Just Point Me Towards the Secretary of Slow Food

I've watched this clip several times, and I have to admit I am conflicted. My initial reaction was the same as that of most of those who have commented on it at YouTube. Here is a dumb, fat, mean, narrow-minded, racist woman who clearly wears the pants in the family. Maybe it's because I've been around a rescue dog for two months and know that much angry aggression is rooted in fear and insecurity more than a deep-rooted evil, but I have some sympathy for this couple. The man, at least, seems to evoke some empathy even if he doesn't seem to have much of a spine. They are in dire straits and clearly victims of a heartless capitalistic system, with at least Sean considering that maybe things should change course, and then Tracy speaks up...

Then, I started reading some of the comments, including those who googled her and have listed her home address and phone number encouraging people to send hate mail and hurled every misogynistic insult they can muster. One thing she says is absolutely true: There are a lot of other people that think the way she does.

About midway we see them at the table saying grace over their "meal" of pizza, sandwiches and soda. And it appears they're pouring salt on the pizza. Maybe it's all just chemical. I definitely agree with Michael Pollen in this interview yesterday that there should be a minister of food or gardening in the new administration, no matter who wins.

Call me a member of the urban cultural elite, but although I am probably a dozen or so years her senior I suspect I'll outlive Tracy whose Type Two Diabetes will end in multiple amputations until her bitter, clogged heart finally gives out at 55. Even she doesn't deserved that.

But, as I said, I'm conflicted until I hear her say "Uhbahma". It's thanks to voters like her that we've had the last eight years. Maybe I will write a letter.

Between Heaven & Girth

I am about to head out from the reportedly fattest city in the U.S. without once enduring what is considered the official state meal of cornbread, sausage and gravy, chicken fried steak and pecan pie (gag!). Actually I'd say that less than 5% of the people I encountered on the trip fit that profile, which either says a lot of the voracity of such rankings or the circles I whirled around in for a few days.

Among the three to four books I've been reading this trip was Michael Pollan's latest, In Defense of Food. While the first half or more felt like a rehash of Omnivore's Dilemma, his treatise for breaking from the "western diet" at the end is fairly solid albeit a tad obvious and simplistic.

I'm not sure how he'd feel about the above mentioned official state meal. Like Bryce Digdug, Mr. Pollan is not very fond of corn. I guess neither of those two are Mayan. When Hello Kitty and I were kicking around Mel Gibson in the manger, we noticed a corncob lodged in a the most curious of places, but we refrained from sharing too many details. Pollan did not seem to be interested in weighing in (sorry about that one) on the Four Pork Products of the Apocalypse, but Mel was gnawing on pork rinds when we found him.