Still to do: make dinner, then take a second run at Ganondorf.

All the talks went really well, and the energy and excitement both in the gallery and at the after party were remarkable. Phog’s Tom Lucier taped and uploaded all six Pecha Kucha Windsor talks. Tom, also one of the presenters, subtitled his talk “Growing Windsor’s Creative Class”, and this expression, creative class, was picked up by others over the evening.

During the discussion afterwards, I was tempted to challenge everyone to think beyond the term “creative class”. It makes me uncomfortable, but at the time I couldn’t think how to articulate exactly why, and I’m still not entirely sure. It reminds me entirely too much of knowledge worker, but being a member of the creative class sounds so much less like being a line worker in the manufacture of “knowledge”.

Years ago, I read Paul Fussell’s Class: A Guide through the American Status System (Leddy Library: HN90.S6 F87 1983), in which he lays out a persuasive statement of what is obvious to any non-America: that America has a well-defined and fairly rigid class structure. But he also posits the existence of an “X” class of people, usually either impoverished artists or wealthy drop-outs, who (sort of) live outside the class system. These are the Bohemians in Florida’s formulation of the creative class, but note that they make up a small minority. The majority of this creative class are defined by the nature of their contribution to the economy, mostly in the private sector. Which isn’t to say that creative economic activity isn’t what Windsor needs, lord knows we need all the economic activity we can get.

Thursday night a very diverse group of people were brought together by their love of this city (this polis). To me, the unifying theme of Pecha Kucha Windsor’s six talks turned out to be citizenship. What does it mean to be a part of a city, to love that city, to be hurt by that city; how can we make that city better, how can we get more people thinking about, talking about, and making the change we need; how do we encourage residents to interact with their city as active participants, as citizens, rather than as passive consumers of utilities and services? And how can we live up to that ideal ourselves?

In about ten minutes I have to go back to my mom’s house and get back to the work of pitching most of her life in the trash. It’s tempting to get maudlin, but I keep getting distracted every time anybody young and cute (which, the older I get, seem to become synonymous) walks by.

Exeter is famous for its white squirrels, which are unquestionably not albino. What Exeter is not famous for is 30°C heat on Thanksgiving weekend. Normal would probably be around 10-15.

There’s a small river that runs through Exeter. I feel like a bad librarian, ’cause I can’t find out what it’s called, but it’s a tributary in the Ausable River watershed. It’s been dry in Huron County this year, and the river is low. It also looks rather like a putting green.

There’s a small damn that creates a wide, slow section of river next to a lovely little park. But because this thick layer of algae has formed on the river, you can sit with your picnic lunch under the pavilion¹ and watch the river sit there. Water is flowing, slowly, but there’s no way to tell. I’ve a few more pictures of Pea Soup River here – http://www.flickr.com/photos/pzed/tags/unknownausabletributary/

updates: The park is called McNaughton Park, and Jodi and I are fairly certain the river is actually the Ausable, though not the main branch.
—

¹ – feel free to ask Jodi her pavilion story, and why she has that scar on her back.

It’s a little blurry; I’ve decided to play with manual focus, and I missed a little. Claire was having trouble getting inspired as well. But when I took the first photo she burst out laughing and said, “It made a camera noise!” Yes, dear, that’s the shutter.

Three’s a charm: the obligatory ninjutsu.

cf. Myn first quizz!

This is exciting, although the paranoiac in me wonders if knitters aren’t gradually assimilating the noosphere. I wonder if there’s a knitting cafe in Second Life?

(Thanks to Jodi for finding this for me).

Which evil Naruto character are you?

What they do there, among other things, is raise chickens. Their operation is very small, free-range (truly), and entirely unauthorized by any governmental inspection standards. So they can’t really sell the abundance of eggs or the occasional surplus chicken, but they can and do barter, and have a reputation for showing up at people’s door with a basket of eggy goodness to give away.

