Ad Astra Per Aspera

The 40th anniversary of a tragic event passed pretty much unnoticed recently. Do you know what it was?
Take a look: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Apollo_1

Corporate Giant... buttholes

The next time you read or hear about some corporate big shot who's being credited with "fueling the economy by providing jobs", remember what you read in this article (which was updated in December 2006):

http://whorulesamerica.net/power/wealth.html

It's enough to make me pull my hair out! It's a good thing I haven't got any.

Another Sam Hurst Editorial

I realize that some of you aren't interested in South Dakota history like I am. But this editorial by Sam Hurst, in the Rapid City Journal, draws an excellent analogy between the way our government dealt with the Iraq Nation and the Sioux Nation.
By Sam Hurst:

Another bomb in Baghdad. Another dead American soldier. Another 60 dead Iraqis.
Having found no weapons of mass destruction, having turned the back alleys of Baghdad into an epicenter of terrorism, having popped the cork on a religious civil war, President Bush has reached deep into America’s psyche to conjure up one last justification for invasion that flatters our self-image. We invaded Iraq to overthrow tyranny and build a democracy.
Certainly the creation of a democracy half way around the world is worth half a trillion dollars, and the lives of 3,100 American soldiers. But the crusade seems more and more futile each day. George Washington and Thomas Jefferson never had to fight their way through roadside bombs, or ancient religious rivalries. Can it be done?
Meanwhile, back on the Rez ...
When President Bush says he’s prepared to stay in Iraq “until the job is done,” those poor Iraqis have no idea just how long he means. But the Lakotas do. The United States government has been “stabilizing” the Great Sioux Nation and promoting democracy for 139 years.
Analogy is a dangerous form of argument, never precise. But sometimes analogy can give us insights into our history, and in this case, it’s worth considering: Maybe Iraq isn’t just the next Vietnam. Maybe Iraq is the next Pine Ridge.
A good starting point is the recognition that the voice of our “better angels” is forever stumbling over the more powerful impulse of greed. Oil in Iraq. Gold in the Black Hills. As a good friend likes to remind me: “We didn’t invade Iraq because they grow broccoli.”
The face of American democracy first comes to nations like the Lakotas and Iraq in the form of invasion. Kill the radicals and train homegrown police to secure the countryside. Build forts along the wagon routes. (Fourteen American military bases have been built in Iraq.) Draw sharp rhetorical edges. Warriors who refuse to move to the reservations are “hostiles.” Iraqis who resist the invasion are “terrorists.”
Then we sign treaties and send in a superintendent. Welcome to Iraq, Mr. Bremer. We dump wagonloads of money into economic development — scrawny cattle, plows, cheap blankets. Private contractors siphon off most of the money. Welcome to Iraq, Halliburton.
Then we form constitutional governments, pick our favorite chiefs, and sponsor elections. Dip your finger in purple ink, and make your mark here. Divide up your land, modernize, grow wheat. It’s all for your own good.
We’ve been building constitutional government in Iraq for three years. At Pine Ridge we’ve been at work since 1934.
And here’s what we’ve got. The impeachment of Cecelia Fire Thunder was a sham. Last fall’s election was a disaster. Almost no one voted, and those who did can’t agree who the legitimate president is.
Unemployment is over 50 percent. The tribe is smothered by epidemics of obesity, diabetes, alcoholism and domestic abuse. The budget for Indian Health Services is cut year after year.
The Iraqis are gonna love American democracy.
Finally, we abandon the nation to poverty. There hasn’t been a full-time BIA Superintendent on Pine Ridge for over a year. We cover our escape with a self-righteous chorus of blame. You can hear it from the mouths of conservative ranchers and liberal politicians, “Those Indians ... those Iraqis ... they just aren’t ready for self-government. This mess is their fault.”
Former Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld was fond of saying; “At some point, you’ve got to take your hand off the bicycle seat.” Those Iraqis are such children. If they only had training wheels. Hillary Clinton promises the voters of New Hampshire, our soldiers “won’t baby-sit a sectarian civil war.” This is the bi-partisan language of the Great White Father.
Don’t get me wrong. A century of American intervention on Pine Ridge has created a disaster, but it does not mean the Lakotas are without leadership, community, cultural and spiritual vitality. The most creative expressions of popular sovereignty come from people who have returned to traditional political values — consensus, council, and the authority of elders. In New England we used to call it “town hall” democracy. But you have to go off the paved roads to find democracy on Pine Ridge. And, how can I say this politely: We ain’t exactly welcome.
The Iraqis have deep reservoirs of civilization and common history that may hold them back from a genocidal civil war. They may yet find a way to come together to fight outside terrorists. But Americans have been so busy busting down doors that we won’t understand Iraqi civilization even if we stay another century. After all, we would have to learn the language. We would have to study another religion without prejudice. We’d have to let Iraqis control their own oil. We’d have to grasp the possibility that the American Way isn’t the only way to popular government.
Republicans are posturing to blame the Democrats for losing Iraq. But we lost Iraq four years ago. We lost Iraq when President Bush concluded that Iraqi democracy could be built with American tanks and machine guns. It can’t be done today any more than it could be done in a century after Wounded Knee. Just ask the Lakotas.

