Searching for Bright Light

Snow-mageddon in Seattle

2012-01-19T23:18:00.000-08:00

The record snowfall here in Seattle is all over the news, partially because it's just so weird. Snow is squeal-inducing for kids who get out of school and can spend the whole day making snowmen, sledding hills and sipping hot chocolate, but not so much fun for adults required to get from here to there, either slipping on icy pathways or skidding in circles on streets and freeways.

Our family has endured a nearly comical series of weather-related events that inspire gratitude for the normalities of life.

A few days ago, we learned that our main water line from the meter to our home had sprung a massive leak. In the process of digging a trench for the replacement pipe, a worker clipped our phone line. Then the snows came.

At first we marveled at the winter wonderland, confectioner's sugar dusting the firs and piling on our patio furniture. But soon it became serious, as five, six inches of snow caused the closing of schools, canceling of classes, curtailing hours at businesses and the gym. Our temporary water pipe was subject to freezing. I could no longer navigate my non-four-wheel-drive Mom-car up the hill to get out; as temperatures cooled and re-froze, dangerous ice accumulated on the ground.

Our son, ticketed for a visit home on his college break, spent five hours in the airport due to plane cancellations into Seattle. My husband, due at an important business meeting near LA, found his 6 am flight cancelled as he drove--five miles per hour--to the airport; I spent 40 minutes on hold with the airline (on my cell phone--our land lines were cut, remember), which never did get to me.

Then, the power went out. The house chilled colder by the minute with no furnace. I prayed my cell phone would retain enough juice. But it's almost relaxing to be stuck, even if bundled in many layers of down--can't use the computer (no router)--a good excuse to catch up on reading. Until 4:30, when it gets dark.

When things go wrong, you get grateful for what's right. While without water for days, brushing teeth and cooking meant sparing sips and drips from bottles only. Flushing a toilet was suddenly a wonderful luxury; washing hands afterward, an issue. Taking a shower was something done at somebody else's house.

No power in freezing weather means wearing enough to mimic the Michelin Man. You put refrigerator contents outside, where they'll stay cold. Days later you find splotches of wax on counters and floor from the candles you've carried from room to room. You wonder how civilizations managed until the 20th century.

We were very fortunate and, thank God, safe. My husband never went to his meeting, but somehow his boss and colleagues got along without him. We were able to ride in an all-wheel-drive vehicle to friends who had electricity. Our son's flight eventually made it, and after several hours, our power returned. The yard is decorated by a snowman, and about seven inches of crunchy snow have collected on our driveway. School's off again tomorrow, and we have a week to remember.

Why Childhood Obesity-Fighting Programs Fail, and What they Should Do

2012-01-18T00:20:00.000-08:00

A front-page story in today's New York Times business section laments the lack of effective obesity-fighting programs for children. Many such programs have sprung up, in true entrepreneurial style, since the Obama health care law mandates reimbursement for obesity screening and counseling for children. The trouble is, these conventional-wisdom Kool-aid-slurping approaches are going about it the wrong way.

Calories in equal calories out? Family awareness about "good" versus "bad" foods? Encouragement to exercise? These have comprised kids' school health programs since the 1960s. Weigh-ins and group therapy? The article is accompanied by an adult peering over the shoulder of a chubby pre-teen to read the numbers on a scale. Does this warm-hearted and well-meaning supervision inspire a lean life?

There's no data supporting long-term positive outcomes for any of these programs, and indeed, for any of the thriving diet industry offerings for either adults or children. Knowledge doesn't bring long-term skinniness, even if will-power and "simple adjustments" slice off a few pounds. "If this were easy, if there were clear outcomes for success, we would be investing in these," confesses Dr. Samuel R. Nussbaum, chief medical officer for a huge health insurer.

You can bet more and more of these anti-fat education programs will proliferate, as long as big butts bring big bucks. But from the research I've been conducting for a book on the topic, they'll add to the national deficit, perhaps bring some short-term shape shrinkage, but won't return our population to slimness levels of past decades.

That's for two reasons. First, the shape of Americans has changed, and shoehorning Americans back into their sizes of yesteryear will be akin to putting toothpaste back in the tube. Average height has enlarged from 5-foot-six, which was the mean for men at the turn of this century, (a figure that fluctuated since 1700 reflecting disease as well as nutrition) to 5-foot-ten among Americans born here in 1970. The National Center for Health Statistics reports that in 2006, the average height for all American males (including immigrants) was 69.2 inches, a little over five-foot-nine. It's a major body expansion, but nobody is campaigning to reverse growth in that direction.

At the same time, bodies have ballooned outward. A CDC study found that between 1960 and 2002 the average weight of a man aged 20-74 rose from 166 lbs. to a more portly 191 lbs. Women similarly enlarged, from 140 lbs. to 164. In those same 42 years, life expectancy rose from age 66 for men and 73 for women (1960) to 75 for men and 80 women today (2010). Hmmmm. We're getting taller, fatter and living longer. Correlation does not imply causation.

And we're adjusting to our increased proportions. An article in the NY Times discussed "the New Calculus of Broader Backsides," as Transit Authorities replace their subway and train cars. Perhaps in honor of its governor, New Jersey Transit, the piece noted, has increased its seat width from 17.55 inches to a comfortable 19.75 inches. Connecticut Metro-North Rail Commuter Council chair Jim Cameron was most pithy in his approving self-interest: "Why subject my girth to other people?"

Yes, we all want to protect our girth, which is exactly why all these lauded weight-reduction programs are doomed to failure. Everybody's fat, including our icons like Oprah and Rush Limbaugh, and with a fourth of the nation (35% of blacks) self-reporting themselves obese (perhaps underestimating a bit?) "fitting in" means to a size 14 average for women--and those sizes have themselves become more, uh, roomy.

The second, and more crucial reason for the failure of these earnest efforts to stem childhood obesity (which in the past three years has leveled off, by the way) is that their tactics are wrong. Most big programs, like WellPoint, involve dietitians who instruct on creating healthy low-calorie meals, limiting portions and choosing wisely. Does this sound enticing? Exciting?

How about the programs where participants weigh in in front of an authority? Just what kids want to do. Weight Watchers tried a web-based course for youth that they scuttled "after discovering children were regaining their weight after a year, with some even gaining more than they might have had they not participated."

There's an elephant in the room, and it's not just the collective tonnage of overweight children. It's the fact that we don't truly know what makes people obese, and we haven't found any way--other than obsessive, life-long restriction and vigilance--to keep people thin once they lose weight. It's not a simple equation of calories in, energy out, as Tara Parker Pope wrote quite eloquently in a New York Times Magazine cover story a couple of weeks ago called "The Fat Trap." You see, there are a raft of hereditary and biological forces that not only conspire to bulk us up but to maintain fat on human bodies. She disclosed that exercising and eating properly haven't allowed her to lose the 60 extra pounds on her frame. Her research revealed that they're apparently programmed to stay there.

Telling that to pudgy kids and their families won't inspire much hope, however, and won't get them leaping onto the "Let's Move!" bandwagon. Instead, institutions and companies eager for Obamacare dollars mislead audiences into thinking their diets and measurements can solve the problem. "What we're learning about treating childhood obesity is that there is no magic bullet in dropping weight in kids," admits Roanoke, Virginia pediatrician Dr. Colleen Kraft, who's affiliated with the WellPoint program that tried.

We know that about 19% of children aged 6-18 are obese, but it's tougher to find the percentage that are morbidly obese, of whom Randy Seeley, associate director of the Obesity Research Center at the University of Cincinnati Medical School says in Time Magazine, "zero percent will grow up to be normal-weight adults." Googling "morbidly obese children" only yields hundreds of articles discussing the merits of snatching these kids out of their biological parents' homes into foster care--for their own good, of course.

If taxpayer-paid programs can't reverse childhood obesity despite financial incentives, what can we do? That desperate question underlies a progressive value that assumes intervention--anything--is required for every problem. Given that science has yet to understand whether it's DNA, stress, or even an adenovirus that has spiked rates of obesity over the past 20 years in both children and adults, it's naive to assume more instruction that repeats mandatory school health lessons about square, uh, pyramidal, uh plate-shaped diets combined with exercise, will work.

What will work is dropping all the federal funding in this squeezed economy for spongy, feel-good programs with no basis or track-record. Scale back on the school breakfasts and lunches, even the ones with the salad and apples designed to model healthy meals (that end up in the trash). Keep the health courses that offer basic nutritional information but focus not on some mythical ideal dinner plate but instead on learning what real hunger and satiation feel like, and why listening to those physical (and associated mental) cues--rather than emotional needs and ubiquitous come-ons of fast food and supermarket munchies--is the way people stay naturally healthy and in sync with their bodies.

At this point, until science catches up with some definitive information, we also need to discuss and to some extent embrace the reality that overweight (not obesity) is actually the most healthy status. Paul Campos, in his book The Obesity Myth documents that greatest longevity accrues to those in the "overweight" BMI category. In an interview in The Atlantic, Campos, a law professor at the University of Colorado, Boulder, says "There is literally not a shred of evidence that turning fat people into thin people improves their health. And the reason there's no evidence is that there's no way to do it."

Do we want healthy Americans, or do we want fashionably thin ones? With Michelle Obama's chisled biceps as models, used as she gracefully shovels dirt for the White House vegetable garden, it seems the latter. There's no harm in recognizing healthy foods and activities, but insisting that over-riding our own intuitive means to know what's healthy for us individually, and what's satisfying to us physiologically, eliminates the most time-tested and simple means to stay our personal best weights, whatever the number on the scale.

Denying a Hershey's Kiss to live longer

2012-01-13T11:35:00.000-08:00

"How much of what you're denying yourself is because you think you're increasing your life expectancy?" asked Rush Limbaugh on his radio show today.

He was discussing the fact that Prof. Chris Semsarian, a cardiologist in Sydney, Australia warned that energy drinks can trigger dire effects when consumed by young people who may not be aware of an underlying heart problem, or when followed by "a trip to they gym." The actual message of the doctor was prudent, but Rush was pointing out how news media ran with the story, headlining that "energy drinks 'can trigger heart attacks'" to satisfy reader/viewer hunger for anything that can prolong your life.

This story comes at the same time that the research "showing" that reservatrol, found in grapes and wine and touted to help the heart and slow aging, was found to be largely based on faked data. A 60,000 page report documents 145 "counts" of fraudulent data in the work of Dipak K. Das of the University of Connecticut's Cardiovascular Research Center, much published in peer-reviewed journals and the basis of the marketing of dozens of supplements.

People will latch onto anything "experts" say increases longevity or helps avoid serious illness. Whether it's adequately proven or not. At one time, I took 400 international units of Vitamin E every night, because the consensus was that this antioxidant could prevent cancer, Alzheimer's and heart problems--a consensus that has since been discredited. Before that was the Linus Pauling Vitamin C craze to prevent colds, since abandoned. Now Vitamin D is the big fad, once again as a preventative to a raft of dreaded diseases, most notably cancer. The National Institutes of Health's exhaustive review, however, summarized, "Taken together, however, studies to date do not support a role for vitamin D, with or without calcium, in reducing the risk of cancer."

There are certainly some things that will enhance risk of death. Smoking, for example, though thousands of people have smoked like chimneys and had no ill effects, and some have even suggested that seeing our President--who earlier this year announced he'd finally quit--taking a drag might humanize his image. Evel Knieval's jumping a motorcycle over lines of 20 cars might be considered a risky, "death-defying" habit, though he died from diabetes and a lung condition.

Mothers all over the world have admonished children fleeing the house sweaterless that they'd catch their death of cold, even if they'd taken enough Vitamin C to impress Linus Pauling. The list of risks is limitless; might even be a pretty funny book.

But back to the quote I heard on the radio today that rang so true: How much of what you're denying yourself is because you think you're increasing your life expectancy? In other words, how much do you deprive yourself of simple joys, or even more complex ones, out of fear induced by some "health" news story? I know someone who won't savor a Hershey's kiss because she's sworn off sugar, considering it "toxic." I don't buy that one, and now, thankfully, the "experts" are saying the flavanols in dark chocolate provide anti-oxidants that validate my daily fix.

Since I'm immersed in writing a book whose underlying point is "to thine own self be true," regarding what your body tells you, I embrace the notion that our lives are too short and precious to over-ride its personal messages and pleasures. If we just tune in to the activities and tastes that make us feel strong and satisfied, we're likely to be pursuing our individual best paths to health.

I asked my Aunt Bo, 105 years old and living in sin with her 104-year-old boyfriend, Frank, the secret to their longevity. They replied in unison, "Keep breathing!" They both used to smoke, when it was popular. They both enjoyed their highball cocktails. They have great stories to tell...but they never took Vitamin C or D or went to the gym.

We don't really know much about what prolongs life best, or avoids this or the other disease, but if every day contains some pleasure, some discovery, some joy in this awesome world, it's a day of gain. Certainly some effort and discomfort can pay off in health benefits, but at the same time, chronic deprivation, especially when it feels like a sacrifice, won't bring the quality of life that is more important than its mere quantity.

Solving Unemployment, or, "The Value of Babysitting"

2011-12-28T10:15:00.000-08:00

Here in Hawaii, where I'm basking in the delicious warmth of a winter working vacation, hundreds of nurses and others were confronted with the Yuletide news that they were losing their jobs. It may be paradise, but when you get your layoff notice on Christmas eve--part of the thousand-person cuts that two bankrupt hospital closures are forcing--it's tough to look forward to the New Year.

The nation still suffers from high unemployment (8.6% overall; California 11.3% according to latest DOL stats) and with weary job-seekers running out of government payments despite extensions, many settle for lesser positions or leave the job market entirely. Well, I've got a suggestion: babysitting.

Babysitting has skyrocketed in value over the years, more than any position I can think of. Admitting my age, I'll tell you that I earned 50 cents per hour in high school babysitting, and it didn't matter how many kids there were in the family.

Now the going rate is $15 per hour, at least, and parents pay more per child. In many areas, $20 an hour is de rigeur. In New York City, it's more like $25 per hour. Since I was a kid, the amount of annual income considered a good living has escalated about five times over. In that same time, the wage of babysitters has increased thirty-fold.

Many people who spent big bucks on a college education may think themselves above this plebeian occupation. You don't need academic skills to soothe a crying baby, and the status of babysitting isn't up there with professors or physicians. Still, if you're looking for something to sustain you, would you turn down work that pays $15 an hour? You don't even need to go to barista school.

Babysitting does have its qualifications, and these would probably exclude a lot of people. You need the patience of a saint, a tolerance for bodily excretions, incredible flexibility both in planning and posing, and clever, if not devious psychological skills. It helps if you can stand to read Goodnight Moon sixteen times over (Adam Mansback's Go the F--k to Sleep is generally not permissible).

On my first non-family babysitting job, the two-year-old, who was supposed to be sleeping so I could do my homework, got repetitive projectile stomach flu. This was before cell phones. I immediately decided to scuttle babysitting and get a job using the shorthand class I was taking (anyone remember when girls learned Gregg shorthand in school?). My ability to take dictation at 120 words per minute earned me $1.65 an hour.

My point is that every mom I know grouses about the lack of babysitters, despite their willingness to pay so well. So, if you're up for a little down time, as in crawling around on the floor, or enjoy listening to happy tunes on the road chauffeuring children to lessons and tutors, there's likely an opportunity for you. And if my observations about salaries hold, and kids keep doing what they do, it's sure to be a growth industry.

Searching for Bright Light on Chanukah in Hawaii

2011-12-20T17:23:00.000-08:00

In the Northwest, it's common to hear complaints at this time of year about SAD. That's not only the emotion spurred by the lack of winter sunlight, but an actual psychological malady, Seasonal Affective Disorder, where depression interferes with sleep, performance and energy.

Those who work indoors in Seattle drive to their 8 am jobs in the dark and emerge at 5 to the same nighttime. No wonder sun-simulators are so popular. I've got a light-box on my desk.

My search for bright light was happily rewarded this year when my husband and I were able to take a working-vacation to Hawaii, where the winter sunrise is at 7 and night comes at 6:30. Those extra 2 1/2 hours of sun make a huge difference. So does aqua surf and temperatures around the clock between 70 and 80 degrees.

But seeking light has a deeper meaning tonight as the 8-day Jewish holiday of Chanuka begins. Just as the winter equinox closes in, we begin an expansive celebration of light, specifically the menorah, which was a 7-flame oil candelabra that illuminated the ancient Temple in Jerusalem.

Yes, the "chanukiah," the candle holder for the holiday, has eight branches, one for each day of the holiday, plus a separate holder for the "helper" or shamus, that lights the others. But the eight days of the holiday recall the miraculous amount of time that a small pot of undefiled oil kept the menorah going before new oil could arrive, once the Temple was re-dedicated, after banishing Greek gods and culture. The Temple having its special continuous light was so crucial that the menorah's ongoing glow is central to the holiday--and is the ultimate symbol of God's presence. It is because of this that the menorah is the emblem of the State of Israel.

But God's "enlightenment" is something we seek throughout the year. Jews conclude our most central thrice-daily prayer by asking God to "bless us, our Father, all of us as one, with the light of your countenance, for with the light of your countenance you gave us, our God, the Torah of life, and a love of kindness, righteousness, blessing, compassion, life and peace."

That always strikes me--God gave us everything good that's non-material with the light of His countenance. Not with his words, though that's how He created the world. Not with his thinking, or waving some figurative arm, or sending some angel. Not even by the look on His countenance--no, there's something special about light, in Hebrew, "ohr."

In the first Holy Temple, the seven-light, six-branched gold menorah was in a shape God dictated to Moses in Exodus 25: 31-40, with almond and knob decorations, and the branches turned toward the middle. The windows of the Temple, it's said, were backward, in that the spiritual light came from within and radiated outward, as opposed to normal windows, which let outdoor sunshine in.

So it is tonight, when we ignite the first of our Chanuka lights, allowing the brightness to emanate from within our homes to overcome the SAD of these darkest days. It's considered a gift that God tilted the earth to create seasons, to let us move from the dark months into the light, beginning with Chanuka, when, using "chinuch," education (the root of the word "Chanuka"), we improve ourselves as each subsequent day brings greater and greater daylight.

I'm searching for bright light here in Hawaii, and we'll attend a public menorah-lighting with others who understand that the holiday represents the triumph of insight over ignorance, and independent dedication to true principles over the ubiquitous and convenient messages of our feel-good culture.

Today the weather in paradise is blustery and rainy, so I'll appreciate all the more the clear sunshine when it reappears, and bask in the brilliance of this message of illumination--both the kind that can give me a tan and the kind that lights up a winter's night and a seeking soul.

College Education...and Hula

2011-12-15T03:39:00.000-08:00

Just returned from an hour-long free hula lesson at a Waikiki shopping center to hear my Fave Radio Host interviewing Alex Tabarrok of George Mason University on the worthlessness of going to college. Here's a professor--ie guy who makes his living from a college Economic department--questioning states' subsidies of anthropology, sociology and psychology and presumably, his own discipline, too. Fave Host agreed, asking why high school kids prefer institutions of higher learning to just plunging into the workworld and making money, when in the end, they do the same thing 4 years later with a mountain of debt.

Answer: with the sheepskin, they at least get an interview. Without it, they're unemployed.

I happen to be a fan of college education. But I'm also one of those blessed with the kind of skills that allow me to succeed there (57% of college students are women).The anti-college argument is that for the many--perhaps majority--of the populace not so blessed, college becomes simply a hurdle to be jumped, and neither prepares students for a career nor adds to their becoming more "well-rounded" and thus higher-quality citizens.

Sounds logical, but there's no getting around that we can't go back to the 1940s and 50s, when a college education was the exception rather than the rule. Nowadays, the extension of adolescence has made a baccalaureate the equivalent of the high school diploma, a symbol that the graduate has tenacity and can take a test and write a paper. It assures that the student has taken certain courses, and within those, completed required assignments. People who earn a college degree are more likely punctual, literate and comprehending. Too bad a high school diploma no longer guarantees such basics.

Fave Radio Host thinks the educational establishment ought to turn that around, fueled by an end to government subsidies. But even if all the fed and state money funding colleges were to dry up, the academic-industrial complex would raise the funds to continue (likely happier for any elimination of competition). Which would be just fine.

College seems to be more necessary than ever, as all sorts of careers increasingly erect gate-keeping barriers, adding educational requirements. It's tough to get a job as a community college instructor nowadays without a Ph.D. Why? Because professors, to perpetuate and justify their existence, funnel their students into graduate programs, creating a glut of Ph.D.s with nothing else to do. Colleges now choose from plenty of Ph.Ds eager for work, so the MA has become meaningless in most social sciences.

Why couldn't there be more apprenticeships and skills-based certificate programs? You don't need four years of liberal arts to run a small business or repair pipes or make excellent beer. You just need to know how to do it. Years ago, when earning a high school counselor credential, I was impressed by a program in southern California that trained teens in specific careers, like chef, hotel manager, office worker, computer programmer, car repairperson. The kids got on-the-job experience by opening to the public or internships in real-life situations. They were prepared to earn money and be professional, but truthfully, they'll never have the prestige of advanced academic degrees, something our culture venerates. Honest, competent, dedicated work should be just as honored. But it's not.

I have a friend who makes her living helping college applicants get accepted to their preferred schools. It's big business to prepare students for the SAT, to help them choose institutions, and then to create applications that put the teen in the best light. A lot rests on attending the right college, including the self-esteem of high school kids, their parents and their counselors. High schools rate their own successes on the number of grads who go on to college, boasting when figures are high.

There's no denying that half of all students are below average (okay--below median). But politicians, Pres. Obama included, keep insisting that every student should have the opportunity to attend college, even if taxpayers have to subsidize it. There's a certain American spirit in offering even those with lower IQ the chance to succeed via extra-hard work. But does pushing non-collegiate students toward college just set them up for failure?

Many matriculate, and many drop out. You could argue that the failure is destructive; it doesn't feel good, and it doesn't encourage dropouts into trying other pursuits. But at least on their Facebook pages, they can forevermore write in the name of a school, ("attended So-and-So") which, in most circles, confers a modicum of status for recognizing the importance of post-high school study. This universal esteem for college not only bumps its desirability but feeds the academic-industrial complex. College is now another entitlement, and like the rest of them, legislators can't easily yank it away and stay in office.

Which brings us to hula. My lesson, with a group of about fifty mostly-Japanese classmates, was for me an hour of body workout, enlightenment, intense embarrassment and fun. We learned a dance called "On the slopes of Mauna Kea," with Hawaiian words and even a context of Island life. Imagine living where land boundaries are so close and imminent. Where ranches and paniolos and a frontier of sorts is replacing a culture without written language, whose religion centers on four main nature gods. In just an hour, I learned many movements and a unique way of relating to words and music.

I have to say, that free class was as useful as many of the courses I took in college, at great expense and with significantly more angst attached. It wasn't rocket science, of course, and for the rocket scientists in our midst, college will always be a necessity. But for the rest of us, perhaps we can adjust our attitudes about the need for taxpayers to fund non-technical learning, and grant a little more prestige to the wisdom that is freely and generously available all around us.

Pearl Harbor Parade...Surprising

2011-12-08T13:36:00.000-08:00

Our first day of our Hawaiian paradise working vacation happened to be Pearl Harbor Day, the 70th anniversary of the bombing of the Honolulu bay that housed the major military protection for the United States on the cusp of World War II.

So, true to custom, Honolulans threw a parade.

Several times a month, streets are cordoned off and marching bands, truck-floats and civic groups prance down Kalakaua Street. It's a clever way to entertain tourists in Waikiki, as well as gain the business of the many high school and college bands happy to fly to paradise to participate. Last night, the Pearl Harbor lineup included bands from Virginia, Maine, Washington state, Indiana and California--as well as a Canadian troupe of marching bagpipers.

An hour before the parade, spectators waited curbside, some with folding chairs. A half-clothed, long-haired very tanned guy got applause blowing a conch shell, the traditional Hawaiian blast (that, for the Jews reading this, caused my husband to respond, "Ta-keee-AH!") And finally, we could hear the first marching band, playing "God Bless America," closer and louder.

The surprise? That the parade, naturally headed by the Colors, aroused such palpable patriotism. The crowd immediately jumped to its feet, applauding our flag, audible appreciation that increased as the Corvette Club slowly carried about 25 Pearl Harbor vets in their decorated convertibles. Each elderly soldier, and you know they had to be at least 90 years old, was loudly and separately applauded. When military units or Young Marines filed by, they received similar cheers. The holiday-lit firetrucks and police also earned energetic clapping, with spectators standing to show their respect and enthusiasm.

It's true that Oahu hosts more than one military base, and that the presence of the armed services is deeply entrenched with the development of the island. It's true that the attack on Pearl Harbor--an event one would think would be somberly remembered as a moment of weakness for our nation--has become a major tourist draw, with the memorial perhaps the most-visited site for groups (as well as a significant money-maker for the National Parks Service). Still, I expected that the parade would be a few regiments, a couple marching bands, and lots of cars carrying local politicians.

Yet it was much different. The air was festive, and at least half of the parade participants were Polynesian or represented ethnic groups. The bands and flag-twirlers from around the country, and many Samoan-tattooed, sarong'd marchers, made this a grander celebration. The strange combo of military patriotism and local organizations conveyed a dual message: We were attacked but we survived, and retain our local dignity--combined with--We are the United States, and yet, we are something more, an amalgam of Island traditions that don't really melt into the pot.

And yet even the Polynesians and Samoans and Fiji Islanders who marched in this parade chose to salute our military and the elderly men riding in vintage Corvette convertibles. As we awaited the parade, my history-loving husband regaled us with the circumstances that led to the surprise attack--including the pacts made after "The War to End all Wars" for nations never to lift swords again. As a result of this, the major military powers at the time, Britain, France and the US, destroyed many of their warships. Japan, a country we in the US considered distant, was aggressive and seized Asian neighbors, including China. As war was assembling and commencing in Europe, the US had ceased selling oil to Japan that July, and considered the possibility of attack in the Pacific--but on forces in the Philippines, not Hawaii. So, on a relaxed Sunday morning, the buzz of aircraft and submarine attacks caught our military by surprise, and resulted in the loss of 2,400.

The attack on Pearl Harbor and 9-11 have some eerie similarities. Both were unexpected, and both used aircraft to cause the most devastation. The USS Arizona sank along with 1,177 aboard when bombed, finished by a single lucky strike down its smokestack. In both cases, there were mounting signs of hostility--from Japan over the previous year, and from Muslim extremists via actual attacks on US targets, and a failed Trade Center attempt, over a period of years.

I can't fathom the mood on the cusp of World War II, but I clearly remember being shocked and puzzled about the 9-11 attacks--what had we done to deserve this? But the response of others was stronger: we must protect ourselves; we must react.

