches there are in Italy?? It's insane, but it keeps me busy and I am so grateful for the abundance of purpose, knowledge, and money I get out of it! No doubt I know more useless Italian trivia than you do. Go ahead. Challenge me.

Other than that, since breakfast I've been cleaning, arranging, basically controlling every little thing I can until whoever-the-hell-is-painting-the-nursery gets it done so I can start doing really productive things. I desperately want to work on the nursery, but I have to wait while Peter takes his sweet time deciding to paint. He primed the woodwork over a week ago. Hello, nesting here, kind of anxious and obnoxiously energetic. On a cheerier note, Mike just cleaned the toilet! Woo-hoo! He's such a good daddy.

It was strongly suggested to me at my last prenatal appointment to sign up for childbirth education classes. This reminded me that I'd like to try Hypnobirthing, the method of deep relaxation, breathing and meditation techniques designed to release all fear associated with childbirth. This often ensures an easier, sometimes painless birth experience. It involves a sort of self-hypnosis, but that just means a state of intense focus and awareness. I looked up local Hypnobirthing classes, but they are hella expensive, so I ordered a book off eBay for $7. I don't necessarily want to go to a regular childbirth class and be told what's going to happen. I want to experience what happens and respond instinctively and consciously in the moment. The main point is that I'm not scared of birth at all; I understand that this is one of the most natural things to happen to me, and my body will take care of it. On the other hand, the one fear that pops up when I say that is that I'm completely wrong and it will be a disaster. But then I remind myself that if that possibility should transpire, I will not be disappointed in myself for not having the "perfect birth." I will not fear what Mike or my mom or my midwife think if everything doesn't go according to "plan." My birth will happen however it is going to happen, and I will be eternally grateful for it. I repeat that to myself, and there is absolutely no more fear. Guidance is helpful, but I don't need to spend over $200 to be inundated with someone else's idea of my birth. I'm into preparing with meditation and visualization techniques that simply help me remain calm and let go.

What else, what else...oh, I'm trying out coconut oil as deodorant. I don't know if it was a coincidence, but yesterday as I was slathering myself post-shower I got some oil in the ol' pits, and I didn't stink the rest of the day or even this morning. So I slathered a bit more on today after my shower, and I'm excited to see how the experiment goes. I know virgin coco oil is antibacterial, so why wouldn't it work? Also, it's soothing to those freshly-shaved pits as opposed to harsh deodorants and antiperspirants. I am so glad to have unrefined coconut oil back in my life after living a futile existence with refined oil for a couple weeks. Now I use what's left of the refined to cook with and the virgin stuff on my skin and hair. I'll let you know how the deodorant test turns out!

Peace out and in.

Dennis Caves!

Maybe Dennis Rodman is an alcoholic. Rather, maybe he has in the past exhibited excessive behavior, and he acquiesced on tonight's episode of "Celebrity Rehab" simply to get everyone off his back about "admitting" his addiction. Or, maybe he declared his addiction to fit in with everybody. Despite his uncommunicative attitude, I see him as a very social guy who genuinely likes most everyone at the Pasadena Recovery Center. Either way, for one reason or another Dennis Rodman has officially labeled himself an alcoholic.

What bothered me about tonight's storyline with Dennis was the immense pressure that was being put on him to admit he has an addiction. Several times the cameras artfully singled him out, during Morning Meditation and the "alumni visit," to dramatize the fact that he was the only one who had yet to label himself for life. Shelly always begins their Morning Meditations by starting the round: "Hi, I'm Shelly, I'm an alcoholic." Next? Mike: addict, Whoever-that-muscly-guy-is: addict, Heidi: sucking the teat of addiction dry, and Dennis? Still "just Dennis." Frustrated, both Dr. Drew and Shelly express concern that Dennis does not open up to them or anyone else about his drug and alcohol use, and without transparency, how can the good doctor help him overcome the demons? Despite being left in the dark about the nature of his "disease," they continue to push him to admit he has the addiction. But why? How could they know he has an addiction if he doesn't give them that information? Simply because he is in the recovery center? And why is he there? Because the court sent him there. If we all took on the identities that the justice system gave us, we'd all really be those no-good, fucked up tumors on society they seem to think we are.

Dr. Drew mentioned in tonight's episode, during their group meeting, that addiction is the only disease that people need to be "convinced" of having. Yes, that's what we should be doing, pushing disease and disorder on people. I'm understanding that the whole point of admitting addiction in counseling is to recognize the personal struggle and consciously work toward overcoming it. I'll reiterate what I talked about in my last CR review, and that is that even though someone may exhibit undesired and destructive behavior, identifying with the undesirable behavior merely reinforces and empowers it. I don't believe it's "denial" to refuse to call yourself an addict if you don't always want to be an addict. Calling myself a bitch even though I really don't want to keep acting like a bitch is only going to allow the part of me that identifies with a bitch to continue to manifest.

This is why I was slightly disappointed when Dennis, at the end of the episode, staked out his spot in the sand of addiction. Everyone was happy for him. Immediately after my feeling of disappointment I wondered if maybe it is good for him. Maybe he does see himself that way and wanted to fit in with the fellow patients. Maybe it was a breakthrough for him to recognize this weakness that he had never seen before. Or maybe he was just seduced by the ease of giving in. Who knows? He didn't open up to Dr. Drew, he certainly hasn't opened up to me. But considering Dr. Drew's statement that people must be thwarted into seeing the so-called "reality" of their addiction, I wouldn't be surprised if rehab really creates more addicts than it checks in.

