resistance is fertile

living underground in the real world

Monday Miscellany: overdosed on election coverage election October 14, 2008

-My sous chef pal Veronica has a new blog all about thriftin’ and cookin’ and livin’ and droppin’ g’s (not really, THANK FUCKING GOD). It’s neat-o. Give it a bookmark, my friends.

-Speaking of cooking: the beet truffle has been tasted by a handful of good palates now, and everyone loves it, and it’s totally not too beety, and the coriander is a winner, and everyone has other ideas of how to make it even better, and everyone agrees that the color is frighteningly amazing. My fellow prisoners, this is an exciting time.

-A friend of a friend is opening up this restaurant in NYC soon, and it looks RAD!

-Speaking of NYC: someone finally did what every vegan dreams of doing: opened an ice cream shop!* If you go, let me know how it is! What’s with that you can “make any item RAW for $1.50 more”? Something about that seems a little weird, no? Do they have raw cones?? A raw magic wand? (Via Supervegan, among other places)

-After your milkshake, go see this Banksy exhibit. It looks wonderful/disturbing, just like good art should be. (Also via Supervegan!)

-Dear person who Googles “lagusta resistance is fertile” every single day: I love you and your resistance to bookmarking.

-Dear HuffPo: this is a ridiculously stupid article. WTF?

-Dear America: you’re full if idiots and you make me sick. If one more media outlet (mainstream or otherwise) “debunks” Obama’s supposed “Islamic roots” without talking about how being a Muslim isn’t a crime, I am literally going to throw up.

-Dear California: don’t fuck up, you hear me?

Oh, it’s all so insane out there in the world–stay strong, good resisters out there. Hold on tight. It will be over soon, and hopefully we will come out on the other side of it OK.

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*My sweetheart and I just argued for a solid five very boisterous minutes about whether it should be “opened” or “opening.” My editor mom has forgotten about my blog (which is good, so I am free to whine about her behind her back–like, did I mention that she won’t come to visit me until after the election because she doesn’t want to be without TV? My god! I have websites and coffeehouses with newspapers, what more could you need?), so I am bereft of grammar help. Please advise!

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Update: Ten minutes just passed and now we both totally see that it should be “opened” – what was wrong with us ten minutes ago? Too much Palin news, that’s what. It is melting our brains like so much ice cream!

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Update: Said sweetheart just reported that opening a vegan ice cream shop isn’t, in fact, his dream. You live with someone for eleven years and then one day they come out with this, wow. I blame the election.

 

ALL HAIL THE MIGHTY BEET TRUFFLE! October 11, 2008

Filed under: chocolate, truffles — lagusta @ 1:55 am

Everyone said it couldn’t be done, and that it shouldn’t be done, because who wants earthy chocolate paired with earthy beets?

Pomegranate truffles (with rose petals) and sweet beets!

Well, ok: you were about half right. The truffle looks amazing, but…the taste is, um, a different matter. It’s pretty damn beety. Spectacularly beety, in fact. OK, crazily beety.

Are you wondering what possessed me to make a beet truffle? A farmer with a surfeit of beets, of course! My chef-turned-farmer pal Jessica mentioned to me that she made some beet powder from her own beets, and did I want any? Of course the mention of any fine powdery substance makes me think of truffles (nothing else, I promise you), and so the beet truffle was born.

I made two batches: one with a beet syrup mixed with the ganache (the chocolate in the center), which made it sweet, but still exceedingly beety. The other had a ton of freshly ground coriander seeds in the center, and the powdered beets on the outside. How can anyone resist the combination of coriander and beets, right? It’s one of my all-time favorites. With a little white wine vinegar, you’ve got a great salad. But adding chocolate certainly does add, well, an exciting challenge to the mix. Still, the coriander one was the clear winner. In need of work, yes, but it handily won round 1.

