Appease yourself.

Only a few days ago I sat at my kitchen counter. My sinuses burned and my eyes watered with the enjoyment of wasabi peas. When I regained my vision, I noticed the bag's label:

"WASABI PEAS: A DELICIOUS COMBINATION OF SPICY WASABI AND CRUNCHY PEAS."

I was struck by this incredibly accurate description of its contents. Subsequently. I felt a little ashamed that a bag of peas has a clearer description than I do. 

I wondered, 'If I had a descriptive label, what would it say?'

WHAT WOULD YOURS SAY?

Black Friday Stampede

Walmart says it was a security flaw; local law enforcement says, "all hell broke loose," it was a mob mentality; a young woman at the end of this clip says somebody lost their life because of a stupid Black Friday sale, which was not even going to last all day. And me? Of course, you're desperate to know what I say:

It's us. It's not an economic slump, or even a recession. It's a disease in our culture. What does it say about us that Walmart blames itself for not keeping crowds from trampling its employees? What is it in our culture that has made us this way? Consumerism, materialism, capitalism, fear, greed, stupidity, love? Do you love your family so much that you would trample someone to death just so you could buy their holiday gifts five minutes early?

I hope that's not love.

Wo qu zhong guo..

So, I am fortunate enough to travel with three other students to Shanghai for the ONE Show China: Young Creative Workshop. This is, needless to say, an amazing opportunity sponsored by the University of Oregon School of Journalism and Communication.

As far as I know, I'm prepared. We've got these new little books to reflect in (nerds!) and I even brought snacks! But they were confiscated from me at security... So sad. Actually, right now we're waiting in the Eugene airport. Well, I got up at 5:30 this morning and we've been waiting here for two hours and our flight to San Francisco has been delayed for two hours due to fog. Yes, the trip so far has really payed off.

One member of our group, China native Andy Liu, says that eating dogs in china is pretty common. Then I asked where they get the dogs, from a dog farm? It's probably this one.

Congratulations, Country

Yes, I know millions are saying it, and now more than ever, our collective voices mean more than each separate. Today is a new day. Today I woke up inspired because we have elected a leader that I admire. Although I'm not one to boast my political values, last night I was so moved I decided to show my support and made an Obama logo (LogObama) for my front door. Here's how. So can you.

"To Go"

He told me, "Enjoy your dinner."
I thanked him and walked out the door.
***

It was almost 8:30pm. It was getting late and I still had plenty of homework to truck through. But, worst of all, I was uninspired. I opened the cabinets in our kitchen—I have two for myself—and couldn't think up a mealish experience. Yes, I opened a can of beans, but since the big frying pan was soaking with water and egg particles, I would have to use the microwave for my quesadilla. No good. Just as I finished opening the can of refried beans, I realized. It was going to be a Maple Garden night.

So I called them up—their number is now saved on my phone—and ordered the usual. After a surly twenty minutes of translating Mandarin into English I hopped on my bike and pedaled down to the nearby Chinese dive.

The workers behind the register knew I my business as soon as I walked in. Maybe it was my posture, or frantic eyes, looking for the meal that I couldn't conjure on my own. The shift manager was a petite Chinese man, with a short white paper hat. We performed the exchange: Goods for money. And then he told me, "Enjoy your dinner." Enjoy your dinner, I thought. Something about it struck me. Enjoy your dinner. I visualized the word "Enjoy" printed in Shanghi red letters on the take-out box. I thought of the phrase, "Enjoy your meal." But somehow, this was different. It felt, personal.

I love the Chicken Curry dish. But,you know, this stuff is probably packed with MSG. It gets gummy and gelatinous after refrigeration. I don't know if they use real curry, or even real chicken. It's definitely not the best for my health, but that didn't matter. Enjoy your dinner. This man had worked on, created, something that would sustain me. He put his energy into what would give me energy. I am eating his energy.I relied on him, because I didn't have the motivation or inspiration to rely on myself. This meal is keeping me alive. I wasn't "inspired" to keep myself alive?

Every day, multiple times a day, we rely on other people to keep OUR lives functioning. In lieu of this fact, many respect "The Golden Rule". ("Treat others how you would like to be treated", for you miscreants out there.)I've done this my whole life because I know it is right, but not because I could quantify why. Tonight I was able to attach a face, a demeanor to the Golden Rule.

So while I shovel down mushrooms, peppers, onions, rice, and "chicken" mixed with an oozy, yellow, salty sauce, I think about that cook who made my food. "Enjoy your dinner." Enjoy your dinner. Poignant.

Orange You Glad...

It's nearly 2am, late for a college kid to be up working... on winter break. The fragrant box of Holiday Satsumas sitting next to me on the counter exercise a passionate romance with my nose. I shamelessly eat one. When selecting my second post-holiday Satsuma I realize how soft the peel is. and while I peel it, realize how ripe the fruit must be. last call by produce time. Time for eatin. a memory from a few days earlier hops to the front of my stream of conscious: The mandarin orange's cousin was sitting in my car. A friend picked it up to move and laughed. "Rachel," she said. "Do you know how soft this Satsuma is?" I did. "How long has it been sitting here? Are you going to throw it out?"

And now, enjoying the fragrance, anticipation, and pure suppleness of this ready little orange, I think about who else might find a Satsuma in a similar condition. Who else might revel in the fruit's ripened glory? While this box of little guys are all from the United States, I imagine a farmer or little boy in China, Turkey, or South America, picking one up off the ground. Suddenly, the fruit in my talons was the connection between me and a world i have only imagined. While I select fruit from a box sitting next to me, someone else might pull it off a tree or pick it up off the ground. While I work on my Mac making an invitation for my parents' 25th anniversary party, and someday hope to be paid for this skillset, someone else is walking down a dirt road, well set in their lifelong profession. It's 2 o'clock in the morning and I have the leisure, safety, and privilege to sit in a house and "work" on something completely intangible.

It's moments like these that connect me to the greater world. Thinking about the things we all share, and the circumstances that separate us. This time, though, I think our lives aren't so far apart, tiered away from each other. Just different. Because anyone with good sense can enjoy a really ripe Satsuma.



(image courtesy of Pappaliscious > http://flickr.com/photos/pappalicious/1463641070/)