From the monthly archives: February 2009
by David Barton
© 2007, Blackwell Publishing
Barton knows the literacy events of an adult’s life are nothing like the structures educators set for students in elementary school. We don’t grill each other with comprehension and detail recall when we discuss the books we’ve read. We speak of our constructed meaning, how we apply it to our worlds. Viewing literacy as a complex system, an ecology, accounts for its being embedded within social constructs; accounts for its reach beyond skills-based instruction; calls for a paradigm shift in and out of the classroom.
He summarizes adults’ literacy uses into 6 components: organizing life, personal communication, private leisure, documenting life, sense making and social participation. In these capacities, I maneuver through literacy with some mastery although I read laboredly and slow. This is an important distinction to make! These components can also be used as units of study, maybe.
Barton makes a quick mention of Nüshu, or Women’s Secret Script discovered in the Hunan Province in China. This was one of the most interesting things I heard in a long time! I found a wonderful website which does its explanation better justice but… Nüshu is an ancient language of 20,000 words which was passed down the Matriarch line to reflect women’s joy and sorrow. The language declined after the women in this Province were given the means to a standard education. I feel the long wispy characters (below) are quite telling. Or maybe I am giddy on the idea of a secret language of women, so historically oppressed, existing.
“Spoken language exists in an aural medium in real time, it is continuous and is accompanied by hesitations, errors, pauses, false starts and redundancy.” I published a poem about the barriers to effective aural communication when I was younger. (Published meaning I printed and xeroxed it within my zine.) I included bad breath and bashfulness as being forefront as communication inhibitors. Of course, the poem (which I scoured my apartment for with no luck) was more a means of justifying my anti-social tendencies rather then analyses the issues completely.
An argument for a Constructivist view of literacy: “There is not in fact a meaning in the text, only the meanings which a reader takes from the text. (pg. 86)” + “It is central to the notion of an ecological view of literacy that it is always contextualized; human activity always takes place within a context (pg. 97)”
Denver, CO
I am an avid thrifthunter. Apparently it was decided in the stars, as noted in Starsky and Cox’s Sextrology {Thee most spot-on description of the Libra woman I ever did read, including such accurate details as my shoe size}. I’ve traveled coast-to-coast collecting knick-knacks and thing-a-mybobs, often expeditioning solely for a thrift prospect. My wardrobe has embraced the forgotten blends of vibrant acetates, the pastel stretch of polyester, the woolly itch of orlon acrylic and the high-waisted/worn-kneed catastrophes of hige jeans.
It’s a ritual that dates back to my high school days. Leslie and I hiked the Long Island Rail Road eastbound to Lindenhurst, Copaique and Babylon for dirt cheap threads. We found our rebellion in worn workshirts with the wrong name and some obese man’s old Sport-abouts. Occasionally there were dresses that fit, butterfly collars that matched our Blind jeans. This was before the resale boom that scavenged thrifts of vintage wear- making me search further and further. Ultimately, the buy & resell culture did away with the 50-cent sweaters and $1 jeans of my youth and left picked-over remnants in all the wrong sizes. Ah, but I’ll never forget Secondhand Rose, a large thrift shop a few blocks from the Copaique train station. My first thrift-love.
It’s a ritual that dates back to my high school days. Leslie and I hiked the Long Island Rail Road eastbound to Lindenhurst, Copaique and Babylon for dirt cheap threads. We found our rebellion in worn workshirts with the wrong name and some obese man’s old Sport-abouts. Occasionally there were dresses that fit, butterfly collars that matched our Blind jeans. This was before the resale boom that scavenged thrifts of vintage wear- making me search further and further. Ultimately, the buy & resell culture did away with the 50-cent sweaters and $1 jeans of my youth and left picked-over remnants in all the wrong sizes. Ah, but I’ll never forget Secondhand Rose, a large thrift shop a few blocks from the Copaique train station. My first thrift-love.Being a vegan, thriftshopping was (and still is) a fruitful extension of my beliefs. Efficient “prosumers” account for the impacts of their purchases. Between veganism, the most environmentally-friendly of diets, and reusing (i.e., the outcome of thrifting), I embody my values wholeheartedly. I also, despite the cliche, opt not to spend my meager funds to support brandnames and contribute to a culture of materialism, thank you very much.