Librarian's Response

The local librarian responded to my email about noise. To my surprise and delight she agreed!
Thank you for taking the time to voice your concerns about the library. I so much appreciate the care you took in expressing your thoughts.
I agree with you that we have a problem with noise. Surprisingly, we receive very few complaints about it. When we do however, we do take it to heart, and begin to speak more quietly ourselves. That usually will set the level of volume, with most patrons responding in like manner. Nevertheless, this only works for awhile, and within a short time, we're back up to the usual loudness.
I have not enforced the cell phone use policy in the library up until now. My reasoning has been that often people are quiet with their phone use, and no louder than other library appropriate level conversations going on around them. As you know, this is not always the case. It's apparent too, that the staff is not always aware of situations in all areas of the library.
For these reasons, we will begin to direct patrons to take their cell phone conversations outside. I have posted signs throughout the library as further notification of this change. Furthermore, the staff is ready to step in when appropriate to ensure that patrons are able to enjoy their library experience without disruption. (There are times, of course, when the noise level will be higher due to children's programming, tours, etc.)
The library is used by a number of people in the community as a gathering place. This usage of the library competes with the library as a place for quiet reading. Others complain that there are not enough internet stations. We are currently laying the groundwork for future library expansion or a new larger building. Until that becomes a reality, we are looking at ways that we can make the best of what we have, providing quality service to all library users. This includes reconfiguring our meeting rooms to better utilize the space for library operations. We will then hopefully be able to direct the community gatherers and internet users away from the magazine/newspaper reading area. These changes will take time, but I ask for your patience and understanding

Wow! I felt like I'd hit a home run!
I immediately replied to her email:
Thank you for your timely and thoughtful response.
Now I have a better appreciation for the challenges you and your staff are faced with.
The more I think about what you said - and all I have observed - it is obvious that libraries have indeed changed. Today they are more than quiet sanctuaries where one can sit and read in silence. Libraries today are meeting places, internet cafes, early learning centers, tutoring centers, resource centers AND reading rooms.
Hopefully, the expansion project will be able to accommodate all facets of library activity, including those of us who value quiet.
In the meantime, I appreciate your promise to control cell phone use and I promise to be patient!

When I stopped by the library yesterday to pick up some DVD's, she came over and thanked me personally for expressing my concerns! (I'm surprised she recognized me!) I thanked her for taking my email seriously and especially for her prompt response.
What else can I say? I'm impressed!
My next email will be to tell the librarian's boss how well she handled my complaint.

QUIET!!

I wrote a letter to our local library manager today.
As usual, I started out with a compliment. I said how much I appreciate the library and how often I go there to spend a few quiet moments reading magazines and newspapers.
Then I changed gears.
I said that, "more often than not" my repose is interrupted by people talking on cell phones or loud conversations at the check-out desk.
I included a couple of specific examples: One day, a guy was conducting business on his cell phone while sitting in the reading area of the library. I think he had a car for sale in the library parking lot, so when people called the number on the "for sale" sign, he was close at hand. Another day, a guy came in the library, tossed his jacket over the back of a chair in the reading area, and proceeded to pace around the library talking on his cell phone! What a jerk!
I urged her to impose an immediate ban against cell phone use, post notices inside and out, and train staff on enforcement strategies.
In closing, I asked: "Did I miss a paradigm shift in library protocol? Are libraries no longer places where QUIET is the word?"
Sometimes it feels like I'm walking a fuzzy line between citizen-advocate and geezer-grump. Unfortunately, few public officials or store managers appear to be concerned about inappropriate behavior until someone complains.
Okay. I can do that.

The Party's Over

The dish-washing job is over. At last! I plan to applaud as soon as my hands stop hurting.

How's that again?

I don't speak Spanish so I don't have a clue when it comes to understanding my kitchen-mates when they talk to each other. But if I were to translate what they are saying based on the volume, gestures and expressions on their faces, it would be something like this:

Chef Marco: YOU SON OF A WORTHLESS DOG! I TOLD YOU TO PUT THE CRACKER ON TOP OF THE PATE' BUT YOU PUT THE PATE' ON TOP OF THE CRACKER. NOW THE PATE' IS RUINED AND I AM RUINED AND YOU ARE GOING TO BE RUINED!"

