It is a truth, universally acknowledged, that a geek, in possession of good fortune, must be in want of an iPhone.

That's me. 

I work in SoHo, just off Lafayette Street, and young kids regularly line up for product launches at the stake stores.   When I see this happening, I wonder, who lines up and waits a day to SPEND money.  I mean, what's the sense of that?  What's the opportunity cost?  This is conspicuous consumption at its worst.  Is this how we form communities?  Around products?  What's America coming to?

Right.  And so, on Friday, July 11, iPhone 3g day, at 8:40 AM, excited, hungry, and eager I took my place at the back of the line outside the Short Hills Mall,  and I was not alone--at least 500 others had the same idea.  And then I was flooded with a new sensation:  worry.  What if I didn't get one?  (Yes, I admit it's ridiculous, but if reason carried the day I never would have been in line in the first place.)   Should I go to the AT&T store?  My twitterpack urged me to stay put.  Apple has deep stock.  "New shipments are coming all day," said Katie, the bubbly but tight-lipped, orange t-shirt wearing Apple Concierge working the line.  And so, with my line mates, Randy (who got a phone call about every 3 minutes) and Ravi, I settled in for the long wait. 

9:49 AM.  The security guards, with backup from the Millburn police, usher us into the mall, where we see, the heavenly glow of the Apple logo against brushed metal, and a line that's 4 rows deep and about 100 feet long.   One of my fellow line-mates, Randy, earned his PhD in math or finance--he develops a model that predicts when we'll arrive at the store's entrance.  Like any good model, it undergoes revisions to reflect change--like that AT&T's activation servers are overwhelmed by demand.  The line stops moving for 45 minutes and I lost my ability to tweet because my Blackberry battery dies.  Fortunately, I was still able to rely upon a much older technology, speech to learn more about the people around me in line.

Ravi had a passion for yoga.  Brandi had three kids and worked for the State of New Jersey cracking down on fraud, which apparently there's quite a bit of.  We nursed our free frozen, chocolate-mint lattes from Starbucks and passed the time.  I felt like I was playing hooky, which probably added to the fun.  We parted when Apple reps finally admitted to the store.  I was surprised to learn that 2 of the store staff that I spoke with had been there since its opening 6 years ago--and they seemed happy to be there--I dare say, proud, that they helped create the store.

And though this was a product launch and Apple commodities like computers and music players what they really create are experiences.  The line was absurd, but they had folks out there working it, water, free coffee, and there was a positive buzz that only got more intense as we neared the story.  I think part of the reason that I'm so keen on Apple products is that my associations are overwhelmingly positive.  I am consistently, pleasantly surprised and pleased by what they've built.  They create technology that lets us be ourselves--that celebrates our humanity.  And though they've gained in popularity, I still think most technology forces us to think like a machine.  I am an Apple fan boy, have been for years, but no one does it better.  

I got into the store at 2pm and am introduced to Tom, who gets me my first iPhone.  I think I'm going to be out of there in 15 minutes, but that wasn't the case.   I hit some sort of snag when they tried to transfer my number.  This gives me an excuse to spend more time in the store soaking up the vibe, and now I'm seated, in front of a 24" iMac tweeting like a madman and emailing.  There are worse places to wait.  Henley's negotiating with AT&T assuring me that it's going to get done, but he's got to leave at three, so he turns me over to Johanna, who just started 2 weeks ago.  While she waits on old for AT&T I learn that she's an art history major at Rutgers, that she was recruited to work in the store by her friend Frances, (a former nursing, now Pharmacology major, also at Rutgers.)   I also learn that the shirts are color-coded.  Orange: Concierge--it's their job to connect you with people who know the technology--so they learn the people, and Blue:  the people who know the technology.  At least 2 other folks help troubleshoot the problem.  At one point I'm like, is this really worth it?  I should leave, but the truth is that I was having a blast.  I got to ask Frances a few dozen questions about Leopard, and just enjoyed hanging out in the store.  By the third phone activation, I had switch from black to white--thinking it might be good luck but Johanna's persistence is really what did it.  

I never worked so hard to spend so much money, but it was a ton of fun.  Special thanks to my twitter posse, debwaldman, snark12, psyker390 and robmaruzi   

What's your iPhone story?  Holding out?  Updating?  Blackberry Curve Forever?  And yes, almost 1 week later, I'd say it was worth the wait.

I'm getting sick of Facebook.  Between their choice of Billy Joel's "We didn't start the fire,"  for the melody, and replacing it with "we're getting sick of facebook," LLP81's video critique is one of the funniest things I've seen online in a while.

Facebook is both oddly addictive and utterly senseless at the same time.  Doc Searles presented a thoughtful critique at the Le Web 3 conference.   This slide was  one his more gentle criticisms of Facebook:

And now they've gone and added Chat.   