Experiencing the Outdoors With Jack Without Going Anywhere

Jack, our golden boy, sits regally in the outdoors
listening to a snowstorm brew;
we reflect the silence.
He looks like a senator,
maybe pigeon-toed,
paying me no attention
because I will not throw the ball.
His molasses eyes shift
from the wind on the fence
to the salt shaker sound
of premature snowflakes dusting themselves
over the dead, hollow leaves.
His snout drags staccato puffs of air,
his mouth intermittently,
like tasting the flavor
of a fine tobacco pipe.

Making Progress

Now I'm not one to endorse companies, as I distrust most corporations and perceive them as callous, corruptible soulsuckers, but my experience with Progressive has inspired me to pass along a little good advice. I never personally bought or dealt with a car insurance policy until these past few months (haven't had a car since I was 19), so all the commercials and rate-of-quote talk has always soared over my head. I assumed they were all out to get my money and screw me, like any good corporate clan. But since I assumed responsibility for my dad's old car (subsequently my sister's old car) this past fall, I've been doing the responsible thing and insuring it. Imagine that. Totally all up on this grid. Without giving it much thought I just went with Progressive because that's what Allison had used for her previous policy, and $150 for six months seemed like a good deal. I'm so glad I did! The monthly rate is delightfully low (though it is a few bucks cheaper to pay the 6-month fee in full), and best of all, the customer service representatives are genuinely warm and extremely helpful.

You know when you call a company and you're on the line for 10 minutes just trying to get to a real person? Of course you do. This is America. But in the end you wind up speaking with someone named "Dave" who has a curious Bengali accent. Sometimes Dave is helpful, sometimes he's not. Or better yet, you end up with Tracy who obviously hates her job, her life, her ex-husband, and her chain-smoking boss for not letting her take two breaks per shift so she can have any hope of losing those 20 pounds she gained birthing that ungrateful sonofabitch's two bastards. Progressive's customer service reps are neither of those things. Whether they hate their lives or not is irrelevant because they have a sense of professionalism that transcends that wah-wah bullshit. They understand that when a customer calls their insurance company, it's not for their health or leisure, so being as friendly as possible (not quite Paxil-happy) can only help. And it does. I don't dread calling my insurance company because I know whatever problem I have can either be quickly worked out over the phone or even online.

I've been dealing with a lot of customer service reps lately amidst all my important-paper-phone-calls, improving my PR skills, and Progressive is by far my favorite company to speak with. They are obviously committed to quality service. If it's because they're well-paid and well-trained, then holla! We need more jobs with money to shell out and a solid business ethic to pass on.

I recommend Progressive to anyone looking for a change in their insurance. Watch out for me on the road--I'm insured and not afraid to use it!

And the fet(us) goes on...

So I'm getting into the home stretch here of my gestational period, and I figured you might be interested in what's going on!

I'll be 31 weeks on Monday, and I'm feeling pretty great. I've had an incredible amount of energy lately, my eating habits are surprisingly under control, and I'm getting surreal twinges of superexcitement at the thought of our little one's arrival. It seems like I've been pregnant forever, and it's hard to even imagine him actually being here, outside of me. I've had a couple disturbing dreams about him being born with acne and this really gross yarny-wire-curl across his forehead, oh and in one I gave birth to puppies, but other than that fear doesn't ever really pop up. I'm delightfully present.

As far as food goes, I have yet to have any "weird" cravings you always hear about. Maybe that comes later? Whatever I must have in any given moment is either fruit or vegetable: I've been purchasing cantaloupes for the last couple weeks--I never bought cantaloupe in my life! I never even liked it much! I've been blessed to have picked flawlessly ripe ones at the store though. Yay. If you're wondering how to pick a ripe cantaloupe (cuz I didn't), feel ones that are slightly soft and have a bit of a melon smell. It doesn't matter that the rind is still green, apparently. I made the wonderful decision to get hummus the other day too, which I've been practically drinking the last two days. I'd been wanting a pita roll with hummus and kalamata olives (à la Angeli's in New Orleans), but since I didn't want to buy pita and olives, I went with just the hummus. Joseph's Red Pepper hummus. Party size. Holla. Last night I threw down five huge romaine lettuce leaves, ripped into small pieces, and rolled em up with the hummus, a slice of celery, and sometimes a square of Monterey Jack cheese. OMG worthy. I'd finished off the last few bites of a slice of some crazy flavor cheesecake Allison had brought home for me the other night, but I was feeling kinda icky after it, and the fresh veggie snack alleviated the quease of the sugar and dairy immediately.

I have pretty much the same breakfast every morning (or afternoon): scrambled eggs w/ black pepper and Cajun seasoning on whole grain toast, spread with a layer of peanut butter, sour cream, salsa, and then topped with the eggs. Sometimes a leaf of lettuce. Mike thinks the peanut butter with all that is disgusting, but it's fucking delicious, and I get extra protein and omega-3s (my peanut butter has flaxseeds in it). I might eat a snack a couple hours later, but sometimes I have no appetite again until dinner. When that happens I tend to overdo it at dinner, and I easily get too full which has more severe consequences in pregnancy than it does normally. Now that my uterus is so far up in my belly, if my stomach expands too much it all squeezes together and presses on my lungs and my ribs, which is quite uncomfortable. It's difficult to sit down unless my back is totally straight because there's just no room for everything! And my breathing becomes impaired for an hour or so, which sucks. Overeating is more than just gas and underwear cutting off your circulation when you're pregnant!