Ramon: YOU TOLD ME TO PATE' THE CRACKERS WHICH OBVIOUSLY MEANS PUT THE PATE' ON TOP OF THE CRACKERS. AND I RESENT BEING CALLED THE SON OF A WORTHLESS DOG. YOU ARE THE WORTHLESS DOG AND I HOPE THE OTHER WORTHLESS DOGS RAISE THEIR LEGS AT YOU!"

Chef Marco: HOW DARE YOU EVEN SUGGEST THAT OTHER DOGS SHOULD RAISE THEIR LEGS AT ME! DO YOU THINK THAT I LOOK LIKE A FIRE HYDRANDT? HA HA HA HA HA!

Ramon: HA HA HA HA HA.

Chef Marco: NOW GET BACK TO WORK AND BE SURE TO PUT THE CRACKERS ON TOP OF THE PATE' THIS TIME OR I WILL TAKE YOUR SISTER OUT TO MY PICKUP AND TIE HER TO THE BUMPER. HA HA HA HA.

Ramon: IF YOU INSIST ON PUTTING THE CRACKERS ON TOP OF THE PATE' I WILL DO IT BUT I THINK THE PATE' WOULD LOOK BETTER ON TOP OF THE CRACKERS AND YOU HAD BETTER LEAVE MY SISTER OUT OF THIS OR I WILL TAKE YOUR MOTHER TO MY RANCHO AND MAKE HER COOK FOR ME! HA HA HA HA

Chef Marco: YOU BETTER WATCH WHAT YOU ARE SAYING ABOUT MY MOTHER. AT LEAST MY MOTHER DIDN'T RAISE A WORTHLESS DOG FOR A SON!

Ramon: YOU CALL ME A WORHTLESS DOG ONE MORE TIME AND I WILL...

Chef Marco: WAIT A MINUTE. HOLD THAT THOUGHT. I HAVE TO TAKE THE FISH-CAKES OUT OF THE OVEN.

Never Too Early

Wifey and I were watching a video earlier in which the following conversation took place between a man and his wife. I liked one of the lines so much that I can't wait to use it.
The scene was morning, in the couple's kitchen. The husband was getting ready to leave for work. The wife was fixing herself a gin and tonic.
Husband, looking disapprovingly at his wife: "Isn't it a little early for that sort of thing?"
Wife, not batting an eye: "I'm awake, aren't I?"

Hot!

Boy oh boy! I am SOOOO glad that I only have two more shifts at the resort. Last night cinched the deal.
When I got to work at 3:00, I found the usual pile of dirty dishes and pots left over from the day shift. I set to work on those. By 5:30, I had washed all of those items and I was ready for the big Valentines Day rush. The restaurant had called in two of my fellow kitchen helpers to work on their day off, so I wasn't alone. Jorje, was helping the chefs prepare food. Enrique went to wash dishes in another kitchen. Ramon and I were teamed up in the main kitchen.
One of our "primary directives", when the fine dining restaurant is open, is to frequently collect and clean the saute' pans that the chefs use. To do that, we must leave our work station, go to that kitchen, collect the dirty pans, carry them back to our work station, wash them and return them to the piles of clean pans. I quickly learned - the hard way - that some of the saute' pans are HOT! The first time I went to collect dirty pans, I grabbed a stack of them by their handles. YIKES! The handles were hot hot hot! One of the chefs turned to me and said, "Those are hot!" (That's how their training program works) I grabbed a towel, wrapped it around the handles, picked up the pans and left.
The tip of one of my fingers was stinging badly so I filled a cup with ice water and stuck my hand in it. Fortunately, Ramon was washing while I was collecting/putting away at that time. Otherwise, I don't know how I would have been able to cool my burned finger. As it was, I kept my fingers on ice while a rack of dishes went through the washer. Then I put a towel over my hand while I emptied the hot dishes. Then it was back in the ice water until the next rack came through or until I had to go collect more saute pans.
During one of my trips to collect pans, I asked one of the chefs if she ever burns herself on the saute' pans. She showed me her arms. There were several 1-inch long burn marks on each. She said, "you get used to it."
By about 9:45, the rush of activity started to slow. Ramon and I were staying ahead of the incoming tide. I soaked my fingers and Ramon left the kitchen to take a break. I interrupted my finger-soaking every few minutes just long enough to load racks of dirty dishes and run them through.
For some reason, Ramon didn't come back. But that was okay. By 10:15, the flow of plates, glasses, and silverware had slowed to a crawl so I was getting along well without Ramon.
Then, it happened.
With less than 45 minutes left on my shift, carts full of dirty pots, pans, bowls, baking sheets, and cooking utensils that the chefs had been dirtying all night started rolling in. I started scrubbing and washing as fast as I could but I was no match for the burned on, baked on, dried on scum that clung to the bottoms and sides on many of the containers. At 10:50, with only 10 minutes left on my shift, there was still a big pile of dirty pots waiting to be washed. I looked around for help. Obviously, I was the only one there! Oh well. Screw it.
I rolled the carts of dirty pots over to a row of big stainless steel sinks on the other side of the room. I filled them with water and stacked them in the sinks. Then I went over to my work station, turned off the dish-washing machine, and went home.
I'm pretty sure that the resort "expected" me to stay until the job was done even though my posted schedule was 3:00-11:00. But since no management person asked me to stay and no one authorized me to approve my own overtime (as if they would have paid overtime wages). I had no qualms about leaving the dishes for the day shift.
I'm off today. Then I work two more shifts before the experience ends for good. As the short-timers used to say in Viet Nam: "I've got two more wake-ups and a bag drag." I can't wait!