I think it's this show of strength that inspired a parade on the anniversary of so much loss. Spectators proudly sang along with marching bands' "God Bless America" and "This is My Country." They rose and applauded and hooted approval when uniformed warriors stepped by. Seventy years may have passed, but we are not defeated, and in fact, still lead the world. President Franklin Roosevelt dubbed Dec. 7, 1941 "a day which will live in infamy," but amid cheers of parade-goers, it was not infamy or loss that lived on, but the valor and perseverence of the national heroes that prevailed .

Arriving in Paradise on the Anniversary of Pearl Harbor

2011-12-07T12:42:00.000-08:00

Some of us are searching for bright light in the midst of a frigid almost-winter. I say 'almost' as the solstice that officially starts the dark months is yet two weeks away, though the La Nina conditions that enveloped Seattle haven't gotten the memo. Yesterday morning was 31 degrees. Today, however, Day 1 in Honolulu (aka paradise) it's about the same time of morning and about 80 balmy, luscious, sunny degrees.

We're on a nice, long working vacay, one where we're apparently being stalked by President Obama in a few days, though he has yet to call for a tete-a-tete.

There are many things to recommend the Aloha State, but sometimes you've got to wonder if the aloha attitude is one of them. We flew in at midnight, eager to jump in our rental car and settle in. Thrilled to see there was no line at the car counter, we presented our reservation...and the easy-going clerk began his fulminations that for some reason lasted a half-hour, while he laboriously completed forms by hand. This after our arranging it all online.

That slow, methodical, take-it-easy happy lumbering shows up a lot, sometimes for the good. We arrived famished and so went to the ubiquitous ABC Store near our accommodations in Waikiki. In case you have yet to enjoy a Hawaiian vacation, anyone who's cruised Waikiki knows this chain is better called the "every 50 feet store" because that's how far between them. They're pretty much identical, with the same excellent selection of tourist souvenirs, travel necessities, and foods. Waikiki may be sunny but it's definitely not a "food desert," as every ABC store stocks fruits and veggies and peanut butter and bread along with fifty kinds of suntan lotion.

So we grabbed a few high-priced comestibles and milk, and as we're checking out, the clerk, dressed in a muu muu and looking the stereotype of the Hawaiian auntie, plumeria jauntily poked behind one ear, takes a look at my husband and then me: "She your girlfrien'?" Yeah..."Can I call you Mikey?" Yeah...funny, friendly, silly...aloha.

Casual, informal, assuming, sometimes slightly nervy...can't wait to spend some time exploring the concept. I have a friend here in Honolulu who says locals can get pretty uppity if you're not one of them. She grew up here and has to start talking pidgin to get respect sometimes. It's not polite to discuss, but she reports a strange kind of suspicion for "haoles," Caucasians, even for the kanamina, the ones who grew up here.

A different culture, here in paradise, and yet, it's the good old USA, and today, the 70th anniversary of the bombing of Pearl Harbor, is cause for reflection and remembrance, including a grand parade down the main drag of Waikiki, with marching bands from across the nation. Special celebrations at the memorial through tomorrow, and I hope we'll be able to go. It's all part of this very separate feeling, thousands of miles isolated in the middle of the Pacific, vulnerable yet completely connected. A separate culture, and yet, on the plane here I sat next to a young soldier, on his way to his newly assigned base on Oahu, all the way from the center of North America. This juxtaposition between American identity and multi-national, Polynesian exotica makes this a fabulous place to watch and learn...and remember the sacrifices seventy years ago that were a result of its very location in the middle of the sea.

Sex Addiction vs. the Virgin Mary's Belt: If you doubt that men and women are really different...

2011-12-02T02:06:00.000-08:00

The other day my Fave Radio Host spent an hour talking about sex addiction, the cover story of Newsweek Magazine, and the subject of a movie he had to watch tonight called "Shame." As callers spoke about the slippery slope from internet porn to action, I listened at home while reading the newspaper--a story in the New York Times headlined "In Russian Chill, Waiting for Hours for a Touch of the Holy." Horrible puns aside, I was struck by the accompanying photo, captioned "Day and night, tens of thousands of Russians have been lining up outside the Cathedral of Christ the Savior for a glimpse of a religious relic." The picture showed a grand Russian cathedral, illuminated in the night, behind a crowd bundled up against the cold. The crowd was comprised entirely of women.

All this reminded me that men's natural inclination is to the physical, while women's is to the spiritual.

On the radio show, Fave Host reported statistics that 90% of those treated for sex addiction are men. In contrast, pilgrims viewing the Virgin Mary's belt on display in Moscow are overwhelmingly female, not only because the belt is said to help with fertility (along with all other ailments), but because women tend to have more of a spiritual affinity. A 2009 Pew poll found women in the US more religious than men on all of the six measures they queried, including certainty in belief about God, daily prayer, saying religion is important in their lives, and church attendance. Of these, prayer is likely the best indicator, since it provides no public recognition; while 49% of men say they pray at least daily, 66% of women do.

I learned that the Cincture of the Virgin Mary is a camel's hair belt said to have been worn by Mary when she died. She soon disappeared but then re-appeared to Thomas, to whom she gave the belt. It's been hiding out in a Greek monastery where women are forbidden, until its present tour of several Russian cities. The Cincture attracted two million Russian faithful even before its current, last stop in Moscow--where 280,000 mostly-women per day wait an average of 24 hours outside in bitter cold to touch its glass encasement.

This, of course, is probably of far less interest--at least to men--than sex addiction, which is being considered for inclusion in the new revision of the psychological disorders bible, the DSM V. Sex addiction is likely to be defined as a driving requirement for sex of any type that interferes with everyday activities like work. A Time Magazine article on the topic earlier this year described programs to treat the problem, which, it noted, is poorly understood. It suggested that physical urges like eating and sex are usually treated in a 12-Step, AA-like process, which is difficult since these natural functions, unlike drugs, cannot be completely eliminated. I find this interesting, because it is possible to live without drugs and also without sex, but not without food...but in any case, the overwhelming majority of patients for such treatment are male.

The difference between men and women is recognized in Jewish law, where women are excused from time-bound commandments, not only because they're busy nursing or caring for children. Tradition suggests that women, being more inherently spiritual (after all, women, like God, create life) have less need than men for connection to religion. Among "connectors" are prayer (where men are required for the prayer quorum of 10) and wearing phylacteries, physical reminders to dedicate mind and strength to godly purposes. In traditional Judaism, synagogue service leadership goes to men not because they're superior, but actually the opposite--they are inferior in their natural religious inclination, and the camaraderie of "shul" encourages their participation. In egalitarian synagogues, often women dominate the organization as well as its leadership.

Tonight my husband saw "Shame," the Michael Fassbender, Carrie Mulligan graphic movie about sex addiction, and I was careful to stay out of ear-shot of the room where he screened it. I don't want those kinds of images in my mind, like many women I know. I focused instead on the stage production we saw together tonight beforehand--Rodgers and Hammerstein's Cinderella. I much prefer a colorful musical with the ending--the same one religion offers, actually--of "happily ever after."

Wife of a Stereophile...on Cyber-Monday

2011-11-28T23:21:00.000-08:00

While most people are snapping up cyber-Monday electronics to give their loved ones, we, too, are taking possession of a high-tech gift. It may not be for the holiday, but there's a man in my living room right now, connecting thick cables to two new sentries sternly standing on either side of my hearth. The man is my husband setting up his Chanuka, birthday and worked-hard-to-earn-it gifts, the culmination of a decade of longing and research, of comparison and pondering. My husband is an audiophile, and he just got new speakers.

An audiophile cares deeply about the fidelity of music. Classical music, in this case.

In the old days of vinyl records, the machine that used to play them was called the hi-fi, as in high fidelity. Fidelity, or faithfulness of what one hears on a CD or record to the original sounds, is the Holy Grail, the great pursuit. Audiophiles seek sound-quality perfection, the strings balanced with the bass just so, in the way some chefs are said to insist on the exacting flavors of a char-striped salmon fillet perched on a melange of sauteed vegetables.

My husband adds a twist to his quest for the most realistic reproduction of concerts that may have occurred decades before, now "re-mastered" and released on CD--he's excruciatingly thrifty. He cannot conscience spending unrequired money for a slight fillip of nuance, knowing full well that his Holy Grail speakers must exist somewhere at a reasonable price. Hence, he has not actually acquired any stereo equipment in ten full years, an eon in tech advancement. Throughout that time, he merely salivated at the rectangular forms posed like pin-ups in his monthly fix of Stereophile Magazine and catalogs from MusicDirect. He looks lovingly and longingly at Bobinga enlargements, internet pop-ups magnifying the strange African wood used as the finish on certain loudspeakers.

He is in love with woofers, the non-canine, hairless devices that define the lower musical register. Tweeters are, to him, not Twitter-message writers but speaker components that deliver the upper range. His mid-range--well it must be clear and precise.

And we're talking wattage. And connectors that join together the amplifier and CD player and speaker in an electrical snake-cord that looks like it could dock a cruise ship. Some weekends his sound-hunger leads him to stereo stores, which line a two-block stretch in northerly Seattle. Each has a living-room-like equipment-testing area to compare their wares. My husband brings along his favorite CDs with the classical pieces that best show off specific capabilities of a sound system. While the rest of us waste time on Hulu, he's surfing clandestinely between stereo sales sites.

Admittedly, he's incredibly self-disciplined, and only allows himself this guilty pleasure after writing several columns, reading books and newspapers, screening a new movie and writing its review. But still, sometimes his last waking moment, as he slides into the dreamland of amplifiers, pre-amps, sub-woofers and of course the Big-Daddy of fidelity, speakers themselves, is filled with a few slurred words of adoration for a particular model.

His collection of classical CDs sit at the ready, shelf after shelf of jewel boxes arranged by composer. He can tell you the key and opus number of any piece in the repertory, plus a bio of its creator. When he listens, he is not in contemplative reverie, but prancing and singing, arms raised in active conducting. It is now becoming known that as an adolescent, instead of carrying a wallet-ful of photos of family or girlfriends, his plastic pouches were lined with the stern faces of Brahms, Prokofiev, Elgar and Sibelius.

He has plotted and revised, considered and mulled until he finally found the proper combination of artistic quality and cyber-Monday bargain mentality. And so, tonight, while others anticipate their new big-screen TVs, he has been connecting and arranging, testing and listening... and glowing like a new father in a maternity ward.

I must admit, it gives me the delight of a parent watching a squealing child unwrap a cherished toy to see him finally complete the integration of machines and, as the drums of Sibelius pound with new-found bass, to see him so thrilled with shades of sounds.

It's been said that fine music is the interplay of spirituality and physicality, and if some pieces of wood and metal can enhance that for my husband, then we can both be in heaven.

"Profanity: a Young Man's Poetry"?

2011-11-16T01:06:00.000-08:00

Marilyn Monroe, Laurence Olivier in "The Prince and the Showgirl"

I just came out of an advance screening of the film "My Week with Marilyn," touted as the true, 1956 encounter of a 23-year-old movie-set "gopher" (Eddie Redmayne) with "the most famous woman in the world," Marilyn Monroe. Michelle Williams expertly plays the seductive, always-on-show actress who captivates all in her world while in London to film "The Prince and the Showgirl" (1957), starring and directed by Sir Laurence Olivier (Kenneth Branaugh).

The film was well-crafted, mesmerizing, and troubling, and my husband (who loved it) and I were discussing it as we walked into the elevator to the mall parking. Inside, a very tall, young black man with long dreadlocks was talking loudly to two others; engaged in our conversation, we didn't really catch what he was saying. As he left the elevator, he turned to all who remained and announced, "Sorry you all had to hear that, but hey, profanity is a young man's poetry!"

I was as stunned by his remark as by the tawdry, sad life of Marilyn Monroe. He'd apparently been ranting in foul language among maybe 10 people enclosed in our confined space. Profanity as poetry?

Then I came home and found in my email a newsletter from my friend and teacher Rabbi Daniel Lapin, describing the impact of degrading influences in our environments. His great-uncle, the revered teacher Rabbi Elya Lopian, to whose North-Eastern England talmudical college he and thousands of other Torah students flocked, was asked to give permission for one of the boys to go home to attend a wedding. Reb Elya asked if there might be under-dressed nubile guests in attendance.

The young man assured his teacher that he felt no temptation and would be unaffected if there were. Reb Elya gave his consent but insisted the student speak to a particular person before leaving, and handed him a phone number.

Turned out that the required call was to a doctor, which the befuddled student thought must've been a mistake. Rabbi Lapin related Reb Elya's explanation: " I am nearly eighty years old and blind in one eye, yet I am powerfully affected by the sight of women in scanty dress. Since you, a healthy young man, assure me that you are not, I know you must be suffering from a medical condition."

Rabbi Lapin's lesson: you're absorbing--and reacting to--influences in your environment whether you want to, or not.

Apparently my elevator-mate knew we might be offended by his tirade, but decided (for us) that we should re-define it as "poetry." Once we accept it as "the new eloquence," our shock would disappear, perhaps replaced by approval.

Truth is, I've indeed been desensitized to profanity by its ubiquity. But I wish I weren't.

Rabbi Elya Lopian (1876-1970)

Lately, my husband has been fascinated by the speeches of Abraham Lincoln, and launches into excerpts at random times, read from Bartlett's Quotations and his print-outs of Lincoln's oratories. Our 16th President's parents were illiterate; he received just four months of formal schooling. He lived in such poverty that he received his first pair of shoes at age 11, a gift from his step-mother (his own mother died when he was 9). And yet his phrasing is poetic:

"In giving freedom to the slave we assure freedom to the free--honorable alike in what we give and what we preserve. We shall nobly save or meanly lose the last best hope of earth. Other means may succeed; this could not fail. The way is plain, peaceful, generous, just--a way if followed the world will forever applaud and God must forever bless." (Conclusion to Abraham Lincoln's Second Annual Message, December 1, 1862.)

These aren't 50-cent words, in any sense. But they are nobly-composed, spare but weighty. The first book Abraham Lincoln owned, again, a gift from his step-mother, was the Holy Bible. Interesting to compare the shapers of Lincoln's prose with what forms the "young man's poetry" of today.

Movies exert a huge chunk of media's influence, not only via films we choose to see, but in-your-face advertising for those we don't. And dialogue over the past 30 years in scripts has slid in the direction of my elevator companion's "poetry."

Classic movies right up to the mid-60s refrained from profanity, managing to convey every emotion, including the frustration of most four-letter words, efficiently. "My Week with Marilyn" is rated R, and includes a couple casual uses of the f-word; not enough to rile anyone, anymore. Language is no big deal, which is why a string of expletives in an elevator earns no more than a flippant remark.

We can't put the toothpaste back in the tube (or the announcer back in The Tube, since TVs don't even have them anymore) to return to our more polite society. But that's the problem for me--lack of concern for others' sensitivities in speech bleeds into a lack of concern for others' sensitivities in behavior, and worse, a basic lack of concern for others. We're so self-centric, managing our Facebook pages and Linked-In images, setting up our Spotify personal playlists and Google-plus circles that the rest of the world looks like a mere adjunct to me, me, me. It's there as a platform for my own self-expression. Other people become my audience, my responders, rather than recipients of my efforts, care and concern.

The other reason I was shaken by the notion of profanity as a young man's poetry is the very nature of those words. You don't use profanity when you're delighted, enthusiastic or grateful. Instead, it expresses anger, frustration or at best, surprise. If profanity is the medium of emotion for youth, they're really going through a tough time, and might benefit from some more lofty prose to improve their outlooks.

As the Civil War loomed, Abraham Lincoln concluded his first inaugural address (March 4, 1861):
"...we are not enemies, but friends. We must not be enemies. Though passion may have strained it must not break our bonds of affection. The mystic chords of memory, stretching from every battlefield and patriot grave to every living heart and hearthstone all over this broad land, will yet swell the chorus of the Union, when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature."

Perhaps our natures will be bettered by more careful selection of the phrases that form our poetry, and by greater appreciation for the unspoken verses of the universe.

My Days on Jury Duty

2011-11-13T17:25:00.000-08:00

When we jurors started our deliberations, sequestered in our small room, the vote was 8 to 4 to convict, on both counts.

The process of massaging away the doubts of the four who were unsure in order to reach the unanimous verdict required in a criminal residential burglary case, capped my experience last week--one that was fascinating, emotional, and reassuring about the health of our justice system.

Like most who are summoned (and myself, years ago), I didn't want to serve. I have a life, after all, and I don't like it disrupted. I'd have to miss my daily workout, and the classes I take, and the work piled up. What's worse, I was to start at 8 am the morning after the daughter of our dearest friends was to marry--two states away. Serving on the jury would mean having to leave the wedding early to make the last plane out, arriving home after 1 am, and battling downtown traffic soon thereafter in rush hour. It meant the prospect of either awaiting assignment on a case imprisoned in a windowless room with hundreds of others, or worse, who-knows-how-long embroiled in endless testimony and courtroom back-and-forth.

They don't call it jury "duty" for nothin'. Duty is something you know you should do, whether you want to, or not.

So, last Monday, after flying from LA (pulled from the wedding reception just as my son arose to perform some "schtick" for the crowd) and finally retiring to my bed at 3 am the night before, I showed up at King County Courthouse, endured a long line, a metal-detector beep and wanding, and entered the jury assembly room, a large auditorium-esque space with rows of chairs aimed toward a podium. At the rear was the restroom, a side area with a few vending machines and a glass-walled "quiet" area where cell phones were banned.

The room filled completely, and soon an employee, followed by a judge, welcomed and addressed the group, explaining that we'd be called to various courts for "voir dire," the jury selection process. We watched a film describing what to expect; throughout was gracious acknowledgement of the sacrifice made by jurors to further the right to fair trial for citizens.

After not-too-long, the administrator called groups of about 45 names, instructing each to assemble on a particular floor for an individual judge's court. I was assigned to the third floor, and the bailiff for our court, a sweet-faced younger woman with a melodious voice, gathered us into the courtroom for voir dire. We each were handed a large laminated number, as if we were about to bid at some grand auction, and told to raise it whenever we spoke, for identification. As I had been chosen for seat number 12, I got to sit in the cushy exec-chairs of the jury box rather than the spectators' benches.

The defendant, a young, slender brown-haired Caucasian man with a slight smirk, sat next to his female attorney, mid-30s with thick black eye-makeup, clad severely in all-gray. At a perpendicular table sat the county prosecutor, a square, older woman with short gray bob who appeared all business but offered a soft, upturned inflection in her voice.

The voir dire questions directed to individual potential jurors ranged from clarification about the occupation listed on our brief biography forms to queries about our feelings as victims of home break-ins. We were asked whether we believed a defendant should testify at his trial, and if we thought that fingerprints were incontrovertible evidence. We were asked about any potential sources of bias, and whether we knew anyone involved in the case, including names read from a list of witnesses to be called to the stand.

I described how, about 18 years ago when we lived in California, our home was entered while we slept, a packed suitcase and my purse stolen, and with my key, the car from our driveway. Did they catch the thief? No, but my car was found a week later, abandoned with only minimal damage. I was asked why a defendant wouldn't testify at his own trial, answering that perhaps he was inarticulate and wouldn't represent himself well.

This questioning lasted about two hours, and finally the attorneys each dismissed seven of the 45 potential jurors under "peremptory" privileges, that is, without having to explain their choices. As individuals left the room, the line in the stands moved up toward the jury box. As number 12, since I was not dismissed, I was in. Immediately, we raised our right hands to "swear or affirm" to try the case according to the law and evidence. There was no bible or mention of God in any oath I heard, by the way.

Immediately, the prosecutor and defense attorneys laid out their cases. The prosecutor described how the defendant first attempted to unhinge the secluded back door of the University district apartment of two grad students. Though the police described screwdriver pry marks, and finding two removed hinges lying next to the door, (which had been installed backward with the hinges outside), the middle hinge was so corroded, it could not be removed.

A bedroom window, about a foot higher than some stairs along side it, did, however, provide an entry. The female student victim described arriving home and opening the front door, noticing her computer gone from where she'd last used it in the living room. In the bedroom, she spied the window she'd left slightly ajar slid wide, screen removed. Her bed was amiss, and a glass of water once on a bedside stand spilled.

She realized the disturbance and began noticing that items were gone: two cameras, two trombones belonging to her music-major boyfriend, her expensive computer with hard-drives, jewelry, music equipment. Unable to reach her boyfriend or family, she "called the cops."

The police fingerprint analyst determined that one of the prints was clear enough to form the basis for a search. And, she found a match.

This was the entire basis of the case. One clear fingerprint inside the apartment window, matched to the defendant. We heard extensively from the police fingerprint expert, a grandmotherly woman whose 18 years in her position with the Department, 2,500 hours of training, and experience teaching others seemed to qualify her well. She'd prepared a power point presentation to carefully detail the process she uses to compare prints, and point out the particulars that convinced her that a match was certain.

We heard extensive testimony about the stolen items, in which the victims described and justified their dollar values. This was the boring part of the case for me, as I didn't know at the time that the prosecutor needed to ascertain a $5,000 loss in order to convict for "first degree" theft. The defense lawyer didn't question any of it.

As I'd guessed from voir dire, the defendant was never asked to take the stand, and in fact nothing was said about him at all other than his name. The defense relied entirely on trying to plant a "reasonable doubt" in the jurors' minds--are we sure enough that this print really belongs to the defendant? After all, the fingerprint expert is "only human, and humans make mistakes." Did we want on our consciences that we sent someone to prison based solely on a single fingerprint? Why didn't the police use new bio-technologies for identifying; why wasn't there a security camera photo of the perpetrator, or stolen merchandise found in his possession?

"If you have even the slightest doubt," the prosecutor insisted, "you are bound by the law to acquit the defendant."

Her tactics worked on four of the jurors. One said she didn't feel comfortable convicting when the "case was built on just one brick." Another had fallen for the prosecutor's attempt to confuse, by implying that the evaluation was based on a tracing of the print by the analyst, rather than on the print itself (not the case). Another had sympathy for the victim, since he had a friend who had faced trial (and was acquitted).

I was rather frustrated, because of course "the slightest doubt" is not the same as a "reasonable" doubt, but everyone in the room maintained respect and calm. One juror took the lead: "Let's establish first that this is indeed the fingerprint of the defendant." That involved discussing the qualifications of the analyst, the details of the power point, the fact that the match was verified.

In measured, logical terms, several of the jurors explained why they thought this had to be the defendant's fingerprint--focusing on its nineteen unique similarities (disconnected ridges, combinations of shapes, distance and placement of oddities) that formed the basis of the match. We'd heard testimony that in some cases, matches are made on far less--even two unique similarities. When most of the jurors politely repeated "this is what convinced me..." the facts finally brought the doubters clarity.

Once it was established that the defendant's print was found inside the apartment, we turned to, "did he enter with intent to steal"?

Most amusing was when the "don't convict on one brick" juror tried to come up with alternate explanations for why the defendant's print was inside the window ledge. "Well, my husband does parkour, and goes around hanging off of different places..." With great respect, we asked if he'd ever removed the screen of a stranger's bedroom in order to swing off its inner sill.

Several clever possible explanations later, we agreed there was no reasonable explanation for the defendant's print to be inside that apartment, which moved us into a lengthy discussion of the value of the items stolen. Since the prosecutor had valued them at $5,600, and we had the option to convict "second degree" (for total stolen $750-$5,000), we spent time considering the figures in the testimony in the light of the expertise of various jurors. The techies confirmed the big items' worth; a musician vouched for the trombones; we dickered about the jewelry. In the end, the calculations still topped the $5,000 threshold. Our vote was taken and "guilty" on the two counts declared.

In the courtroom, the clerk read the verdicts and then "polled the jurors," asking each if this was his personal verdict as well as the verdict of the jury. With twelve double yeses, we were dismissed from service, told to wait in our room until the judge could address us.

We were allowed to ask questions, the most interesting answer revealing that the defendant had a record of a prior conviction on the same charges. I wondered how many break-ins he might have done without detection or successful conviction, which would add to the importance of this verdict in sparing further victims.

We each received a nifty "Certificate of Recognition" and were offered the opportunity to chat with the attorneys. I would have loved to do so, but my husband was awaiting me.

I was impressed with the care and seriousness of the justice process, and sincerity and earnestness of my fellow jurors. They were a collection of people of all ages, most taking time from full-time, higher-level occupations, and seemingly well-educated.

When you look at the newspaper (my diversion during several recesses) the contrast between the treatment of citizens in the United States and other countries is stark. We are indeed fortunate to live in this greatest nation on God's green earth--and our justice system is perhaps the basis of its integrity and success.

Same Day, Three (Conflicting!) Diets

2011-11-08T21:52:00.000-08:00

Today the three newspapers I get decided to duke it out about what you should eat. It's not the first time--conflicting diets, each purporting to pare you or spare you, are a near-daily feature in most publications, because, well, diets sell.

The Wall Street Journal addresses its comments today to the 20% of adults with Irritable Bowel Syndrome (IBS), suffering from bloating, gas and discomfort after meals. A diet developed by Sue Shepherd, a dietitian in Victoria, Australia, bolstered by limited research published in UK journals, admonishes against consuming Fodmaps, if you want to resolve the issue. Fodmaps, an acronym for Fermentable Oligosaccharides, Disaccharides, Monosaccharides and Polyols, all words that must now roll off the tongue before anything else rolls on, are foods we otherwise would consider the epitome of healthful, that can nastily miss absorption in the small intestine, moving on to indelicate results in the large.

Many fruits, like pears, watermelon and apricots; veggies that are not only cruciferous but seemingly beneficial, like mushrooms and garlic; cereals and carbs of most ilk; dairy products including the yogurt we'd formerly lauded as "probiotic;" beans (of course) including soy, and sweeteners including honey, are all verboten. The Land of Milk and Honey is now only in your dreams.

Of course, those suffering from IBS would gladly forego wheat products (yes, those, too) and apples, asparagus and pasta if they could feel better. And the program allows adherents to gradually add back restricted foods after six weeks, to determine tolerance.

chart from Wall St. Journal 11-8-11

Acid reflux and heartburn, one might logically deduce, could be related to IBS, but according to today's article in the New York Times, the suggested "strict two-week 'induction' diet with nothing below pH 5" for those ailments doesn't seem to mesh with its Fodmaps counterpart. Dr. Jamie Koufman, whose new Dropping Acid: The Reflux Diet Cookbook & Cure aims to minimize the enzyme pepsin in both esophagus and stomach, banishes all fruit but melons and bananas, tomatoes, plus a host of reflux-generating non-acidic foods including chocolate, all dairy, cucumbers and alcohol. It's the pH level she aims for most, however, noting a study where "19 of 20 patients improved on the low acid diet, and 3 became completely asymptomatic," simply by eliminating such culprits as diet sodas, barbecue sauce and strawberries.