But on another note, there's been absolutely no swelling, and really no apparent weight gain in any other part of my body but my belly! To me it's kind of weird looking, like I'm actually holding a basketball under my shirt. But for that I am thankful it will probably be rather easy to get the baby weight off when the time comes. Buuut, I do have two months left to go, and it's around this time that I should be gaining something like a pound a week. Fun.

And then there's the skin and hair. I slather myself with coconut oil every day after my shower, and it's effectively kept my skin from ripping (much). I have a couple unfortunate pink spots, but I am certain those showed up when I ran out of coconut oil for a week and had to use cocoa butter. They say cocoa butter is the anti-stretch mark savior, but I think it just totally screwed me. My hair feels great though! They say prenatal vitamins make your hair and nails really nice, but I wasn't noticing a damn difference until I started doing coconut oil treatments every other day. I comb a big dollop of coco oil into my hair and leave it in for an hour or so. Then I shampoo it out, no conditioner, and voilà, beautiful shiny hair. I've been doing it for about three weeks, and I'm noticing a vast improvement in the quality and texture. My hair was so damaged from way too much Hawaiian sun and generally not caring about it because I thought it was a lost cause. But I have a renewed sense of hope that I can not only have softer hair than ever before, but I can grow more of it too.

I've been keeping up with my exercises a few times a week. I sit typing over the computer all day with my writing, and it fucking kills my back. I desperately need a good professional massage, but until I can afford that, I just stretch it out. I still do Pilates leg exercises and a bit of gentle yoga to get things moving, not to mention all the neverending housework! Other than that I'm not hitting the gym or even powerwalking, but what I do feels good enough. No need to overdo it.

So I guess that's it for now. I'll give you more juicy details as things get more juicy. Love.

The Rebirth of Haiti?

It's quite clear that Haiti has a lot of healing to do. Once it becomes stable after last month's horrific earthquake, the crumbling nation's situation still faces the Haitian people. It's not going away when CNN stops covering it.

It's popular to wonder what will become of Haiti? What will they do? The situation is currently pretty grim--the nerve center of the already devastated country has been paralyzed--it is basically without infrastructure, government, and not to mention a huge chunk of its population. People are asking where the relief efforts are centered and where is all that money we donated going? I can't say for sure the answers to those questions, but I can pose a fairly common sense theory on how to start the country out on the right foot, perhaps in a way it hasn't known in a very long time.

I look at this country as a beautiful opportunity to start over. With a lot of help, these people can start over. First of all we must ask ourselves what does Haiti need above all else? Relief efforts aside, the country is in dire need of food, even the hospitals haven't had clean water in years, and the atrocious standard of poverty they live in requires jobs and a way to keep the economy flowing. Am I mistaken or is Haiti not a tropical island? If you approach it as the building of any new community, one of the first things you do is plant seeds that will provide a bounty later. For a tropical nation Haiti is obscenely barren, and that has its reasons, but it doesn't need to go on forever. I understand that Haiti's history is extremely political and rife with pain due to multiple colonizations by France, Spain, and America. A large part of the landscape has been stripped of its resources, and geographically, Haiti's rainfall is largely redirected to its infinitely more successful counterpart, the Dominican Republic. But truthfully, everyone needs to start healing from the past and look forward, look to the present, to make smart decisions about how to start succeeding. Why don't we start by planting trees? The lack of trees in Haiti is a huge part of what makes life so difficult. Their indigenous woods have been plundered, leaving the construction of homes and buildings up to concrete, which we all know is not very durable in an earthquake. With trees the severity of hurricanes and earthquakes would diminish and rainfall would increase. This all without mentioning the amount of food that can be produced. Tropical trees are a glorious way to start feeding Haitian people again without relying on any imports, aside from the trees themselves. Every family should have a dozen avocados, coconuts, bananas, papayas, and mangos. Trees are the lifeblood of humanity--they're not just for treehuggers! I'm aware that there already is a tree-planting organization, Christian of course (they seem to be the only ones to really get organized!), called Fast Growing Trees (www.fast-growing-trees.com). This gives me hope; we need a lot more like them.

I've seen conflicting records of Haiti's rainfall, but it appears to be enough to catch, however much it is. The state of Haiti's water supply is hugely responsible for its alarming average life expectancy of just 49 years. More infants and mothers die during childbirth than in any other country. More children die before the age of 5 than any other country. Humans cannot exist without clean water. But where does water come from? Certainly not the faucet. It comes from the sky. They need a sophisticated water catchment system. All it takes is a huge container, some pipes, and some prayers for rain. Hippie communities in Hawaii can figure this out--can the rest of the world? It would take a small system of organization to get water catchments built all over the country, if not in everyone's backyard.

Like I said, these ideas are fairly common sense, but the bigger question may be "who's going to be in charge of it?" Haiti's government has a long history of corruption, as most colonized nations do. The UN is almost completely useless, and a few too many industrialized nations have had their grubby paws in this not-so-much-honey pot for far too long. Instead, a collective of organizations who care need to step up, a communal and effective system. It's going to take money and resources, but not that much. President Obama just released his plan for this year's budget of $3.8 trillion. Do we all realize how much a trillion dollars is? Not to mention three of them? There is clearly more than enough money on this planet to attract to the cause. In just a couple weeks' time the American people raised millions of dollars just in relief aid alone. If it were all planned out, I would be very interested to know how much it would cost to start a consistent system of transporting seeds, trees, building resources, and educators to Haiti to successfully start this project.