For dinner, we had chicken stew made from a cock that they had raised and killed. I had to confess that, as a city kid, I couldn’t really relish the idea of killing my own meat, especially meat that might have had a name and whose close relatives I had just been admiring for their beauty (yes, chickens can be beautiful). You’d be correct if you guess that I cried when I read Charlotte’s Web, and it was as much a release of the pent up tension worrying about whether Wilbur would become sausage as it was about Charlotte’s peaceful death. Of course, my friends grew up city kids too, and they’ve come to terms with killing and eating the same chickens who run around in their yard. Then today (funny how these things happen), I ran across this:

Domestication of both plants and animals occurred without any farseeing intention or invention on the part of the stewards of the seeds and studs. But what a stroke of good fortune for those lineages that became domesticated! All that remains of the ancestors of today’s grains are small scattered patches of wild-grass cousins, and the nearest surviving relatives of all the domesticated animals could be carried off in a few arks. How clever of wild sheep to have acquired that most versatile adaptation, the shepherd! By forming a symbiotic alliance with Homo sapiens, sheep could outsource their chief survival tasks: food finding and predator avoidance. They even got shelter and emergency care thrown in as a bonus. The price they paid—losing the freedom of mate selection and being slaughtered instead of being killed by predators (if that is a cost)—was a pittance compared with the gain in offspring survival it purchased. (Dennett 169-70)

And it became clear to me that my friends’ chickens are at least lucky enough to live happy, well cared for lives until slaughtered by people who care that it is done quickly and humanely. This should have been clear enough, but sometimes city kids’ brains take a while to figure these things out. Here, just for interest’s sake, is the rest of Dennett’s paragraph:

But of course it wasn’t their cleverness that explains the good bargain. It was the blind, foresightless cleverness of Mother Nature, evolution, which ratified the free-floating rationale of this arrangement. Sheep and other domesticated animals are, in fact, significantly more stupid than their wild relatives—because they can be. Their brains are smaller (relative to body size and weight), and this is not just due to their having been bred for muscle mass (meat). Since both the domesticated animals and their domesticators have enjoyed huge population explosions. . . there can be no doubt that this symbiosis was mutualistic—fitness-enhancing to both parties. (70)

Works Cited

Dennett, Daniel C. Breaking the Spell: Religion as Natural Phenomenon. New York: Viking, 2006.

White, E. B. Charlotte’s Web. New York: Harper and Row, 1952.

]]> http://www.pzed.ca/words/2006/09/03/domestication/feed/ 1 http://www.pzed.ca/words/2006/08/13/its-not-what-you-say-its-how-you-say-it/ http://www.pzed.ca/words/2006/08/13/its-not-what-you-say-its-how-you-say-it/#comments Sun, 13 Aug 2006 17:08:26 +0000 pzed http://www.pzed.ca/words/archives/2006/its-not-what-you-say-its-how-you-say-it/ One of the things I look forward to whenever I visit my beloved in Athens, Georgia, is coffee in the Espresso Royale Caffe (ERC). Indeed, this post originates thence. And one of the highlights of a trip to ERC is a freely available Atlanta publication called Oracle 20/20 Magazine, “Your Premier Metaphysical Magazine.” In the highly amusing pages of this magazine, all manner of new age spirituality finds a welcome outlet for expression: astrology, tarot, oracular dreams, gnosticism, numerology, vegetarian recipes, and more.

In fact, it’s hard to limit myself to ridiculing only one of the articles therein. Articles like Aliens and Gods in the Quran (yes, ALIENS, as in extraterrestrials) and Safe Sungazing Practice (yes, as in STARING AT THE SUN (article not available online)) are hardly worthy of comment. But Dr. Tonya K. Freeman’s article Your Healing Voice made me laugh my ass off. There really ought to be an award for the most incredibly inappropriate use of film dialogue, ever.

Here are the first two and a half paragraphs of this inane article.

For centuries, the voice has been used as a healing modality. Many are familiar with the books Messages From Water and Hidden Messages in Water by Dr. Masaru Emoto regarding how water crystals are affected by the use of your voice, printed word or music. Before and after pictures tell the tale, showing us all the beauty and healing available to us.

Those who are familiar with the use of Sanskrit mantras and chants from various other cultures know the feeling of relaxation, calm and connectedness, affecting all things within their sphere. The most popular chant is Ohm, which is said to be the sound of creation. Ohm or Aum (as it is sometimes spelled) translates as love and love is the ultimate healer.

Love expresses itself through the sound of your voice. A warm and deeply respectful greeting can put a smile on the face of the recipient. “Go ahead, make my day!”

Do you feel lucky, my little punky-wunky?

UPDATE: The correct, original of my slightly off “Do you feel lucky” reference has been used in a lovely typography specimen sheet.

Work Cited

Freeman, Tonya K. “Your Healing Voice.” Oracle 20/20 Magazine 16.9 (2006), 10.

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