Skip it.

Today is Valentines Day. It's a big-deal day. It's also Wednesday, a no-big-deal day.
Last night, the Chefs in our Fine Dining Restaurant were already worried about tonight. The restaurant is over-booked and they are under-staffed. They want their customers to enjoy a true fine dining experience, not expensive fast food. But that's probably what they're going to get tonight.
Tonight, all great restaurants will be packed to the gills, service will be slow, and Chefs will be throwing dinners together as fast as their talents will allow. Customers will be "encouraged" to get out so the next reservation can be seated.
Last night, restaurants were quiet. Service was excellent. Chefs had time to create culinary masterpieces. Customers lingered for hours over a second bottle of wine.
Tomorrow night will be the same as last night.
So, why do we all insist on playing these "holiday games" at the same time?!!
Think about it. Which is more important - a relaxed and romantic dining experience or going out on February 14th?
The same applies to all popular dining out holidays. Easter, Mother's Day, Thanksgiving, and Christmas. If your objective is to enjoy a quality holiday dining experience, be innovative, break the mold, avoid the traditional day.
P.S. If you made reservations for tonight, cancel them. Reserve a table for tomorrow night instead.

Tijuana North

Vancouver 2nd worst city in North America for property crime.

A year-long study by The Vancouver Board of Trade says Greater Vancouver is proportionally the worst metropolitan area in Canada for property crime, thanks in part to a serious problem of drug addiction, insufficient numbers of police, weak sentencing of repeat offenders and inadequate funding for treatment of drug addicts. The Report on Property Crime in Vancouver places Vancouver second only to Miami in all North America when it comes to property crime.

Vancouver is a lot like Anna Nicole, beautiful on the outside but slutty on the inside.
If you're planning to attend the 2010 Olympics, be sure to leave your valuables at home.

Job -Turned - Social Experiment

I quit.
Well, actually what I did was tell the shift supervisor last night that I am going to quit after next week. I said that I just don't have the stamina required to do the job and each day I feel exhausted a little earlier than the day before. I said that I appreciated the opportunity to work there but I am not fit for the job. I said I will work another week to give them time to find a replacement.
He was very understanding. He asked if I would be interested in doing something else at the resort. I said, "maybe", but left it at that. When I go in tomorrow, I will talk with the HR specialist about it.
Apparently this job has a reputation for taking casualties. Several people I met for the first time on Friday and Saturday asked how long I have worked there. When I said, "3 days", they said, "That makes you an old-timer!"
This experience has been a real eye-opener for me on socio-economic stratification in our society. I have gained enormous respect and sympathy for the Mexican, Cuban, and Peruvian men who do that job every day, year after year. Respect for their stamina and strong work ethic, but sympathy because it is the only kind of work they can get.
When word spread that I had thrown in the towel, Enrique came over and tried to talk me out of it. He said that I just need time to build up stamina and learn the easy way to do hard work instead of the hard way to do easy work. At some point in the conversation he asked if I washed dishes someplace else before coming to the resort. I said, "No. I was an air traffic controller for 34 years." Enrique threw his head back and said, "Oh my God! Go get another job! You don't need to be doing this for $9.00 an hour!" Then he said something that stuck. He said, "I don't speak very good English and I am not white, so this is all I can do. But YOU don't have to do this."
He's right. I don't have to bust my butt in a 115-degree steam bath for seven hours and forty-five minutes out of an eight-hour day for $9.00/hour. Yet that is the only kind of work available for him and the rest of the Spanish-speaking crew . That's exploitation, pure and simple. Some days, they work up to 12 hours! Ernesto told me that he worked from 2:00 PM on Thursday until 2:00 AM on Friday, then came back in at 6:00 AM on Friday and worked until 3:00 PM. To me, that's obscene. To him, it was a chance to earn more money!
Two days next week I am scheduled for shifts that are identified as 3:00PM - CLOSING. I really don't like that open-ended finish time. I have no idea who determines that it's time to close the dish washing station. Maybe that's routine in the food industry but it doesn't feel right. I shall add that experience to my list when the time comes.
From now on, I'm looking at this job as a social experiment. It is my opportunity walk in another man's shoes - albeit on a slippery floor with an arm-full of steaming hot plates - to broaden my understanding and appreciation for those who are clearly less fortunate than I. Maybe I can do something worthwhile for them one day.