If Haiti cannot stand on its own, others must stand up for support. That's just the way it is. Imagine the livelihoods and sense of purpose that could be created by doling out daily jobs to Haiti's people. Educate the masses in sustainable development, and I have no doubt they would be infinitely grateful for the opportunity. Once they all know how to plant and maintain the vegetation, assign them sections of town. Get them connected and working their land again. There is the speculation that the resentment Haiti feels after hundreds of years of slavery and exploitation will be a deterrent in getting these people to "do what we say," but that bullshit needs to go once and for all. I couldn't agree more, the industrialized world is a corrupt, sinister, robotic corporation that has done a lot of evil. But organizations and individuals that care are not their megalomaniac governments. People do not get anywhere or grow by harboring hostility and resentment. It is our responsibility to remind Haiti of what it is, who they are, and what they are truly capable of. No golf courses or resorts for rich white people involved!

Unfortunately Untitled Poem

I was surprised
at all the things that
did not surprise me
in Hawaii.

The mountains,
so obviously wise
usher valley streams,
cold and pure,
into the ocean.
Yes, yes.
The fact that there are fruits borne of aliens,
rollenia
soursop
jackfruit,
sticky swollen mangos littering the June streets,
wet and muddy pig trails drawing treasure maps
to waterfalls--

It’s like I’d seen them all before.

But I had never seen anything
like Belly Acres,
land with leaves bigger than children,
happy people
working the dirt
living in wooden cabins
painted reds and oily blues only an artist can find,
chipped white murals yellowed
from admiring stares over 30 years.
At sunset shiny people
gather in the communal kitchen
sweaty and hungry,
skin hot and ripened brown,
and lazily offer
scoops of power food,
prepared with the secret of how to cook it.
I was jealous I was not a very good cook.
A true fairy, younger than me
led us around by her chocolate chip
hair and carried a blue
bottle of water,
purified with Love.

This was like a dream I’d forgotten.

Then at Cinderland,
20 people who did not work
but sang songs, read books,
dreamed about when the world will
turn inside out,
and shared everything.
Who did not mind the cold water
or having nowhere to go
but the kitchen, thankful
and quiet
against the roar of the rain,
the air thick and sleepy.
And who hovered,
no matter how sunny outside,
like flies around the fire pit
hungry for each other,
rolling endless American Spirit cigarettes from
red packages, blue packages, one time black.
Who reflectively drummed the heavy rhythms
of the kids’ feet
and drank wine in warm pools
at midnight.
Who met God
amongst waves,
and lovers
around flames.
Who chanted, danced, cooked--
set the table--
planted, picked, prayed.
Sometimes the garden gave way
Sometimes it did not.
Sometimes there were cherry tomatoes
and green leaves for lunch,
but always too many hot peppers,
thick bushes of fire red, orange, and yellow.
Always morning papaya,
for they fruit young
and often.
Bananas, avocados, and coconuts
were gathered on Fridays,
for they were work.
Who, naughty and laughing,
hunted private lands
for vibrant fruits to feed the family.

The Abundance Abounds!

I just wanted to write a quick thing in celebration of all the abundance that's been springing forth lately! It's amazing how switching to a relentless vibration of abundance has truly transformed my situation, just in the last couple weeks.

I have already successfully attracted over $1000 from freelance writing jobs since the new year began. That's insane! I've been enjoying the work tremendously as well, as it keeps me busy and revitalizes me, filling me with a new sense of purpose. Mike is also attracting money just about every day through his endeavors, resulting in weekly checks. Aaaand, drum roll please, the situation with Terrence Sanders is finally over. Last week I was extremely pleased to receive an apologetic email from him--simple, straightforward, and all I could hope for--along with the $100 check a few days later. I can't say I was too surprised because I knew I had opened a flood gate of energy when I wrote my exposé of him. Those few days before I'd received the email, I honestly had released all attachment to actually receiving the money. The only thing that mattered was that I had fulfilled my responsibility of using my words to spread the truth. Three days later, there's the check. That's a little more than a coincidence, don't you think?

I recently signed up for the WIC program (Women, Infants, and Children), which somewhat eases my grocery bills with a set of monthly coupon checks. To those who are unfamiliar with the program, it is a federal and state-funded nutrition program which provides vouchers for specific foods (bread, milk, cheese, peanut butter, produce, etc.) to pregnant and nursing mothers as well as families with young children. The vouchers only add up to like $50 a month, but it's something. I got twice the food the other day for half the price. The program emphasizes nutritious foods (I was pleased to learn you can only buy whole wheat or whole grain bread), which I believe makes it far more effective at securing a fairly nutrient-rich diet than just handing out food stamps, which are utilized far too often for Oreos and ice cream. Point being: I am abundant in good food!

These are just a couple examples of the influx of abundance that has come into our lives in such a short time, and I like to reiterate to everyone, including myself, my feelings of gratitude. That's what's making it all happen, after all, switching my gears to appreciating the abundance instead of focusing on the pain of what I don't have.

Now we can finally renew our car registration (for an exorbitant price) and buy a new muffler (it needs one desperately). Thank you, Universe! Keep it coming!