But an article in my third newspaper of the day suggests that while you're fighting IBS and reflux, you might be opening yourself up to colds and flu. USA Today touts Tonia Reinhard (Superfoods) and Joel Fuhrman, MD (Super Immunity)'s "top immunity boosters," most of which happen to be on the no-no lists of the other two diets.

Mushrooms are a major IBS-stimulating Fodmap, though they they "regularly stimulate the immune system by increasing the production and activity of white blood cells, which help you fight off infection," insists USA Today.

Onions are enemies for both Fodmaps and high-pH, but star as immunity-boosters, due to their "health-promoting flavonoid antioxidants such as quercetin, allicin and anthocyanins, which have anti-inflammatory effects that fight infection and bacteria."

Yogurt, too, must be eliminated for IBS and Fodmap, but pumps immunity with "active cultures which are a [sic] friendly bacteria that keep down the population of pathogens in the GI Tract."

And of course beans are the classic flatulencer, prohibited by both the low-acid and Fodmaps regimens yet lauded for their immunity protection: "Rich in zinc, beans increase the production and aggressiveness of white blood cells fighting infection."

If it's not one thing, it's another. As you may know, I'm working on a book with the message to trust your body's natural cues to eat when, what and how much. It certainly seems the experts can't decide. However, noting how your body reacts to what you consume probably can't hurt, and in the meantime, we can muse with amusement about how little the food gurus really know.

Going Home Again--to LA

2011-11-04T01:47:00.000-07:00

Just about to jump on a plane from Seattle, my home for the last 15 years, back to Los Angeles, where I was born and raised. Peculiar that much as we feel the same as ever, everyone and everything else is so different.

Los Angeles was a great place to grow up, and of course I took it for granted. When the daughter of an army buddy of my dad's met me for the first time, she was awed that I came from the land of movie stars. She was from Goshen, Indiana, a tiny town known for manufacturing motor homes (at that time, "trailers"), not far from Elkhart, Indiana, known for its violins. When I visited her one time, I was the celebrity; California was the golden land where everyone was perpetually tan and beautiful, as seen in the news stories about Muscle Beach. I was even asked to write a feature story for her high school newspaper about my fabled home.

In those days, a yellow-gray scum of smog hung over Los Angeles like a heavy blanket. Gasoline was 19 cents per gallon, which, given the incomes then, wasn't so very cheap but fueled the car culture. One of my best school chums moved away because the 5 freeway "took" her home.

We had guavas growing in our back yard, and avocados and lemons, and pink hydrangeas that bloomed all year long. We had bird-of-paradise in our front yard, and a jacaranda tree that dropped lavender bells onto the grass every June.

The flora are probably still there, though the last time I drove by my childhood home, the owners had brought out its fake English styling by digging a mini-moat in the front yard with a bridge as part of the walkway. The smog has lifted, one of the beneficial effects of environmentalism. But the car culture has now become oppressive.

This is the LA I know now: traffic. What used to take me half an hour to drive now takes two. When I worked downtown, in the early 80s, I used to play a game on my way westward on the Santa Monica freeway. Even then, it moved sluggishly at 6 pm, a stop-and-go trudge. But if I carefully managed my use of the accelerator on my manual-transmission Honda Civic, I could sometimes make the drive without having to press the brake. Now, such a mind-occupier wouldn't be necessary. The freeway stays at a stand-still for minutes at a time. Merging onto it is a wrenching push against drivers who would sooner risk a ding than let you in.

Pico Boulevard was a magnificent thoroughfare that carried cars effortlessly from my west-side neighborhood all the way downtown. I could walk to Pico Drug, not far from my home, and sit at the old-fashioned soda counter, looking at myself in the mirrored wall behind. A cherry Coke, served in the classic inverted-pear-shaped glass, was 5 cents. That's Coca-cola with maraschino cherry juice in it. A nickle. I like to talk about it now, but I think I got two of them in my life. Even then, I was taught that carbonated drinks were unhealthy.

Over the years, I watched the town change. It became a magnet. In the same way New York was the Big Apple, some started calling LA "The Big Orange." Now, anyone who wants to enter show business has to go there. And that superficiality, the emphasis on competing to "make it" in a field based as much on connections and appearance as talent, lends what was a family-centric place a different emphasis. Both my parents were born in LA, and my dad recalled driving as a kid with his folks across open bean fields between downtown and the beach. The Valley was orange groves, and in fact an uncle of mine became quite wealthy subdividing a swath of it. There was room to play, room to expand. But now, with the hopeful throngs, that competitive mentality has carried over, and the traffic symbolizes it all.

I'll be back there tomorrow, staying with my brother-in-law and his family. They never left the region, but bought a home just over the Ventura County border. His commute to work is an hour each way, on a good day; two if it's rush hour. When we moved from Santa Monica 15 years ago, we had to pay more for the house we bought here in the Northwest. Since then, our old home has quadrupled in value; the "more expensive" one we still live in has increased by maybe one-fourth. This reflects the new urgency of LA; gotta be there, gotta get there, gotta elbow the competition out of the way.

I still have good friends and wonderful memories in LA. The beaches are still deep and white, the palm trees line the Venice Boardwalk where Harry Perry still roller skates playing his electric guitar (now only allowing a photo if you buy his self-promoting t-shirt). The weather still lures me, and Jewish life there is vibrant and abundant.

In fact, I look forward to dancing at the joyous Jewish wedding of a girl whose birth announcement I remember well. Her dad, our rabbi, stood at the front of our beach-front synagogue and explained the name of his sixth daughter. He'd named her something forever identified with the city where she will now, as a married woman, make her home: Tamara, Hebrew for the palm tree, and I do hope she keeps her wonderful young head above her surroundings, like the palms' lofty view of the confusing scene below.

College Grads: No Jobs, so time to Occupy (Wall Street)

2011-10-28T02:44:00.000-07:00

College is a lot of fun, peppered with iconoclastic activities that establish emerging adults in their own not-our-parents identities. One of them is protesting the establishment, a time-honored college pastime now continuing with its second, or even third generation.

Oh yeah, matriculation also means studying, drinking, sororities and part-time jobs. And finally, there's graduation.

Graduation with a baccalaureate in the past was soon followed by entrance into the work world, armed with the sheepskin guaranteeing at least an entry-level position in a company with prospects of advancement. That BA enabled launching a creative new business, or heading out into traditional paths of marriage, parenthood and responsibilities.

But kids who graduated in the last three years, during the "economic crisis," have found a new post-college occupation: Wall Street, Seattle, Oakland, Los Angeles and Boston. Instead of finding jobs, these youths, at their physical peaks with revved up energy and ready-to-pounce pent-up ambitions, are largely stymied. A huge percentage must settle for limited-future positions beneath their capabilities, or can find no job at all.

Though college grads overall enjoy a low 4.2% unemployment rate (compared to 9.7% for high school grads), recent degree-holders face 10.7% unemployment. What's worse, these kids often then endure the indignity of staying the child in Daddy's house--according to a Wall Street Journal piece today, "More than 14% of Americans between 25 and 34 (5.9 million in all) are living with their parents, up significantly from before the recession."

So they're "occupying" cities across America to express their frustration and ennui, their feeling gypped by a system that promised them a reward at the end of their academic persistence, or at least some path to pay back the staggering loans so many students or their folks took out to foot the tuitions tall as the Ivory Towers and Halls of Ivy they recently inhabited.

One such recent college grad, a dynamic, attractive young woman whose stellar academic achievements at a top-20 university should have allowed her an array of options felt lucky to beat out 200 others for a job working with kids at $13 per hour.

Many in her cohort have no employment at all.

Equally disheartening is the plight of her friend, another high-GPA grad from the same university, whose years of experience part-time in the financial field gave him no advantage for finding steady post-grad positions. After months taking temp work, he finally landed a low-pay slot at a six-employee business; he's now considering law--though new attorneys too face poor employment prospects. I must clarify that college grads earnestly seeking careers don't have time to sit in urban plazas. But their difficulties form the backdrop for a general malaise that fuels those who do.

If you look at Occupy Wall Street, which now like a spilled glass of milk has oozed out across the nation, you'll see one thing: class envy. Like early 1970s Boomers who "occupied" university campuses, they want the rich not so rich, and the poor made less so via the government taking some from the rich and giving it to them. An "unofficial" website called Occupy Wall Street describes its goals as "fighting back against the corrosive power of major banks and multinational corporations over the democratic process, and the role of Wall Street in creating an economic collapse that has caused the greatest recession in generations. The movement is inspired by popular uprisings in Egypt and Tunisia, and aims to expose how the richest 1% of people are writing the rules of an unfair global economy that is foreclosing on our future."

I'm not sure I completely understand those flowing prose, but here's what I get: Banks, "multinational corporations" and stock market investors conspired, creating self-serving "rules" that caused the US economy to collapse. The "richest 1% of people," (presumably banks, corporations and Wall Street?) colluded to create "an unfair global economy" that bars everyone but themselves from getting wealth. Right? Makes sense?

Interestingly, when my Fave Radio Host asked participants at Occupy Seattle their goals, several responded with long silence. When asked by Host what they wanted to do to the rich, corporations and banks, protesters were at a loss--or said to tax the rich, spread the wealth.

Meanwhile, the demonstrators at Zuccotti Park in Manhattan, the real Occupy Wall Street, seem to be having a party. Well, until the cadre of volunteer chefs serving up " the usual menu of organic chicken and vegetables, spaghetti Bolognese, and roasted beet and sheep’s-milk-cheese salad" staged their own "'counter' revolution yesterday -- because they’re angry about working 18-hour days to provide food for 'professional homeless' people and ex-cons masquerading as protesters," according to the New York Post.

Apparently when word got out about the gourmet grub the elite Occupiers were enjoying for free, "vagrants" from other parks invaded--to the consternation of the more genteel demonstrators. Disgruntled chefs showed their ire by refusing to serve food for two hours "to show they mean business," and dispensing only peanut butter sandwiches and chips for a time after the staff meeting where volunteers aired their grievances.

In addition, the "unwelcome guests" have created a climate of danger at Zuccotti. An understood "no snitch" rule kept much of the unpleasantries quiet, discovered the Post reporter, though "overall security at the park had deteriorated to the point where many frightened female protesters had abandoned the increasingly out-of-control occupation, security- team members said."

If you can't take the heat, get out of the Slow-Food kitchen.

What is this "movement" but a redeux of 70s-style liberal self-interest? Its goals are vague platitudes. It's easy to say the poor should be given some of the money earned by the rich. The underlying politics of envy decrees that the limited "pie" of wealth should be sliced in equal pieces, and that those who "have more than they need" should provide their excess--which is implicitly ill-gained--to those who have little. So why can't the volunteer chefs share their roasted beet-and-sheep's-milk cheese salads with their fellow unfortunates of Zuccotti Park? Don't the homeless, who are surely as much victims of Wall Street and multi-national corporations as they, deserve some of the culinary wealth they're distributing?

No, the "derelicts" don't deserve the fancy comestibles, because the protesters sincerely believe that corporations are bad and bankers are hoarding wealth for their cronies, and so they're the ones entitled to the organic chicken and vegetables--while the freeloaders don't even care. To earn gourmet fare, Occupiers hold the "we're the 99%" signs for hours, especially when news photographers happen by. The others, the ones who just come for the efforts of professional chefs like Chris O'Donnell, 24, who "used to cook at Mario Bateli's restaurant Lupa" in the West Village, will now be directed to local soup kitchens.

I well remember the days of anti-Vietnam protests, when we or our boyfriends were subject to conscription into the military. There's far greater urgency to protest when your very life may be on the line, torn from your personal plan for two years for a miserable Asian war. You may recall that once the lottery removed most 19-year-olds from draft vulnerability, the protests (though not the war) petered out.

Occupy Wall Streeters don't like the economy, don't like that others have more than they do, and may be frustrated they can't easily address their own financial woes. They also have drivers honking support and showing thumbs-up, plenty of interesting people to talk with, and free victuals worthy of any connoisseur. Even with all these perks, the scene is winding down as cities tire of providing expensive police supervision and sanitation, not to mention the traffic and logistical headaches of hosting crowds of protesters and gawkers in congested areas.

On Tuesday, Oakland police and protesters battled over City Hall plaza, resulting in more than 100 arrests and one injury, perhaps the most visible of several cities' efforts to clear protesters from central locations, after days or weeks of easy-going tolerance. The New York Times reported on police-protester conflicts in a handful of cities, including Chicago, where Democratic Mayor Rahm Emanuel's office was the site of demonstrators demanding the city drop charges against 300 arrested protesters.

The liberal stance of Occupy efforts was clear as The NY Times noted, "Still, the scenes of tear gas in the streets and provocative graffiti--including one spray-painted message reading 'Kill Pigs' in Oakland--has been seized on by some Republicans to try to make the protests a political liability for Democrats."

While normal Americans watch the youthful outpourings with amusement, alarm or boredom, the Occupiers create their own embarrassing political statements, neither sacrificing anything personally, nor standing to gain much more than 30 forgettable seconds on the evening news.

Yes, the economy is frustrating, the camaraderie of demonstrating exhilarating, and the whole Occupy thing is cooling off with the weather (or freezing in the snow). However, the flailing of new college grads unable to find appropriate employment remains, and unless that real problem is solved, Barack Obama and Democratic candidates will find youths' continued distress expressed not in plazas and parks, but on ballots across the land.

Protection against the Elements: Jewish holiday of Sukkot vs. Urban Outfitters catalog

2011-10-16T16:01:00.000-07:00

Coming out of the first, intense days of the 8-day Jewish holiday of Sukkot, known to most as the Festival of Booths, or Tabernacles (whatever those are), I glanced through the mail to find a catalog for Urban Outfitters, a clothes vendor whose styles I used to like.

In our holiday, Jews consume all our meals in an outdoor home-made temporary structure covered by non-growing vegetation, in our case cedar boughs cut from our forest-y back yard. It was quite chilly and damp (though not raining, at least) for our gatherings, and our children, who returned from their studies in New York and Los Angeles as well as locally, shivered in their parkas, and snuggled in blankets around our table. We drank steaming soup and continued through festive meals with friends, celebrating the "time of our rejoicing," a yearly harvest commemoration that emphasizes that all our dwellings--no
matter how fortified--are merely transitory and flimsy given the power of God.

It's true that by comparison with the heavy-duty messages of the season--increasing darkness, decay and cold reminding of our dependence--the styles in the Urban Outfitters catalog seem insignificant and inconsequential. But the artsy, mountain-themed catalog, set in mossy glens, dense forests, and rural waterways among majestic peaks, (as well as the usual grubby alleys you'd expect from a company with "urban" in its name) was striking in its appreciation of rugged nature.

Lovely backdrops, silly, overpriced merchandise. The style is to have nothing match, nothing you'd predict should be worn with anything else. A long peach chiffon skirt with a bulky purple variegated mohair sweater and wood-grained platform heels where the platform's about four inches tall; the heel about eight. A waif seated on a car trunk near a sylvan hillside wearing a gold cropped dolman-sleeved sweater, black and mauve wildly-printed jeggings, leopard platform lace-up heel-boots...and a blue dunce cap. Same doe-eyed girl standing on a verdant trail, in a see-through lace body suit, glimpse of a serape-stripe shirt beneath a denim, sweater-sleeved jacket. She's outdoors for this "late fall 2011" catalog pose, sans clothing on her lower half. A two-page spread showing two young ladies on a large, ferry-like boat in an overcast lake (or perhaps Puget Sound), wearing mini-miniskirts, one so short it barely covers the essentials, above platform laced hiking boots.

The good news is that my daughter should no longer chide me for wearing socks with loafers; here it is in the Urban Outfitters catalog! I don't pair this with miniskirts, however, which might demote me, fashion-wise. I do feel liberated; floaty tops with weighty jackets and scruffy t-shirts! Long skirts are back! Could this mean I can take my slim-cut "mom jeans" out of the closet? Hope so; I'm wearing them right now, though with a shirt long enough to cover the unsightly too-high pockets that cause my daughter to wince.

Hooray for capitalism; hooray for businesses who can make a profit based on customer response to pink-haired models with matching bags on cracked sidewalks, and close-ups of ingenues with white rats perched on their heads (both in this catalog)! I hope Urban Outfitters succeeds, because our economy benefits whenever a retailer prospers.

But the juxtaposition between the seriousness of a holiday that proves us vulnerable to the elements, and the positioning of models so unnaturally-clad in untamed nature is worth highlighting. Every day, traditional Jews in their morning prayers thank God for "clothing the naked," our voluntary means of protection against cold and discomfort. Humans in their nakedness don't have the innate insulation of fur or feather. Rather, we're given the opportunity to choose how we are covered; we can observe our world and note the most appropriate garb, and beyond that use our creative abilities to fashion it.

For our wardrobes and the shelter of our homes and even Sukkot huts, we should be conscious and grateful. Now, as the days grow shorter, we shouldn't take for granted our cozy clothes of whatever design, or the warming of hot chocolate by an indoor fireplace.

Post-script, as of Tuesday, Oct. 18:
Lovin' it: An Associated Press story today describes the umbrage of the Navajo (native-American) Nation at Urban Outfitters' usurping their trademarked name for a line of clothing including the "Navajo Hipster Panty" and a "Navajo" flask the article deemed "extremely insensitive." Outfitters' spokesman Ed Looram demurs, noting the name and Indian styles "have been cycling through fashion, fine art and design for the last few years." Members of other tribes share the Navajo's ire: Santee Sioux Nation member Sasha Houston Brown said Outfitters "trivialized and sexualized" the tribe's "life ways...for the sake of corporate profit."

I'm always fascinated by the passion about fashion. I know, I know, we're talking minority-group pride versus corporate profits. It's never about allegiance to a look or trend; it's about who's willing to pay how much for something to discard next year. It's all ephemeral--which, as I think about it, dovetails nicely with the Sukkot message of the book we read this time of year, Kohellet (Ecclesiastes). There's nothing new under the sun...even futility. As one who wears my daughters' hand-me-ups from many years ago, (and who accepts my husband's famous shredded-and-ancient look), I really don't get the big money and seriousness generated by this industry.

Steve Jobs: So close to saying "God."

2011-10-06T15:46:00.000-07:00

Aside from some pathetically silly guests on my Fave Talk Host's show today who rue his "concentration of wealth," nearly everyone in the tech-touched universe is saddened by the loss of Steve Jobs.

I certainly am. The world needs brilliant, creative, iconoclastic but sensible and realistic entrepreneurs, and each of those adjectives certainly applied to Steve Jobs. Even those of us who own PCs are really using Macs in some piece or form. Even if we're too cheap to have bought a real iPod, our imitations all owe their success to it. Even if we haven't downloaded iTunes (and most of us have), the idea of music organized and procured through our computers instead of in the physical world has transformed our listening.

And the guy was a deep thinker, viewing events and circumstances in a broader context. This is especially clear when you read the address he gave to the 2005 graduating class at Stanford University.

In it, he tells three stories. The first one explains how dropping out of Reed College allowed him the freedom to audit classes there he enjoyed, one of which--in calligraphy--a decade later influenced the typography available on all personal computers. His point was that eschewing the conventional path turned out to have a major positive impact, but he only saw it years later, when he could "connect the dots" in retrospect.

Steve Jobs' second story describes when, at age 30, he got fired from the helm of the very company he'd founded, just a year after its release of the Macintosh computer. It was a very public failure, but resulted in his later triumphant return to the company, the creation of Pixar films, and the bonus of meeting and marrying his wife. His message in that story was to have confidence in pursuing what you love, despite obstacles.

And his last story described his initial diagnosis of pancreatic cancer. Jolted by the doctor's advice to "settle his affairs" for imminent death, he focused on what truly mattered, which was again, doing what he loved. Turns out he had an operable form of the disease, and he survived another six years.

In his commencement address, he says, "Your time is limited, so don't waste it living someone else's life. Don't be trapped by dogma — which is living with the results of other people's thinking. Don't let the noise of others' opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary."

I admire Steve Jobs' accomplishments and his passion--and wonder about his conclusion. He implies that "your own inner voice," what he also calls "your heart and intuition" is an independent entity which, anthropomorphically, "already knows what you truly want to become." And he talks about events in his life as casual accidents that later, "connect" to make perfect sense and seem to have had a purpose.

Between Steve Jobs' very eloquent words I see him dancing around the concept of God. What is your "heart" and "intuition"? Is it just your taste? Stuff you enjoy? Do events just "occur" or, as he implies, do they happen so that something later can come of them? Were Steve Jobs' enormous talents and dynamic, energetic enthusiasm--his drive--random genetic facts, or abilities and attitudes he cultivated, pondered and, through what--God?--had the opportunity and circumstances to make wildly important and successful?

He also seems to rebel against convention, almost ironic since he worked so well with the business establishment. He admonishes against "living with the result of other people's thinking," and of course, we're all living (happily) with the results of his. "Don't be trapped by dogma," he warns, and while rigid adherence to unexamined instructions can surely stifle creativity, sometimes "dogma" is formed out of the collective wisdom and experience of people who have come before. Such predecessors can be insightful, and they can be prescient, and they can suggest you break out of the mold. And at the same time intimate that all their certainty still holds questions. That's the wonderful gift of people like Steve Jobs.

Note: It has been said that Steve Jobs was a Buddhist, though sources about his religious activities and affiliation are scant other than a well-documented relationship decades ago with Zen master Kobun Chino, who early on was the "spiritual advisor" for his company.

Disconnect from Technology for an Hour Today

2011-10-02T00:43:00.000-07:00

I saw on a friend's blog reference to a program that tries to address the problem of technology addiction by asking people to unplug for just an hour today, October 2. Now, I, and all my Jewish friends, just emerged from a period of three whole days of Jewish holidays (Rosh Hashana, moving directly into the Sabbath) during which observant people refrain from using any electric or electronic devices.

Instead, we spent hours in synagogue, concentrating on the idea that God is in charge of everything, not us. That as urgent as the buzzes and ringtones and symbols that flash on a screen seem--whether on my 24-inch desktop flat-screen or a three-inch phone display--they're really only ghosts and whispers of real life.

The organization that sponsors this campaign suggests in its excellent video that the problem is that attention to devices causes us to ignore the humanity around us. That's definitely a problem, but a tech-obsessed teen might answer that what he's doing, gazing downward to text or return an email on his smartphone, is just as much communication as saying the words directly. In fact, he might argue that because his device allows him to reach so many more people than can be in his immediate environment, it actually expands his connections, and gives him more closeness with people he'd otherwise ignore.

But the issue comes down to the degrading of the connections we have. One voice in the Ohr Naava video says, "I used to phone my wife; now I just text her, using little words." This reminds us that there's a continuum of quality in communication. Best is physical presence, when you can read a person's body language, touch him, watch his facial expressions as he says something. Physical proximity alone--even without directly speaking--allows its own type of sharing. I feel so much better when I know my kids are safe at home in their beds, asleep; I have happy comfort when my husband's writing an article or listening to music at home, even when we're in separate rooms.

Technology isn't bad; in fact I consider it a second-best form of contact. I'm sure glad my daughter in New York has her cell phone, so I can be reassurred about her well-being at just about any time. I loved Skyping with my son in LA, getting a virtual tour of his new apartment, commenting on its dated pink tile and the Pergo floor that attempts to simulate wood. But it just made me eager to visit his abode for myself, because there's nothing quite like seeing him settled, clothes in the closet, refrigerator stocked, for myself.

But I signed up to turn off my phone and leave my computer for three hours today not because I'm personally umbilically-tied and need the cold-turkey experience, but because I support the idea of owning devices, rather than them owning us.

Here's a little secret: When my husband asked me to marry him, with great passion, I might add, he tacked on one deal-breaker condition: No TV in our home, ever. Now, this was 26 years ago, when cell phones and laptops were not a factor, but TV was (and continues to be) ubiquitous and addictive. I'd never spent much time with it--though I did adore Masterpiece Theater--so, being ga-ga over the man, I agreed.

As a result, I never saw The Cosby Show, Frasier or any other boob-tube icons of the late 80's or 90's. I was a bit culturally illiterate, and tuned out of conversations centered around whatever TV show was current. But I soon found out that just by reading about the shows in the newspaper, I was pretty well caught up on the big picture about the small screen. The point: Once you don't have the attraction of electronics, you focus your interests and attention on other things, usually in the real world.

Now, TV is very different from a Smartphone, but not so very different from the entertainment we glean on our computers. Aside from Hulu now offering TV fare, and downloading movies on Netflix or its competitors, the most addictive laptop activity is net surfing. My son has wasted hours on StumbleUpon, which suggests sites of potential interest based on previous choices. There's always Pandora, where you can engross yourself in listening to new songs for hours. And that most insidious time-leech, shopping. My friend and I both spent many hours trying to find a rug for my living room. And how about researching vacation rentals? Shoes. I have a close relative who I won't mention who shops for shoes online. It's a guilty pleasure.

OK, while we're on it, how about Angry Birds? Anyone spend time on that wisdom-enhancement? FarmVille? Or...even Granny's on Facebook for hours on end, especially with that compelling feed that they've now got on the right edge of the page.

Oh, you can fool yourself. I read newspapers online, clicking from one story to the next. I get the physical, ink-on-your-fingers newspaper, but then I want to send an article to someone (innocent enough) and, ooops, it's two hours down the drain.

That's what I mean by our computers owning us. Our time, the most precious commodity, the irreplaceable stuff of our lives, slips away without our even being aware of it. Procrastination, life-avoidance, no-pressure entertainment. The problem is we do not choose to take control.

Unless we make a concerted, direct effort. And decide to give sensory experiences, and direct contact with others priority over virtual contact. If we can phone rather than text, do it. If we can talk in person rather than phone, do it. If we can engage with the outdoors rather than the indoors, do it. There are new dangers in the world, for sure, but why subject ourselves to smacking into something solid, walking while texting?

So today I'll stroll through a local street fair with my husband, enjoying the exhibits and bands and families and sights--including salmon leaping upstream to spawn--with my cell phone off. I've pledged three hours of no technology. Not really that radical, but it's a statement. One that bears repeating--and living--often.

Here's a link to the page I set up, as part of the campaign to turn off technology among participants for a total of a million hours.

Rosh Hashana, Apple Cake and Getting Fat

2011-09-22T00:55:00.000-07:00

The Jewish calendar reveals that it's almost Rosh Hashana, the beginning of the New Year, and despite our religion's lack of superstition, when our future hangs in the balance--literally, with our good deeds weighed by God against our bad--we bring on the symbolism.

With food.

Since early Jewish commentaries (Gemara tractate K'risos 6a) where "Abaye said '...at the beginning of each year, each person should accustom himself to eat gourds (squash), fenugreek (or sesame seeds or black-eyed peas), leeks, beets and dates...'," families have adopted the custom to put these and four other foods on their tables, eaten ceremoniously, each with a request to God. The others are pomegranate, a whole fish, and the most famous, apple, eaten dipped in honey.