And yes, it has a while to go before I can say it’s perfected. It’s not exactly a sweet. It’s more like a savory, melty, pleasantly gritty, gorgeously red amuse bouche. Which is an OK thing to exist in the world, for sure. But it is absolutely not for everyone.

I adore savory truffles. Savory truffles, people! Creme tangerine! A ginger sling with a pineapple heart! Why did The Beatles think “savory truffle” meant sweet treats, when I think of them as, well, savory? Interesting.

I’ve made white miso truffles, pumpkin seed oil truffles, curry truffles (Thai green, Thai red, and Indian), chipotle truffles, ancho truffles, sea salt truffles, wasabi truffles, black sesame truffles. I love them all.

And the beet is going to be my biggest challenge yet, I can see that now. The trick will be adding enough of another flavor so the beet outside doesn’t overpower…coriander extract, maybe? Lemon? A Lemon-beet truffle!!

I also experimented with cutting the beet powder with cocoa powder and rolling the truffle in that, but meh. It’s all about the zingy red outside for me, so I can’t do that.

More to come on this little red menace, for sure.

Also, I realized something great about my fabulous induction stove yesterday. I was looking for a bowl to make a double boiler to melt a tiny bit of chocolate, when I realized that since the bowl was stainless steel I could theoretically cook in it on the induction stove. I set the power very very low and it melted the chocolate like a dream. No harm to the bowl or the chocolate!

Induction stove and beet truffle, you will get me through this election cycle and economic morass, won’t you?

(Confidential to Veronica in case I forget to tell you later: the secret to the rzbz truffle–you know of what I speak, I am sure–is adding in a tiny bit of plain melted chocolate to the ganache!!)

 

link love August 22, 2008

Filed under: meta: blogging about blogging, new paltz, truffles — lagusta @ 1:01 am

While adding some links tonight, I came across this awesome write up for my awesome delivery woman and pal, Megan’s B&B. Being a Treehugger praisee myself, I was happy to see I’m in such good company.

I’m not quite sure why, but in the past few months I have been super all about loving up my friends. One day it just occurred to me that I have this lovely group of friends, and I should love them up more. So, I am. Tonight, with links.

To come: links to trusted New Paltz-area farms! I know you are waiting with baited breath.

 

foodie excitement July 2, 2008

Can I just dork out for a minute?

I am so incredibly excited and inspired by the amazing products and ingredients popping up on the food scene lately. I went to the Fancy Food Show today, and I had such a good time that for the first time in the five years or so since I started going to the FFS, I didn’t get depressed about all the bullshit products out there (bacon salt – “because everything should taste like bacon” -; weird Korean rice cake-making machines that shoot out the tasteless carby discs with a terrifying, firecrackery sonic boom that is somehow supposed to be a selling point; energy drinks, energy candy bars, energy-dipped chocolate, energy-flavored ice cream) and didn’t wander to the fringes of the room and gaze at the teeming masses while daydreaming about Fancy Food Show performance art pieces.

The pictures in this post are from a decidedly not-Fancy Food Showish place called Mr. Apples. It’s supposed to be a pick-your-own-apple farm near me, but when I went in early spring it was full of soft storage apples, mysterious signage, and no people whatsoever. Obviously, I fell in love with Mr. Apples, and have vowed to take all visitors there from now on.

Here is a roundup of the awesomeness:

-After looking for appropriately-priced recycled paper truffle boxes for four years, I finally found some right in my own backyard – my friend Megan recently started a company, Treeo Design, making amazing recycled paper boxes, papers, and wine bags. We’re going to be working together on Lagusta’s Luscious truffle boxes soon. I wouldn’t have thought of Megan’s company for my truffle box needs until we realized we were both going to the FFS, so thank you, Fancy Food Show, for bringing us neighbors together!

(Just so I can harness the immense power of shame-blogging, I would like to state that though my friend Kevin has had good luck with them in the past, another eco-printer, Greg Barber and Co, wouldn’t return my emails about truffle boxes even though I sent them a free box of truffles to try! I’m still wounded. At least compliment the truffles, peeps. Man.)