WHO DAT SAY DEY GONNA STEAL DIS PHRASE?

It's been the most glorious week for New Orleans fans everywhere. Even Mike, who's trapped in the frigid-don't-know-nuttin-bout-no-spice-north, can't stop watching videos of secondlines on Bourbon St. and wishing he were back in his hometown to celebrate this inaugural moment in history: the Saints are headed to the Superbowl. Of course everyone knows that by now, but no one knows it better than New Orleanians. Since 1967 Saints fans have loved and honored their football team--for rich or for richer, through injuries and in health, through wins and through losses (many, many losses), as long as they all shall live. But this year the Saints and their fans are joyously experiencing something they've never experienced before: a seemingly divine and unstoppable success.

And the mantric chant that has accompanied both that success and preceding failures has been preciously linked to the New Orleans Saints and their fans since...forever, it seems: "WHO DAT SAY DEY GONNA BEAT DEM SAINTS? WHO DAT? WHO DAT?!" Though history may have some absolute reality on when the phrase originated and when the Saints took it on, it is now inextricably integrated into New Orleans culture. But in the last few days the corporate cyborg that is the NFL has had something to say about that, resulting in a tense custody battle.

The NFL recently claims to have "patented" the rights to 'Who Dat' and have subsequently countered local New Orleans novelty shops for selling clothing and other merchandise which displays the legendary phrase or even the iconic fleur-de-lys symbol. They've begun issuing cease and desist orders to small business owners all over the city. However, the acquisition of these rights have not really gone through yet, especially since the Saints do already own two fleur-de-lys design registrations, and it's not just the NFL that's trying to claim rights to the phrase. Indeed there already is a WhoDat?, Inc., founded by Sal and Steve Monistere, who recorded the famous chant in 1983 and have been marketing it, quietly, ever since. Personally, I do not believe the fleur-de-lys itself can be bought by anyone, since it has ancient origins and is utilized all over the world.

What pisses me off, and obviously New Orleanians as well, is that this has been theirs for so long. The Saints have been theirs, even when they were the 'Aints' for so long. And now that the team is a renowned success, everybody wants a part of them. Everyone wants to jump on the Superbowl bandwagon and make a quick buck (like commercial whore Peyton Manning who does Oreo ads--you are so going down next weekend!). But New Orleans does not care about that. The city just vibrates an enormous sense of pride, no matter what happens. Saints fans don't run for the hills because of a terrible season, they run back faster the next year! They don't go to sleep during a game and "find out the score in the morning" (ahem, *cough* Patriots fans)! Local shops have always sold Who Dat merchandise because Saints fans buy them, wear them proudly, and deserve them. And for a city that's just getting back on its feet, the economic advantages of producing and buying locally are obvious. I like to think that even if the Saints weren't associated with the NFL, whatever hinky backyard football team out there with New Orleans jerseys would be embraced and passionately supported by the city. But the big truck/Bud beer/badass military-sponsored NFL has not hesitated in trying to exploit New Orleans for all it's worth. For a corporation whose annual profits exceed $300 billion, that's just plain shitty to try to take something so precious from a city that's already lost so much. But let's be reminded it is a corporation, not a person. Despite what the Supreme Court just ruled, corporations are not people and do not serve humane interests.

I say, for now, that New Orleans shop owners do not legally need to adhere to the corporate bullying that has already begun. There has been an impressive uproar in the Who Dat Nation in opposition to this ludicrous development, and Sal and Steve Monistere have been speaking up for their trademark as well. New Orleans does not keep quiet and does not bow down to Expensive Suits just because they come in with their White-Man-Conquering-You-Now attitude. The simple truth is that 'Who Dat' is not the NFL's to authorize one way or another, and if the city of New Orleans has anything to say about it, which it does, it never, EVER will be.

Pathetic, At Best

We already know the things we cannot trust in life: politicians, the news, reality TV, Radiohead to play a public concert in the US anytime soon...but now our employers? As I sit contemplating whether or not it is at all sophisticated to smear the good name of a renowned local entrepreneur, I am immediately inspired by MSNBC's Keith Olbermann's recent attacks on Massachusetts Senator-Elect Scott Brown, which describe him as a "homophobic, racist, reactionary...supporter of violence against women..." you know the rest. And that was merely on speculation! Well, I've decided, yes, it is a good idea to publicly broadcast my perspective on this man, who has personally and professionally wronged me, and who may potentially screw someone else over. Terrence Sanders, editor of a local New Orleans publication, ArtVoices magazine, has proven to me over the last five months that he does not know the meaning of respect for or communication with his employees. I can only imagine how often this happens to freelancers, and I'd like to shed some light on my experience, which I hope will prompt freelancers everywhere to secure their professional approach.