Here, for your consideration, are the Five Phases of Facebook:

1 - Giddy infatuation - "Facebook, I can't wait to check you!!!  How have I lived without you?  You complete me."
2 - Cool enthusiasm - Facebook, you are the amazing.  (Read: I'm not sure we're meant for each other, but I will stick with you.)
3 - Breakup & Abject Neglect - Facebook, you're not at all who I thought you were.  You're needy, nagging and more than a little cheezy.  I don't want to compare my friends. I don't want to send someone a pixel drink.  Frankly, I don't know what I saw in you. 
4 - Annoyance - "Why do you keep sending me messages?  I am changing my privacy settings.  I am deleting applications.  Don't bother me."
5 - Acceptance - "Well Facebook, at least you got me back in touch with some old friends and remind me about birthdays I'd otherwise forget. (With apologies to  Elisabeth Kübler-Ross )

A big part of Facebook's charm can be explained by the notion of reinforcement. Although most of the communications from Facebook are nonsense (though I am so glad I know what Star Trek Character I am)  we've invested in our profile pages and there's the occasional lost friend who finds us. I think that blogs are better suited to maintaining one's personal space on the web--they're open compared to Facebook's walled garden and are more suited to customization.  But Facebook's scaffolded approach makes it easy to establish an online presence. 

Clay Shirky's latest book, Here Comes Everybody: The Power of Organizing Without Organizations, discusses how light-weight web-based technologies like blogging, twittering and photo sharing sites like Flickr result in real world actions.  Shirky talked about the book at the Markle Foundation on April 10.  I'm going to highlight a new of Clay's examples and then reflect on what I think his ideas mean for traditional organizations. 

Clay cited Flickr, in particular, how the site's discussion forums allowed folks to collaborate across time and space to produce documentation on photographic techniques.  People need not know one another--they just need to share an interest and a goal.  As he says, "Let's make it easy for an individual to make a meaningful contribution with little effort." This patterns shows up in Linux and Wikipedia."   

In Egypt, activists use Twitter to keep tabs on one another, and watch to make sure that people don't go silent.  If folks do go silent, the Twitter network establishes where someone is--which might result in a longer prison stay, but it's less likely that the missing person will be abused or killed.  Shirky talked about how in less-free societies uses of the technology tend t o be more important.  A so called "smart mob" in the west might organize in Central Park for a pillow fight, but in Belarus, they're using technology to organize an seemingly innocuous ice cream social and then generating photographic evidence of just how repressive the Belarus government is.  What would Orwell make of this one?  Forget, " Big Brother is Watching You!"   We're watching Big Brother, and we're going to post his dirty deeds online for all to see.

Does technology make it possible to organize without an organization?  The evidence says yes.  One only need to look at groups forming on Meetup, Ning, or even Facebook to see folks organize online. I'm thinking about how the Educon 2.0 conference came together when a group of committed educators asked themselves if they could organize an event without major sponsorship--they did just that--and it was one of the most inspiring conferences I've ever had the privilege of joining.  I wondered if these virtual organizations might supplant non-profit for community groups, but in the same way that online commerce has augmented our commercial space, I think that online collaboration spaces will expand what brick and mortar non-profits do--the smart organizations use these tools do do more mission and involve new stakeholders.  I was heartened by Shirky's talk and inspired by the examples he cites in his book.  Perhaps the most promising aspect of these technologies is that they facilitate us doing more good together. 

Clay Shirky's latest book, Here Comes Everybody: The Power of Organizing Without Organizations, discusses how light-weight web-based technologies like blogging, twittering and photo sharing sites like Flickr result in real world actions.  Shirky talked about the book at the Markle Foundation on April 10.  I'm going to highlight a new of Clay's examples and then reflect on what I think his ideas mean for traditional organizations. 

Clay cited Flickr, in particular, how the site's discussion forums allowed folks to collaborate across time and space to produce documentation on photographic techniques.  People need not know one another--they just need to share an interest and a goal.  As he says, "Let's make it easy for an individual to make a meaningful contribution with little effort." This patterns shows up in Linux and Wikipedia."   

In Egypt, activists use Twitter to keep tabs on one another, and watch to make sure that people don't go silent.  If folks do go silent, the Twitter network establishes where someone is--which might result in a longer prison stay, but it's less likely that the missing person will be abused or killed.  Shirky talked about how in less-free societies uses of the technology tend t o be more important.  A so called "smart mob" in the west might organize in Central Park for a pillow fight, but in Belarus, they're using technology to organize an seemingly innocuous ice cream social and then generating photographic evidence of just how repressive the Belarus government is.  What would Orwell make of this one?  Forget, " Big Brother is Watching You!"   We're watching Big Brother, and we're going to post his dirty deeds online for all to see.