-Megan was sharing her table with a company that makes biodegradable ribbon – how crazy is that? This is the company, but I see nothing about the ribbon on their site right now, so maybe check back about that. The flier I got from them is fascinating – real English ribbon made from cellulose from Swedish spruce trees. It’s carbon-neutral, chlorine-free bleached, dyed with natural dyes and the wastes from dyeing and spinning are converted into methane which is used for fuel to run the mill – and the ribbon is compostable! I don’t even use ribbon, but I’m so excited thinking about cool companies doing amazing things like this that I might start.

-Saratoga Peanut Butter Company had some delicious and innovative pb, and I’m always looking for more local companies to support. I doubt their peanuts are NY-grown, but who knows

-The Grenada Chocolate Company had some truly yummy and smooth chocolate, and they were sweet people who were having a conversation about veganism when I stopped by (the consensus seemed to be that it was a good thing). Organic beans (chocolate beans, that is), 100% farmer-cooperative, solar energy, vintage European chocolate molds – pretty rad.

-I’ve done a lot of research on and tasting of Askinosie chocolate, and after talking with them today I am pretty much convinced that if the food revolution could be tidily summed up into one company, that company would be Askinosie (and, of course, Lagusta’s Luscious, so two companies I guess). Of course, that wouldn’t matter if the chocolate wasn’t good, but it is great. Unfortunately it is mostly great in a theoretical sense, since it is four times (actually, just two times, I did some recalculating) more than the (already expensive) chocolate I currently use for truffles, but it will hang out in my brain and I will find a way to work it into my cooking somehow.

-The most exciting chocolate find of the day, however, was Taza stone ground organic better-than-fair-trade, bean-to-bar, biodynamic, recycled paper packaged, bike-delivered chocolate (from Chiapas!). It really blew me away, and to explain why I need to get super dorky and talk about conching.

I’d never heard of stone-ground chocolate before today, but it makes perfect sense and I am already in love with the idea. If you know anything about the history of chocolate, you probably know that the chocolate we usually eat is a fermented tropical fruit of Aztec origin that is made using beans from (mostly) Africa and South America combined with European techniques. Chocolate is a global food. As much as I love local products, there is something special about honoring this complex ingredient that comes from so many places at once.

European-style chocolate is the result of many steps – chocolate is not a heavily refined food in the sense that it is chemically treated or “modified,” but it takes a whole lot of mechanical potchking around to get it from bean to bar.

Taza skips one of the big steps, conching, and the result is something strange and lovely that doesn’t sound lovely at all – gritty chocolate.

As they put it: “We skip [conching] in order to preserve the texture of our chocolate and the natural flavors of the beans…the distinct texture of our chocolate gives it the appeal of more wholesome food. We use Mexican molinos, which are traditional stone mills, to achieve our tasty and ridiculously intense chocolate…Taza chocolate is food, not candy.”

That’s exactly it – it was so different from ordinary chocolate that I wouldn’t dream of doing anything but just eating it. The Mexican cinnamon flavor delivered a powerful and rich dose of the beautiful, complex, haunting flavor of true Mexican cinnamon (canela). The vanilla bean flavor had a shockingly heady and delicious vanilla flavor, and the plain 70% and 80% chocolates were equally odd and wonderful. Wow.

-Moving on: I have half of a post all ready to go about how annoyed I was to find Zukay live salsas and relishes in my local health food store, only to realize that they were made with dairy cultures. I saw their table today and marched up to inquire about it, and they assured me that their new lines will not be made with milk-based cultures. Good, because what a great idea they have: fermented and probiotic salsas, relishes, and ketchup! Brilliant! I can’t wait to try them.

