End of the Quarter

"I move on to another day
to a whole new town with a whole new way.
Went to the porch to have a thought,
got to the door and again, I couldn't stop.

You don't know where and you don't know when.
But you've still got your words and you've got your friends.
Walk along to another day.
Work a little harder, work another way."

-Modest Mouse, "World at Large"

(dys)topia

Good News: I submitted my first chapter draft to my advisor on Tuesday! It has gone through some writing group workshops, which were really helpful, but I know it still needs a lot of work. Still, it is nice to have something solid accomplished. It is called "Rethinking the Industrial Utopia: Factory Work, Alternative Homes, and Class Mobility."

On Tuesday, I also asked one of our girl scouts if she is writing a letter to Santa. She looked at me like I was crazy and said, "I tell my caseworker what I want for Christmas." Moments like this are just surreal for me. My parents did an amazing job at Christmas at my house. They used different handwriting and wrapping paper for Santa's presents, left cookie crumbs, pipes, and even ashy footprints. This is probably why I believed in Santa until I was like, fifteen. Of course, Brian's favorite Christmas memories are of his grandfather getting out his shotgun on Christmas Eve and saying that he is going to shoot Santa. So every family has their Christmas traditions, but bringing in a caseworker changes things.

Today, Brian pulled up to the house and a woman came up asking for a ride since it was raining. Bri said sure, and once she was in the car she started saying how cute he is and asking if he wanted a "date." He said that he is married and she started talking about how his wife will never know. He asked where she wanted dropped off and she said she didn't care; she thought they would just park somewhere. Then she spent the rest of the ride apologizing profusely, which I think is the saddest part. My stomach has hurt ever since he told me the story. I can't even formulate how helpless I feel when I think about the system of sex work that goes on daily in our neighborhood.

Well, sometimes I just need to write about these things before I start my schoolwork! Now I am going to read Strange Cults and Utopias of 19th Century America. AWESOME!

More Food Rants

I just got back from a meeting at St. John's for people serving food at the community meals on Wednesday and Sunday. We talked about how volunteers can foster healthy eating habits through the meals they serve. This was a great idea, because the majority of the churches serve complete crap. I know it is very hard to serve nutritious meals for a large crowd, but Ash and I were pretty pissed off at the women wearing fancy jewelry and saying they can't afford to buy the healthier products. Ashley did a great job of explaining that Franklinton Gardens is happy to provide discounts on their produce, which is awesome even though it would definitely raise my blood pressure even more to see the gardens mark down their already incredibly reasonable prices for the types of churches that serve the meals. As long as it gets to our neighbors, though.

I wanted to say, "look, just serve food that you would want to eat yourself." It is not a hard concept. As a community, we are incredibly picky about the food that we buy and the meat that we eat, but we only serve at street church what we would make at one of our potlucks. Sometimes that means asking for discounts, but places, especially Blues Creek, have always helped us out. I was also slightly annoyed at how many people claimed that poor people would not eat quality food. There is certainly a problem in Franklinton with the quality of food available, but I don't think food tastes are naturally a socioeconomic class issue. Most people I know, myself included, would rather eat junk food than vegetables. Access to good food and education is the key concern.

I sometimes think that a fairly constant sense of moral indignation is how I compensate myself for no longer eating at McDonalds and living in fairly close proximity to crack houses. I don't know how healthy that is. I also know that my views on community meals changed when I moved to Franklinton and developed actual relationships with the people I eat with.

This image is called "Christ of the Breadlines" by Fritz Eichenberg.