Yesterday the ferocious winds knocked out my internet service, rendering my hours after work and before bed rather useless. The e-errand list was long. I had to print an updated assignment timeline for this spring semester, type out class notes and print my reading skills log to update on the train; all the latest versions of these documents were in Google Docs. I needed to make a Freshdirect order. I needed to add several Oscar-winning films to my Netflix queue. I needed to track my Amazon order (an iPod of 120 GB because I need 30,000 at my fingertips) and check the status of my Blurb book order (a self-published 2008 yearbook). I reloaded and rebooted, OCD-ishly plugged and unplugged plugs and complained before going to bed early.
You don’t know what you got till it’s gone.
What did I do before the internet? I really don’t remember. I think it was 1998 when my parents got a computer, cumbersome and beige, and set it up in the basement. This wasn’t that long ago. But the pace and motion my adult life has carried on since makes it seem a lifetime ago. Shortly after the computer arrived, it helped me find an apartment on the other side of the country (to Seattle, during the dot.com boom actually) and connected me to other alienated misfits hidden within pockets about the country. It felt exciting to be doing things that had never been done before: buying a used accordion from someone in West Virginia by clicking a button, ping-ponging electronic letters sent through circuits and wires, locating out-of-print limited edition red vinyl 45′s perched, knee up, in my pajamas in the computer chair. I utilized the internet in every way possible, still do.
Tonight, I sit thankful in front of my screen. My internet is back up and running. So I was able to receive this link, which ultimately inspired above. It is a blog posting from the official Google blog, specifically from Jonathan Rosenberg, SVP, Product Management. In homage to Presidents Obama, Washington and Lincoln, he shares his President’s Day reflections. The posting gives you a real sense of what is helping maintain Google’s success: passion, smarts and optimism. {I had the joy of visiting Google’s offices in Chelsea with a group of high schoolers from Canarsie last summer (my blog post, focused mainly on their cafeteria, is here) and have felt this energy and enthusiasm first-hand.}
Anyway, now that I am relatively sure dystopian future fiction is not rooting in our new technological reality I am glad to say that technology is a friend of mine.
Little did I know that in the few days I’d spend in Colorado I’d return east stuffed and plump like a prized tofurkey! Sluggish and satiated, here is part II of my Colorado vegan dining highlights.
VG Burgers is a vegan fast food joint in Boulder, CO that pulls out all the stops. With a satisfying selection of burgers, air-baked fries, agave-sweetened fountain sodas {Oogave} and vegan soft serve you are bound to find fulfillment. The menu is completely plants-based as is all the packaging! Yes, VG Burgers goes the extra mile by stocking only compostable cups, straws, containers and utensils and runs completely on wind-power. Ok, East coast- can we get on this?
I knew at first bite I’d return to WaterCourse Foods in Denver. Besides the staff and clientele all being adorable, the food was absolutely delish. So Wok Man and I hit the hip spot for dinner after a day trip in the mountains, knowing that a restaurant this spacious and relaxing with a veg menu so expansive and affordable with top-notch service didn’t really exist in New York City. Below, seitan buffalo wings with vegan ranch. So good! I can still feel the seitan expanding in my stomach.
Wok Man‘s Buffalo tofu sandwich with the greasiest, most delicious onion rings. Superlatives, superlatives, etc, etc.
My attempt at taking it a bit easy: the Macro plate. Grilled tofu cooked in orange ginger sauce served over brown rice with steamed chard, arame, and homemade pickled cabbage.
Dessert fresh from their all-vegan bakery a few blocks away: coconut creme pie! with a squirt of Soyatoo. 