The foods were chosen because their names relate to ideas for increase and sweetness for the coming year, and protection from harm.

The apple dipped in honey idea has led to holiday menus incorporating permutations of both, including apple cake and honey cake. I usually serve a first-night menu that features honey in every dish. Even the challah, the egg bread that's shaped as a braid the rest of the year, gets a new form--round in a circle, representing the circular nature of passages in time.

Since our college-freshman son was in third grade, we've made apple cake from a class cookbook of the kids' favorites. It's easy and delicious, more like chunks of apple held together with sweet crumbles:

Max’s Grandma’s Apple Cake

2 cups flour

1 cup sugar
1 teaspoon baking soda
½ teaspoon salt
1 ½ teaspoons cinnamon
3 cups peeled and sliced apples
½ cup vegetable/canola oil
1 egg, beaten

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Spray a bundt or springform pan with non-stick cooking spray.

Combine flour, sugar, soda, salt, and cinnamon in a large bowl. Mix in oil, egg and apples.

Pour into pan and bake about 30 minutes or until a toothpick comes out clean.

Every culture has its culinarily-based traditions, and certainly Jews imbue their food with more than flavors and guilt. We use it to elevate ourselves above animals by a "ritual" washing and blessings, and we are commanded in the Torah to "eat, be satisfied, and thank the Lord your God for the good land he has given you." But even beyond all that, Rosh Hashana food is far more than merely reminiscent of the holiday.

Jewish scholars have noted that the point isn't the foods themselves, but rather the humility and respect for God viewing them invokes in us. Even if you don't like the symbolic foods, or you're allergic, you'd still put them on the table to focus our yearnings. As the one cooking and planning, I'd guess that all the extra effort that goes into gathering all these symbols earns a bit of God's attention.

An article last week in the New York Times bears upon America's food traditions, connecting changes in family habits with the sharp rise in obesity between 1980 and 2000. Imbuing food with symbolic powers and emotional connections, like Jews do on Rosh Hashana, isn't the culprit in humanity's higher BMIs--instead it's the eeeevil corporations who market bounteous food at low prices. And it's irresistible sloth-enticements like television and computers, robbing the young of fresh-air playtime.

A current series of articles in The Lancet, chock-full of politically-correct messages, say that no culture has ever reversed its obesity trends--which "increases the urgency for evidence-creating policy action, with a priority on reduction of the supply-side drivers." In other words, government must mandate less food availability, so people have to eat less and thus get thin. In a reversal of the war on hunger, Lancet pundits suggest a war on plenty.

In the Times article, health writer Jane Brody reminisces about the good-old days of her childhood, when, lacking nearby vending machines and fast-food outlets, she had to "walk or bike many blocks to buy an ice cream cone," no doubt through ten feet of snow. Kids "went out to run around and play until dark," TV was a week-end special event, and nightly home-cooked meals included no "convenience foods" other than canned fruits and vegetables.

OK, I can play that game too. When I was a kid, yes, my family did have dinner together, and when I'd ask my mom "What's for dez?" (dessert), she'd usually answer, "canned fruit." You know, the kind in that heavy sugar-syrup. Because fruit was healthy. I'd be disappointed, but sometimes she'd bring home a coffee cake, which we'd devour slathered in butter.

We consumed lots of beef. Mostly ground, the fattier kind, because it was cheaper than the lean. An eating-out treat was buying a big bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken. So greasy I'd use half a roll of paper towels blotting it first. It came with mayonnaisy cole slaw.

We drank our milk from those quaint glass bottles the milkman would leave by our back door. Whole milk, of course. It was better for children than the only other type, skim.

I didn't come from a family that kept kosher, and every Sunday, my mom would fry up a huge pan of bacon. Pig bacon, and sausages, served with eggs and pancakes with butter and syrup and glasses of whole milk.

Being a girl, "going out to play" meant confabs or poring over Seventeen Magazine with my best friends. It meant card games and sometimes sidewalk roller skating. Good thing there weren't so many skateboarders around. (Why aren't those guys at their computers??) I had a lot of homework, hand-written from notes taken sitting for hours at the library.

But we know, suggests Jane Brody and the Lancet crew, that fast foods, corn-syrup-laden store products, aggressive advertising and TV and computers caused the rise in US obesity.

What, then, has caused its slight decline over the last decade? What has caused increased obesity in developing countries without these innovations?

I suspect that alarm over the "obesity epidemic" is exacerbating it. The more experts insert themselves in our eating choices, by law, policy or admonition, the more we feel guilty about food. And the stress makes us eat. Or convolute our diets so our bodies don't get what they really need.

Which brings me back to Rosh Hashana, when particular foods are not seen as cholesterol, calories, trans-fats, raw or slow. Instead, they're sweetness, plenty, protection, and entreaty to God. In a sense, it's a good thing to have an occasion when we see beyond the sensory pleasure of food to the long-term meaning of sustenance--to continue through another day, and another year.

To my Jewish friends, have a stevia-sweet 5772 of svelte and active health. And to us all, may every taste remind us of heaven.

A Child's Unusual Response to 9-11

2011-09-09T01:59:00.000-07:00

Recollections are unavoidable a decade after that frozen-in-memory day when our sense of security as a nation was forever ruined. The surreal understanding that America was attacked on our own soil--using hijacked airplanes filled with commercial passengers--shocked observers of those horrific events. No one will forget his place or state of mind when he found out.

Because we live on the west coast, I was the one who had to inform our children as I awakened them for school. Most concerning was the impact on our youngest, then a third-grader.

I told him our nation was attacked in New York, and that many people had died. He started to cry, and I cried with him, holding him tightly.

He immediately wanted to arise to fight and kill the aggressors. He wanted to defend and protect our land. Realizing he couldn't act on that desire, and feeling an urgent need to make a difference, he asked what he could do.

I suggested he take on a mitzvah, a Jewish observance. The recognition was that God is involved in human affairs; just as He notes the evil in the attack on America, He acknowledges the good in the effort to draw closer.

My son had always worn a kipa, a head covering, every day to his public school. And he was regularly teased for it. Frequently, mean-spirited classmates would grab his rather large, colorfully-embroidered yarmulke off his head, toss it from one to the next or run away as my frustrated son attempted to retrieve it. He was different, and while I'd always felt it was character-building to cope with one's individuality, he always felt picked-on.

But he was willing to accept even more teasing, if it would redress or somehow cosmically balance the enormous loss of that September day. So, despite inconvenience, he began to wear tsit-tsit, a four-cornered undershirt with knotted cords.

Predictably, his classmates mercilessly jibed him for his "strings," which tended to pull out of their place under his shirt and tucked into his pants. But he continued to wear them, throughout his years in elementary and middle school, when children were most cruel.

That was what a nine-year-old boy could do, as a response to 9-11. Yes, we talked, cried, donated money, put a flag on our car and in front of our house. But my son also took on something that caused him personal sacrifice, and that related to an idea larger than his own comprehension of or emotions concerning our nation's wound.

I wish I could say that at 19, he still wears tsit-tsit every day. But I do see him earnestly grappling with his relationship to God, and attempting to consider others' feelings in everyday interactions. We Americans can never reconcile ourselves to the loss of life ten years ago, nor to the loss of blithe confidence in the goodness of the world. But I am still impressed that on that traumatic day, my sheltered son was willing to fight the bad guys who perpetrated the attack, and stand up to the mean guys who would belittle his appeal to God.

College Freshman: Time to 'Build Character' with Challenges?

2011-09-02T12:38:00.000-07:00

Our son started college in LA last week, a stressful but exhilarating time, leaving home, arriving in a strange town, adjusting to an unfamiliar campus and four professorial personalities who determine hours of his mornings and most of his free time. Perhaps the most useful part of college, I hold, is learning to negotiate and navigate for oneself.

Then our son found himself in a situation where he needed to find a new place to live. This caused some conflict between us, which was informed, upon reflection, by an underlying belief on my part that it's good for college freshmen to suffer.

OK, that's a more extreme version of my belief. Actually, I think a large part of the benefit of college is learning to deal with poverty and discomfort, not getting what the freshman wants all the time, not "having it all handed on a silver platter." I think 19-year-olds learn from grumpy and slothful roommates about their own desires for order, and how to deal with difficult people. I think they gain empathy and a work ethic by serving in any of the many minimum-wage jobs typically handled by kids their ages.

Needless to say, my son disagrees. He thinks the inherent difficulties of being a freshman in an awesome but unknown place are challenge enough, and that if we're blessed to be able to afford it, he shouldn't have to work just to have the experience. He considers his job to be working hard in college and getting excellent grades, to enable him to continue his education pursuant to his career goals.

Perhaps it's because I had to work in a minimum-wage job I hated from the age of 16 that I feel "the school of hard knocks" confers a worthwhile degree. After awhile, I got a better job, and then a darn good one, but a stint at the bottom was valuable. Or do I just like to think so?

In my mind, dorm life is helpful to the development of a college freshman. At the least, sharing a domicile with a diverse array of styles prepares for family life and forces roomies to forge some sort of relationships. Eating dorm food with others is a socializing step. But my son replies that having his own apartment will let him avoid the strife, noise and mess of an unpredictable cohort, and control of his own fridge and own kitchen is even more "adult."

In my heart-of-hearts, I hold there's a time of life when overcoming obstacles girds one to endure trials sure to occur later on, and part of me feels that by smoothing the way I'm denying him a gift. On the other hand, do I wish I didn't have that horrid job when I was 16? I resent to this day sitting inside a building tending 300 clients of an answering service (stuck sitting in front of two vertical boards of holes into which I plugged octopus-like cords) while my friends enjoyed all the fun of after-high-school activities. But it taught me to be responsible for myself, and that I could do whatever it takes to survive.

I've tried to inculcate that in my children while sparing them from such resentment or burdens. What parent wouldn't give her children the carefree youth she craved? What parent doesn't delight in fostering his child's success, as long as the child comes through and actually performs?

I'm still conflicted, though. As my son prepares to move into his apartment, intent on staying abreast in his studies and integrating into the LA Jewish community with classes and synagogue, am I depriving him of important learning opportunities, or encouraging his flourishing? He insists, with ample gratitude and reassurance, that it's the latter, but I suppose it all remains to be seen.

All that Fast Food in Tonga is making them Fat

2011-08-26T14:36:00.000-07:00

Writing a book about fat and dieting means when I see a related news story, I read it. I'm a contrarian when it comes to the idea that an "obesity epidemic" in the US is the fault of eeeevil Big Food corporations who sneak extra sugars and fats into our food and force us to buy it. My research convinces me that obesity isn't foisted on us, or grew because we're spoiled and lazy and victims of too many Cheetos flung in our faces. It's a much more complex phenomenon.

So I was amused to find a scolding Reuters piece distilling four Lancet articles about the state of the globe's obesity. Oh, we Americans are fat. Depending on who you believe, a quarter to a third of us are obese. And the world, too, is going to health hell in a breadbasket, warn researchers from Columbia University, as Reuters reports: "Due to overeating and insufficient exercise, obesity is now a growing problem everywhere and experts are warning about its ripple effects on health and health care spending."

A quarter of Brits, Canadians and New Zealanders are obese. Mexico boasts 30%, Chile and Ireland 22%. Iceland and Luxembourg 20%. Seventy-five percent of black women in South Africa are obese.

Then there's the South Seas island of Tonga, where ninety percent of the population is obese. Must be all that fast food. Must be the Cheetos and eeevil Big Food Corporations. We in America are exerting pressure, and threatening legislation, to force food-makers to make products healthy. Must Tongans more urgently do the same?

An interesting article in The Guardian explains Tongan's source of flab: they like to eat fatty meat. Roast pig is a great treat. Corned beef is an everyday staple. They eat the taro root and yams they grow there. And they value heft as beauty.

I don't know obesity trends in Tonga, but are we to believe that its citizens have only recently fattened into obesity, just as we in America are almost daily alarmed by new studies warning that we're inflating and soon to bust?

Except that it's not true. Women's obesity rates in America stopped swelling a decade ago. While at significantly higher rates than 1980, when the stats climbed after little change since records were kept, obesity figures have even dropped slightly since the overall peak six years ago.

Also, US obesity rates have risen in tandem with an increases in life expectancy. Correlation does not imply causation, but isn't that an interesting co-incidence? Paul Campos, in The Obesity Myth, discusses the lack of evidence that rising body weights can be blamed for disease. In fact, being overweight is associated with longest life and best health outcomes.

That's why the headline "Half of Americans to be Obese by 2030" makes me chuckle, though I'm sure it makes many well-meaning folk gag. First off, we're not on a trajectory to balloon endlessly. And secondly, the admonition that our horrendous food options and choices are for sure the cause of obesity (along with the eeeevil computer that keeps us sedentary) is simplistic and unproven, and after all these years of mandatory health education, ineffective in changing the fat of the land.

Launching Youngest Child is Far More Complex than Rocket Science

2011-08-24T01:46:00.000-07:00

Our youngest son just set off to start college in Southern California. He was bubbling with anticipation of his independence and the exciting new frontiers awaiting him. Meanwhile, his mother was incredulous that her baby could be launching into adult life (without her).

Not an uncommon scenario this season. And not even novel for this son and this mother, as last fall he took off for a gap-year program in Israel. That was certainly much farther away from home, and fraught with greater dangers. But that environment was more structured and sheltered than the freedom offered in La-La Land. And he was enveloped in the reassuring mission of studying our religion and its values.

And now, while he's discovering that LA drivers aren't nearly as polite as those in our "capital of nice" town, grateful for a GPS as he navigates the look-alike streets of the city where he (and his mom) were born, I'm here noticing that our home is eerily quiet and shockingly neat. That the gallon of milk he didn't finish will soon start to stink in our fridge; that I don't have to replenish pounds of spaghetti and jars of red sauce and Costco boxes of Eggo waffles, the "all white" diet he prefers.

I have plenty to do, plenty to work on, and not enough time in the day, still. But very little of my time now goes to mom duties, like retrieving stray half-filled cups of juice from various parts of the house, discovering piles of damp towels behind the bathroom door, washing mounds of sweat sox and grubby jeans. Why do I miss the mud-tracks of his tennis shoes on the stairs?

No more sharing my car with a kid who'd rather buy his face-wash with his girlfriend than with me anyway. No more trying to write while my son plucks his ukulele and sings into his laptop creating another contribution to his YouTube channel.

Some would call it peace and quiet. Others would call it a giant hole in the whole, a loss not because I need him here, but because I like him here.

That's the issue for us weepy newly-empty nesters. We enjoy our children; we appreciate their presence, even with all the sloppiness and noise, grousing and demands, because we engage with them and through that ongoing connection know they're thriving and healthy. We want to watch their blossoming.

There's Skype, and cell phones and texting. But nothing compares to knowing they're safe in their own beds under your own roof with you at night. When their home address is yours.

Isn't this what we raised them for, ask well-meaning friends. Well, no. When you fall in love with a little baby that's miraculously emerged from your own body, you don't imagine him thrilled to leave you. There's a difference between intellectually understanding that they grow up, and the emotional moment when it occurs. "Someday" becomes today too soon, and you just don't feel any older.

Part of it for me is relinquishing the idea that I'm on the cusp, bursting onto an exciting future, and realizing that the next generation is competent and moving into the spotlight as we glide out of it. When you've got energy and ideas and motivation, passing the mantle to some pipsqueak is uninviting. Not that generations can't share the mantle--but for some reason media and its consumers are more enthralled with up-and-comers than had-their-turn oldsters. We all recognize the culture's fascination with new and nubile, and nowadays kids have hundreds of "followers" intrigued by their internationally-visible online output before even setting foot out the door.

So bye-bye dear son, and so-long established roles and expectations. The term "reinvent" isn't just for out-of-work victims of the economic downturn, it's for lots of us, at every turn. The security of tradition dictating just where to land no longer exists; both my son and I are finding our ways, he on an unfamiliar campus and me through the newly-cleared pathways of my home and my mind.

MoveOn.org Protests for Jobs Hits Home--and Makes No Sense

2011-08-18T11:56:00.000-07:00

Today I drove smack through the middle of a 150-person protest in the heart of my little Seattle suburb.

On one side of the street, green-t-shirted protesters held signs demanding jobs, even imploring passing motorists to "honk for jobs." As I drove by, I withheld my inclination to honk: yes, I'm for jobs! Who isn't? But MoveOn.org, Planned Parenthood and the politically left Center for Community Change, stationed in the sleepy center of this 20,000-resident community today didn't want to strengthen employers' ability to hire more, by loosening regulation and taxes. They demand that taxpayers either pay more or swell the deficit by creating government jobs. Across the street, a dozen holding signs "Tea Party Patriot" counter-protested, with the retort, "cut spending to create jobs!"

The scene got noisy, with one side of the street shrieking at the other, punctuated by the blare of occasional car honks. A handful of police stood by in amusement. Moms with strollers and toddlers gawked and took cell phone photos. A broadcast truck with three-story antenna parked in a supermaket lot.

I called my husband, fave radio host, to apprise him of this surprising event in our usually dull midst. I was soon called by the local news radio station, KIRO, for an on-the-scene report. Turns out this is the third such demonstration at that site, each a "day of action" the Center for Community Change stages as part of their "American Dream Movement."

Seemed a lame and pointless endeavor, something to keep college kids busy before the new semester begins. This site was chosen as it's about a half-block from the suburban office of our local congressman.

Everyone's distressed at the stalled economy, and everyone would love to see jobs created. But the American Dream, for which this politically left protest "movement" is named, calls for individuals to create their own success, by availing themselves of the democratic system's opportunities in our free market economy. In America, where Horatio Alger stories were once the symbol of industrious, self-motivated success, we are not dependent on a super-power, on government largesse or elected officials for our individual improvement. The American Dream is of the self-made man or woman, whose great idea and effortful execution brings not only personal rewards, but uplifts all those he/she carries forward.

I'll honk for jobs, but of the type that empower individuals without the fetters of severe regulation or government subsidy. We're all of one mind nationally, that our president's current approach to the problem of unemployment stimulated little but despair and cost more than we can afford. Now, the question is: do you spend a summer's day holding signs begging for outside help, or do you get going and invent something new? Dependence on the government isn't the American Dream; proud, creative, independent achievment is.

Israeli Protests in a Broader Context

2011-08-07T02:10:00.000-07:00

As Israeli press reports 300,000 people protesting in the streets of Tel Aviv and Jerusalem, I watch from afar and wonder what they think will result from their efforts.

Summer evenings in Israel are warm, the lovely Mediterranean warmth that bathes your skin and lures you to outdoor cafes and the bustling carnival of vendors on Jerusalem's Ben Yehuda Street that forms at the conclusion of the Sabbath. Tonight there's a solidarity among people who work hard and find their paychecks barely allow them necessities beyond rent, food, internet service and cell phones. They swarm the streets, calling for "the system to change," according to a story in the New York Times. Organizers, mostly university students, say they're keeping the marches purposefully non-partisan, joining together Israelis from all political persuasions to direct their national passion--and there's plenty--to something all share.

“We want a more correct balance between the free market and the human economy," said Itzik Shmuli, head of the National Union of Israeli Students, reported in the Jerusalem Post. "We are demanding serious attention to closing social gaps and for a more far-reaching answer to be given to the basic needs of the citizens of the country, in particular the country’s weakest citizens.”
Last time I spoke to The System, however, I didn't hear anything. What "far reaching answer" do all these people expect?

They know they're the only Western-style free market Democracy in the region. They've got socialized medicine in an advanced, fair national program. Organizers insist they don't want to overthrow their leaders--to the contrary, they say they have confidence in their elected officials; they just want to earn more money so they can enjoy more of the pleasures and advantages that their society offers.

Also in the headlines the last few days is the pathetic and horrific plight of Somalis, dying of starvation in a famine that a heartless but justifiably paranoid government exacerbates, in the face of Shabab Wahhabi Islamist rebels. Front-page photos of skeletal children and stories of aid spurned or stolen are wrenching and bring deserved sympathy and concern.

What the poor Somalis would give to have the system protested by the Israelis.

At the same time, one can understand Israelis' frustration at seeing so many accessories to modern life just out of reach. The cost of real estate, food, restaurants, and durable goods in Israel is comparable to prices in the United States' most desirable cities, but the average wages of workers is about $2,476 per month converted from shekels. That's $29,712 annually. (Average wage is $40,711 in the US.) Technology is slightly cheaper there; housing a bit more; gasoline triple. Housing is especially high in Jerusalem, which draws people for religious reasons. They're not making many places considered to be closest to God anymore.

Back to the question: Given that Israel has an open, free-market economy, what can the government do to increase wages or hold down costs? Israel, with a total population of not quite 7.5 million is smaller than the city of New York, which is more than 8.1 million as of the 2010 census. Its national government has the intimacy of a city government; people's protests and complaints much more easily reach their leaders and gain response.

But the change these students seek is generic. And perpetual. It echoes the same vague, altruistic sentiment chanted on US college campuses in the early 1970s: "We want social justice!" There's a spring or summer fever that propels students to the streets and quads where they can surge together in an aura of righteousness to assert their youthful beliefs. The fact that the closely-knit country of Israel can join in this festival of both frustration and longing proves once again that it is a free society. No one is asking for that to change.

The government can pass laws that like New York's rent control, suppress rental charged tenants, but it can't, nor should it want, to depress real estate prices. And as long as willing buyers pay high prices for homes and businesses, they'll need to charge enough rent to cover that expense. I just don't see how citizenry surging in the streets can effectively bring reductions in rent or real estate sales costs. Regarding other necessities, health care is socialized; cost for food is determined by its availability and production expense (and given Israel's small size, much must be imported).

There's something cathartic and therapeutic about protesting; it binds Israelis into a cohesive unit, and reminds leaders of their constituents' priorities. But beyond that, sign-carrying, chanting and massive presence in the streets can accomplish little when the goals are so amorphous. And when the free market is, in the end, the arbiter of both wages and prices for goods and services.

The message I take away, reading the headlines so far from their datelines, is that democracy and a free market system allows us to claim ever-expanding expectations, and sometimes keeps us from remembering just how lucky and privileged we really are.

The "New" McDonald's Happy Meals: Apple Slices in the Trash?

2011-07-28T01:55:00.000-07:00

This week Michelle Obama proudly stood next to WalMart's executive vice president Leslie Dach as the chain and several others vowed to open stores in USDA designated "food deserts." Almost all of these stores were already planned when the First Lady inaugurated her campaign against childhood obesity, and the total of 250 to 300 stores WalMart pledged to open within five years weren't mainly in response to a lack of fresh vegetables, but the healthy American desire for profit. Only now, they'll increase it a lot more, on the backs of taxpayers, who will be subsidizing these new markets to the tune of $35 million this year and--hold onto your hats--$330 million in 2012. Food Deserts: Helping to increase the urgency of raising the debt ceiling.

Then today, the New York Times featured a story on McDonald's completely altruistic move to cut French fries in Happy Meals by half, substituting three to five apple slices. The company said it was making the revision "in response to parental and consumer pressure," phasing out Apple Dippers (8-10 slices with caramel dipping sauce) but offering families who eschew fries two smaller apple packs instead. Parental pressure was not strong enough, however, to inspire the company to cease tucking colorful toys in their Meal boxes, despite some cities' passage of laws restricting their inclusion.

Some consumers scoff at McDonald's efforts to improve the healthfulness of their meals. They feel their liberty to choose what they want to buy somehow compromised, as if eating high-salt, high-fat, fried-potato fast food is symbolic of freedom from a "nanny state" determined to make decisions for them. Others suspect McDonald's vow to shave 20% of Happy Meal calories and include less salt and more veggies is simply a clever way to prevent government imposition of even more sweeping, and likely expensive, nutritional requirements for kids' meals.

As it is, there's still plenty unhealthy about those smiling red box lunches youngsters eat under the Golden Arches. Happy Meals come September will contain a burger or Chicken McNuggets, the smaller pack of fries, apple slices, toy and choice of beverage--which includes sugar-packed, vitamin-free soft drinks as well as 1% milk and lowfat chocolate milk. By popular demand.

While it could be that McDonald's is modifying its Happy Meals now to prevent legislation forcing their improvement, and despite the change being so minor that New York University nutrition professor Marion Nestle calls it a "sham," the corporation's steps are in the right direction. It says it will set up advisory boards and phone apps for consumers to get nutrition information, embark on a national "listening tour" for feedback, and involve a third party evaluator (for as-yet-unannounced goals).

They act despite little evidence that Happy Meals fueled the increase in childhood obesity; after all, they've been offered for 30 years-- since long before childhood obesity rates jumped in the last decade to the present 17%. Rates for children rose slowly until 2000, peaking in 2003, according to CDC statistics. Rates of "overweight" in the population have remained constant over time since the 1960s, however--important to note since few health dangers are associated with being "overweight," and articles and alarmists tend to lump together figures for both overweight and obesity.

Also, the literature tends to talk as if Americans have little control over their "poor lifestyle choices," which are the faults of food manufacturers, restaurateurs, cheap school districts that slash P.E. and sports programs, and those eeeeevil inventors of the personal computer, who've parked those kids yearning to be free in front of Hulu, College Humor, Facebook and Stumbleupon. Children have been receiving health education by state mandates for generations; it's not ignorance of the square, pyramid or plate of an ideal diet that has enlarged our citizens against their wills. And plump is not the desired physique: Hollywood sylphs are still the role models that sell plenty of People and Us Weekly magazines at check-out counters.

Whatever McDonald's motivations for moving toward better nutrition in its offerings, we consumers ought to applaud the result. After all, these efforts are undertaken for the most noble of reasons--doing well by doing good. The company seeks to profit, and the way to do it under our free enterprise system is by providing the public something they want enough to pay for.

Does the public want healthier fast food? Probably not, and if that is born out, McDonald's, like any smart business, will respond. "McDonald’s has offered apples as a requested choice in Happy Meals since 2004," the company writes in their press release. "And, while recent research found that on average, 88 percent of McDonald’s customers are aware of the option, apples are chosen in only 11 percent of Happy Meal purchases."

At least they're honest--even as they succumb to pressures to health-up their offerings, they can't ignore the primary determinant of their success--the preferences of their customers. I'd speculate that the trash cans of McDonald's everywhere will contain a lot of apple slices inside those discarded red Happy Meal boxes. Kids don't clamor for McDonald's to get sliced fruit.

But let the market prevail, and let the nation save the $330 million earmarked next year to make sure apple slices (and other fruits and veggies) can be bought within a mile of all urban residents. That's the definition of a "food desert''--no fresh-food store in walking distance. Is that the reason so many people are obese, or is it because they choose to buy other types of food at the stores they do patronize?