This all started last June, way back in 2009, when I went to an art opening in a gallery-laden district of downtown New Orleans. It was a small gathering with some very interesting work and copious amounts of free vodka. It was there that I met Terrence Sanders, a sort of "big cheese" in the New Orleans art world as the editor of the successful and respected ArtVoices magazine. After a few drinks I was feeling pretty confident and quite aware of my empty wallet, so I approached him about a writing job. I told him I could write about anything; though confident in my writing skills I was honestly a bit apprehensive about the technical aspects of the fashion and art world! After some chit-chat he got my phone number and said he would call me. When our conversation ended I left him alone so as to not annoy him, though I hung around so he would at least remember who I was after waking up with a vodka hangover. Later on in the evening as he chatted up my friend Colleen in a side room, who was also there in hopes of acquiring some sort of work (or just working it, I'm not sure), I sat down on the bright white couch and joined the two of them, followed by my boyfriend, Mike. We were all a bit tipsy and Terrence was standing over the three of us, a looming figure in whom I saw the potential to get my foot in the door. A thrill at the time! I don't remember much of what undoubted bullshit was said, but I do remember this from Terrence's mouth: "I didn't go to college...I had to build what I wanted from scratch...the two main keys to success are do good work and don't fuck anybody over!" Those ironic words would reverberate in my head with sardonic laughter in the ensuing months.

Imagine my delight when just a week later he texted me with an assignment for his new magazine, Turnstile. A pre-assignment, I suppose it was: "What is Fashion?" I sort of scoffed, but once I got to writing it flowed quite naturally, and I reevaluated my confidence. I could do this. I could write about fashion, even though I had long since stopped caring about much of the superficiality of it. I would write for an established magazine. After I sent the short paragraph he requested, he emailed another assignment: an open editorial. Again, once I finished this assignment, he didn't mention it again and didn't say what he would do with it. But finally, he assigned an actual job: an interview with a local photographer. Yes! I'd never done an interview before, not since some Student Council thing in middle school, but I immediately got to work on formulating questions. I was dead set on doing an impressive job. It finally occurred to me to inquire about payment, as Terrence had not said anything, but this was a real assignment now to be published, so I'd better find out, right? After an awkward delay, Terrence got back to me that I would be paid $100.

When I met the photographer, Mark, for our interview at an uptown coffeeshop, it all went wonderfully. I tried not to let off that this was my first professional job, though that fact simmered beneath the surface. I brought my video camera for accuracy, and we got to talking comfortably. He was a very nice guy, and I really wanted to bring to light the literal darkness in his photography. I didn't know how many times he'd been interviewed, if at all, but I had a strong desire to showcase who he was as an artist. I understood that that was my responsibility as the writer, not to just ask questions and document the answers. Later on at home I edited the interview down from 6000 to 1000 words. It was painstaking, but I was extremely satisfied at the end. I sent it to Terrence cheerily and did not even receive word that he'd received the file until I asked him for confirmation.

A few weeks later, at the end of August, I participated in a fashion show for a local designer, which was amazing. I caught up with Mark outside who immediately commended me for my work, which had been sent to him for accuracy. He said I actually "got him." That was an incredible reward. Using only 1/6 of what he'd said, I could have made him sound like a real boner. I was elated that he appreciated my portrayal of him, which I assumed to be quite rare in the media.

After a bit more time I was wondering about the payment, so I contacted Terrence. He wrote back that he does not pay his employees until the week of publication, and that would not be until the second or third week of September. I was broke and sort of upset that he had not mentioned this stipulation at the beginning, but what could I do? I put it out of my mind until September.

By the end of the third week of September, I had not only received no word from Terrence but had recently discovered I was pregnant, and my boyfriend and I had decided to move out of Louisiana and up north to reconnect with my friends. I was sick with fetus, sick of the heat, and sick of being broke! I inquired to Terrence about my check and informed him that I was moving out of state and would like to receive payment before that happens so as to make it less sticky for everyone. He updated me that publication had been pushed back until the first week of October, and he does not make exceptions. I started to see the interesting loophole he'd created for himself. Well, we already had our plane tickets, and I was melting, so we took a leap of faith and left.

This went on for three more months. Every month I would have to email him, wondering why the deadline had passed and I had not received my check or any notification, and he would push back the issue release another month. But eventually he knew he couldn't stave me off much longer and began promising me that he was sending it: "You'll have your check by next week," "I'm sending it out this week," "you'll have it by the end of the month." By the time December rolled around and I was still empty-handed, I started to get cranky. Despite my growing frustration I did not want that to come off in our correspondence. I scrutinized my word choices meticulously, careful not to appear angry, crazy, or just plain rude, but I held true to the main points to be addressed: Why did he promise to send the checks when he knew he did not intend to? Why doesn't he just send the check so I will get off his back? A hundred dollars is a delightful trip to the grocery store for a pregnant woman--I want my money! Why won't he communicate with me clearly and tell me what's really going on? However professionally I worded my emails, however, he shot back that I should be ashamed of myself for disrespecting him, such an important man, and for having the "audacity" to come to him with my "problems." My problem was his behavior, so yes, I most certainly came to him with that complaint. His true colors were shining through, loud and clear.

I finally contacted Mark about the magazine, if he knew anything about the publication, since I could never find any information about Turnstile online. I had no evidence of its existence at all. He responded that he had seen the layout, but indeed the launch of the magazine had been pushed back to January. I thanked him for the confirmation, but then it dawned on me that this was the launch of Turnstile--no wonder I could never find anything about it! I wrote to Terrence and asked him why he had never just explicitly told me that this was the first issue. I even conceded and admitted humbly that I understood how the launch of a new magazine could get pushed back. Why hadn't he told me? But now there was no reason to delay, the issue was coming out, and I would definitely get paid.