-I had a great talk with the Growers’ Co-operative Grape Juice people – they have been making NY state-grown Concord grape juice and products in a co-op structure since 1929 and recently started fiddling around with grapeseed oil. People very much like myself (and including myself) got all excited about local grapeseed oil, and now they can barely make enough. When I need a high heat oil and olive and coconut oil is not appropriate, I use grapeseed oil. I really like my grapeseed oil brand, but it’s from Italy and California, and a lot of carbon emissions could be avoided if I could use local oil (and I can’t stand it when local butter eaters think they have some sort of karmic win over me because of their local fat, ugh…). I excitedly encouraged them to hurry up and make more oil so I could buy it, and they assured me they are working on it.

-I’m excited to research and work with some of the Red Lake Nation Foods products – especially the real Minnesota wild rice.

-And finally. Today another fruit was happily moved off my tasting wishlist: miracle fruit. It was every bit as unbelievable and strange and almost a little scary as I had heard – yes, it really does make sour foods taste sweet! Thank you, crazy miracle fruit grower people, for giving me one of your precious fruits to try, I know you were running low and I don’t exactly look like the fruit buyer for a supermarket chain or anything – you made my day with your generosity and insanely bizarre fruit. I ate two lemon slices and a lime slice that were like candy after the miracle fruit – it works!

-And finally finally: I have now been up for 20 hours with only 3.5 hours of sleep before that and a 16-hour workday behind that. I’m not sure if it’s the veganism or just a general zeal for life and excitement to generally get shit done or what, but I seem to be able to pull off days like this at least once a week, which is good since my life seems to demand that I do so. But I am going to use my lightly hallucinogenic state as an excuse to ask a question I’ve been meaning to ask forever: what’s with the oodles of real life friends who are always saying that they read this here old blog, yet no one ever comments? Comments are so nice, people! Even (especially!) when you disagree with me – let’s go, bring it on! I know – it’s dorky to comment. But it’s even dorkier to have a blog, so help make me feel a little bit cooler, yo.

Update! I forgot to mention this utterly bizarre tagline I saw on some random dessert company booth: “Stressed” backwards is “desserts,” so to reverse your stress, have some of our desserts!

Man oh man I bet they were excited when they hit on that little nugget.

 

sea change May 11, 2008

Hello blogosphere! My blogginess might be a little slow for the next few weeks because I’m taking a tiny internet vacation in order to power through some big changes in lusciousland. I’m moving my business into a gorgeous new commercial kitchen and am spending all my time painting, packing, cleaning, organizing, finding artisan sign-makers, researching and buying an induction stove, being tired yet unable to sleep because of a head full of ideas and plans, and yes, buying some shit from China, despite my best efforts to avoid doing so. But I will soon show you pictures of all the loveliness – be very excited.

People are used to commercial kitchens being ugly and industrial, but I’m trying hard to make mine personal and special. It still won’t be technically open to the public (though I’m thinking of hanging a sign out when I have truffles for sale so people can pop in and buy a few), which somehow makes it even more fun to organize – it’s my own little private world, decorated and organized according to my own standards. It feels simultaneously very grown-up and very childish, do you know what I mean? I like that combination.

In truth, I’m very much liking being a business owner lately. I used to be a little ashamed of it – it didn’t feel enough like activism, it felt too much like making money. But many a good activist has been brought down by a crippling lack of funds and too much time spent making too little money at stultifying jobs, and these days I’m proud to be paying off my school debt and mortgage (actually, mortgages – the land will be ours this week!) while being able to afford dinner out now and then (not that there is anywhere to go) and knowing that my money is made in line with my values.

When I run my business right I have time for activism and quiet days, and when I run it badly – when I take on more than I can handle and can’t take deep breaths because there is so much to do that I am scared of the day ahead – I have extra money. Either way, it’s my life and my business, and that always feels good. Even when I do things I know I shouldn’t – like not take on a client just because I don’t like his voice on the phone, or because HuffPo Fundrace tells me someone donated to Republicans. I always get a terrible thrill when I do things like this. Isn’t my ability to indulge my bad qualities through my business what makes having a small business great? Even when I’m on the receiving end of business owners’ quirky bad qualities (I bought a dress from a small fashion designer months ago and she still hasn’t sent it, despite saying she would send it out that week – grrrr), I still love small businesses. I’ve talked about it many times before, but I truly believe that small businesses are one of the only hopes for America. Stay small, stay local, stay viable. As a certain someone would say: we can do it!