The do-gooders in government are likely off-track in assuming they know the causes for the rise in obesity between 1980 and 2000, and further assuming that they can manipulate the public back to its formerly svelte proportions with store locations, restaurant menu options, and praise for athletics. There's much more to understand about the reasons why Americans are fatter (though overall no less healthy), but in the meantime, if McDonald's cuts back the fries and slices up some apples, the kid consumers will decide if that's really a happy meal.

NY Gays Tie the Knot: What's Lost by Re-defining Marriage

2011-07-25T17:43:00.000-07:00

When 84-year-old Connie Kopelov was wheel-chaired up to the Manhattan City Clerk Sunday for the first legal gay marriage in the state of New York (to Phyllis Siegel, 76), it was a touching scene of two elderly women publicly cementing their 23-year-long love. Who could deny these ladies a recognized connection?

Why shouldn't Alvin Woods, 27, and Antonio Lopez, 25, enjoy the public revelation of their tattooed wedding rings at their legal linkage? For these and the other happy couples newly wed in New York, to headlines celebrating the ability of same-sex partners to become "like everyone else," it's a day to proclaim love.

What could possibly be wrong with that?

It's true that people who believe that God gave us His commandments in the Bible--and that God is not to be dissed--won't accept two of the same gender as married. History, too, would contra-indicate that two of the same sex qualify as spouses. Dictionaries, at least until very recently, defined "marry" like mine does: "1. to join as husband and wife; unite in wedlock, 2. to join a man to a woman as her husband, or a a woman to a man as his wife... (Webster's New World Dictionary of the American Language)"

But why not just change things? History is no argument to continue an archaic institution; civilization is the story of improvement--for example, women now fulfll their potentials in far more than motherhood or as support for their men (or librarians, teachers, nurses and secretaries, the only four professions expected for women as recently as the mid-1960s). Those who want to hold by the Bible's dictates don't have to participate in gay marriages, and dictionaries are easily re-written.

Certainly that's what's coming.

But in declaring the union of two men or women as exactly the same as the marriage of opposite genders, we lose an important distinction that in other areas we wish to preserve: male and female. With gay marriage legally sanctioned, we are to believe that sex between two lesbians has the same consequence for society as sex between a man and woman. Male plus male? Male plus female? Female plus female? It's all the same in marriage, under New York law.

Here's the hitch: In elevating gay relationships to be equivalent to straight marriages, we proclaim that it is no longer worth society's endorsement for a child to be raised by his or her biological parents. We no longer assert that our nation is best served when children live with their natural mothers and fathers, together.

Research on outcomes for children without that benefit suggest otherwise. Children raised by single parents, or in combined families, or by gay couples can certainly emerge healthy. However, in no gay family could a child be raised by both biological parents. Kids learn different things from a mother and a father. And have least complications when that mother and father are their own.

For that reason, the nation has a stake in promoting married biological families. "Every major social pathology that can trouble an American child happens more often when his or her parents are not joined by marriage," writes Maggie Gallagher in The Meaning of Marriage (2006), "more poverty, dependency, child abuse, domestic violence, substance abuse, suicide, depression, mental illness, infant mortality, physical illness, education failure, high school dropouts, sexually transmitted diseases, and early unwed childbearing, and later on, divorce."

When we re-define marriage as the union of any two people who love each other, we change the focus from our nation's future to warm touchy-feelies of love, in the present. We lose a long-term perspective, substituting a carpe diem, emotional priority.

As a nation, we need children to grow up with optimized chances to succeed, earn money, and create further happy families. We like it when gay citizens can live with those they love, and feel respected. But that's not the government's business or job--let religious officials, friends and family declare these unions permanent and appreciated. Don't make these people go through expensive public courts to dissolve them when they fail, since their existence, while adding to personal satisfaction, contributes little to national goals that governments control.

Sari Kessler and Erika Karp were married 12 years ago in their synagogue by their rabbi. But that wasn't enough for them, despite having three daughters, ages 9, 6 and 3. "People need to know we're just like everyone else," Sari Kessler said in explanation for why she is "absolutely elated" to gain legal married status. "Our families are just as valued and important and special as any other family in the world,'' affirmed her bride.

But actually, with all due respect, gay families may be important and special and valued--but not as much by a society with a need to encourage an ideal. Yet officially, in the six states where gay marriage is legal, they are now just as ideal as marriages with the potential to provide children both a biological mother and father.

And that's what we've lost. We've lost the ability to say, "we have evidence that this is the preferred way to do it; this way, with both a mother and father raising their biological children, provides something our society values more because it offers the best chance to produce children that will turn out whole, well-adjusted and ready to emulate mothers and fathers they've had loving them and each other."

Men and women are not interchangeable. All the brain research confirms that the genders have fundamental, irreducibile differences that complement each other. The 1.4% of people who are homosexual deserve to spend their lives with whomever they please. But we do ourselves and our children a disservice to suggest that the unions they form are the same as heterosexual marriages.

Distinctions serve a purpose, especially when based on replicated research--men and women are different, and the bond they form is different from the bond formed by two of the same gender. But we're coming to a time when legally, we can know it and even demonstrate it but can't live it. Now that gay marriages are becoming numerous enough to warrant widespread research and analysis, we'll soon have data, and from what studies I've seen so far, I suspect academics will confirm that yes, marriages of, say, lesbians are dfferent from, say, marriages of gay men. When we must deny reality, that will surely be a big loss.

Weather, Weather, Debt Ceiling, Shooting, Weather

2011-07-24T00:51:00.000-07:00

The financial world may collapse imminently, according to my husband and the many nail-biters watching the stand-off between Pres. Obama and John Boehner on the debt-ceiling vs. spending cuts. The stalemate in world views (raise the limit but with new taxes vs. spending cuts) could bring down the US credit rating, which in turn means we pay more interest immediately on what the US has already borrowed, never mind what extra credit we have to take. There goes the stock market. There goes stability, which brings more job cuts, lower housing prices, and Americans' nest eggs cracked and oozing.

Meanwhile, horrific events in Norway have blasted the tranquility of that happy, quiet country, killing at least 92 in an Oslo blast and a heinous shooting of youngsters on the isle of Utoya. At first blamed on Muslim jihadists, (because they eagerly jumped in to grab the credit), the jaw-dropping display of human monstrosity by Anders Behring Breivik is too surreal to contemplate. Identified as an anti-Muslim, anti-immigrant extremist, the perpetrator--who cannot get the death penalty since Norway has none--curiously chose to deliver his message by decimating privileged Norsk teen summer campers rather than a Muslim target.

And then there's the weather. Weather, weather, more weather. Hot enough for you?

I live where the weather's also on the newspaper's front page--because it's so unseasonably chilly. Summer gave Seattle a snarky tease on July 4th, then decided to ship out to the Midwest and east, leaving us under a gray, shivering blanket. Drizzles, jackets. I wrote to a friend in New York the other night wearing three layers of sweaters and my down coat--inside at my desk--with the space heater going full-blast.

You can't focus on the shocking realities of the political sphere, or the spectacularly awful events in Norway when physical needs intrude uncomfortably. If your air conditioner died and you're adding ice cubes to your bath, or even if you're like me, tired of wearing thermal underwear, the situation now reveals the nature of our attentions, to our own needs first, often to the exclusion of anything else. With the heat dome sealing our priorities, even a renewed deep recession, and reminders that bizarrely unpredictable events can snatch away life, crouch in the background.

Today, we experienced some warmth and a breath-taking view of Mt. Rainier, and our Sabbath guests cautiously lauded the day's beauty, unwilling to assume summer has actually arrived (the prediction is for a second nice day before more rain). But we're blessedly free of humidity, and keenly appreciative not to live in Atlantic City or Washington, DC . As one friend said, "I can always put on another sweater."

Coffee: for Seattle and the Soul

2011-07-07T16:47:00.000-07:00

Coffee. It's what Seattleites like me think of on a day like this: gray, drizzly, cool. The rest of the country may be sweltering, but we're hunkered down (again) with our noses perched above steamy mugs, not just warming our nostrils but inhaling the aroma, assessing the brew's perfection. Or lack thereof.

Perfect coffee started here, in a small shop at the Pike Place Market that expanded to 17,000 outlets, 11,000 of them in the U.S. I'm talking, of course, about Starbucks, loved by most, eschewed by some, but undeniably the force that made taste complexities, mouth-feel, aroma, and presentation style of coffee drinks important to the masses.

My husband requires coffee to start his day. Black. When we had a morning ceremony with breakfast welcoming our baby boy into the Jewish faith nearly 19 years ago, my husband insisted on good coffee. Starbucks was relatively new in Los Angeles, our home at the time, but we went out of our way to get it. People kept telling me how delicious the coffee was, and it changed the ambiance of our whole event. Just as it changes the outlook for every day.

An article recently in the New York Times describes the mania the popularization of excellent coffee has unleashed. The piece is about the rush to capitalize competitive coffee roasters who seek to top off what is arguably the most sophisticated array of coffee offerings ever. For example, Stumptown Coffee Roasters of coffee-competitor Portland, Oregon, mentioned in the article, currently features Guatemala Finca Semillero-Tekisic, traced to a five-acre family farm (The Zelaya family's at Finca Semillero) and a special bean, the Tekisic, which is "a dwarf mutation of the Bourbon varietal," blah blah blah. The result? "Honeysuckle and butter interweave through flavors of nectarine, cocoa and graham cracker."

Caffe Vita, a local Seattle roaster is similarly descriptive. For example, its Sumatra bean from the Gayo River produces "A rich, aromatic cup with well balanced flavors of dark berry, vanilla, baking spice, smoke and earthiness. Accented with notes of tobacco and hops throughout the warm, comforting finish." Another Seattle homie, Zoka Coffee, offers "Sulawesi Totaja Jaya...from the Rantebua Disctrict in the Nothern Toraja province of Sulawesi," with flavors of "Summer Squash, Honeydew, Chamomile, and Portobello."

To appreciate the contents of one's mug in Seattle means to know the name of the family who owns its land of origin, the history of its cultivation and roasting, and details of its first taste through lingering post-swallow notes.

Coffee writer Oliver Strand asks, "Does this sound too elitist for the average American?" rhetorically answering, "Remember when the idea that millions of people would spend $5 for a latte seemed absurd?"

We live in a suburban Seattle town of 22,000, and we have 5 Starbucks outlets, a Tully's and an independent drive-through kiosk. It is normal in our overcast part of the world to nurse a cuppa joe at (nearly) all times. Certainly while shopping. Often a coffee cup is seen perched near exercise equipment, next to the Nalgene water bottle.

Studies released this month show that drinking at least four cups of coffee per day brings health benefits, significantly lowering one's chances for Alzheimer's, certain cancers and perhaps diabetes. It's definitely an antioxidant, though decaf doesn't seem to confer the same benefits as regular caffeinated brew.

The big drawback for me was taken as the name of a coffee kiosk chain here in the northwest: "Jitters." It's an unpleasant buzz that interferes with my normal peace. Also, for me, coffee is a food. Unlike my purist hubby, I doctor my mug with copious sugar and half-and-half. The "enorme" Mexican Mocha I got instead of breakfast at a Nordstrom's espresso bar was listed on the menu board at 790 calories (photo, right).

Did the calories posted in red deter me? Not at all. I want what I want. And I'm not the only coffee drinker in our region who's determined to have her drink exactly the way she enjoys it most. The string of adjectives many customers feed baristas was even the subject of a local insurance company ad profiling weird Northwest types, this one the "super long coffee orderer" (hear it here).

Coffee in a morose climate not only elevates the spirits with nervous energy, but roasting, brewing and serving it becomes a culture that gathers people together. Classes are held in Starbucks stores. Independent coffee houses boast unique blends, weekend music, latte-foam designs, and a strong connection to their neighborhoods. Of course, there's free wi-fi.

And here, to grab a coffee is to come closely face-to-face with some very uniquely adorned folk. Multiple facial piercings, lavish tattoos and creative garb under their aprons are de rigeur. Along with unflagging cheerfulness and a very serious dedication to the nuances of coffea aribica. Even vaccuum-pumped coffee at the supermarket or corner bagel joint has to have a card proclaiming the liquid's fancy name and special qualities.

I host a class weekly in my home, and of course strive to please with excellent coffee. Brag: some of the members say they come not only for the enlightenment but the flavor of my java. I watch the participants compose their cups: one puts her half-and-half and flavoring in the cup first, then adds decaf, no stirring. Others want caffeinated, with milk, or soy, or what-have-you, in their particularly favored mugs. Coffee is a comfort not only because it warms from within, not only because it delights several senses, not only because it provides a welcome kick in our cloud-darkened town, but because it allows us to have one small part of our day that goes exactly as we desire.

Now, I wouldn't mind if we got a little summer sunshine. I'll just put some ice cubes in my cup and an even bigger smile on my face.

Jumping through Hoops: Why go to College?

2011-06-30T17:07:00.000-07:00

In the new flick "Larry Crowne," which I viewed a couple nights ago, the lead character (Tom Hanks) gets downsized from his do-everything clerk job at a big box store--despite multiple "employee of the month" honors and pride in his work--simply because he never went to college. Later in the film, we see his colleague dismissed because he only completed three years post-high school education.

Besides the development of a sparkless connection with a speech teacher (Julia Roberts) when he enrolls at a community college, the take-away from "Larry Crowne" is that being enthusiastic and competent counts far less for advancement than some arguably meaningless hours in a classroom.

Coincidentally, my fave radio host just spent an hour interviewing John Stossel about whether or not college is worthwhile. Stossel, on the show to promote a TV special on the topic, emphatically championed "not."

But "worthwhile" was only defined as college's import or impact on the careers of its graduates. Are most jobs that require a college degree really performed better because their holders possess a sheepskin? Probably not, if the employee has enough smarts to otherwise pick up the skill set. Are graduate degrees worth the thousands of dollars of debt they usually incur? That's getting to be a tossup, with many occupations now overloaded with applicants. Get a juris doctor from a good though not top school, and you're no longer guaranteed a position in a law firm when you finish.

Vocational schools do an admirable job preparing students for real-world wage-earning. I hired a young woman to baby sit my children partially because she had a certificate from a "nanny school." Years ago, when earning my counseling credentials in Los Angeles (yes, at a university--more on that later), I toured and admired a regional vocational center, where high school students took courses on real-life skills, like how to plate meals at restaurants, how to repair a Ford carburetor, how to manage a hotel, and how to organize an office. The graduates of these programs were immediately employable--if they'd been subsidized by Obama's stimulus, they'd be called "shovel-ready," though these folk won't need to wield a shovel to earn a paycheck.

There are plenty of very clever entrepreneurs who didn't need college classes to put their creativity and industriousness to lucrative work. Everyone points to Harvard dropout Bill Gates as a premier example. But lots of dot-com and smartphone app-designers learn how to write code and instantly launch businesses that answer a need or desire, with no need for pre-requisities. If you're smart, you'll succeed with--or without--a college degree.

If you're not at the IQ or achievement apex, though, college has some benefits--for you and your future employer. Possessing a four-year degree shows tenacity, the ability to play by the rules successfully to conclusion of task. Dropping out suggests failure, no way around it; extenuating circumstances must be explained. Nowadays, those who don't even attempt college are assumed unintelligent or incapable or disadvantaged. None of those terms describe highly-desired employees. College completion is a gate-keeper, a screening device simplifying the employee selection process. Earning a professional degree is similarly the red rope allowing the plucky few through to highest-paid echelons.

So it's true that education is the key to success. The more educated, the more income and less unemployment. Here are the latest data from the Bureau of Labor Statistics:

Earning a degree is an achievement. Admittedly it's a very narrow type of achievement, showing short-term mastery of material, compliance with requirements, and the ability to show up at lectures or share notes with someone who has. With "distance learning" the new trend, now even face-time on campus is optional.

Higher education is also an industry. Confession: I have a master's degree in...believe it or not, Higher Education. It's an actual major in the Graduate School of Education at UCLA, and I earned an MA in it. In fact, I was a happy customer for the industry of college for eleven years. Because what one is prepared for when one completes high school is...to go to school. For me, and many others, college is an extension of high school where you get to decide when to come to class.

Throughout my college years, I was self-supporting through a variety of lower-paying jobs, and had no help from parents. And I finally did have to decide what I wanted to do, and it did require the ultimate degree I earned. But being in college gave me lots of time to figure that out, as my professors urged me to go on to higher levels, to stick around sitting in the front row taking copious notes and memorizing the words that came from their mouths.

College has plenty of perquisites, including fun. Not just in the getting drunk kind of way (wasn't my thing) but in the pleasure of learning stuff and then spewing it back, with the reward of credits, and ultimately, a degree. And respect. I didn't really understand why simply continuing to be a subordinate, an older child, earned such kudos, but I also didn't care. The process was excellent. The campus was beautiful, with exotic botanics punctuating every season, lunchtimes on broad expanses of lawn eating unreasonably cheap meals, a built-in friendship network and exciting events publicized in a free daily newspaper.

Tip to youth: When you don't really want to grow up, collect graduate degrees.

The infrastructure supports it. Professors want to keep their jobs and, as I implied before, enjoy the ego boost from attentive and interested students. To support their administration and auxiliary services, as well as the faculty, colleges want to attract and matriculate good students. The counselors want clientele; the cafeteria staff wants to keep making delicious soups with free crackers and selling them for two dollars a bowl. The point is that higher education is an enormous industry that exists to perpetuate itself. It's invested in its own prestige, and a gullible society buys in.

Because of its historical importance, and the fact that decision makers went there and passed through its gate, and mainly because of higher education's own survival mechanisms, politicians like our president seek to expand the market for colleges and funnel more tax funds their way. Speaking at the University of Texas, Austin, last August, the President said, "I'm absolutely committed to making sure that here in America, nobody is denied a college education, nobody is denied a chance to pursue their dreams, nobody is denied a chance to make the most of their lives just because they can’t afford it. We are a better country than that, and we need to act like we’re a better country than that."

So, in his view, a "better" country channels everyone into college, in stark denial of the realities of the marketplace. The new workforce can now design websites from home. It can telecommute and use flat-screen TVs for group meetings. It can outsource manual manufacturing to China from computers by the pool. Did Bill Gates need college?

Does America? If, as Pres. Obama envisions, ours becomes a country where everyone is college educated, who will serve your Starbucks? Who will deliver the replacement windows that are energy-efficient? Who will staff the restaurant where you have your raw food salad? (Answer: the barista, delivery truck driver and waiter with BAs in sociology, psychology and history.) Truth is, not everyone is academically inclined, and our country would be in trouble if everyone were.

I have three children, two with bachelor's degrees, but my third child is poised to start college this fall. Would I advise him not to--rather to create another iPhone app? He's computer capable but not code-savvy, not mathematical, not even really academically enthused. But he knows without my saying it that he will attend and graduate a 4-year college, because in present cultured society it's the minimum acceptable, the first rung on the success ladder.

A college degree is what a high school diploma was perhaps forty years ago. Adolescence has expanded, and my son knows, having grown up in this overly-diploma'd family, what's honored and expected. But were he to start his own company, and were it to grow and succeed, and, were he to then come to me and say he wanted to drop out of college to pursue his business...I'm not sure what I'd say. Probably something like, "Keep working on your enterprise, but you ought to finish what you start."

That's the hoop of college, the jump that requires a smooth execution, not a stumble. Completion. I think we ought to drop the stigma for the working person who didn't attend college, but at the same time recognize that we're not returning to the old days when a high school diploma was sufficient. Success is sufficient. Nobody cares that Bill Gates dropped out of Harvard, in fact to the contrary, there's something humanizing about it. I think the big box store unfairly axed the Larry Crowne character, because he showed not only competence but superiority in his work; he was successful in his position.

But when you're 21 and heading out to the world, it's still nice to have enjoyed the perks of college at a time of life when you're unencumbered. And a diploma is still a symbol to the world that you finish what you start.

There are other issues at play--the left-leaning political bias among college professors that gets transmitted to impressionable students eager to please, the social milieu that promotes drinking and fraternizing, the blossoming of "disciplines" (e.g. Women's studies, "Queer" studies, Environmental Studies) that used to be subsumed under standard departments like history and biology, and plenty more--that complicate college's assessment. Also, not all colleges are equal. The benefits of attending an elite college are tangible while those for a non-selective institution may be minimal, especially when the financial toll is figured in.

Perhaps the best solution would be to eliminate federal tax subsidies for students, and for states to restructure. Some of the least financially viable schools would close; those that attract a clientele would remain. The remainder would become even more selective, allowing the most academic applicants access, and the rest a reason to explore vocational training or entrepreneurial outlets. In the end, no matter how urgently the administration presses for universal college attendance, the reality of individual differences will prevail. And because of that, the broader goal should be to honor honest, dedicated effort--hard work, self-sufficiency--rather than a certain number of hours in a lecture hall or a passing score on a final exam.

Every Thug A Star: Vancouver Riot Fueled by YouTube Wanna-Bes

2011-06-21T02:35:00.000-07:00

The devastation last week when the Vancouver, BC hockey team, the Canucks, caused a riot by losing the Stanley Cup Final to the Boston Bruins, was shocking--and not just because sports fans can turn so mean.

Though it was appalling: A downtown destroyed, a hundred people arrested, nine policemen injured, 15 cars burned...because of a game?

To my feminine brain, the idea that team supporters could get so worked up that they go on a burning, looting, stampeding, violent rampage en masse--abandoning all morals!--is incomprehensible. But when you start watching the YouTube videos, you're transported to the thick of it, and the outrageous mob mentality fomenting evil becomes real.

What was different about this monstrous reaction to something inherently minor in the scheme of life? Canucks fans probably don't think their team loss was minor--after all, Vancouver has no other major sports team, and viewing the Finals' Game 7 was organized to be a city experience, with bleachers and seven huge screens set up on Georgia Street downtown. But sports, while a major business and industry, is merely peripheral to life's necessities, such as food, shelter, a source of income, family connections, and health.

The thing that made this urban outburst unique was that something new, beyond masculine idiocy and selfish thievery exacerbated the destructive mentality: ubiquitous cell phones.

When you look at the YouTube videos posted, you realize that the mere fact of their availability means somebody was abetting the havoc and mayhem by standing there recording it. Observers posting their videos undoubtedly felt they witnessed something significant--but failed to join with the overwhelmed police or lone citizens trying to quell the throngs to stop it. In fact, their actions added to the difficulties.

The second thing you notice when watching is that nearly everyone else on screen not actively bashing or kicking or crashing something is also taking a video or a photo. No longer are news events "covered" by reporters sent belatedly to the scene. Now, when something unusual happens, individuals become device-holders; recording one's surroundings becomes integral to participants' experiences.

What that does, again visible on the posted videos, is encourage criminals' bravado. You can see the thugs standing on overturned, burning cars, making muscles posing for a friend. You see them running in front of burning stores for the snapshot, then running back into the mob. You see guys grabbing wooden planks, shoving them through glass into window displays, then raising their fists triumphantly, proclaiming their macho act, posing for the semi-circle of cell phone-holding spectators, heard cheering their subject.

And the hoodlums have no fear that their performances will bring reprisal, even as they show off for the phone-wielding hordes. Instead of encouraging restraint, since they can be identified and more easily prosecuted, the cell phones seem to make every thug a star, every evening's anarchist a hero.

Rather a famous bad guy on this "reality TV" than a decent person with what used to be considered "normal" values. Could it be that all the sluts-as-celebs and jerks-as-leading men on cable shows fascinate the public so much their despicable behavior is now seen as compellingly benign? What is it about a dozen cell phone cameras trained on him that makes a guy completely negate his upbringing?

It's true that religion in BC is in retreat, and latest census data shows "no religion" as the most popular option, selected by 35% of the population. But don't even atheists have a concept of being a "good person"? Wouldn't that include refraining from bashing in store windows with posts--and then when a singular man protests "What is this? Are you guys insane?" attacking him, kicking him and bashing him until he's a crumpled heap in the gutter?

I gasped when I watched that, a burly guy who'd answered the hooligans, beaten down by six or seven creeps, until he lay motionless in the street.

I was also agog to read the coverage of the riot in the press. All written in the passive voice--so that nobody's actually responsible. By using that grammatical structure, the perpetrators aren't criminals or thugs or hoodlums or looters but rather, neutral forces: "Windows were broken..." "A large two-by-four was jammed..." "A Honda was overturned..." "It started with a couple dozen plastic bottles being thrown...then fireworks were ignited...a gray SUV was set on fire..." All this from a single Seattle Times report of the mayhem. What usually might say "A young man in a Canucks jersey stomped on a mailbox..." reads instead "A mailbox was stomped." The subjects causing the verbs are missing. Can't imply these are bad guys breaking the law.

To be sure, many Vancouver residents are ashamed of their neighbors. Volunteers assembled to clean up the mess. But the chutzpah of rioters to brag about their criminal acts on their Facebook pages, and post shots of themselves in the midst of burning mayhem shows the devolved character of too many people in chaotic circumstances.

My husband thinks the Canucks' loss was just the excuse for pent up anger, perhaps a "spring fever" delayed by bad weather, like what used to appear as annual college campus protests. That suggests that the riots would have happened whether the Vancouver team won or lost. Certainly the setting was right--crowds compressed into a tight downtown area, loosened by alcohol, anxious over their athletes' success. But these were not downtrodden societal underdogs rebelling against broader injustices--rather, they were a mix of ordinary Canadian sports fans, more of whom should have stood up to blatant criminality occurring before their eyes.

Now, however, eyes are electronic, removing their owners from responsibility and direct connection to what they view. At this point, the Vancouver riots are another form of entertainment; something else to raise our eyebrows for a moment, before we upload other scraps of life into the ether.

Veggies in "Healthy Food Deserts" Won't Cure Obesity

2011-06-15T00:07:00.000-07:00

Hand-wringers in universities and government care-for-you offices have rearranged urban geography to stop the obes-ifying of America's children--by deeming certain neighborhoods "healthy food deserts." That's deserts, like the Sahara, not desserts, like what kids are actually eating.

They say that communities lacking large supermarkets, but boasting a plethora of convenience and corner stores, prevent residents from consuming the veggies and fruits that would keep them svelte. Time and cash-strapped neighbors feed their families the fried chicken, corn dogs, chips and soda these mini-marts sell--but the experts insist that if the same stores featured cucumbers and apples front-and-center instead, parents would opt for the healthy choice. And they, as well as their children, would be thinner.

This speculative chain of thinking led the "do something" activists--progressively-bent feds, local governments, university researchers and foundations-- to attack the problem the only way they know how: by throwing money at it. Pres. Obama's stimulus package--our tax dollars at work, through the Centers for Disease Control bureaucracy-- has awarded thirty communities $230 million in grants to prevent childhood obesity. Local United Way offices have funded "healthy corner store initiatives," like $50,000 to three stores in Franklinville, Ohio, and an unspecified amount in Seattle to upgrade the healthy-food stock and displays in 22 convenience stores in the Delridge neighborhood. In addition, the W. K. Kellogg Foundation in Battle Creek, Michigan, funded nine sites nationally, including $500,000 to Seattle's King County. In Pennsylvania, $30 million of state grants over three years was triple-matched by $90 million more in grants and loans from The Food Trust, used for 78 grocery outlets in poor neighborhoods.