The Butt Kicking

Day two in the kitchen kicked my butt, big time! It was the night of British Petroleum's awards banquet for 800 people. The kitchen was complete mayhem. It may have been organized mayhem, but since I was the only non-Spanish speaking person in the room, it was difficult for me to tell. One thing was certain, the piles of dirty cookware were piling up faster than I could wash them. And, since I didn't know where most of the things were supposed to go after they were washed, I started building my own piles of clean stuff.
When it came time to start dishing up the plates, all of us lined up along a kitchen counter. With Chef Gonzo standing at one end shouting instructions (in Spanish), we started putting the main course together. First came 4 halves of roasted baby red potatoes, then a scoop of mixed vegetables (squash, mushrooms, peppers), then a piece of fish (my job), then a piece of meat (fillet), then sauce over the meat, then a lid on the top, then into the big warmer-on-wheels. Eight hundred times.
My back and right arm were throbbing by the time it was over.
All of that food had come off of innumerable big sheets, roasting pans and trays that needed to be washed, but before we could get to them, the dirty salad dishes started coming back.
From then on, it was simply overwhelming. You've heard of mountains of dirty dishes? We had entire MOUNTAIN RANGES of dirty dishes.
Four of us, working as fast as we could for 3 hours, didn't make a dent in the pile. When the end of my shift at 10:00 finally rolled around, I said - to no one who understood - "I am exhausted. I gotta go." I felt a little guilty about leaving them in the "valley of the shadow of dish," but I was actually feeling weak-kneed and light-headed. On the way home I started to wonder how much more of that I could stand.
When I went to work yesterday at 2:00, about 10% of the pile was still there. Mohammed, one of the day dish washers, said they had been washing continuously since 6:00 AM.
I changed the water in the dish-washing machine and started washing. When Ramon and Enrique came in at 3:00, the three of us worked together on the dishes until about 5:30. By then, we had the pile pretty well eliminated -Just in time to start preparing for last night's banquet for 350.
And it started all over again.
I have serious doubts that I will stay at this job for more than another week. I just don't have the stamina for it. It is the most physically demanding work I have ever done. Scrubbing hot cookware with steel wool over hot water then loading same in trays and running through a hot dish-washing machine, then sorting and stacking them (when they're REALLY HOT) on carts, then putting them back in the kitchen so they can be dirtied again, just drains the energy right out of me.
Worst of all, I'm NOT looking forward to going back there today. So what's the point of going back? Why should I spend a moment of my time doing something that I don't enjoy doing, surrounded by people I can't even talk to? It's crazy!
Oh, and one more thing: The floor in the kitchen area is treacherous. Oil and water on top of ceramic tile makes it as slippery as a skating rink. Last night, as I was scooting my way around to keep from slipping and falling with a hand full of knives, one of the Chefs said, "Ju got to get different shoes! Company no pay nothing eef you fall and don got the right shoes!" I said, "Okay. Where do I get the right shoes?" He showed me the bottom of his shoe and said, "Ju got to get shoes like dis ones." I didn't see anything particularly unusual about them. They looked like ordinary rubber-soled jogging shoes, but they did have lots of surface area. It's nice that someone finally mentioned it.

