So that’s why

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1. “Well, I’m a ditzy liberal who believes in social freedoms and religious relativism!” And that’s why Johnny joined the Taliban. 2. chaos in Congo, mass murder in Indonesia, the rape of Amazonia — all troubles rooted in the rubber trade, which began with the pneumatic tires made for… bicycles! 3. Good news? Secondhand smoke is no worse for you than everyday air pollution. How reassuring.

Merritt; anarchists

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Oh my! Today’s Times Magazine has a profile of everyone’s favorite hyper-literate pop engima, Stephin Merritt. Salon has a story on anti-corporate anarchist riots reimagined as video game — but is that really any more political than a shoot-em-up about, say, the military or the police? Or are we so used to reinforcing the right-wing status quo that any glorification of leftist “soldiers” seems strange?

Figs, BBQ, croque

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News flash! God hates figs and, like everyone else, sporks. Oh, and spring’s off for now — light snow today.
Another web find: Bobby Seale, co-founder of the Black Panther Party, offers some tasty low sodium barbeque recipes online.
Lunchtime update: Earl’s at Gallery 37 has a ham & cheese panini which sates my taste for croque monsieurs. Still looking for a creperie and a soba shop downtown…

Fast food nation

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This seals it: as evil as Starbucks might be in terms of homogenizing neighborhoods, and that’s pretty darn evil, McDonald’s and the fast/processed food scions for promoting overeating and obesity with an ad budget ($10 billion a year) as big as Detroit’s. (A Coca-Cola Barbie? Wouldn’t that more properly be a Diet Coke Barbie?) However, someone pointed out that my more personal anger at Starbucks probably says more about my social status than my politics.
In other news: “The New Yorker disdains to be a booster, of his own city or of his own culture. That is for the provinces.” Yeah, right.

changing spaces

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In honor of the new coffee shop opening up across the street tomorrow, I’ve (partially) revised Wicker Park Cafes. Oh, and hello to the new neighbor across the gangway — for a few months there, I didn’t have anything to stare at from the kitchen window. Now I’ve got you guys! In other news, went to the suburbs today and was once again reminded why I never go. Disappearing sidewalks, long waits for the bus, long dashes across vast stretches of forbidding parking lots, those annoying traffic signals which require pushing a button to cross, and all to get to a half-empty shopping center. Harumph.

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6 February 2002
Practice saying (well, enunciating) this a few times: “this delicious, cleansing sentence tastes quite like cantaloupe sorbet.” from today’s PowellsBooks.news, quite possibly the only email newsletter that features the serialized tale of a bookstore cat whose most human attribute is a very Portland trait: riding mass transit.

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4 February 2002
Wow, it’s cold out there. Been busy for the past few days, so apologies for the lack of updates — not that anything that interesting happened (except some hanging around the neighborhood), but anyhow. (On Saturday, I did participate in some neat street theatre for Lambda Legal and found a poster of my latest political hero, but is that really newsworthy? You tell me.) Amazon.fr is running a sale on CDs (at € 8-9 apiece, that’s $11 shipped to the US!), so I think I’ll try and find something else obscure enough to make me feel creative… for the next few months at least.

The first few WTBAC pages are now up. Enjoy. I’ll spend at least some of the rest of the week on a project for the Critical Mass Art Show, opening on Saturday.

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29 January 2002
You know you’re a New Yorker when… what? Responses vary considerably: some apply to the anonymity and drive of any large city. One alludes to mobility (switching apartments); another to stability (having family in the city). Hm. BTW: a snow emergency will likely be declared tomorrow. Comings and goings: the new dorms and dining hall have opened at the U of C, but Bistrot Zinc on Southport (my first sidewalk creperie) has closed and will probably be demolished, since the property’s been sold.