But the front-page lead article in this week's Sunday Seattle Times paper, combined with its Sunday magazine cover story (funded as a grant project by a California endowment through the University of Southern California) exposes how ineffectual throwing money at fat-causing behaviors really is (even as the feature lamely offers sidebars advising parents on curbing kids' expansion).

The article says that here in my state of Washington, the feds and foundations tossed mega-bucks ($15.5 million from stimulus funds alone) at the "food desert" problem without results. It describes how food-access advocates finally convinced the Delridge "Super 24" corner store to revamp its stock, adding refrigerated cases with an assortment of fruits and veggies. A KOMO TV news story features United Way rep Lauren McGowan pointing to the new cases effusing, "you've got lettuce and limes and lemons and cucumbers, and stuff that families can go home and make a salad, make a fresh meal for their family!"

The news video laments that small convenience stores don't take food stamps, suggesting illogically that this forces homeless customers like Jose Lopez to buy junk food instead: "Oh, I like to have these fruits..." Mr. Lopez, holding a freshly-purchased large coffee says, pointing to a basket of apples, oranges and bananas by the cash register. He's cut off mid sentence by reporter Elisa Jaffe who finishes, "but they don't take your food stamps." Lopez shrugs. "They don't."

It's wonderful that kindly community members want their poorer brethren to eat well. But the brethren themselves don't choose to. Bhim Singh, the Delridge store's owner, was lauded in December, 2009 when his new refrigeration units and "healthy choice!" signs touting nutritious items went up. This week's newspaper article, however, provides an update: "We would spend $200 on vegetables and make only $10," he admits. He's back to stocking only the longer-shelf life produce he carried before the hoopla, like potatoes and onions. His clientele, it's clear, keeps him afloat with their fried-food-and soda purchases.

"Officials say they have learned valuable lessons," says the Seattle Times story. "Maybe they didn't spend enough time selling the idea. In any case, they've budgeted another $1.8 million in hopes of enlisting at least 25 stores." Don't bore them with facts.

The research considered most definitive on the question of access to healthy food was conducted by the US Department of Agriculture, published in June, 2009. In it, a national questionnaire (which, when examined, is a pretty poor measure of food access) found that 81 percent of respondents "always had the kinds of food they want to eat." Sixteen percent had enough, but not "always the kind of food they want to eat." Of that 16%, five percent said they didn't "always have the kinds of food they want to eat" because "it was too hard to get to the store, or the kinds of foods they wanted were not available." Elderly or infirm people, and those who didn't have the money for food--even if it were easily available--made up more than half of those people--leaving less than 3% of respondents overall who don't "always" have what they want because "the kinds of foods they want are not available."

This calls for another government grant.

Now, nowhere in the study does it ask exactly what are the kinds of foods that respondents wanted. Might be hallal food, or kosher food. Might be gluten-free, or sugar-free foods. Might be gourmet cheeses or craft beers. And of course the questionnaire asked if their desired foods were "always" available. If your market runs out of your brand of cereal or the kind of milk you like, then you aren't "always" able to get what you want.

There's an assumption that people in low-income areas crave fresh fruits and vegetables, but that a nefarious capitalistic force thwarts their innate healthy-food proclivities.

There are indeed market forces at work, and what they do is push shop-keepers to provide their local clientele what that clientele wants--or risk going under. It's an insult to suggest that poor people don't know the difference between healthy and junk food. Anyone with a television hears the news stories about Michele Obama's "Let's Move!" program, and watches reports like the video of the Delridge Super 24's new offerings. In 2007 alone, the USDA spent $697 million in classroom education, and every child in school over the last 20 years has, usually by government mandate, learned about good nutrition--but it does no good. Ask the convenience-store patron buying grease-fried chicken wings about his purchase, and he knows darn well it's less beneficial than the apples he ignored near the cash register.

In fact, that's the exact scenario on the KOMO TV video about the Delridge store. It opens as heavy-set Joseph Munnerlyn is selecting his purchases. Caught in the act buying junk, he explains, "I'm hungry, I'm trying to get something fast and quick, so I..." A voice-over then interjects that he's "a connoisseur of corner-store meals." Voice up. "Oh, I love it all," Mr. Munnerlyn intones with affection, waving his hand by the fried offerings in a heat-lamp-warmed glass case. "The wings, I mean come on! The breasts, the burritos, the Jo-jos...!" (Jo-jos are breaded and fried potato wedges.)

Bhim Singh owns "Super 24" store

He gives a sly smile. "I know it's not healthy, but at the same time..." He lifts up an apple from the basket of fruit in front of him at the register. "...It's hard for me to pick up an apple when I've only got two bucks and I've got to feed myself for the rest of the day." The unchallenged assumption there is that he gets more satisfying food for his money buying Jo-jos than a Jonathan. It's not his fault.

When it looked at healthy food access by social variables, that Department of Agriculture national study about Americans' access to food found some astonishing conclusions--about supermarkets, typically stocked with a wide assortment of produce-- that the reform-corner-stores crowd might want to consider, such as:

"Overall, median distance to the nearest supermarket is 0.85 miles. Median distance for low-income individuals is about 0.1 of a mile less than for those with higher income, and a greater share of low-income individuals (61.8 percent) have high or medium access to supermarkets than those with higher income (56.1 percent).

"Overall, ethnic and racial minorities have better access to supermarkets than Whites. Median distance to the nearest supermarket for non-White individuals is 0.63 miles, compared with 0.96 miles on average for Whites.

"Similarly, a smaller percentage of non-Whites (26.6 percent) have low access to supermarkets than do Whites (48.2 percent)."

Given failure to influence purchases when corner stores feature fresh fruits and vegetables, and the fact that poor people and minorities have better access nationally to supermarkets than the financially better off and whites, why are anti-obesity experts so gung-ho on watering so-called "healthy food deserts" with tax money and foundation donations?

Because they're desperately searching for do-able solutions to a problem whose cause has still to be defined, and which has foiled all efforts to solve.

It's really not as if gluttony, sloth, inactivity and even childhood obesity are novel foes. According to CDC statistics, the steep increase in childhood obesity began in 1980 and after reaching an alarming peak a few years ago, has leveled off. Throughout those years, and particularly since 1990, attention at all levels has focused on the issue. It's just that these problems have proven resistant to even the most expensive and valiant efforts to overcome them.

For decades, millions of dollars have poured into nutritional education. At the same time that carbonated soft drink consumption declines (every year for the past six!) organic food options burgeon, gaining by 20% every year in the last decade. Health food stores, once a niche market, have gone mainstream; a case in point--the Whole Foods supermarket chain, begun in 1980 in Austin, now boasts more than 300 outlets.

Still, the mantra throughout professional obesity-world literature is that the problem requires still more investment of public funds. A 2007 book by the Food and Nutrition Board, Progress in Preventing Childhood Obesity: How Do We Measure Up? notes that "Government, industry, communities, schools, and families are responding to the childhood obesity epidemic by implementing a variety of policies, programs, and other interventions," but decides "the current level of investment by the public and private sectors still does not match the extent of the problem."

Of course, its main finding is that we just don't know if all the spending and talking and teaching and fruit-and-veggie-touting is making a difference, phrasing this conclusion in admirably academic terms: "Current data and evidence are inadequate for a comprehensive assessment of the progress that has been made in preventing childhood obesity across the United States." Ahem.

Obesity in children--and adults--is a far more complex phenomenon than well-meaning agencies and pundits are willing to admit. And because its causes are not yet understood, creating innumerable boards and bureaucracies to eradicate it (and make food deserts bloom) have failed. To be sure, some money must go toward innovative medical research to tease out the true sources of obesity--and whether the future generation is as doomed by it as alarmists insist.

I suspect that genetics and environmental influences (A virus, like the Adenovirus 36? An "obeso-genic" substance or situation that, like carcinogens, throws cells out of whack?) will prove contributors to the problem, and that unfair stereotypes that suggest all fat people are ignorant, have no self-control and need patronizing interventions will be squashed like the unsold tomatoes at Super 24 in Delridge, Washington.

Chutzpah of Pres. Obama

2011-05-21T23:43:00.000-07:00

I'm still reeling at the chutzpah of President Obama to make a major statement about Israel, putting out his own determination of what Israel should do, just hours before the Prime Minister of that land was due for an official visit. Apparently Hilary Clinton let Benjamin Netanyau know about Obama's verbal bombshells shortly before they were dropped, and the prime minister's efforts to soften and modify Obama's declarations were ignored.

Seems like major disrespect to me. And yet, when he got to the White House, Netanyahu behaved graciously, with measured and logical response. No, Israel can't scale its borders back to the "the 1967 lines" to give away whole cities--400,000 residents' homes--to a new Palestinian state. What was Obama thinking?

Why would Obama usurp the content and purpose of Netanyahu's planned state visit by creating something so controversial and unexpected that it had to be mopped up? It's certainly audacious to just propose on TV "that negotiations should result in two states, with permanent Palestinian borders with Israel, Jordan, and Egypt, and permanent Israeli borders with Palestine. The borders of Israel and Palestine should be based on the 1967 lines with mutually agreed swaps, so that secure and recognized borders are established for both states."

Chutzpah to impose his own "should." In his speech, Obama said he understood the difficulty in resolving what has been a stalemate for decades. Then why start negotiating on TV?

Remember in 2005 when Israel turned over Gaza to the Palestinians? What did they get for that? Daily rockets showered upon nearby towns. What Israel got was the destruction of Gush Katif, a successful hydroponic vegetable growing center from which Israel had received perhaps the majority of its fruits and vegetables. The greenhouses were immediately destroyed by their new caretakers, replaced by rubble and launching pads--that were now closer than they'd ever been. Nice trade.

I fear the "two state solution" would be, for Palestinians, and certainly Hamas (which won't officially come to the negotiating table, but retains its presence) simply Step One in an ongoing press to eliminate Israel. Once again, the launching pads will come closer.

I'll be visiting Israel soon, and I'll find out if my viewpoint from afar is validated by people living there. And I'll be eager to see if our president back-pedals or continues his chutzpah in the face of the international community's reaction.

I was very impressed by Prime Minister Netanyahu's response to his meeting with Pres. Obama, but after reminding him of the 4,000-year history of the Jewish people in Israel, enduring "expulsions and pogroms and massacres and the murder of millions," he said he undertook his role in "fashioning a peace" with humility and little "margin for error...because history will not give the Jewish people another chance."

Every time I visit Israel, as I will over the next few days, I have been impressed that history has not measured the Jewish people by "chances." In fact, the survival and thriving of the Jews despite repeated attempts at genocide could not be by chance. Seeing the high-tech cities, innovations in medicine, computer science, communications, and the stylish, cosmopolitan rush of that tiny nation shows the energetic productivity of people whose basis remains their religious heritage--one that values women, and encourages questioning and exploration. Israel's success reminds us that God is an active party in its determination, and that a president's chutzpah won't do much more than provide fodder for a few days' columns and blogs.

Juxtaposing Limitations: "Common" vs. Hawking

2011-05-10T14:36:00.000-07:00

I've got so much I'm working on, but just now experienced one of those bizarre juxtapositions that sometimes God sends to flummox us into humility and gratitude.

My fave radio host was discussing Michelle Obama's upcoming White House celebration of poets, one of whom, Common (Lonnie Rashid Lynn Jr.), is an actor known for his cop-hating, President Bush-indicting raps. Just so listeners could be appropriately revolted, Fave Host played a particularly noxious excerpt. I happened to be multi-tasking at the time.

My second task was reading today's New York Times Science section while sipping hot chocolate. The lead story is an "interview" with scientist Stephen Hawking--painstakingly conducted via his daughter's days-long transmission of questions, and his difficult responses enabled only through computer miracles. As the world well knows, especially since his mega-best-seller A Brief History of Time: From Big Bang To Black Holes, Dr. Hawking is severely physically disabled as a result of Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis, Lou Gehrig's Disease, which usually kills its victims in a period of a few years.

In the background, with the familiar rap inflection that distorts final syllables to enable rhyme, Common intones, "Tell the law, my Uzi weighs a ton; I walk like a warrior, from them I won’t run. Use your mind and nine-power, get the government touch. Them boys chat-chat on how him pop gun, I got the black strap to make the cops run..."

Meanwhile, my brain is processing this response from Dr. Hawking to the question, "Given all you've experienced, what words would you offer someone who has been diagnosed with a serious illness, perhaps A.L.S.?"

Here's what Dr. Hawking answered, by, according to The Times, flinching his cheek muscle to "signal an electronic sensor in his eye glasses to transmit instructions to the computer": "My advice to other disabled people would be, concentrate on things your disability doesn't prevent you doing well, and don't regret the things it interferes with. Don't be disabled in spirit, as well as physically."

I burst into tears. Look what this man has accomplished. And by comparison, I look at the angry complaining in the "poetry" of the White House honoree.

I'm not commenting on who Mrs. Obama chooses as her poetic role models, or even whether or not she should laud Common as the apex of our nation's artistry. This isn't about politics, despite Common's lyrical diss of the former president and Dr. Hawking's entry into the health care debate. Or even about religion, despite Common's status as one of Rev. Wright's Chicago church flock, or Dr. Hawking's recent book that attempts to explain our existence without reference to a Creator.

It's just contrast in vision, plain and simple. We can choose to play the victim, even when able-bodied, televised and honored. Or we can talk about the great pleasures and exciting questions yet to pursue, even when confined to a wheel chair, in a voice created by a machine. Perhaps it's just the worlds each chooses to explore--a sad microcosm of limitations, or the possibilities of the cosmos.

Death of bin Laden; Death of Hitler

2011-05-04T01:34:00.000-07:00

"Hitler Dead!" "Bin Laden Dead!" Exactly sixty-six years elapsed between the two headlines, both splashed across newspapers on May 2.

Another "coincidence:" The day Jews around the world mourn and remember the enormous evil of Hitler's genocide, Yom haShoa, was the very same day Osama bin Laden was eliminated. Eerie how these two clear reminders of evil--and death--occurred together.

Jews around the world presently have heightened awareness of days, as we're in the midst of a special period that links the Passover exodus from Egypt to its purpose, receiving the Torah on Mt. Sinai. Each day we "count the omer," saying aloud the number of days and weeks in this transition. As part of this, we're ideally preparing ourselves with attention to specific character traits, in order to emulate our biblical ancestors who in unity and lofty spirit replaced their bondage to Pharoah with voluntary service to God.

I've been reading that some well-meaning, soft-hearted people, while glad the threat Osama bin Laden's continued existence posed is gone, refuse to "celebrate" the fact he's dead. I find this inappropriate.

Yes, I, too, remember the sickening videos of Muslims whooping and jumping for joy when they heard about the 9-11 attacks. That was particularly heinous and offensive, because the American civilians killed were just going about their daily lives. They were indiscriminately murdered for the sole purpose of terrorizing and humiliating our nation.

Osama Bin Laden, on the other hand, considered himself a holy warrior. He not only planned and facilitated the deaths of those 3,000 innocents on 9-11 but masterminded or enabled attacks dating to 1992. In 1998 he signed a fatwa or commanding decree, which includes the following: "We -- with God’s help -- call on every Muslim who believes in God and wishes to be rewarded to comply with God’s order to kill the Americans and plunder their money wherever and whenever they find it."

Three reasons were offered in the fatwa, the first two rooted in alleged American crusades against Muslims, with a supposed toll (as of Feb. 1998) of a million dead. The third justification for the fatwa is decidedly anti-Semitic: "...if the Americans’ aims behind these wars are religious and economic, the aim is also to serve the Jews’ petty state and divert attention from its occupation of Jerusalem and murder of Muslims there."

Ironically, a 2009 Pew poll found that Arabs in middle eastern countries hold overwhelmingly negative views of Jews--except those who live in Israel. Only 35% of Israeli Arabs expressed a negative opinion of Jews, while 56% had a positive response.

What we must consider, given the confluence of Yom ha Shoa and the killing of Osama bin Laden is the similarity of target between the Nazis and militant Islamic jihadists. It all seems to come back to the Jews, a religious group too tiny in number to effect any real rulership or oppression of Muslims, even if it were permitted or desired. Yom ha Shoa, the remembrance of the unspeakable annihilation of Jews on no basis except heritage, is whispered in Osama's fatwa, and broadened to include an entire nation, or more accurately, western civilization and culture.

America is not only hospitable to Muslims, but even now, officially tiptoes to assure them they are respected and not held responsible for the faction who would destroy us. Pres. Obama was careful to say in his announcement that Osama "Bin Laden was not a Muslim leader. He was a mass murderer of Muslims. Indeed, al Qaeda slaughtered scores of Muslims in many countries including our own."

I don't think al Queda was aiming for Muslims when it took down the Twin Towers, but I also don't think killing Muslims who defend America would be seen as more than collateral damage to the jihadists who have such low regard for human life, even their own.

Jewish tradition teaches that certain individuals and groups are imbued with a proclivity toward evil, and we remember these destructive forces ("Amalek") yearly before Passover. As we offer thanks to the courageous American security and military personnel who sought and destroyed Osama--for eight years under President Bush, and for two more under President Obama--we need to remain vigilant and cautious. On an individual, spiritual level, the timing is right to pursue personal elevation as a means to replace the world's evil with good.

The headlines are just a reminder that little in this world is truly coincidence.

Passover: Holiday of Exuberant Liberation--or Humility?

2011-04-17T02:26:00.000-07:00

In most religiously observant Jewish homes this time of year, the mood is frantic. At the deadline--this year on Monday morning, before the Passover holiday starts near sundown--leavened food products become forbidden. That means that cereals and cakes, bread and cookies, pasta and beer may not even be owned, much less consumed. For the duration of the 8-day holiday, these products, called "chametz," cannot be part of Jewish life, replaced by a diet big on fruits and vegetables, eggs, meat and a fresh stash of specially certified for Passover goods, many of which include the flour-and-water flat crackers called "matzah."

Matzah is very carefully baked within the 18-minute time frame that excludes possibility of leavening, and during the festival is creatively served as "matzah pizza," "matzah brei," (fried up with egg), and in fake-cakes and other baked sweets using matzah "flour" instead of the real thing. Before the holiday, homes are prepared by elaborate cleaning to remove all residue or crumbs of anything leavened, and usually kitchen counters are covered with something--a tarp, foil, contact paper--as a barrier against any errant chametz particle.

Sounds bizarre. Seems like a lot of work. And for what?

Not to strip away all pleasure from eating. Not to drive Jewish women crazy taking toothbrushes to grout. The restrictions and cleaning are important, though, because all the work and restraint do put us in the frame of mind that the holiday promotes: humility.

Everyone knows that Passover is a festival of liberation. Pharoah finally caved to Moses' repeated pleas to release the Jews, with the coaxing of ten plagues, including the killing of Egyptian firstborn sons. Freedom is a wonderful thing; it lets you do what you want. Slavery, obviously, is horrific, especially subjugation to cruel taskmasters. If it's a holiday of ecstatic liberation, how is the message humility? And what has chametz to do with either liberation or humility?

If you've heard of the seder, then you probably know that the reason for matzah instead of fluffy bread is right there in the haggada, the little book that contains the proceedings of the evening. It says that once the Jews got the go-ahead to leave Egypt, they didn't have time for yeasty expansion, so they packed their flat matzah, grabbed the Egyptians' gold, and bolted. Matzah represents the exhilaration of freedom, and the absence of lofty loaves symbolizes the happy haste of their exit.

Of course, the haggada also calls matzah "lechem oni," the bread of poverty. Poverty? True, it's a poor excuse for hot-from-the-oven challah, and yes, the Jews in captivity were
kept down, and matzah is the most basic combination for subsistence, just flour and water. Why remember this negative side of the story in the midst of our most triumphant moment, escorted out of bondage by God?

Here's where we come to the humility part. It's a myth from what used to be called a "Negro Spiritual," a traditional folk song, called "Go Down Moses," that the Jewish leader asked Pharoah to "let my people go." Instead, he asked the Egyptian ruler to allow a 3-day furlough so the Jews could worship God in the desert--and return! (Exodus 8:23)

With his heart hardened by God (so his real inclination to refuse the Jews could trump the plagues), Pharoah said no. God told Moses and Aaron to keep going back, each time asking Pharoah to "send out My people that they may serve Me." What God had in mind, though, was the birth of the Jewish people, and their ultimate removal from Pharoah's human domination--to be replaced by a different servitude, this time directly to God.

They had to clean their mental slate, emptying it of the slave mentality. Opening their minds to something greater than their human condition. They had to expand their sense of possibility, grow their sense of potential, inflate their view from physical survival to heavenly consciousness.

Kind of like dough, going from flat, gloppy blob to an enlarged, and more refined state baked into bread. This is the process the Jews needed to accomplish--moving from matzah-minds to an awareness of heavenly presence. The "rising" process took 50 days, the time between escaping Egypt and the receiving of the Torah on Mt. Sinai. The Jews started out internalizing--eating--matzah, the flat bread of affliction and poverty. And over time moved outward spiritually, expanding upward, getting closer to God, until finally, they became ready to stand as one in His actual presence. That day, called "Shavuot," or the holiday commemorating the culmination of this seven week process, is annually marked by an offering of real bread, baked from the first wheat harvest.

So the celebration of freedom is the kind that comes from detaching. No longer tethered by Pharoah's slavery, the Jews are actually poor, eating bread of poverty, because at that point they have neither the familiar, though oppressive status of slaves, nor their new servitude to God's demands as given in the Torah. They're adrift, fleeing one status yet unsure of their destination. They need to be aware of this void. They need to be humble, to realize how desperately they need God.

The first bit of expansion of their souls came after they were cornered at the Red Sea. Finally, when Nachshon ben Aminidav proves his trust in God, submerging in the rushing waters up to his nostrils, God opens the way--and their minds--to pass through to the other shore. Once they make it, the first line of their song of praise--they all knew the words in a communal fit of prophesy--was, "I shall sing to God for He is exalted above the arrogant... (Exodus 15:1)" A perfect juxtaposition to their own humility, in the realization of their dependence on and gratitude to God.

It's unlikely that the White House Passover ceremony of the seder (recounting the exodus), that President Obama plans to host for the third year in a row, will strictly follow Jewish law (which is actually written directly in the Torah) to avoid chametz. The announced menu for his seder includes a noodle kugel, and unless it's made with that weird-textured passover pasta (usually made from ground matzah and potato starch), it's probably not acceptable. It's also unlikely he knows the holiday doesn't celebrate the "now we can do what we want" freedom that everybody lauds, but rather the "I've gotta serve my real master" that's tougher to embrace.

In a sense, it's easier to understand the relief those enslaved Jews experienced after you've been rooting out crumbs and emptying refrigerators and locking up cupboards for weeks. As you do these things, you're constantly questioning its purpose, and trying to imbue the tiring experience with some kind of uplifting rationale. Finally, when Passover does arrive, and your tired limbs want to succumb to fatigue and four cups of wine, you let go and identify with the yearning to move from the physical to the spiritual realm. Quite a transition; quite a magnificent trick to make the exodus real and current.

I confess that my thoughts of pressured house-cleaning are memories rather than realities as my husband and I are fortunate to be scholars-in-residence at a Passover program in a beautiful hotel. The meals are excellent, the accommodations comfortable, the setting serene. Our family will be together, among hundreds of others at their own tables reading the same words of the seder, transmitting the history of our people to our children, and attempting to relive and renew our own passages from physical slavery to service to God. But the lovely surroundings themselves are reminders that we must not take for granted even a moment's blessings. Nothing in this world is truly free.

This post inspired by "The Symbolism of Chumetz" by Rav Ezra Bick.

Division in our Country--Nowhere Close to Civil War Days

2011-04-12T14:44:00.000-07:00

I can't believe the callers who tell my fave radio talk-show host that our nation is as divided now as it was during the Civil War, which began 150 years ago today. As he keeps pointing out: Not anywhere close!

As a young teenager I was caught up in the "hootenanny" fad, and learned a lot of traditional folk songs, to which I added my guitar accompaniment. One of them was called "Two Brothers," and as soon as I heard today's radio debate, the song immediately came to mind.

It was written, interestingly, in 1951 by Irving Gordon, so has no historical basis, though the notion of families so divided that sons fought on opposite sides is well-recorded in lore, and probably fact about the War Between the States, or "The Great Rebellion," as it was alternately called.

I ran to the cupboard and hauled out the fat, aged notebook in which I'd collected my typed lyrics with the guitar chords I'd arranged all those years ago. The pages were aflutter with clippings detached from the yellowed Scotch tape that once affixed them among the categories I'd catalogued: Beatles, British Artists, American Artist, and Folk Music. In my Folk sub-section called "war" was the page with words I attributed to The Weavers' Song Book, page 64:

Two brothers on their way, two brothers on their way; two brothers on their way,
One wore blue, and one wore gray....the fife and drum began to play, all on a beautiful morning.

One was gentle, one was kind...one came home, one stayed behind. A cannon ball don't pay no mind, if you're gentle or if you're kind. It don't think of the folks behind, all on a beautiful morning.

Two girls waiting by the railroad track...one wore blue and one wore black. Waiting by the railroad track, for their darlings to come back, all on a beautiful morning.

Today we cannot fathom the idea that two brothers, raised in the same American family, sharing the same God-fearing values, devoted to the same mother, would be so vehemently divided that they would give their lives for opposing sides of an issue.

We are appalled to hear of Muslims killing their co-religionists over variations in doctrine or leadership. Here, in our American culture, where reason in avoidance of conflict is the first strategy, we vocally disagree on certain topics, but simply can't understand that members of the same family would part, knowing the great likelihood that at least one would perish over their differences.

The Civil War confronted geographical, lifestyle and philosophical schisms so much deeper than whether Planned Parenthood should get federal funds, or even whether to be involved in foreign conflicts. Despite Obama's failure to be the great uniter bearing hope and change, the events nearly a decade ago--9-11--showed the constant soul of America, when we, like the Children of Israel receiving the Torah on Mt. Sinai, stood as one, singular in our love for this country and our determination to defend it and our common values.

But 150 years ago, national divisions even pit brother against brother. It was unique enough in our history that a song commemorating the phenomenon would be recorded by popular singers, and captured the imagination of a teenage girl.

More Food Choices, More Obesity?

2011-04-12T00:11:00.000-07:00

Some of us are old enough to remember when supermarkets didn't offer anywhere near the variety they do now. Probably all of us remember. Starfruit. Purple potatoes. Gnarly heirloom tomatoes. Hot sauce-flavored dark chocolates. Sage-flavored grapefruit juice. Yes, it's true.