Greetings from the Rockies! I’m here is beautiful Colorado visiting and old friend and her adorable family.
Arriving solo, I spent the majority of my first day hitting the thrifts and of course, eating. In fact, stepping into my rental Prius from Denver’s airport, I immediately programmed my lunch destination in and hit the road. I was the model of efficiency in my hybrid vehicle heading to WaterCourse Foods. {The restaurant recycles its fryer oil into bio-diesel and offers bikers a 10% discount– not to mention serving up the most delicious sounding vegetarian comfort food, based on my perusing their menu.} I was not disappointed to be served a massive buffalo tofu sandwich, complete with two sides (I chose mashed potatoes and gravy & seasonal vegetables). The slab of breaded tofu between a hearty sourdough bun was awe-inspiring, measuring at least 2 inches in thickness alone! But this tofu did not squeeze out a drop of excess moisture; it was, quite frankly, perfect. I learned after stuffing myself silly that their bakery, which includes their famed sweet potato cinnamon rolls and “Ho Ho” cupcakes, was all vegan. There’s always tomorrow! Below, feast your eyes on that hearty bite.
OK, Colorado’s vegan food is knocking my socks off. But I was now hungry for a slightly more upscale veg representation. In the foothills of the Rocky mountains lies the gorgeous city of Boulder. And within Boulder’s darling downtown is Leaf Vegetarian Restaurant. I made a mid-day trip from Denver with its scrumptious menu fresh in my mind. My choice, known well in advance: the vegan french toast: soy and flaxseed custard, foccacia bread, pear and strawberry compote, vegan butter and maple syrup and a banana-berry smoothie. It was absolutely dreamy!
I graduated from high school about 12 years ago. Today I was contacted by a man who student-taught in my 11th grade art class. He attached a photograph of a piece of art I had completed under his instruction. I remember the piece well (a still life completed without lifting the pencil) and him only vaguely. He told me I was the only student in the class to “nail” the assignment, that he had my work in his teaching portfolio and was currently undertaking a recording of his teaching philosophy, reflecting on the successes and failures of his lessons. The contact came through MySpace, where the ease of instant communication has created a norm of this type of contact, for better or worse.
Even still, the communication made me curious. That this man remembered me and my work after over a decade and that the passing years had not diminished the brief encounter as it had for me… what else was I doing without my knowledge, what else had my vaporous memory provoked? People interacting with each other are like unstable elements. Timing, chance and other such fickle variables forming our bonds often unknowingly, grinding our imprints to other people’s important parts, or not so important parts. We’re changing each other permanently (like chemical equations). And I don’t mean romantically, but in a very utilitarian sense. It is fascinating to me.
So what else was I doing? Who else was I helping write their teaching philosophy? I’d like to hold a meeting of my shareholders. I’d like to get a printed inventory every month. We’re all feeding each other somehow. Some for a flash and in passing, others slowly building influence over years of deduction and from distant places and others still from their inability to be sorted and filed in recesses, like acid flashbacks. This man, the student teacher, had me stored as an explanation to his teaching, preserved for his own practical purposes. We use each other like pulleys and levers. The union of our intended uses, the marriage of mutual necessity fits you where I need you. In my hands, their response to texture and temperature, infused in my touch. In my head to soothe or stir, to create. The me you like or dislike may be another person, our experiences, the pattern it left or altered.
These worlds, once buried in time and distance, surface into reality more often given our accessibility online. Where once you were given a line in the White Pages now you have many, many means of invading curious others through their idle mouse clicks. Sending an email is an easy task. With this ease, floodgates are opened. Victims of nostalgia can put their whims to action without risking their pride in a phone call or face-to-face visit. But is easier better? Not necessarily. Lest we forget Micro Magic® french fries?
Must-eat Day Trip series, Number 1
A blog series featuring the country’s best upscale vegan restaurants.
Garden Cafe in Woodstock, New York is one of my favorite restaurants. I’ve never left any less than thrilled with a meal in the cozy alcove in the historical upstate town. Their food is far superior to many vegan restaurants in the New York City making it numero uno in my Must-eat Day Trip series. Our delicious meal is detailed below.