Show and Tell

Okay class, little Johnny is going to tell you about his first day at work in the kitchen:
I went to work at 2:00. Nobody was expecting me or knew who I was. The security officer led me to the kitchen. Eventually, they found the man who knows me and was expecting me. He said, "Here is your ID card. Swipe it through the card reader to sign on and off. But I also want you to sign on and off on this sheet of paper in case there are any questions about your hours." Huh?
"Now, let's find a uniform that fits you." Uniform? Wow! I was going to look like a chef! He led me through an unmarked door that led to a stairway which led to a door marked, MEN. Inside was a rack filled with other employees' uniforms. He took someone named ZAHN's jacket and pants off the rack and told me to try them on. I did. They fit. He said, "You can wear these until I order uniforms for you. Just take the jacket home each night and wash it."
I wonder if ZAHN will notice that one of his uniforms is missing?
The MEN's room was lined with lockers, but HR still needs to assign one to me. I folded my street clothes, carried them down to the chef's office and put them on a chair.
We went back to the main kitchen where the day shift was getting ready to leave. The dish washer was a nice lady. She started to tell me about her work station but we were interrupted almost immediately by somebody named Mohammad. Mohammad took over and proceeded to show me around the kitchen and storage rooms. I didn't understand much of what Mohammed was saying because of his strong Arabic accent. By the time he finished giving me a tour, it was time for the day shift to leave. So they left.
There I was, standing alone at the dishwasher station, completely clueless.
By 3:00 the rest of the evening shift had arrived. Four people came to work in the main kitchen (where I work) and three in the restaurant kitchen. The four people in the main kitchen were Marco, Gonzo, Ramon, and Philippe. Marco is from Peru, Gonzo and Ramon from Mexico and Philippe from Cuba. (English ees no their native languish.) Somebody popped in a Mexican music CD, cranked up the volume, and they were off! Shouting and laughing and chopping and cooking and dirtying a lot of pots and pans.
I waited a bit for someone to come over and provide some OJT but it soon became obvious that it wasn't going to happen. So I decided to just start spraying and loading and washing and stacking until I ran out of room or until I broke something. Ole!
Every once-in-awhile someone would stop by and introduce themselves, including waitresses, bar tenders, banquet servers, and the cooks/chefs. Everyone was very nice and the ones who spoke English were ready to answer my questions. I guess that's is how they administer OJT. Ramon and I quickly established a routine where I would hold up something I needed help finding a place for, and he would show me where to put it. It was both silent and efficient.
Periodically, someone would roll in a big cart-full of dirty dishes and pans from somewhere. When Ramon and Philippe saw it, they came over. Without saying a word, they pitched in and helped fill the racks and stack the clean dishes. Together, we made short work of each pile. At that point I began to realize that we were all considered "general kitchen helpers". If something needed to be done, we did it. They have been there longer, obviously, so they spend a large part of their time helping the chefs prepare food. But they also swept the floors, scrubbed the counter tops, and helped me with the dishes. I like that!
By 8:30, the evening's dining activity had ground to a halt. The kitchen was clean and there wasn't much to do.
Marco, the head chef, asked me if I wanted to go home. I said, "Sure!" He turned to Ramon and said, "Ramon! Gobbledegook gobbledegook su casa!"
I grabbed my pile of clothes from the chef's office and went back to the MEN's room to change. On the way out, I swiped my ID card and left.
This morning I remembered that I was supposed to also sign out on the sheet of paper. Dang it.
I'm sure glad I have one day of experience under my belt because tonight they are serving a banquet for 800! Aiy yi yi!

"PANDEMIC!!"

I'm beginning to have my doubts about the "inevitable H5N1 bird flu pandemic" that scientists have been telling us about for the last 3-4 years.
Pandemic is a scary term! Who can survive a pandemic? Well, I guess I have survived two of them without even knowing about it.
I came across an article about avian flu in today's Washington Post. A couple of paragraphs particularly caught my attention:
The federal government is hard at work trying to ready the country for a global outbreak of a new, highly transmissible strain of influenza -- a pandemic. Such events occur at unpredictable intervals. There were three in the last century, in 1918-19, 1957 and 1968.
The H5N1 strain of avian influenza, or bird flu, has killed millions of birds and 164 people, mostly in Asia, since 2003. It does not pass from person to person efficiently. But it is highly lethal and still evolving; many experts believe it has the potential to cause a pandemic.
I wasn't around for the 1918 pandemic but I appear to have lived through the 1957 and 1968 pandemics pretty much unscathed. I have no memory of a major flu outbreak, much less a pandemic, in 1957 or 1968. In fact, if there had been a deadly and highly transmissible virus going around in 1968, they would still be picking up dead bodies with flowers in their hair in the Haight-Ashbury district of San Francisco.
So, you tell me: Are healthy Americans who don't go around picking up dead birds really in danger? Or is this another media exploitation?

Time To Report

I just got a call from the resort. They want me to report for duty to the chef supervisor at 2:00PM next Wednesday. Yippee! I'd better start honing my dish-washing skills.

Hara Hachi Bu

Here are the first and last two pages of a 12-page article I just read in the NY Times. It was written by contributing editor, Michael Pollen. I recommend it because it is easy to read and because he reaffirms what we already know deep down in our stomachs. Bon Appetit!