Choices in the cereal aisle are now staggering (check out Wikipedia's list of them), the number of teas and coffees mind-boggling, the bottles, cartons and cans of waters and juices (acai, pomegranate, passion fruit, anyone?) towering. It's enough to paralyze shoppers, and selecting products has become a lengthy process of squinting at labels, noting price-per-ounce on shelves, calculating cross-brand sizing and wondering which of those strange ingredients are benign or worrisome. Is this just a new chore of modern life, an expansion of taste enjoyment--or a threat?

Research now suggests the dizzying array of products in supermarkets is actually harmful. It's making us obese.

  In Los Angeles, when I grew up, our Safeway and Ralphs chains offered only classic pasta shapes (spaghetti, macaroni, lasagna), no exotic fruits (and none out of season) and a handful of ice cream flavors from a few manufacturers (Neapolitan was a boon because it combined all three top flavors).

In those "good old days," obesity was rare, and the percentage of overweight citizens low.  US Center for Disease Control statistics show that in 1962, 13.4% of adults were obese (BMI between 30 and 40), and .9% "extremely obese" (BMI more than 40). This compares to 2005-6, years of the highest rates recorded, when 35.1% of adults were obese, and 6.2% "extremely obese"(since then obesity rates have declined slightly). Men's average weight shot up 30 pounds, and women's about 25 between 1960 and 2002 (average height increased 1.5 inches for men and an inch for women in the same period).

Those who blame plenty for increasing obesity argue that easy access and food's very deliciousness causes people to over-ride bodily cues. With so many gourmet foods appealing to the most specific tastes, each person in the household can maintain a personally-pleasing stash of favorite indulgences.

Yummy foods beckon between meals when boredom or stress plead for a distraction, and the mere existence of a plethora of delights is therefore the source of deleterious girth.
Studies show that "salience" of food increases consumption. In other words, if it's right there, especially if it's visible, it calls to you. Also important is its convenience--food easy to procure and prepare, like the burgeoning number of ready-to-eat goodies increasingly populating store shelves, according to data, increases the amount of food munched.

Other research shows that awareness of abundant food options encourages eating:  More foods on the plate, in fancier presentations. More brands of more new items in the stores, of multiple flavors and colors. More depictions of food, touted by "celebrity chefs," advertised everywhere you look--at prices easy to afford--hammer the mind, offering constant enticement to own, manipulate, and ingest.

A front-page story in the New York Times this week said that retailers are returning to cluttered, high-shelved, abundant-product displays because a clean, pared-down shopping environment, while deemed more pleasant by customers, hurt the bottom line. More stuff, says the article, gives shoppers the idea they're getting a better deal, as well as offering more sources of temptation.

So, in the days when tiny mom-and-pop stores commonly provided one's comestibles, and when supermarkets offered an average of 9,000 items (1974), people went to the grocer looking for ingredients rather than immediately edible satisfaction.

No more, now that the average number of items in a supermarket has climbed to about fifty thousand. And routinely, food emporiums include delicatessens with glass cases showing prepared salads and main courses, bakeries wafting their warm cookie fragrances, salad and olive and cheese bars where you can fill plastic containers yourself. Rows of bins and crocks, with handy clear bags and little shovels, and dangling pens to write ring-up codes.

And all this food is cheap. It may feel like the price of food is high and becoming ridiculous, but the proportion of household income devoted to it is far less than in the days when choices were more limited. In 1950, Americans spent about a fourth of their income on food; by 2009, they spent less than 10%.

Can we really blame what overwrought pundits call "the obesity epidemic" on greater food options? Are retailers' ads, media's ubiquitous images, and stores' bounty so effectively brainwashing us that we've allowed this massive expansion?

Easy access and ability to afford all these wonderful choices have contributed to the problem, but don't explain it.  Mainly because schools and government have vociferously discussed nutrition, for decades. For example, the federal "Expanded Food and Nutrition Education Program" taught millions of low-income youth and young adults about good food choices--for forty years! It started in 1969; surely by the time the obesity epidemic started--about 1980--and as it escalated to its peak in 2000--the national program would have disseminated its message about healthy eating. Yet obesity kept growing. (Despite its title, I doubt the program educated toward "expanded food and nutrition...")

And 45 of the 50 states require students take a health course, usually three, during elementary, middle and high school years. Even states that don't require a course have support programs on healthy eating, obesity-prevention and exercise. We know what to eat. But it seems the "new normal" has inflated anyway.

In previous posts, I've discussed parents' inability to curb their kids' intake of sweets, despite healthy food alternatives, incessant inculcation and even personal vigilance, such as the Philadelphia parents who stood outside corner stores between their homes and their children's schools. Could it be that all this focus on "healthy diets" switches people from the "eat to live" orientation to the "live to eat" push-pull between tasty treats and the "you shoulds" of educators and experts?

Naturally thin people who eat when they're hungry and stop when they're full aren't compelled to "take advantage" of the bountiful food in their paths. They eat what their bodies suggest would be most pleasing, and listen when they feel full. Why does it seem there are there fewer such people around nowadays to emulate? Answering this would be key to knowing why the rate of adult obesity jumped between 1980 and 2000 and since then has remained level. And it might help examine why childhood obesity also increased in that time period.

I wonder about the impact of the Adeno36 virus, as well as genetically-related changes we haven't investigated. Some researchers suspect air conditioning, maternal age, or medication for the bulging figures. In the meantime, I consider the dazzling choices in the supermarket evidence of our flourishing economy and creative product innovation, not evil sources of decay and obesity.

What Parenthood is All About

2011-04-10T14:01:00.000-07:00

From the headline, "Sharing the Shame After My Arrest," you'd think today's "Modern Love" column in the New York Times was about remorse at being caught breaking the law. You'd be wrong: it's about the essence of parenthood.

I haven't cried as much over something I've read in quite a while.

The author, Brooke Rinehart, is a 28-year-old employee of a New York public relations firm whose new husband stole her identity and used it to commit wire and mail fraud, federal offenses. Before that was established, she was awakened by officers one morning, handcuffed, and hauled out of her newly-purchased home in pajamas. As her life unraveled over the 90-day period it took to clear her, her mother took on and traveled the emotional distance, physically and soulfully there for her, sleeping, contorted, in a living room chair so as not to be more than a few feet from her distraught daughter, who was sleeping on the couch.

The daughter lost her appetite. So too, the mother. The daughter grieved her marriage, her lost home, her future, her assessment of reality. So too, the mother. The father, being male, did his best to be supportive, but in a different (and equally important) way.

My mom in action

When I got to the end of the article, where Brooke's female gynecologist finds out about the whole sordid story and is overcome with emotion about the mom's devotion, I was a basket case. You can't really put into words the complete investment of a parent in a child, the extent of hopes and prayers for the child's well-being, and the ongoing urgency to prevent, and if necessary, cushion any negative experiences. Not because the child is you, but because the child is more than you, your sense of possibility and continuity and the repository of years of tiny efforts that seem like privilege because the child then takes that, and from what you gave, becomes an individual.

My children, now launching into their own worlds, probably think me clingy when I want them to kiss me goodbye. When I ask about what they're doing, and need reassurance they're all right. I was one of those guilty children who couldn't understand my own parents' protectiveness, and as a teen, when I'd grouse, they'd respond that I'd understand someday. I thought it preposterous.

But here I am. I'd sleep in a chair, too, if my child were going through an ordeal. That doesn't make me a heroine. That makes me a mother.

But Clouds Got In My Way

2011-04-01T16:39:00.000-07:00

As, aptly, a post-script to my last post, here are some photos of clouds that I've taken here in the Northwest. I think my favorite "clouds" song is Simon and Garfunkle's "Cloudy", from which I take the photo captions, though of course one's immediate reaction is to start singing Joni Mitchell's "Both Sides Now."

"Cloudy: the sky is gray and white and...cloudy..."

"...Sometimes I think it's hanging down on me"

"I left my shadow waitin' down the road for me awhile..."

"Cloudy: My thoughts are scattered, and they're...cloudy; they have no borders, no boundaries..."

"Hey Sunshine, why don't you show your face and bend my mind?"

"These clouds stuck to the sky, like a floating question: 'Why?'"

"They don't know where they're going, and, my friend, neither do I...."

Cloudy...cloudy...

Happiness in a Cloud

2011-03-31T00:12:00.000-07:00

Here in the Seattle, I chuckle at the newspaper forecasts, since like the proverbial Eskimos who have a dozen words for snow, we have an equally ample vocabulary for that wet stuff that incessantly batters the roof.

"Showers turning into rain," was today's forecast. "Rain at times," which translates to "rain at ALL times," earned two days this week. When the weatherman's especially frisky, he predicts "chance of sun," or the ever-optimistic "Rain with sunbreaks." That means that if you keep your eye out, you'll get a chance to run outside for a quick Vitamin D blast in the ten seconds before the sun is again obscured. The word "drizzles" does not exist; instead it's "partly cloudy."

Right now a blanket of gray hovers above us, with lighter and darker shades woven within it. An article in yesterday's New York Times Science section comes to remind me that I ought not be glum, and instead should start admiring the moving show above me, cast in silver, pewter, or as Pantone suggests, flint gray, frost gray, feather gray, chateau gray, smoke gray, steeple gray...

Admittedly, the whole thing looks like one big shaded low ceiling, which would be perfectly fine--occasionally. But clouds, when they're distinct, have a lot to offer, their negative reputation notwithstanding.

The article describes a new book by cloud-spotter Gavin Pretor-Pinney that validates my fascination with these amazing entities. He says clouds are "magicked into being" by natural forces, but I usually think of them as God wielding an enormous paintbrush on the blank canvas of the sky. Pretor-Pinney's Cloud Appreciation Society boasts more than 25,000 members in 87 countries, and awards its adherents 10 points for sighting a normal nimbostratus rain cloud, up to 40 or more for rarer formations. What you win for collecting all these views is unclear. Heh-heh.

Cloud Society advocates have "had enough of blue-sky thinking," and of "people moaning" about their fluffy friends. For the record, I do not "moan" but simply prefer clouds that are actually discernable rather than one heavy, smothering mass. (OK, I do moan about our blanket.)

But whenever and wherever the sky boasts beautiful clouds, I'm the first to extol them, and always run to get my camera to capture their ephemeral magnificence. Many of my best cloud shots are from visits to Hawaii, and in this post are a few I've taken there over the last few months.

Pretor-Pinny did express a worthwhile sentiment for those of us who grumble when sunshine is a mere memory: "Happiness does not come from wanting to be somewhere else. Happiness comes from finding beauty and a stimulation or interest in the everyday surroundings in which you find yourself."

Because of that, and Jewish tradition, I thank God every morning, even before looking outside. And tap people, not periphery, for joy, as it says in the song: "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are gray..."

The reason the Israeli flag is blue and white even relates to the sky. The blue color, called "tichaylet" in Hebrew, is biblically-rooted, and inspires one to look to his world--to the sea, and from the horizon upward, to remember the source of it all. We're presently not sure which animal originally produced the dye, but some researchers in Jerusalem have isolated a sea snail found off Israel's coast, and have started producing special garments which include a thread of this hue.

There's also the biblical story of Moses leading the Jews in battle; as long as his hands were raised skyward, focusing soldiers on God, the Jews prevailed.

So wonderment at clouds isn't so trivial after all. If nothing else, we're reminded how small and inconsequential we are, and how subject to God's elements we remain. It's amusing that even the website of Pretor-Pinney's society is "powered by...cloud hosting." It seems even techys who rarely venture outdoors are giving a lot more attention to clouds.

Kids Like Candy, and Breast Milk is Sweet--Is Sugar the Enemy in Obesity?

2011-03-29T01:10:00.000-07:00

The New York Times today had a story about a vigilante group of Philadelphia parents in "bright-colored safety vests and walkie-talkies" gathered to admonish children entering a convenience store on their way to school against buying junk food. They think they're going to keep these kids from becoming obese.

All I can say is, "good luck."

You can food-pyramid kids to death (in my generation it was a square), trying to educate them to eat nutritionally, but they're going to like sweets. And even if they avoid sugar, we really don't know if any of these efforts would reduce the swelling child obesity rate.

The underlying assumption is that kids gorging on contraband is fattening them up, but apparently there's scant research data to support this. "Specific causes for the increase in prevalence of childhood obesity are not clear and establishing causality is difficult since longitudinal research in this area is limited," admits a report on childhood obesity from the US Department of Health and Human Services. It continues, "Several studies have been published that attempt to link children’s diets with the onset of obesity. However, none have been able to show a causal link between diet and obesity."

Nevertheless, the report gives us graphs and pie (!) charts illustrating changes in kids' diets over the years. For example, children in 1977 used to drink 1.5 times as much milk as any other drink. By 1996, they drank twice as much sugar-sweetened beverages as any other drink. Between those years, of course, we were bombarded with anti-cholesterol information, and school milk cartons downsized, down-fatted and up-priced. And also, those convenient, inexpensive "sugar-sweetened" boxed juices became very popular for sack lunches.

There are 100 calories in a Minute Maid box of enriched vitamins and calcium orange juice, 100 calories in a Minute Maid pouch of "Coolers" (sweetened) fruit punch. There are 100 calories in a cup (8 oz.) of 1% low fat milk, and 120 in a cup of 2% low fat milk. Which makes kids more obese?

But there's little to suggest that eating sweet things, per se, is the cause of obesity. We know that children like sweet tastes, though. If you've ever sampled breast milk (okay, I tasted a few drops of my own while nursing) you know it's surprisingly sweet. And it's loaded with fat--whole cow's milk is just 3% fat, but mother's milk, according to the first definitive study, is 5% fat in the first few months, and keeps getting richer--to a whopping 17.5% fat for moms nursing 1-3 years. The researchers speculated that these intense amounts of cholesterol at an early age accustom the body to it, and actually protect against future heart problems.

Could it be that young kids love sweets because they're naturally programmed to prefer mother's milk?

The Health and Human Services report then goes on to suggest that sitting is the culprit in kid obesity. After all, now children park in front of computer screens playing video games and doing Facebook. But the government report doesn't address new media--first, they admit they haven't got trend figures on children's physical activity. The best they've got is a one-shot study suggesting adolescents get less exercise than recommended. Then they resort to saying kids spend a quarter of their waking hours watching TV. That's bad--but this isn't any different than kids spent two decades ago, as I reported in a book on childhood co-authored with my husband.

The most convincing arguments regarding elevating obesity rates in children relate to genetic causes. Fat parents usually produce fat offspring, and I don't believe it's only due to learned sloth. Certain people have family dispositions to obesity, as a CDC research-overview report puns: "These investigations suggest that a sizable portion of the weight variation in adults is due to genetic factors."

Also, obesity statistics vary by racial groups, with black and Hispanic Americans experiencing significantly higher rates of obesity than other groups (51% and 21% more respectively, according to the CDC). New census data show that the US Hispanic population has increased 46.3% in the last decade, from 35.3 million people in 2000 to 50.5 million in the 2010 census.   States which have increased Hispanic populations exhibit growths in obesity rates, and those with highest African-American populations also show highest obesity rates.

Another non-volitional explanation for increases in childhood obesity, perhaps related to familial connections, is that an obesity virus alters the way people process calories. Studies have found a greater likelihood of the adenovirus AD36 marker in the blood of obese children and adults. The virus, of the type that produces the common cold, was isolated just at the time that obesity rates took a steep climb.  Animal studies on the virus found some shocking results: "Chickens, mice, rats and monkeys infected with the virus all get fat even though the animals don’t eat more or exercise less than they did before they were infected."

Today's article describing the Philadelphia parents' protective vigils at mom-and-pop stores was perplexing on several levels.  Apparently, the kids have school breakfasts awaiting them, but prefer to stop at the corner store for candy. The article's highlighted student, Tatyana Gray, comes from a caring home, where her mom keeps a basket of fruit on the dining table. Tatyana eschews the fruit for morning cereal, and then "stops for a snack on the way to school."   Her school, William D. Kelly, "has expelled soda and sweet snacks," and the nurse "pushes water" instead of fruit juice. The first-graders sing "Old MacDonald" with vegetarian lyrics: "and on his farm, he had some carrots," while skipping around a gym.

Still, the corner store lures these health-educated kids. "Ha, ha, ha!" one child teased a parent as she emerged with "the usual fare." "I bought everything!" another "bragged." "After several weeks of parent intervention," the article notes, "more children were skipping the corner stores, showing progress against the pull of sweet snacks."

I wouldn't count on it. Kids like sweets, and for some reason, sweet fruits aren't good enough. Michelle Obama's campaign to fight childhood obesity is benign and might even benefit some people--certainly fresh foods and movement are worth touting. But I think we have to look beyond the "sugar is bad, exercise is good" obesity antidote and realize the problem has yet to be defined, much less solved by a bunch of well-meaning parents in florescent vests standing guard at the corner store.

The Mole in our bathroom...and in Outer Space

2011-03-24T23:39:00.000-07:00

Lumps of lawn rise every few feet on most front yards here in the Northwest, due to nuisance moles tunnelling underneath. There's one mole, however, that we welcome into our home, and who has played a major role in my children's lives. His name is Krtek, an internationally beloved cartoon character, and he's finally getting his due by riding with American astronaut Andrew Feustel on the spaceship Endeavor's April mission.

Though generations of children in Eastern Europe embraced the non-verbal, simple TV cartoons first created by Zdenek Miler in Czechoslovakia in 1956, my children have their own personal relationship with the little mole and his forest friends. And he remains a part of our family's life every day, though our youngest has now graduated high school, and most of the time, our home is quiet.

Nearly two decades ago, when my husband hosted "Sneak Previews," the movie-review TV show on PBS (a job he held for 12 years), he was approached by a wonderful, kindly gentleman whose dearest wish was to popularize Krtek the Mole in the US. His six-year-old daughter, while suffering with serious illness, found pleasure watching Mole cartoons, and it was in memory of this that he undertook his project. As my husband was known for his strident support of family values, the gentleman felt he might share an appreciation of the animated gentle digger whose interactions with fellow animals wordlessly addressed such sophisticated topics as jealousy, competition, intrusion of technology, environmental pollution, loyalty and friendship.

And indeed, my husband and each of us fell in love. Our children were small, and video-cassettes of The Mole became perpetual favorites, viewed over and over again. The Mole theme was a musical riff around our home, and I hum it now as I write this. The kindly gentleman, who devoted his own resources to publicity for the Mole, provided us with all sorts of wonderful Mole-abelia, including stickers, posters, calendars, a huge plush toy that was my son's favorite, and the shaggy rug that still warms my children's feet when they're home and step out of the shower, graced with the smiling big-eyed black Krtek holding a beach ball and waving "hi" with his four chubby fingers.

My husband enthusiastically endorsed The Mole, recommending the cartoons on his TV show often, but to our disappointment, he never took off. But now, thanks to the space shuttle, a hand-puppet version will, spending two weeks skybound and at the International Space Station, among the personal items of astronaut Feustel, whose mother-in-law hails from a Czech-Austrian border town.

I'm very sentimental about the little mole, and dip into my stash of stickers for every home-made birthday card I make for my son. One time we were honored to have the kindly gentleman in our home, and the children and I created a Mole shrine, a collection of drawings and Mole items just to show him how much Krtek and his friends meant to our lives. We're not the only ones: though no Mole cartoons have been released since 2002, last year alone fans shelled out $1.5 million for official stuffed Mole toys.

So when I saw a couple days ago that the Wall Street Journal had a front-page article about the Mole's ascent into the stratosphere, I was delighted. Perhaps now the sweet cartoons that helped a small girl laugh through her pain--and captivated my own little ones--will bring joy to American children, and help maintain the happy innocence they deserve.

"Mom, I'm OK, but there was Terrorist Attack here in Jerusalem today..."

2011-03-24T01:22:00.000-07:00

I was still snoozing at 6:30 this morning when the phone rang. I guessed it was a radio interview for my husband who arises early, and let him pick it up. But soon he was calling my name--saying it was our son.

"Bad timing," I thought, assuming our 18-year-old wanted the flight information for his return home for Passover. But no. "Mom, I'm all right," he began, and I bolted upright.

"There was a terrorist attack at the bus stop today, and I just wanted to let you know I'm okay." My son is spending the year in Jerusalem studying at a yeshiva, a post-high-school program focusing on Jewish texts designed to set him on the right path spiritually for life. The only transportation he uses in Jerusalem is busses, and he rides them from one end of town--where his school is located--to the other, where we have friends and family. Yes, my son told me, he stands at and rides by that bus stop often, including the day before.

"Well don't ride any more busses," I told him firmly, recalling placing the same restriction on our daughter when she spent 2004-5 in seminary there.

It's only moms who are far away giving such admonitions. The rest of Israel, including all of Jerusalem, soon went about its business in normal fashion. The modern, fast-paced nation doesn't let one incident slow it down, and in fact, the attitude is that a strong and vibrant culture will repel repercussions better than dwelling on injury.

And Israel is definitely strong. Both men and women serve in the military, wearing their M-16 guns slung across their backs even when off-duty. The sight of well-armed and well-trained youth on the streets brings a feeling of security. As do careful inspections of trunks of cars as they pull into parking lots and structures, and watchful door guards at cafes and gathering places.

I'll never forget the sight at my nephew's wedding three years ago--his army buddies dancing around him link-armed in a circle, their long guns flapping against their backs as they jumped and high-stepped in joy. This is a society that trusts in God, but knows that man must do his part as well.

So, there was a a bomb, perhaps remotely controlled to hit a passing bus, left next to the bus stop. A woman died, three are in critical condition, twenty are injured. President Obama "condemns in the strongest possible terms" the bombing and in the same paragraph expresses "deepest condolences" to the families of 4 Palestinians accidentally killed in a Gaza airstrike aimed to stop the "dozens of rockets" that Benjamin Netanyahu says Hamas has "rained down" on southern Israel targets over the past several days.

I don't think the latest attack affected the safety situation in Israel overall. The modern, achieving people in that tech-savvy country are aware that some of their Jew-hating neighbors want them eliminated. They continue to carry out their usual activities, with a prudent sense of caution, aware that in the broader context, Israel has a very low intentional murder rate--2.1 per 100,000 population compared to the U.S.'s rate of 5.0 per 100,000 people. (Mexico and Russia both show 15 murders per 100,000 population in latest figures.)

As a mom, I'd rather have all my children close to me, and certainly prefer to have my son within my protective purview. But I also know that this is a precious year for him, a year when he can gain independence within the structure of a grounded program that will reinforce solid values. He likes his teachers and feels he's maturing and gaining insight. So, happy as I'll be when he returns home for Passover, I also know that there's something worthwhile about this special time in Jerusalem, center of spirituality.

I don't relish unexpected phone calls telling me of very frightening events. But being a parent means that unless your kids are sleeping soundly under your own roof, you're bound to have a tinge of worry, and if they're old enough to be on their own, I'd rather their early morning phone call begin with "Mom, I'm all right..." Somehow, I believe (though I continue to pray) that Israel will be all right, too.

Honolulu Festival--Samoan Tattoos and my Ukulele Idol

2011-03-21T23:04:00.000-07:00

The Honolulu Festival, showcasing Pacific Rim cultures, was in full bloom during my recent visit to Hawaii, though subdued in respect for the devastating losses in Japan. A fireworks show that took three years to plan was cancelled, though the three-day festival was poised to begin when the earthquake and tsunami struck. Performers and artists from many Japanese Prefectures had arrived, and so the event went on.

The Festival finale was a parade down Waikiki's Kalakaua Street thoroughfare, where groups from dozens of countries and regions marched and performed in native dress. Dragon costumes held up by two or more walkers opened their mouths to collect donations to help stricken Japanese. Occasionally, a high school marching band from some unexpected place like Montana would sound in its formation wearing long maroon felt uniforms completely out of place in the 80-degree heat.

And then there were the proud representatives of various native groups, distinctive in their costumes as well as their movement. Two such groups took what appeared to be bamboo matchstick-style place mats and formed them into shapes as they walked--suddenly there were bridges and birds and spires in the hands of (usually quite mature) paraders.

However, the most eye-catching collection were the men and women who chose to identify with their Samoan heritage through traditional body tattooing, called "pe'a" for men and "mala" for women. This isn't your typical anchor or angel wings or a girlfriend's name--instead, it's designation of chiefdom or high rank that enduring its deeply painful application attests. On men, pe'a is a dense web of geometric forms that includes large solid black swaths and extremely closely-knit designs covering the body from ribs to knees.

According to Wikipedia, tattoos are applied using a series of "combs," that are hammered into the skin using a two-foot-long mallet made of palm spine called a "sausau." The people in the parade seemed cheerful and friendly, but to see each with an

intricate fishnet-stocking type ink pattern to his knees, and elaborate swaths of very detailed dark etching, was eye-catching and personally, I'll admit, surprising.

The parade announcer said that these were younger people who chose to identify with their heritage by reviving the nearly-lost tattooing tradition (in fact, it's said the English word "tattoo" derives from the Samoan term, "tatau"). While I support ethnic pride, I wonder if these people will find that their acceptance in the workworld--even with increased prevalence of all sorts of tattoos generally--will be impeded.

Apparently, the arduous process of being traditionally Samoan tattooed requires five steps, done over many days due to inflammation and pain. Certainly, anyone who undergoes this has permanently cast his lot with the tribal history of Samoa, as well as demonstrated a willingness to suffer for that identification.

I loved the Honolulu Festival not only because it was colorful and exciting but because I saw and learned so much. Several groups had created "mikoshis," shrines in which spirits dwell, carried upon the shoulders of perhaps a dozen marchers. Jake Shimabukuru, beloved ukulele master (I have several of his albums--Yay Jake!) rode in the parade and later did a benefit concert for Japan. Australian aborigines, the world's largest aloha shirt, costumed performers from many Japanese prefectures--all contributed to my awe.

Hiding and Flipping: Holiday of Purim Mirrors Life

2011-03-18T14:32:00.000-07:00

Two themes pervade the Jewish Holiday of Purim, which celebrates the events in the Book of Esther this Saturday night-to-Sunday night. The first is hidden-ness. Just as Esther (who hides her real name, Hadassa) actually means "hidden," and her disguised background allows her to rescue Persian Jews from genocide (in approximately 356 BCE), we internalize that God may be hidden in our world, but remains in control.

The second theme is "flipping." The Purim story is one of bad flipping to good, in an astounding series of opposites reversing. Haman, the bad guy, gets hung on the gallows he prepared for Mordechai, Esther's uncle/guardian/husband--who flips from a death sentence (and cause of the decree to kill all Jews) to Viceroy. Jews are first targeted for annihilation, then empowered to kill all anti-Semites. We are reminded that any given moment could radically shift the very basis of our lives.

Japan. The earth lurches and thousands of lives are lost. The sea rears, and thousands more extinguished. Everything appears orderly. Then it is chaos.