Black bean and spinach vegan quesadillas with guacamole, sour cream and salsa
Indian Chickpea Blinis topped with cashew date chutney
Seitan in red cognac vanilla reduction glaze, 3-mushroom sauteed in “cream” sauce over herb biscuit, roasted brussels sprouts with pecans and steamed garlic greens
Ginger cake with lemon glaze, candied ginger and soy whip cream
Next up on the Must-eat Day Trip series, Horizons in Philadelphia.
Happy Valentine’s Day!
Red Heart Cutters
Red Metal, Luna Mortis‘s Brian
Little Red Dresses
Red Car Bumper
Chained Red
Red Route
New York City Red
Tomato Red
Cowboy Snowboot Red
Anti-Love Drug May Be Ticket to Bliss
By JOHN TIERNEY
New York Times
Published: January 12, 2009
Published: January 12, 2009
In the new issue of Nature, the neuroscientist Larry Young offers a grand unified theory of love. After analyzing the brain chemistry of mammalian pair bonding — and, not incidentally, explaining humans’ peculiar erotic fascination with breasts — Dr. Young predicts that it won’t be long before an unscrupulous suitor could sneak a pharmaceutical love potion into your drink.
Would you rather have a love potion that made you more likely to become attached to someone else, or a love vaccine that stopped you from falling in love with the wrong person? Join the discussion.
That’s the bad news. The not-so-bad news is that you may enjoy this potion if you took it knowingly with the right person. But the really good news, as I see it, is that we might reverse-engineer an anti-love potion, a vaccine preventing you from making an infatuated ass of yourself. Although this love vaccine isn’t mentioned in Dr. Young’s essay, when I raised the prospect he agreed it could also be in the offing.
Could any discovery be more welcome? This is what humans have sought ever since Odysseus ordered his crew to tie him to the mast while sailing past the Sirens. Long before scientists identified neuroreceptors, long before Britney Spears’ quickie Vegas wedding or any of Larry King’s seven marriages, it was clear that love was a dangerous disease.
Love was correctly identified as a potentially fatal chemical imbalance in the medieval tale of Tristan and Isolde, who accidentally consumed a love potion and turned into hopeless addicts. Even though they realized that her husband, the king, would punish adultery with death, they had to have their love fix.
They couldn’t guess what was in the potion, but then, they didn’t have the benefit of Dr. Young’s research with prairie voles at the Yerkes National Primate Research Center at Emory University. These mouselike creatures are among the small minority of mammals — less than 5 percent — who share humans’ propensity for monogamy. When a female prairie vole’s brain is artificially infused with oxytocin, a hormone that produces some of the same neural rewards as nicotine and cocaine, she’ll quickly become attached to the nearest male. A related hormone, vasopressin, creates urges for bonding and nesting when it is injected in male voles (or naturally activated by sex). After Dr. Young found that male voles with a genetically limited vasopressin response were less likely to find mates, Swedish researchers reported that men with a similar genetic tendency were less likely to get married. In his Nature essay, Dr. Young speculates that human love is set off by a “biochemical chain of events” that originally evolved in ancient brain circuits involving mother-child bonding, which is stimulated in mammals by the release of oxytocin during labor, delivery and nursing.
“Some of our sexuality has evolved to stimulate that same oxytocin system to create female-male bonds,” Dr. Young said, noting that sexual foreplay and intercourse stimulate the same parts of a woman’s body that are involved in giving birth and nursing. This hormonal hypothesis, which is by no means proven fact, would help explain a couple of differences between humans and less monogamous mammals: females’ desire to have sex even when they are not fertile, and males’ erotic fascination with breasts. More frequent sex and more attention to breasts, Dr. Young said, could help build long-term bonds through a “cocktail of ancient neuropeptides,” like the oxytocin released during foreplay or orgasm.