Eat food. Not too much. Mostly plants.
That, more or less, is the short answer to the supposedly incredibly complicated and confusing question of what we humans should eat in order to be maximally healthy. I hate to give away the game right here at the beginning of a long essay, and I confess that I’m tempted to complicate matters in the interest of keeping things going for a few thousand more words. I’ll try to resist but will go ahead and add a couple more details to flesh out the advice. Like: A little meat won’t kill you, though it’s better approached as a side dish than as a main. And you’re much better off eating whole fresh foods than processed food products. That’s what I mean by the recommendation to eat “food.” Once, food was all you could eat, but today there are lots of other edible foodlike substances in the supermarket. These novel products of food science often come in packages festooned with health claims, which brings me to a related rule of thumb: if you’re concerned about your health, you should probably avoid food products that make health claims. Why? Because a health claim on a food product is a good indication that it’s not really food, and food is what you want to eat.
Uh-oh. Things are suddenly sounding a little more complicated, aren’t they? Sorry. But that’s how it goes as soon as you try to get to the bottom of the whole vexing question of food and health. Before long, a dense cloud bank of confusion moves in. Sooner or later, everything solid you thought you knew about the links between diet and health gets blown away in the gust of the latest study.
Last winter came the news that a low-fat diet, long believed to protect against breast cancer, may do no such thing — this from the monumental, federally financed Women’s Health Initiative, which has also found no link between a low-fat diet and rates of coronary disease. The year before we learned that dietary fiber might not, as we had been confidently told, help prevent colon cancer. Just last fall two prestigious studies on omega-3 fats published at the same time presented us with strikingly different conclusions. While the Institute of Medicine stated that “it is uncertain how much these omega-3s contribute to improving health” (and they might do the opposite if you get them from mercury-contaminated fish), a Harvard study declared that simply by eating a couple of servings of fish each week (or by downing enough fish oil), you could cut your risk of dying from a heart attack by more than a third — a stunningly hopeful piece of news. It’s no wonder that omega-3 fatty acids are poised to become the oat bran of 2007, as food scientists micro-encapsulate fish oil and algae oil and blast them into such formerly all-terrestrial foods as bread and tortillas, milk and yogurt and cheese, all of which will soon, you can be sure, sprout fishy new health claims. (Remember the rule?)
By now you’re probably registering the cognitive dissonance of the supermarket shopper or science-section reader, as well as some nostalgia for the simplicity and solidity of the first few sentences of this essay. Which I’m still prepared to defend against the shifting winds of nutritional science and food-industry marketing. But before I do that, it might be useful to figure out how we arrived at our present state of nutritional confusion and anxiety.
The story of how the most basic questions about what to eat ever got so complicated reveals a great deal about the institutional imperatives of the food industry, nutritional science and — ahem — journalism, three parties that stand to gain much from widespread confusion surrounding what is, after all, the most elemental question an omnivore confronts. Humans deciding what to eat without expert help — something they have been doing with notable success since coming down out of the trees — is seriously unprofitable if you’re a food company, distinctly risky if you’re a nutritionist and just plain boring if you’re a newspaper editor or journalist. (Or, for that matter, an eater. Who wants to hear, yet again, “Eat more fruits and vegetables”?) And so, like a large gray fog, a great Conspiracy of Confusion has gathered around the simplest questions of nutrition — much to the advantage of everybody involved. Except perhaps the ostensible beneficiary of all this nutritional expertise and advice: us, and our health and happiness as eaters.
FROM FOODS TO NUTRIENTS
It was in the 1980s that food began disappearing from the American supermarket, gradually to be replaced by “nutrients,” which are not the same thing. Where once the familiar names of recognizable comestibles — things like eggs or breakfast cereal or cookies — claimed pride of place on the brightly colored packages crowding the aisles, now new terms like “fiber” and “cholesterol” and “saturated fat” rose to large-type prominence. More important than mere foods, the presence or absence of these invisible substances was now generally believed to confer health benefits on their eaters. Foods by comparison were coarse, old-fashioned and decidedly unscientific things — who could say what was in them, really? But nutrients — those chemical compounds and minerals in foods that nutritionists have deemed important to health — gleamed with the promise of scientific certainty; eat more of the right ones, fewer of the wrong, and you would live longer and avoid chronic diseases.

Now, jumping ahead to pages 11 and 12:

How might we plot our escape from nutritionism and, in turn, from the deleterious effects of the modern diet? In theory nothing could be simpler — stop thinking and eating that way — but this is somewhat harder to do in practice, given the food environment we now inhabit and the loss of sharp cultural tools to guide us through it. Still, I do think escape is possible, to which end I can now revisit — and elaborate on, but just a little — the simple principles of healthy eating I proposed at the beginning of this essay, several thousand words ago. So try these few (flagrantly unscientific) rules of thumb, collected in the course of my nutritional odyssey, and see if they don’t at least point us in the right direction.
1. Eat food. Though in our current state of confusion, this is much easier said than done. So try this: Don’t eat anything your great-great-grandmother wouldn’t recognize as food. (Sorry, but at this point Moms are as confused as the rest of us, which is why we have to go back a couple of generations, to a time before the advent of modern food products.) There are a great many foodlike items in the supermarket your ancestors wouldn’t recognize as food (Go-Gurt? Breakfast-cereal bars? Nondairy creamer?); stay away from these.
2. Avoid even those food products that come bearing health claims. They’re apt to be heavily processed, and the claims are often dubious at best. Don’t forget that margarine, one of the first industrial foods to claim that it was more healthful than the traditional food it replaced, turned out to give people heart attacks. When Kellogg’s can boast about its Healthy Heart Strawberry Vanilla cereal bars, health claims have become hopelessly compromised. (The American Heart Association charges food makers for their endorsement.) Don’t take the silence of the yams as a sign that they have nothing valuable to say about health.
3. Especially avoid food products containing ingredients that are a) unfamiliar, b) unpronounceable c) more than five in number — or that contain high-fructose corn syrup.None of these characteristics are necessarily harmful in and of themselves, but all of them are reliable markers for foods that have been highly processed.
4. Get out of the supermarket whenever possible. You won’t find any high-fructose corn syrup at the farmer’s market; you also won’t find food harvested long ago and far away. What you will find are fresh whole foods picked at the peak of nutritional quality. Precisely the kind of food your great-great-grandmother would have recognized as food.
5. Pay more, eat less. The American food system has for a century devoted its energies and policies to increasing quantity and reducing price, not to improving quality. There’s no escaping the fact that better food — measured by taste or nutritional quality (which often correspond) — costs more, because it has been grown or raised less intensively and with more care. Not everyone can afford to eat well in America, which is shameful, but most of us can: Americans spend, on average, less than 10 percent of their income on food, down from 24 percent in 1947, and less than the citizens of any other nation. And those of us who can afford to eat well should. Paying more for food well grown in good soils — whether certified organic or not — will contribute not only to your health (by reducing exposure to pesticides) but also to the health of others who might not themselves be able to afford that sort of food: the people who grow it and the people who live downstream, and downwind, of the farms where it is grown.
“Eat less” is the most unwelcome advice of all, but in fact the scientific case for eating a lot less than we currently do is compelling. “Calorie restriction” has repeatedly been shown to slow aging in animals, and many researchers (including Walter Willett, the Harvard epidemiologist) believe it offers the single strongest link between diet and cancer prevention. Food abundance is a problem, but culture has helped here, too, by promoting the idea of moderation. Once one of the longest-lived people on earth, the Okinawans practiced a principle they called “Hara Hachi Bu”: eat until you are 80 percent full. To make the “eat less” message a bit more palatable, consider that quality may have a bearing on quantity: I don’t know about you, but the better the quality of the food I eat, the less of it I need to feel satisfied. All tomatoes are not created equal.
6. Eat mostly plants, especially leaves. Scientists may disagree on what’s so good about plants — the antioxidants? Fiber? Omega-3s? — but they do agree that they’re probably really good for you and certainly can’t hurt. Also, by eating a plant-based diet, you’ll be consuming far fewer calories, since plant foods (except seeds) are typically less “energy dense” than the other things you might eat. Vegetarians are healthier than carnivores, but near vegetarians (“flexitarians”) are as healthy as vegetarians. Thomas Jefferson was on to something when he advised treating meat more as a flavoring than a food.
7. Eat more like the French. Or the Japanese. Or the Italians. Or the Greeks. Confounding factors aside, people who eat according to the rules of a traditional food culture are generally healthier than we are. Any traditional diet will do: if it weren’t a healthy diet, the people who follow it wouldn’t still be around. True, food cultures are embedded in societies and economies and ecologies, and some of them travel better than others: Inuit not so well as Italian. In borrowing from a food culture, pay attention to how a culture eats, as well as to what it eats. In the case of the French paradox, it may not be the dietary nutrients that keep the French healthy (lots of saturated fat and alcohol?!) so much as the dietary habits: small portions, no seconds or snacking, communal meals — and the serious pleasure taken in eating. (Worrying about diet can’t possibly be good for you.) Let culture be your guide, not science.
8. Cook. And if you can, plant a garden. To take part in the intricate and endlessly interesting processes of providing for our sustenance is the surest way to escape the culture of fast food and the values implicit in it: that food should be cheap and easy; that food is fuel and not communion. The culture of the kitchen, as embodied in those enduring traditions we call cuisines, contains more wisdom about diet and health than you are apt to find in any nutrition journal or journalism. Plus, the food you grow yourself contributes to your health long before you sit down to eat it. So you might want to think about putting down this article now and picking up a spatula or hoe.
9. Eat like an omnivore. Try to add new species, not just new foods, to your diet. The greater the diversity of species you eat, the more likely you are to cover all your nutritional bases. That of course is an argument from nutritionism, but there is a better one, one that takes a broader view of “health.” Biodiversity in the diet means less monoculture in the fields. What does that have to do with your health? Everything. The vast monocultures that now feed us require tremendous amounts of chemical fertilizers and pesticides to keep from collapsing. Diversifying those fields will mean fewer chemicals, healthier soils, healthier plants and animals and, in turn, healthier people. It’s all connected, which is another way of saying that your health isn’t bordered by your body and that what’s good for the soil is probably good for you, too.