In the Israeli community of Itamar, a family sleeps peacefully. Then an anti-Semitic intruder enters and slices a baby's throat, kills 4- and 11-year old children, murders both the parents and slips away. The Fogel family attacked for the mere fact of being Jewish.

Most often, healthy turns to endangered or gone; stately turns to disgraced, or secure to shaky. But the Book of Esther offers the hope of turnaround in the other direction. Peril can shift to calm, and desperation to relief. Pain can subside, and tension can convert to peace.

One excellent point covered in a Torah class I enjoyed this week is the ongoing need to unceasingly recognize that all reversals are ultimately God's, and that at a given moment, we are often unable to see a grander plan that will prevail. Jews fast on the day before Purim (this year a bit earlier due to the intervention of the Sabbath). This is not in emulation of Esther's three day fast before approaching King Ahashverus, but rather Jews' preparation for any act of war. After Esther and Mordechai's triumph over Haman, when Jews were about to execute the decree allowing them to eliminate their enemies, they humbled themselves and fasted, in submission to the Force they knew would control whether they succeeded or failed.

It is this understanding of the behind-the-scenes Power that runs our lives moment-to-moment that motivates Jews to this day to fast before the most celebratory and revelry-filled holiday of Purim. This year we are especially conscious of the way life can turn around in an instant. With the tension of this week's events in mind, we will drink and dress in costume and celebrate Purim reassured that even shocking and discouraging events are ultimately for the good, and that you can't count on things to be just as they seem.

I Survived the Hawaii Tsunami

2011-03-11T12:01:00.000-08:00

Reading about the devastating 8.9 earthquake that struck north-eastern Japan last night and its immediate wall-of-water tsunami makes me grateful that my evacuation to higher ground and TV vigil here in Hawaii were capped by an exciting but inconsequential series of exaggerated ebbs and flows.

Tsunami in Japan, March 11, 2011

As a Southern California native I can recall the complete panic when walls shake, vases crash, and pendant lamps sway violently. But then to have a thrust of water filled with deadly moving debris seems too horror-movieish to contemplate. At least Japan is civilized and smart enough to have implemented building codes to minimize loss of life, and it was that kind of civility that reigned last night here on Oahu.

I'm staying for a few days with friends whose gorgeous home is close to the rocky edge of a bay, and when we turned on the TV last night about 8 pm, we were told to look inside the telephone directory to determine if we were in an "inundation zone" and must evacuate. Sure enough, we were.

Coverage on all the TV channels featured experts predicting a rise in sea level of about 6 feet that would cover low-lying areas to about 465 feet from shore. Waikiki tourists were "evacuated up" to hotels' higher floors several hours before the tsunami's expected 3:07 am touchdown in the northernmost Hawaiian island of Kauai.

Facts about tsunamis I never thought I'd have to be scared by: The powerful water rushes at a speed of 500 mph from the earthquake site, in a series of waves that unlike the ones I body surf in, last fifteen to twenty minutes each. No in-and-out for these big guys--after each 20 minute inundation the wave recedes and then, about a half hour later, returns--but usually the biggest wave is not the first. They don't know which one will be--and the cycle continues for three hours.

As a kid I had nightmares where I was in a beachfront hotel, looking out from maybe the 15th floor--I see a gigantic wave, 30-stories high, coming from afar to envelop the entire building. Just as it's crashing onto me, I wake up, panicked.

No. That is not the way it happens.

I couldn't shake memories of that nightmare, however, when I heard the long, strong blasts of the emergency sirens that started about 10 pm and sounded every hour thereafter. The most startling thing, though, was when police drove by with loudspeakers commanding everyone to leave to higher ground. Mustachio'd talking heads on TV gave scientific updates from the Tsunami Control Center, with bulletins about clinics and schools closed--and "places of refuge" where residents in coastal homes could congregate. Hawaiians got the message and formed long lines at gas stations and food stores.

I packed my rolly suitcase and set my phone alarm for when we'd have to leave, then dozed off in front of the TV. In a flash it was time, and my friends and I drove to a hilltop home with a commanding view of the bay below. I took a cell video of the dark town with the background of sirens, and hunkered down by the TV to await impact.

Three-oh-seven arrived and Kauai was quiet. The surveillance camera views shifted from Waikiki, to Diamond Head, to beaches on Kauai. Then the first hit--the waves moved quickly, each lapping higher on the Kauai sand. Twitter and email reports were read; the edge of the sea rose several feet, though there was no single rolling wave. Then the waves reached less high with each churn, taking several minutes to pull much farther out than the original level.

Shift to street cam views of Waikiki, where a foolhardy couple sat on a retaining wall just a few feet from the sea. Commentators repeated how stupid they were to stay there. They blithely sat, until minutes before the expected wave police helicopters with strong searchlights hovered above them. In the next view before impact, they were gone.

The waves in the Diamond Head view, illuminated by a resident's strong outdoor lights, started to lap higher and higher, with greater frequency. They rose above the original level, licking up into a steep sand incline. Cut to the experts saying the first wave isn't usually the strongest. Then back to Diamond Head and--wow!--the water had receded astoundingly, revealing long reefs that were now dry rock. The cameras panned out until the light dimmed too much--it seemed the seabed was dry for hundreds of feet. Newscasters marveled that in this surf spot, where a close-in reef is later mirrored by one farther out, both were visible. The naked reefs glistened interminably, quietly. Then I saw what looked like white side-winder snakes, far out, coming closer. The water was returning not with a roll or normal waves but these hissing wavy serpents of foam, moving along, first across the far reef and then the closer, and then onto the sand.

Once returned, the water again receded, revealing the two reefs. But again the return waves stayed on the sand.

After watching for hours without any devastation to keep me alert, I dozed off, and soon my friends wanted to leave for home. And it's a glorious day in paradise.

A memorable vacation, undoubtedly. One to increase my gratitude for solid earth, and add new life to the Jewish morning blessing to "God, King of the Universe, who spreads out the earth upon the waters" and "...who firms man's footsteps." Every normal day is another miracle.

Past-Due Food: Smell it. Then Eat it.

2011-03-07T00:31:00.000-08:00

I was nearly jumping for joy when I saw an article in today's New York Times vindicating me for using food past its due date. My daughters consider anything with a "sell by" in the coming week inedible. Doesn't matter if it looks and smells fine--if it's beyond those numbers printed on the can or carton, it's outta here.

I thought I'd taught them not to waste perfectly good food. But no. If they catch me cooking with something "old" (to them that translates to "disgusting"), they won't touch it. Leftovers in the fridge beyond a week? Garbage. Hermetically sealed veggie "meat," a bag of dried lentils, uncooked mac-and-cheese with that packet of "cheesy" powder sauce? That stuff, I maintain, lasts. But no, if the "best by" date has passed, it's history.

I will not tell them how much "expired" foodstuffs they have consumed--and loved!--over the years. They'd vomit.

Bruce Feiler describes his own battle of the due-dates as a major marital irritant. He's in my camp, willing to trust his senses to tell him what's still good. And he marshaled lots of evidence for our position. For example, he quotes Ethel Tiersky, editor of ShelfLifeAdvice.com, who says dates are about optimum quality, not safety. "Virtually nothing in your refrigerator jeopardizes your health," she says. "The pathogens that cause food to look bad, smell bad or taste bad are not the ones that make you sick." So there.

He noted that manufacturers themselves decide what to stamp on their containers--no federal regulating body is involved (except for baby formula). The rules that exist in just 20 of our 50 states are "mostly for dairy products, and usually to control how long products can be kept in stores, not how long they should be kept in your refrigerator."

He brought up the issue of needless waste which, by the way, is contrary to Jewish law. "Bal tashchis"--not wasting--is a commandment, though when it comes to dated food, it's not a fave of my daughters. Americans now discard 1,400 calories per day per person, according to the National Institutes of Health, a pitch-rate that's soared 50% since 1974. No wonder--now your purchases give you guilt and fear of violating digits stamped on their labels.

Our local food bank regularly puts out pleas to help restock its shelves. But they won't accept anything beyond its marked expiration--even seeming non-perishables like pasta. Right now I have in my pantry a cardboard cylinder of table salt with an expiration date. I have a jar of honey with a "best by" date on it. Do salt and honey go bad? I google'd the questions. An archaeologist wrote that he had tasted 2,000-year-old honey that was still delicious. (The "best by" stamp on my jar fell a tad short of that.) Salt, I discovered, is a preservative. It cannot spoil. Tell that to the girl with the umbrella. Never mind: tell that to my daughters.

My fave story in the article describes the company that bought up 1.6 million bottles of expired salad dressing. The company advanced the date a year and sold the bottles. Charged with fraud, it won exoneration on appeal because the dressing was perfectly good; in fact, the judge deemed salad dressing so "shelf stable" that "it has no expiration date."

There's a charming chain of Japanese "100-yen" stores called Daiso with outlets near me. I love the store for its fractured English packaging and its extremely odd five-and-dime products, some of which are unidentifiable. It has a sizable section of comestibles for sale under a big sign: Expired Food. I never see a crowd there. But what do you expect for 100 yen?

My daughter was making dessert the other day and needed an egg for a recipe. The carton had a "sell by" two days before. "Oooh!" she squealed, wrinkling her brow, "throw these out right away!" Who is the mother here? But she was about to toss the entire bowl of flour, sugar and oil, so I rushed and found a newer carton of eggs. However, for her (and your) egg-ification, I now quote the USDA Food Product Dating Fact Sheet: "For best quality, use eggs within 3 to 5 weeks of the date you purchase them. The 'sell-by' date will usually expire during that length of time, but the eggs are perfectly safe to use."

Got that? Perfectly safe.

I do advocate this leftover food rule: "when in doubt, throw it out." I take a whiff in the milk carton every time, no matter the "use by" date. But so many times I'm not in doubt. It's just the ookey-pookey sensitivity of my children that causes problems. At times, I've been tempted to, um, exaggerate when my daughter asks suspiciously, point-blank, "When was the due-date on this?" but I've never brought myself to actually lie in order to save a bottle of mustard. I do try to avoid confrontation.

Am I the only mom who can't bear to waste perfectly good food just because her children have learned to read numbers? Aren't we smart enough nowadays to evaluate what's edible and what's not? Why have companies created their own "nanny state" in my kitchen? And especially now--as food prices seem to be escalating more quickly than they have in several years--shouldn't we be thinking of "bal tashchis" as a virtue worth cultivating?

Cuomo: No Communion for Guv with live-in Luv

2011-03-01T16:50:00.000-08:00

New York Gov. Andrew Cuomo, pictured emerging from an Albany Catholic mass in a large York Times article last week, shouldn't receive Communion because he openly lives with TV foodie Sandra Lee without marriage, a papal consultant insists. Cuomo's cohabitation is "public concubinage," the Detroit canonical expert decreed.

The Governor responded that his religion is a private matter "and not something I discuss in a public arena." He may not discuss it, but his actions make it public--and that makes a difference.

Sacred Heart Major Seminary professor Edward N. Peters, appointed as a consultant to the Vatican's Apostolic Signatura court, says communion for the governor is contrary to Canon Law. "The governor, with complete freedom, is publicly acting in violation of a fundamental moral expectation of the church," Dr. Peters explained to Cybercast News Service.

Subsequent coverage has suggested the remarks are retaliatory for the Governor's desire to slash funds for Catholic education, or because of his divorce, or his views on abortion. Widespread comment seems to be divided as to whether the governor should be turned away from communion or not.

The avuncular Msgr. Hilary Franco of St. Augustine's Parish in Ossining, appearing on Good Day New York, said he'd personally deny the governor communion but couldn't rule out that the state leader had, in confession, promised to "live like brother and sister" with the Food Network celebrity, thus allowing him to come with the required "clean heart and clean soul" to receive the Eucharist.

Ahem.

This topic is of interest because Jewish tradition places enormous emphasis on the difference between deeds done in public, and those committed behind closed doors. Biblically, public sexual performers Zimri and Kozby got speared through by Pinchas (Phineas) because of their behavior (Numbers 25:10-30:10). Debate about whether the killings were justified were settled when God awarded Pinchas both the priesthood and the "covenant of peace." Murder is obviously not acceptable, and normally, misdeeds would be adjudicated by a Jewish court--but Pinchas gets two big prizes for his quick action because the Midianite woman and her Israelite lover were trysting at the gate of the Tent of the Meeting. Their flagrant public flaunting demanded immediate response.

Every day in morning prayers, Jews remind themselves to "always be fearing of Heaven, both privately and publicly, acknowledging the truth, speaking the truth within his heart..." The point is consistency. Jewish laws provide for punishments of differing strengths depending on whether transgressions are public or private--with just about every private transgression without physical harm left up to God to punish.

Unlikely brother-sister relationship aside, are we to ignore the Governor and Miss Lee shacking-up? Have we learned post-Bill Clinton that "just sex" is private and therefore
carries no consequence? For the most part, apparently yes. Reproval for non-marital sex in the current culture is low. But it's of major import concerning the Governor's fitness for the sacrament, because the Church sets the rules.

And in this case, his visible disregard of Church standards, while leader of the State of New York, puts Gov. Cuomo in a grandly public position. Is his religion private, as Gov. Cuomo claims? His relationship with God, certainly; but his receiving the Host at mass is a matter of public church standards.

That's why I don't consider it so outrageous that Dr. Peters suggests the governor "refrain" from taking communion, given his knowledge of Canon Law 915 and a great deal of other Catholic legal rules. This is not an issue about welcoming sinners to church, or knowing what's in anybody's heart, or making any kind of interpretations on a personal level. This is about blatant, public violations of Canon Law by a Catholic constantly in the news.

And I suspect that's what makes this so controversial. Too many people want to separate public actions in the sexual sphere from other types of public actions. Dr. Peters' pronouncement is uncomfortable because it reinforces restrictions, guilt and morals, which many consider outmoded and inappropriate nowadays, regarding sex.

As an outsider who happened to pick up the newspaper, it appears to me that the Church seeks to be refreshingly open and clear, rather than in select cases wink and look away.

Presidents' Day: Washington Rules; Lincoln Loses

2011-02-22T15:43:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, as workers and people who like to check their snail-mail know, was President's Day. Or was it? Is this a trick question about the placement of the apostrophe after the final "s"? Isn't Presidents' Day an amalgam for the two presidents we used to celebrate separately: Abraham Lincoln and George Washington?

I drove by my local elementary school, and on its signboard since last week was: February 21, Happy Birthday, Washington! When you search "Presidents' Day" on Wikipedia, you're re-directed to Washington's Birthday. The website whitehouse.gov has info on the presidents, and even a slideshow; if you search "Presidents' Day," you get 4,644 results, but about the holiday--nada.

Turns out I've been making a common mistake. There's no Presidents' Day, and it's not a snub to Lincoln, nor is it an indiscriminate salute to all presidents, no matter their competence or favor. Seems "Presidents' Day" is more of a commercial invention to lure shoppers on their day off.

Apparently, states have the option to observe federal holidays or not, and some chose to have a separate birthday celebration for Abraham Lincoln, as well as George Washington. When I was a kid in California, we got February 12 and 22 off school, to celebrate Lincoln and Washington, respectively, on their birthdays. OK, it's true that Washington was born on February 11, 1732, because at his birth, the Julian calendar was used. When the colonies switched to the Gregorian calendar in 1752, his birthday became February 22.

In any case, seeds for the demise of recognition for individual presidents were sown with the 1968 Uniform Holidays Bill, which stationed most federal holidays on Mondays. Washington kept his day, but because it became the third Monday in February, it could never be his actual birthday, the 22nd.

Lincoln? Well, he never had a federal holiday, anyway. And when Martin Luther King provided Americans a day off in January, his fate was sealed. Workers now had MLK day in January, Washington's Birthday in February, spring vacation in March, Easter in April, Memorial Day in May...

So Monday was officially Washington's birthday, according to the federal calendar. I'm happy with that, because he was indeed "the father of our country," and never had his own children to fete him. A new USA Today poll shows Americans have short memories when it comes to presidential achievements. Asked "Who do you regard as as the greatest United States president?" respondents named Ronald Reagan by a significant margin (19%) followed by Abraham Lincoln (14%), Bill Clinton (13%), John F. Kennedy (11%) and George Washington (10%). Clinton's huge popularity is astonishing to me, given that he was impeached, but perhaps most surprising was that Barack Obama, after just two controversial years in office, garnered 7th place, with 5%.

All presidents are not equally worthy of honor, and I'm confident that historians have a better vantage than the public. Americans could use some history lessons, as well as better skill at evaluating leaders' accomplishments. But I'm relieved that Monday's holiday still commemorates one man, and that he is deserving of reverence as well as department-store sales.

New Dietary Guidelines: Hailed, Hackneyed and--a Cause of Obesity?

2011-02-16T04:28:00.000-08:00

Big praise everywhere for the brand-new Dietary Guidelines for Americans, just released by the US Departments of Agriculture and Health. But why?

Apparently, previous guidelines had tip-toed on eggshells so as not to offend well-subsidized farmers and interest groups. Fast food corporations pay good money in taxes, so the Feds didn't want to suggest that Supersized Fries should feed three, or that the Colonel quit serving chick wings you have to blot with paper towels to eat.

The Guidelines come out every five years by law, and the last one, in 2005, had very similar recommendations, just in less directive language. We've all been hammered with this same nutritional info since the first report in 1980. Every kid who's ever taken Health in junior high school has been tested on it. Anyone who walks down a supermarket aisle gets a refresher course: "Now, with more fiber!" reads a label. "And here's a great way to get those five servings of fruits and veggies!" chirps some food guru on a flat-screen TV in the produce section or over the check-out stand.

Let's see, do we want the margarine with the trans-fats or without?? The boastful red ZERO on the tub assures us no grams of that nasty heart-clogger lurk inside.

The problem is that despite redundant emphasis on less sweet and processed food, more fruits and veggies, more fiber and whole grains, less soda and salt--you know the drill--Americans have just gotten fatter. Frankly, the statistics on obesity are a bit different from what we're led to believe, and I'll discuss them momentarily, but the result of the Feds' urging us to watch our dietary consumption is the opposite of their aim. Knowledge and ubiquitous publicity about "shoulds" of nutrition have only brought a chunkier population. At the conclusion of this post, I'll tell you why.

In any case, with Michelle Obama adopting obesity-remediation as her personal campaign, we're sure to hear more...and more about it. Let's move!

Obesity stats: First off, a major caveat that the Centers for Disease Control uses the measure of BMI, "body mass index," which is notoriously crude, but all we've got. Every few years, statisticians of the NHANES program of the National Center for Health Statistics go out and take measurements on a sample using consistent methods, and classify subjects into three categories of heft, "overweight," "obese," and "extremely obese."

Now, here's the interesting thing: For adults over age 20, the "overweight," (BMI between 25 and 30) percentage of the population has stayed consistent for 50 years. It was 31.5% in 1960-62, and 32.3 at the next measurement, 1971-4, compared to the latest figures from 2007-8 when 33.6% were overweight. In 2005-6, "overweight" subjects were 32.2%, a tenth of a percentage LOWER than the figure for 1971-74.

The situation for the category called "obese," (BMI between 30 and 40) expanded from 13.4% at the 1960-62 first measurement to 15% in 1980. But then--at the next measurement (1988-94), there was a jump to 23.2%. And by the following measure, 1999-2000, the "obese" category swelled to 30.9%. That's a one-hundred-percent increase in just ten years! If people continued ballooning at the same pace, we'd expect to see 60% of the population "obese" by 2010--what a thought!

But there's a different outcome. Let me quote Katherine M. Flegal, et. al, a foremost researcher on obesity trends, in the Journal of the American Medical Association, (January 20, 2010—Vol 303, No. 3, page 235):

"In 2007-2008, the prevalence of obesity was 32.2% among adult men and 35.5% among adult women. The increases in the prevalence of obesity previously observed do not appear to be continuing at the same rate over the past 10 years, particularly for women and possibly for men."

Finally, stats regarding the "extremely obese" (BMI more than 40) are downright scary. In 1962, just .9% of the population--less than one percent--fell into that category. By 1976-80, the percentage was up to 1.4%. At the next measurement, 1988-94, the percentage doubled, to 3.0; by 2000 it was 5.0, and by 2005-6, it was 6.2%. The latest (2008) numbers show a slight drop, to 6.0%. The percentage of "extremely obese" mushroomed five hundred percent from 1962.

Why do I go through all these figures? Because they show that in the 20 years between 1980 and 2000, the rate of obesity skyrocketed. But it varied little before and after that period. Curious.

Do we blame those twenty years of thickening on McDonald's (which already had 1,000 restaurants by 1968) and fast food? On companies that added thousands of products to store shelves to answer working women's demand for convenience? On sloth encouraged by TV and the new lure of computer games? Or...could it be due to a virus (adenovirus 36)? Hard to tell.

And do you believe it's education that suddenly stopped that steep climb in obesity a decade ago?

The authors of the 112 pages of the current "Dietary Guidelines" (really only 59 pages of written content before all the appendices) would have us think so. Their recommendations are written in such lofty, vague, sweeping, academic and sometimes, hysterically funny prose as to render them flaccid. And of course, the document recommends lots more government studies and commissions and interventions and regulations and education efforts as the way to shrink the citizenry. And inflate the budget.

Then, in a final chapter, the Guidelines acknowledge:
Although more consumer education is needed on achieving calorie balance, meeting nutrient needs, and staying physically active, information alone does not lead to behavior change.

Yes, that's right. You can lead a kid to water, but you can't make him drink (if there's soda handy), as the barage of healthy-eating information over the last thirty years has demonstrated. Additional commissions and partnerships and studies likely won't work to reduce us either, if propping fan mags featuring skinny movie stars right where you buy your food can't inspire purchasers to slim down. Shoppers ingest the magazine's cheesecake photos as they're loading their Haagen Dazs onto the conveyor belt.

Every market contains vegetables, a far wider variety of them than when I was growing up, including microwave-ready pouches you just nuke for five minutes and fork into. Just about everyone has access to healthy food as well as the simply satisfying kind, the neck-up tranquilizers that offer rewarding crunches to salve frustration, or creamy smoothness to comfort. Anybody can put on tennis shoes and go for a jog, or a walk, or climb the stairs in the building--they just don't. The Guidelines are likely useless, but okay, if they mean there will be less junk in junk food, great.

I believe, however, that the Guidelines and experts telling Americans what they should eat and do are actually causing obesity, because they teach us to not trust our own instincts, to detach from our natural signals of hunger and satiation, and to override the internal mechanism that tells us what it is our bodies need right then.

If we could stop saying that sugar and ice cream are "bad" and celery and apples are "good," we just might clear the way to understand what our naturally thin grandparents did: you eat when you're hungry, eat what pleases you, and move on to other activities when comfortably sated. If it were possible to respect our individual likes and dislikes and toss out pyramids that once were squares, perhaps we could be at peace enough to relax about food and get on with actually developing our talents and minds and accomplishments.

One of the most humorous parts of the Dietary Guidelines is a silly diagram (6:1) of all the influences on people's eating and exercise habits. Using colored ovals and arcs, we get a list of everything a bunch of people could brainstorm, including religion, community design and safety, food service and retail establishments, body image. The one influence on what we eat that was completely absent from the 24 items packed into 4 sub categories was--body cues. Hunger.

In other words, the authors of the august Dietary Guidelines for Americans 2010 believe eating choices are completely determined by factors external to the body consuming the food.

Certainly, the choice of particular foods that might satisfy one's body needs is shaped by factors like the cuisine of his family, or what's available. But what's behind the idea of, say, "I feel like having a hamburger" versus "feeling like" having any other item on the menu? The Dietary Guidelines would have us disregard the natural messages that tell us what we need nutritionally in favor of chewing some tasteless whole-grain lump, or even a tasty whole-grain lump that wasn't what our bodies needed at that moment.

I realize I'm going against the grain, but the Guidelines' emphasis on distinguishing bad from good foods turns attention from the primary source of food choices, which should be the body's communication of its needs, rather than a Federal Department or even the First Lady.

"Just Go With It" flick better titled "Don't Go To It"

2011-02-10T00:57:00.000-08:00

There is absolutely nothing redeeming about "Just Go With It," the Jennifer Aniston, Adam Sandler flick I wasted my evening on tonight. It's one of those movies where the more you think about it, the more you hate it. Unless you're a drooling guy who wants to see Brooklyn Decker emerging slo-mo from the surf in a little bikini, or a buff Jennifer Aniston likewise clad. Nicole Kidman plays Aniston's college rival, and you get to see her wiggling in a grass skirt with coconut bra in one of the most contrived and trite "hula contests" ever hosted by a plaid-jacketed elderly MC.

In the most far-fetched and thinly-related remake of "Cactus Flower," the 1969 Goldie Hawn film for which she won both Golden Globe and Academy Awards, "Just Go With It" inserts outrageous set-ups to get the kind of laughs you feel guilty emitting. The plot involves a Beverly Hills plastic surgeon (Sandler) who gets girls sans expectations by pretending he's married, and in order to snag one on a more permanent basis becomes embroiled in a series of lies that find his office manager (Aniston) playing his estranged wife, and her two children, theirs. Sandler's new 23-year-old girlfriend (Decker), his breaking-up family and a tagalong cousin who poses as Aniston's sheep-importer boyfriend coincidentally named Dolph Lundgren (Nick Swardson) all go to Hawaii, to humor one of the kids, whose fondest wish is to swim with the dolphins. Of course, in forming that desire, the child forgot he can't swim.

Logical lags like that one fly faster than the tasteless comments, which are ubiquitous and obnoxious. Though the plastic surgeon starts off the movie in a flashback showing his early life with an objectionably enormous Jewish nose, apparently imperfect rhinoplasty turned his schnozz into that of Adam Sandler. And in a final scene, we see he neglected to use his medical specialty to assist the overgrown probosces of the rest of his family.

The wild and disgusting scenes just keep coming. Try these: The cousin performs the Heimlich Maneuver to help a comatose sheep cough up a dog toy at a Hawaiian restaurant; the fractured family walks in a slow-motion scene through a parking lot where a child appears out of nowhere to angrily splash a large soda onto his pregnant mom's ready-to-drop belly; Aniston and Sandler carry on about her lunch date and she takes a call from the suitor--in the examining room while they dab and pinch anesthetic cream onto the uneven breasts of a woman whose implant internally exploded.

The plot goes exactly where you expect it to, but in so doing throws in the obligatory find-out-he's-gay sidelight (clue: the guy can pick up a coconut with his buttocks), two unbearable, never remotely real kids, a blithe attitude toward money and materialism, and a bleached-blond girlfriend so bimbo-esque she'll nod to anything. There's something to offend everybody.

It took me two minutes to turn to my husband and plead, "get me outta here." Unfortunately, he had to stay, and I didn't feel like walking home, but at least my facial muscles got a workout from all that cringing. Spare yours, however, since "Just Go With It" is better titled with the warning, "Don't Go To It." Oooooh, what a bomb.