Researchers have achieved similar results by squirting oxytocin into people’s nostrils — not terribly sexy, but it seems to enhance feelings of trust and empathy. Although Dr. Young is not concocting any love potions (he’s looking for drugs to improve the social skills of people with autism and schizophrenia), he said there could soon be drugs that increase people’s urge to fall in love.
“It would be completely unethical to give the drug to someone else,” he said, “but if you’re in a marriage and want to maintain that relationship, you might take a little booster shot yourself every now and then. Even now it’s not such a far-out possibility that you could use drugs in conjunction with marital therapy.”
I see some potential here, but also big problems. Suppose you took that potion and then suddenly felt an urge to run off with the next person you spent any time with, like your dentist? What if you went to a business convention and then, like an artificially stimulated prairie vole, bonded with the nearest stranger? What if, like Tristan, you developed an overwhelming emotional connection to your boss’s spouse?
Even if the effects could somehow be targeted to the right partner, would you want to start building a long-term relationship with a short-term drug? What happens when it wears off?
A love vaccine seems simpler and more practical, and already there are some drugs that seem to inhibit people’s romantic impulses. Such a vaccine has already been demonstrated in prairie voles.
“If we give an oxytocin blocker to female voles, they become like 95 percent of other mammal species,” Dr. Young said. “They will not bond no matter how many times they mate with a male or hard how he tries to bond. They mate, it feels really good and they move on if another male comes along. If love is similarly biochemically based, you should in theory be able to suppress it in a similar way.”
I doubt many people would want to permanently suppress love, but a temporary vaccine could come in handy. Spouses going through midlife crises would not be so quick to elope with their personal trainers; elderly widowers might consult their lawyers before marrying someone resembling Anna Nicole Smith. Love is indeed a many-splendored thing, but sometimes we all need to tie ourselves to the mast.
The Brooklyn Academy of Music‘s Howard Gilman Opera House is a wonderful place to see a show. Even more so, to see the instrumental bliss of New Mexico’s Beirut and their cacophony of accordion, trumpets, ukulele, and glockenspiels. And even more so, to see the amazing band supported by the Vassar College orchestra.
The seated show in the beautifully ornate opera house quickly went “general admission” as the precocious 22-year-old frontman requested we come closer. A testament to my age and height, this kinda was a disappointment. But one’s hips cannot remain stationary in the face of duel-blaring trumpets pointed towards the heavens and expanding accordion bellows!
I find it hard to sleep anywhere but my own bed. I’m the same way with the kitchen. In someone else’s kitchen I fumble, miscalculate, mistake their oven’s temperament. This was the case when attempting VCTOTW‘s basic chocolate cupcakes in the Wok Man kitchen. The Wok Man kitchen is so foreign to me. It is so removed from practical accessibility {due to roommate dominance and bachelor pad-ish standards of pot/pan cleanliness} that within it I managed to mess up a recipe I’ve used countless times with much success. My er created a spongy mini-cake that marked the plate, your fingers and tongue with a greasy after-taste. In fact, it was downright donut like. I drizzled the remaining sweet almond icing {the leftovers from my Christmas cookies!} over my little follies and Voila! They became acceptable to present to my family for my brother’s birthday. 
I’ve always thought that there is something powerfully romantic about the sea. Aaaah, an expanse of salty tempestuousness! Being drawn to an elusive pioneering spirit too often lost within the confines of the nowadays, I admire those who give their life to the land, the water, the Earth; those who feel her shift and buckle and soothe and not solely on planned excursions with well-stocked backpacks.
I often cook in homage. Though to whom or what isn’t always often obvious at first. My batch of Vegan New England Clam Chowder honors my Islander heritage, my appreciation of pre-River of Dreams Billy Joel and my new-found respect for slurping my meals. Here is to 6 more weeks of soup and oatmeal weather!{I used this recipe but threw in some sliced hearts of palm for a fishy texture and added a sprinkling of dried seaweed.}
Vegan Reporting By Location