He responded, by now late in December, that he claimed to have sent me the check two weeks earlier. Confused and once again suspicious, I reported that I'd never received it, so we agreed it must have been "lost in the mail." I had no reason to believe him, but I implored him to cancel the check and send me another. After a couple weeks of going back and forth about who's going to pay the $30 cancellation fee, I conceded and said I would pay for it if he sent me the receipt for the canceled check, along with the issue of the magazine. The least he could do is send me the work I did in exchange for all this crap! He surprisingly responded that he would pay the fee and I would have my check by the end of the week of January 18, if only this would end. I received no word that he had sent the check, and of course no check by Friday, so I sent another inquiring email. He did not respond. Downright angry, I emailed him again, this time threatening to expose his distasteful business practices if he did not actually send the check this time. This is honestly the first time I have threatened him with public disclosure, and apparently he did not appreciate it. He wrote me back quickly--allow me to quote him accurately: "I don't know why I even entertain you but your threats are pathetic to even think anyone cares what you have to say anyway is evn more pathetic. Who are you and what have you done to even compare yourself to me. As I said before your checks in the mail and get a life. I'm not sending you your pathetic $100 because you're threatening me I'm sending it to get your negative energy off of me. I will register your address with SPAM so there will be no further correspondence. I can't believe I even hired you after you begged me to write an article which is mediocre at best. Good luck with all your future endeavors you're going to need it. Best Regards"

No, I am not pathetic. And the work I did for him was superb. What's pathetic is not paying a pregnant woman a measly $100 that she earned, simply because she asks questions. I will not just roll over as he tries to screw me. Eww. The important thing is that he is the employer, a dastardly one at that, and for me to have to badger him for even a response or some notice on the status of due compensation is unacceptable. Furthermore, for him to insult me for pursuing my rights in the matter is completely repugnant and unethical.

Perhaps no one does care what I say, but there's nothing more pleasing to me in this moment than making some attempt to let others know what really goes on behind some pseudo-philanthropic doors. All freelancers must be very clear in their expectations of payment and treatment by their employers. This editor's disrespect is unwarranted, his arrogance unparalleled. What have I done to "compare myself to him?" Dear God, I hope nothing comes close!

If I Ran a Rehab...

Whilst watching the latest episodes of "Celebrity Rehab" on VH1 I've become inspired to comment. I know this is reality TV, which is usually anything but, but it's triggered the over-analytical health nut in me.

There are several things just strange about this recovery center Dr. Drew runs. Mike Starr, one of the sort-of celebrity patients receiving treatment there, is obviously having some problems. Physically, he's going through a harrowing detox from heroin, methadone, and cocaine. That sucks to begin with. Dr. Drew encourages the physical detox to transpire completely before the heavy psychological treatment comes in, which is agreeably wise because who wants to talk about his head when it's pounding and screaming and the body is likewise incomparably pissed off? But a major problem Mike is having alongside his physical torment is a resentment and agitation at the TV cameras. Granted, he signed on for this and probably contractually agreed (and perhaps was paid?) to be broadcast during one of the more horrific experiences of his life. That was his initial decision, but now he's stuck and detoxing and really angry. He expresses this through a mixture of verbal aggression and antisocial behavior, just pacing the grounds unresponsively with headphones.

What I wonder is what else could he be doing to take his mind off of his agony? Is there an exercise room? Maybe just running on a treadmill or lifting weights would release some of the pain and stagnant energy in his system. It really looks like he needs to just move his body. It's clear he's trying to do this by the constant walking and pacing. Of course we all know exercise, getting the blood pumping, increases endorphins and therefore feelings of well-being. Another thing is: he's a musician. He was the bassist for the band Alice in Chains until he was kicked out for his disruptive drug use (guess they didn't kick out frontman Lane Staley because he died from heroin!). Maybe Mike would like to play his damn bass. He has mentioned a few times on camera that he wants to get clean so he can perhaps join another band. Maybe he needs a push to just pick up his instrument again and see what it has to tell him. Seems like a productive suggestion for spending this awful time.

Instead of encouraging constructive behavior in Mike, Dr. Drew and the staff continue to simply express concern over his aggression, surround him obnoxiously, try to force engagement, and consider sending him to a psychiatric hospital. What the hell, this is REHAB! That's what happens. Of course people get angry. People get sick. The cameras showed Mike throwing up in the middle of the night, as ya do when you're completely withdrawing from opiates, and showcased the ensuing madness the morning after. Dr. Drew's assistant, Shelly (I don't know what her title is), discovers the vomit and is totally disgusted. She begins by spraying copious amounts of air freshener into the room (yes, let's spray synthetic chemicals into the air and trigger more nausea), then continues to act like a college girl whose roommate is passed out and has puked on herself. Like this is the first puke she's ever cleaned up. She carries on getting grossed out and complains about how grossed out she is. If Mike weren't so apathetic and scathing, he might be embarrassed by the incident. That's a nice feeling to generate in the recovering patients. But really, doesn't this "celebrity rehab" have orderlies? Cleaning staff? Lower rung staff members paid to clean up the accidents that inevitably happen when the body experiences utter turmoil?