(If you’re looking for a blog to catch up on while I’m not posting very often, might I suggest Vegans of Color, a lovely newish blog with a wonderfully inclusive and thought-provoking slant on the veganopolis? Also, what great design taste they have!)

 

When cheap oil shall this generation waste… March 22, 2008

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It happens to all of us every once in a while, and today it happened to me: I had to go to Target.

I was zombieing through the aisles, poking at this and that, struggling to remember absolutely everything I might need from the endless aisles so as to prolong another trip as long as possible. While browsing with slow horror through the heaps of Easter-related plastic, alternatively garish and insipid clothing, and frightfully cheap picture frames, book cases, and all the other accoutrements of American life existing in those few post-sweatshop, pre-trashcan minutes – I realized what it is about Target.

Part of it, without a doubt, is the sweatshop stink. A late-stage capitalist kind of outgassing hangs low and thick in the air, making my eyes lightly burn and squint.

That’s the easy part, though.

Apart from the physical difficulties of the store, what makes the big box experience so soul-crushingly pathetic is the lack of true beauty.

Happily, seemingly quotidian activities like a trip to the big box universe are strange, aberrant events in my life. Though my current life has many flaws – working to tears at least once a week comes to mind, as does living with the knowledge that innocent Iraqis are constantly being killed in my name – at least it is filled with beauty.

True beauty, not just pretty beauty.

The modern mall shopping trip has been so completely cleansed of all quirk and reality in the service of complete obedience to moneymaking that true beauty is, by definition, impossible.

The lack of grace on the faces of the ugly, ugly Americans loading up their carts, the roaming bands of cruel teenagers and haggard suburban wives – all the stereotypes are true in Target. Do the people in Target make Target what it is, or does Target make the people in Target who they are? Also, is it dreadfully pre-postmodern to believe that money taints beauty? I suppose so. But it’s not money per se, but capitalism as currently practiced.

Back to beauty. Pretty beauty looks something like this – a blog I enjoy thoroughly, though its cloying sweetness does sometimes set my teeth on edge. I’m happy it’s out there because sometimes we all need a pretty beauty hit, but most of the time I prefer true beauty. True beauty exists side-by-side with its apparent opposite: sweat and swear words and hours and hours of quiet turmoil and labor.

Sometimes I get so dogtired of true beauty. Truffles are true beauty. Often I pick up the knife to chop the chocolate with true soul-exhaustion, the simple: “not again.” The plaintive: “I’d rather sit in the early spring sun and read a novel.” How many hundreds of truffles will these hands make?

Many thousands, and I’m grateful and happy for it. By the time I am measuring out the flavorings with my special measuring spoons kept in their special place on the hook, the alchemy of working with chocolate has taken hold and I am ready to begin the process yet again.

The problem with being an artisan in food is, of course, its ephemeral nature. A painter makes a painting, sells it, and is done. Move on, wait for the muse to return. A truffle maker just keeps right on dipping centers into melted chocolate until her fingers have a groove where the dipping wand fits.

The happy opposite of this problem is one of the great upsides of working in food: the necessity for the artist to cultivate the ability to repeat, over and over, her best work. To summon the muse and make her whisper her secrets while the artist takes notes, sometimes on paper, often on the body – move your arm like this, again, again, again, lightly, like this, again. The artist working in food must work the muse into the tiniest details of the recipe so the recipe can be replicated by everyone. Cooking is truly an art suited to obsessive artisans undaunted by repetition – often the mindless kind, sometimes the difficult kind: creativity on demand, again and again. Prepaid truffles have to be shipped out tomorrow, no time to wait for the muse.