Does technology make it possible to organize without an organization?  The evidence says yes.  One only need to look at groups forming on Meetup, Ning, or even Facebook to see folks organize online. I'm thinking about how the Educon 2.0 conference came together when a group of committed educators asked themselves if they could organize an event without major sponsorship--they did just that--and it was one of the most inspiring conferences I've ever had the privilege of joining.  I wondered if these virtual organizations might supplant non-profit for community groups, but in the same way that online commerce has augmented our commercial space, I think that online collaboration spaces will expand what brick and mortar non-profits do--the smart organizations use these tools do do more mission and involve new stakeholders.  I was heartened by Shirky's talk and inspired by the examples he cites in his book.  Perhaps the most promising aspect of these technologies is that they facilitate us doing more good together. 

In his newest book, "In Defense of Food, An Eater's Manifesto,"  Michael Pollan sets out to resolve his "Omnivore's Dilemma,"  where if you ate industrially produced food you were killing the environment, if you ate industrial organic, you were doing slightly less harm, but the carbon impact of your consumption remains an environmental killer.  You could hunt yourself, and become a killer or you could eat food produced on places like Polyface Farms-- if you live near such a famed place.  Reading The Omnivore's Dilemma was like eating from the forbidden tree of knowledge, I brought an uncomfortable awareness to every meal.  I wanted back into the Garden of Eatin'.  An Eater's Manifesto both raises awareness about how we got to a place where food needs to be defended sets out an alternative path.  His advice:  "Eat food, not too much, mostly plants."

In Defense of Food, Pollan references the problems of food production systems he took on in The Omnivore's Dilemma, but here the real enemies of food are "nutritionism," bad science, market forces and the collusion of US food regulating agencies like the US Department of Agriculture and the Food and Drug Administration.  According to Pollan, it's hard to conduct good scientific research on food, and that much research, including what went into the USDA's food pyramid is flawed.  Basically, the whole low fat craze was based on a hunch.   The nation changed how we ate, and we ate low fat--only much more, and are now fatter and less healthy.  So what should we do?

"Eat food, not too much, mostly plants."

Pollan's argument is that culture is a better guide for what to eat than the claims of the food industry--and we should be especially wary of those claims.   I wish the core findings of this book were published as a pamphlet, distributed by a government concerned with the health of its citizens.  If I have any hesitation about Pollan's prescription, it's that it's probably not a realistic option for those who are poor.  Organic and farmers market produce costs more than the industrial counterparts.   I also think that there's a time tradeoff--if you follow his advice, you're probably going to spend more time in the kitchen.  (Not a bad thing, but beware, it's addictive.)  While "Eat food, not too much, mostly plants," is memorable, fortunately, Pollan provides more detail:

• Don't eat anything your great grandmother wouldn't have recognized as food.  (OK, bacon is safe!)
• Avoid food products containing ingredients that are a) unfamiliar b) unpronounceable c) have more than 5 ingredients or d) include high fructose corn syrup.  (Oreos, I shall miss you.)
• Avoid products that make health claims.  Bye bye Smart Balance.  Hello Buttah!
• Shop the edges of the supermarket and stay out of the aisles.   If you can, get out of the supermarket and get to the farmer's market.  Join a Community Supported Agriculture Group  Here's a link to a directory
• Get a freezer and freeze things when they're in season
• Eat mostly plants--especially leaves. 
• Eat like an omnivore--that means a wide range of foods. 
• Eat well grown foods from healthy soils
• Eat wild foods when you can.  Purslane, dandelion anyone?
• Be the kind of person who takes supplements (code for be rich and well educated--again, if only we were all so lucky)
• Eat like the French, Italians or Japanese--follow a food culture, unlike the latest food craze  it has thousands of years of experience behind it.
• Regard non-traditional foods with skepticism
• Don't look for a magic bullet in a traditional diet
• Have a glass of wine with dinner (Cheers!)

How not to eat too much

• Pay more, eat less.  (Whole Foods will like this one.)
• Consult your gut.  Stop when you're 80% full--or start to feel full.  (Where's my meter?)
• Eat meals--embrace the social value of sharing food.  In place of "feeding."
• Do all your eating at a table (and no, your desk is not a table.)
• Don't buy food where you fuel up your car
• Try not to eat alone
• Eat slowly, make time for your meals
• Cook, and if you can, plant a garden.

All in all, good advice.  Bon Appetit!

The legend goes that in 450 B.C., Pheidippides ran from Marathon to Athens, a distance of about 26 miles, to bring news of Greece's victory over Persia in the eponymous battle of Marathon.  Upon arrival in Athens, Pheidippides cried "Victory!" collapsed and died.  Last November, along with 39,265 others, I ran from Fort Wadsworth in Staten Island to Central Park in the New York City Marathon.    Pheidippides had some important news to deliver and was under orders.  Why would anyone else run 26.2 miles? 

