The Way We Eat

One of the things I miss most about my house in Portland is the kitchen. I used to cook wholesome meals on a regular basis, grilled veggies in the summertime, kale and baked squash in the fall. Now I don't have the means for that kind of eating.

I've always been fond of cooking from scratch, but lately, as in the past few years, the level of scrutiny my food undergoes has reached a fever pitch. What is it, what is it made of, what kind of essential nutrients does it contain? Where did it come from, what has been done to it, what has it been sprayed with? I'm obsessed with the content of my meals, and I know I'm not the only one. All over America, Whole Foods and Wild Oats are rising up to replace Safeways and QFCs. There are a dozen farmers' markets in Portland alone. I have to wonder if all this obsession with something we can control is a result of being exposed to so many aspects of life we CAN'T control, like being spied upon by the Department of Homeland Security.

Is it a coincidence that all this interest in the quality and origin of our foods has come about at a time when we truly have so little control over the acts being perpetrated in our name by the government, indeed over the nature and composition of the government itself? And is it a coincidence that America's obsession with the content, origin, and quality of its food has originated with the same group of Americans most likely to feel disenfranchised? I guess time will tell...maybe by this time in 2009 I'll be enjoying a Big Mac.

Saddest Man Ever

Yesterday I had a really depressing lunch experience. I didn't have time to go home for lunch. I didn't know where to go so I wandered around for a while looking at the places around campus. I saw a little Mediterranean place and I got all excited because it seemed so collegiate, you know, cheap falafel and all.

The place was totally empty, and the guy behind the counter was literally the saddest man I have ever ordered a falafel sandwich from. I wanted to ask him about some of the other menu items, but he was too sad looking. I think he might need prozac. Or a hug.

So I sat there waiting for my falafel, and the sadness of the guy is infecting the whole restaurant. The walls are painted Beaver orange, and they have designs and words formed by placing masking tape over the darker paint underneath. The words say "OSU" and "GO BEAVS" but, like, in masking tape writing. If the place had been full of rambunctious college students, eating falafel made by the happiest man on earth, I can't say for sure if the walls would have been so depressing.

Anyways, my falafel arrived, and it had too much cumin. I don't like too much cumin. Also, the tahini tasted like mayonnaise, and that's just not right. Otherwise than that it was pretty good. But the whole situation was so depressing that it was awkward. Also it wasn't that cheap. It's too bad because sometimes those little hole-in-the-wall places have the best food. There is a little Pho place I'm going to try next.

Don't stop the rock

Today I went to the 7-11 and there was a dude sitting in his car in the parking lot, rocking out to "Lady In Red" from the Dirty Dancing soundtrack at full volume. It was awesome. Anyways, just thought I'd share.

Classes and Asses

Most of my classes are combined graduate and undergraduate, but as a graduate student I have an additional work load, as well as some additional meetings with the other grad students. This means that most of my experience so far has been with very large class sizes. Most of my professors seem nice, though.
The student populace is of a sort that I have rarely had occasion to come in contact with. People here wear a lot of makeup, even at eight in the morning. Today as I walked through the common square there were students at work on a large chalk mural on the ground. Free Mumia? Free Palestine? U.S. out of Iraq? No, in festive 6-foot letters they had written "MTV!!", "XBOX", and "FUN!", accompanied by various hearts and smiley faces. Olympia it ain't. I'm trying not to let the culture shock get to me, but I have my moments.

First Day of Classes

I had my first class today. I worried about being unprepared, not having the proper student gear and not having my books. I shouldn't have, because apparently these days college is structured to support the lowest common denominator. There were typed forms in which we were to fill out our lecture notes, quiz-style, as answers to specific questions. At the end of the class we turned in our notes for class credit. In other words, part of our grade is based on showing up to class and writing things down. As I was leaving I peeked at the notes of the girl sitting next to me. Her name was Brittany and the dot above the "i" was a little heart. For reals. I wonder if she signed the back of her driver's license that way. To be fair, this was an undergrad class that I'm taking to brush up on my design skills, so I was prepared for a room full of young, slack-jawed, vaguely bovine creatures. It did not disappoint. Most of the students here have a sort of vacant, overfed, Old Navy-esque appearance. I can't tell if their dull-mindedness is heartfelt or affected. Later today I have my first graduate seminar, so I guess I'll know more about what I've gotten myself into after that.

First Night In Corvallis

The water in my new apartment is hyper-chlorinated. When I do the dishes, the kitchen smells like a pool house. I only get one channel on the television, PBS. I'm watching The War right now. It doesn't seem that different from all the other Wars on PBS.

and now I'm going crazy with taxes. They have destroyed me. They don't even make any sense. What are passive activity credits? And where do I get some. Do I really even want them anyways? Reforestation amortization deduction. That must be something for lumberjacks. It's all a bunch of nonsense and at the end they give you some money and the state man takes it all away. Whatever. I just hope it makes sense to someone.

I wish I could get the smiling people on the templates to also be on my blog. I also wish I could be some mysterious person who makes friends only in computer-land and nobody knows my true identity. Does that even happen anymore, or am I just too old for that? It's only cute when it's a hooker doing that, anyways. I am certainly not a hooker, so I guess I'm just writing this for my mom to read.