That’s true beauty – calmly looking the yin and the yang in the face. Beautiful chocolates, shaped with my callousing hands. Over and over. Sometimes, I would have rather been reading a novel. Most of the time, I breathe in the perfume of the organic rose petals before pressing them on the pomegranate truffles, fresh from their chocolate bath with their exteriors so quickly rearranging their molecules in the cool air – now soft, now crisp – and feel human.

The problem with Target, of course, is that it denudes us, like a truffle in reverse, of our humanity.

Target is so far removed from true beauty. It isn’t even pretty beauty – it’s just crass consumerism. Once in a while a well-designed item will toe the line, which is why I go to Target instead of K-Mart or The Other Store when I have to go, but all of them are so far down on the beauty scale that they bring the entire universe down a little bit with them with each computerized credit card swipe of the cash register.

We need true beauty to survive. It just might be one of the only things we need – it might be what makes us human. A world weaned on Target is a world that has forgotten true beauty. Is there any hope after that?

Wait.

Gentle reader, I SWEAR I didn’t realize until right now – “Beauty is truth, truth beauty.”

Honestly, I was never so into the whole idea until today.

Some concepts can only be understood in reverse. Target, neither truth nor beauty, is a fake world, a tiny part of the fake world that cheap oil and sweatshop labor, casual racism and ill-conceived technology helped to create.

Terrifyingly and wonderfully, that world is beginning to crumble. I am scared to know what terrors the post-oil economy will bring, but I am waiting for the day when we remember how to be human again.

 

I heart small businesses/Callebaut will be the death of me March 19, 2008

Who needs to pay a therapist? I just spent a harrowing-but-therapeutic few hours typing up all my pent-up frustrations at what my partner and I have come to call The Chocolate Situation. Nothing has been resolved, but at least the whole damn saga is on paper (well, kind of) and out of my head, where it periodically rose to the top of my thoughts and made my fists involuntarily clench.

It’s really long and at the end I go into a weird This American Life parody/homage/imagination – watch for it!

 

shameless bragging March 2, 2008

Filed under: truffles — lagusta @ 2:38 am

Yo yo yo! Check out this super awesome truffle review from Organic Note, a lovely website dedicated to all things sustainable and organic.

In other truffle news, I sent a box to Pichet Ong to thank him for the wonderful birthday dinner (see below) and he wrote back saying he loved them! My heart lept.
I highly suggest voting for P*ong in Time Out NY’s 2008 Eat Out Award in the category of  “Best Pastry Chef-Run Restaurant” – show a little love to a sweet chef who hearts vegans!

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sweet and sour February 15, 2008

Filed under: self-titled, truffles — lagusta @ 12:08 am

Well, look at this super sweet site and the lovely review of my truffles it contains! How rad! How nice to know about sites like Indie-Pendence – bookmark it!

On the not so sunny side of the street, I think I might have been named for a porno. SERIOUSLY.

(Also – New Yorker Whiteboy Watch coming soon!)

 

I [don't] dream a highway February 13, 2008

Filed under: new paltz, self-titled, stop consuming so fucking much, truffles — lagusta @ 3:06 am

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I worked 10 16-hour days in a row, then I went to bed and dreamt of springtime. Actually, first I dreamt I screwed up every single Valentine’s Day truffle box, but after that dream, in the early morning, I dreamt of daffodils and grape hyacinths exploding out of the ground, lilacs and garlic chives and asparagus and ramps. I could only sleep for four hours before I had to let a repairman in the house, then someone came over with a lot of papers we had to sign, then a dentist appointment, and now here I am, safely on the other side of 10 16-hour work days wondering how everything got to be this way.

I was supposed to have escaped the American Dream, I was supposed to be free. No kids, no marriage – I wasn’t going to play the exhaustion game. I was going to read books and take catnaps in the sun and devote whole weeks of my life to worthy political campaigns, maybe even my own political campaign.