But here's where it gets sticky. When Shelly conducts a sort of NA meeting, she begins by introducing herself as Shelly, an alcoholic. An addict. This is how she identifies herself. She then asks another patient if he is an addict and he wholeheartedly agrees. She then gets to Mike and asks, "are you powerless?" He complies. She seems satisfied. She asks the same question to Heidi, the methed out Madam. She also acquiesces that she "cannot stop" and "does whatever she wants." The first questions I would have asked any of these people are "Have you ever truly wanted and tried to quit abusing drugs?" and "How do you see yourself? Where does your power lie?" I suppose one of the main credos in chemical dependency rehabilitation is the admittance of addiction, admitting the problem, and then aiming to fix it. While I agree that you must recognize there is overwhelming negativity attached to the destructive behavior, I do not agree that addicts must continue to be addicts all their lives. "Once an alcoholic, always an alcoholic." This affirms the undesired behavior and identifies the individual as the addiction, an inescapable fact, ignoring the fact that they do still have power, it is just directed toward the drug use. How much attention is given to empowering those things that could make them well? This is why I believe so many rehab programs simply do not work. People come in believing they are not addicted, though they may physically appear that way, and come out of rehab conditioned to think that that is EXACTLY what they are. Like there is nothing in their lives more important than focusing on that lingering addiction. Then when they are confronted with substances again, they let themselves fall prey because that is what they are: mere prey to the demons. I wholeheartedly believe people can change if they choose to, and there is always something more positive to affirm than that which they are trying to escape.

Lisa D'Amato is an example of this. The former "America's Next Top Model" contestant and self-proclaimed party girl does not see herself as an addict until the good doctor tells her she is one. There is a conversation between herself and Heidi where she says she never turns down drugs, though she has in the past, but "what the fuck, why not [do them]?" Heidi seems shocked that she "can't say no." Well, she's a young model in southern California who loves to party. Go figure. In Hollywood, it's not news to anyone that drugs are extremely accessible to a person such as herself. The status associated with being given expensive drugs would go to anyone's head. It doesn't seem hard to acclimate to that lifestyle if that's what you live in. But just because she never turns down cocaine doesn't mean she needs to go to rehab, that means cocaine is a fun drug for people who are into talking nonsense and dancing with other famous people. I did the same thing when I was 18 (minus the celebrities). My first year out of high school, out from under my mother's watch, for a time I took to snorting coke daily. I never turned it down either because those 25 minutes of f-u-n were too tempting to pass up. Basically, if you regularly do coke, you do not turn it down. But after about four months I was over it, over the physical desperation and awkward nights up by myself with a tiny white bag, over the exhaustion, and over the drainage in my wallet. I chose to pursue a different hobby, and now look at me: I'm about to have a baby and cherish green salads and knitting.

It seems like these people are just waiting for someone or something else to take responsibility for them. "I'm powerless, I'm an addict, I can't help it." Maybe being a celebrity with a drug problem is different from my experience. Maybe enduring significant childhood abuse makes it more difficult to choose well-being for oneself. But who hasn't experienced some sort of abuse? We are abused every day by our families, our governments, our neighbors, and ultimately ourselves.

If I ran a rehab, I would not designate addiction to anyone. I would designate wellness to all, and aim above everything else for that, whether that be through physical comfort, psychological support, or spiritual wholeness. Rehabilitation should be about affirming the positive, affirming wellness, affirming that which the person wants to be. If that person still wants to be an addict and vibrates that desire, it is so. If the person truly wants to be well, support must be available to provide that person with the tools necessary to achieve wellness. That means getting rid of the idea of permanent addiction, eternal weakness, not writing it across their forehead so they never forget it and sending them hopefully on their way.

Round and Round

Well, what an abundant day yesterday is! I attracted some money through a quick gig, which completely reenergized me. If only for three hours, I had a purpose! I checked our Craigslist's email Sunday night and found a response from a woman needing a story typed. Easy as pie. I called her straightaway and arranged to meet her in Boston the next day (Monday) at 2:00 to pick up the photocopied story. She just needed it typed and emailed to her so she would have it in her computer, as she is a writer, yet a slow typist, and is including the story in...come to think of it, I never asked. And she even bought me a hot chocolate near the T station. Damn. But she paid me first thing and trusted me to send her the story by Wednesday. By 5:00 I was emailing her the finished product. She says she'll recommend me to any friends who need help as well. Awww swell!

Anywho, I got a life-saving $45 out of the deal, which not only paid our car insurance in the nick of time but also got us a quick trip to the grocery store. That little boost gave us both a shot of confidence and faith. I am so grateful for the opportunity to eat and drive another day! I could do that 1000 times, and looky there, I'd have $45,000. Not so hard.

A short while after my last post on Sunday night (before the job email) I really started to lose it, and my eyes burned red from the constant flow of tears. Mike really didn't know what to do, so I hobbled upstairs where Mom and Peter were eating dinner. I just stood there silently for a moment and stumbled into the kitchen. Mom asked if I was feeling well and followed me. It took me a couple minutes to regain composure. When I'm falling apart sometimes just being in the presence of my mom allows me to completely let go emotionally. We talked it through, my feelings of utter purposelessness and boredom ripping me apart. But it's more than just boredom, I explained it to Mike as if the Universe has forgotten us down here in this cave, and I have no idea where to go to be seen anymore. She was completely supportive and made suggestions I agreed with. It was a refreshing, necessary conversation. Maybe I just needed to connect with my mother after feeling so much disconnect. Maybe the first step in reminding the Universe to see me was reminding my mom.

And one last tidbit: I've made a penny off this blog, too! Mike loves to check stats, and he noticed I have successfully earned one cent from the Google ads on the side there. I honestly hadn't even noticed them, but I guess someone reading did. Thanks a lot! Keep it up!

Short but sweet. See ya later.