But I’m 30 minus 14 days, and I have mortgage payments and student loans and weirdly and suddenly I’m buying more land, land that will hopefully someday magically spawn the most American Dreamy thing of all – the dream house. In my case, the eco-friendly, super chic, hidden-in-the-woods dream house – complete with commercial kitchen for her and recording studio for him. In 10 years or so, and much scrimping and saving.

One day the American Dream grabbed my sweetheart and me by the necks and wrestled us to the ground, babbling about how land is never a bad investment and don’t you want more than your current 1-acre little haven? Doesn’t the big road nearby annoy you, and you know this sweet little town is getting bought up and horrid ticky tacky houses are springing up like amanita phalloides mushrooms – don’t you owe it to New Paltz to buy up some of those trees so no one else can chop them down?

The American Dream pushed us in the car and drove us across town, closer to farms and friends and mountains and horses and bike trails. It dropped us off in front of a parcel of land where no one has ever lived. It sped off, leaving us to walk around in the snow, touching the endless varieties and quantities of trees, gingerly stepping across the stereotypically babbling brook. It led us to the teeny tiny neglected 150-year-old cemetery on one corner of the property, and it made the sun shine just so, glinting off those old, old stones.

“Romantic,” I thought, and my heart caught on something. A twig, or a headstone, or the texture of the setting sun on the far away mountain ridge. I felt it quite clearly – my heart, caught. When The American Dream picked us up again, I knew all of me didn’t get into that car.

The American Dream grabbed us by the wrists and spoke to us about home equity, made us do page after page of calculations, brought up endless websites dedicated to sleek, heart-palpitatingly perfect flawlessly eco-friendly pre-fab houses. The American Dream taught us about geothermal, solar, wind turbines, hydro power, off the grid, straw bale – all the possibilities for guilt-free (well, less guilt) new homes.

One day, when we were going somewhere else and thinking about something else, The American Dream blocked our path until we couldn’t ignore it. It looked us in the eyes and said, “You want it. I know you do.”

We did.

We do.

And so, the anarchist girl who doesn’t technically believe in private ownership of land woke up after 10 16-hour work days and four hours of sleep and signed a bunch of papers.

It won’t always be 10 16-hour work days in a row. We’ve done our calculations, we can make it work. But you know how it is – down payments, closing costs, taxes coming up. The American Dream never mentions those things.

The more I think about it and wonder if I’m trapped, the more I realize that another, equally American Dream had brainwashed me long before the white-picket-fence one did. That old, old American story – You Can Have It All.

While planning my life of novel reading and catnaps, I fully expected to also be making enough money for dinners out and vacations. While knowing I would devote large portions of my life to combating the horror of late-stage capitalist America, I also expected to run my own fabulously successful business, maintain many deep friendships involving handwritten letters and painstakingly hand-crafted birthday cards, regular visits with and attentive phone calls to my mother and grandmother, a healthy and fun relationship with my partner, nourishing meals, insightful and revolutionary blog posts, a detailed handwritten journal, shocking and wonderful and strange outfits, untangled hair, adequate attention to my cats, my yard, my garden, my gutters, my storm windows, my cuticles.

Needless to say, I was screwed from the beginning.
And maybe it’s the 30-minus-14-days thing, but I’m beginning to see that I must prefer a crammed life to the catnaps-in-the-sun one that still lives so vividly in my head. Whenever my to-do list doesn’t have more on it than is technically possible for any one human to accomplish in one day, I feel adrift.

Maybe I should embrace the fact that The American Dream – at least parts of it – is only one small piece of what I want out of this big, unwieldy life of mine. Those pristine acres on that quiet street are not ours yet, and they might not ever be – but if nothing comes of it other than the lesson that even anarchists can dream this silly American Dream, I guess thats OK.

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PS: One of the reasons I had the courage to write about this in-progress project is because of a conversation with a friend of mine who might be opening a shop and is in the same spot as me. She pointed me to this great article about this very issue…sort of.