The New York Times ran a story that quotes Runners World Executive Editor, Amby Burfoot (Now that's the fates working, eh?) that the marathon has become an everyman's Everest."  In 2006, 410,000 Americans crossed the finish line.  What's the appeal?

I was not an a jock in school.   I stuck to drama and academics and maintained a certain amount of disdain for sports.  It wasn't until I was snowed under with the simultaneous demands of work, attending grad school while working and getting out of a bad relationship.  My waist size increased by 4 inches.  I felt like a sloth. 

So instead of taking the subway, I started biking to work.  I reasoned that it was efficient--I'd be on the train and that I could make it to work in the same amount of time.  I'd also be helping to burn off the extra calories that I accumulated around my waist. What I realized was that I felt better on days that I rode--much better.  My head thinking was clearer.  I felt more relaxed and focused. (See: this HBR article for a discussion of how exercise is important for productivity)  I felt less guilty about whatever I was eating (and took liberty to eat more of it.)  These innocuous trips to work led to longer weekend rides, which led me to join the New York Cycle Club (a great organization, if you live in the city and want to join rides.)  After getting in shape with NYCC, I rode in a Century ride--that's 100 continuous miles.   The problem with cycling is that it's not a great winter sport in the northeast.  It gets awfully cold on the bike, and ice on the roads makes for easy slip ups.  By now, I was fairly addicted, and was looking for another fitness fix. 

What about a triathlon? (Swimming, biking and running.)  I reasoned that I know how to swim, I'm reasonably strong on the bike, and that running is a more all-season friendly sport.  I attended a Team in Training information session led by Scott Willett--a seasoned, jocular endurance athlete and amazing coach who joked that triathletes "try to be athletes," which sounded about right to me.  After all, I was trying to be an athlete. 

It turned out that I didn't know nearly as much about swimming as I thought I did.  It was one thing to be a lifeguard at a community pool.  It was quite another to be able to swim 1600 meters of freestyle in the ocean. I completed the St. Anthony's Triathlon in April of 2004 and was hooked.  I was amazed by just how much there is to learn about swimming, biking and running. I had found a new respect for athletics--sport lends itself to continuous improvement.  There's a better time to be had, a cleaner stroke, a neater stride--a better way to breathe.  And one of the joys of being a beginner is that I made significant improvements in a relatively short period of time.  I competed in area races and even managed to place within my age group in a couple smaller events. 

When I became a father, I realized that I wouldn't have as much time to train, but I didn't want to give up all I gain from training.  Of all the disciplines of triathlon, running has the most impact on your fitness in the shortest time.  You only need a pair of sneakers, and shorts.  You can do it anytime of day.  The bike has weather requirements and you need more time in the saddle to build endurance.  Swimming requires a pool, and the time to get there and back. I had limited my triathlons to events that maxed out at around 3 hours--I reasoned that a marathon would be a good next, doable step.  I even thought it would be easy.

I was right about it being doable, I was very wrong about it being easy. 

The training requires a little planning, and a fair amount of consistency.   A reasonably healthy person needs about 16 weeks to prepare to run a marathon.  Even though I had a fairly good base of fitness, I stuck to the 16 week plan.  I started out running about 12 miles a week, and by the time I got to week 12, averaged about 35 miles.  I ran 5 days a week.  I also commuted by bike a few days a week, thinking that the cross training would help.  Though I was consistent, the plan was not perfect.  I missed a week because of a nasty cold. After a 21 mile training run, I worried that I had   reached my limit. I was following a training plan that had you run your first marathon on the day of the marathon.  I did feel good on those 21 miles.  It was the next 2 days of having trouble walking because I was so sore that I hadn't anticipated. 

I ran the race with a friend, Sam Coppersmith.  I had set a goal of finishing between 4 and 4.5 hours, though I was secretly hoping to finish in just under 4 hours--say, 3:59:59.  The New York City Marathon is the world's largest.  The start at Fort Wadsworth, Staten Island was like a United Nations camp.  There were signs in English, Japanese, German, French, and Spanish.  Over half of the participants are from other countries.  We arrived at 6:30am, but didn't start running until 10:10.  Given the sheer number of people, it took us half an hour just to reach the starting line. 

I am not sure what I expected.  I know I expected to finish.  I expected that there would be lots of people on the course.  I was not disappointed.  One of the things I like about running is that it gives you a chance to see new places and really take them in--you can drive down a street in a car and it's just another street, but run a street or a neighborhood an you get a sense of its essence.  And so I ran over the Verrazano Narrows bridge and into Bay Ridge, where I was greeted by familes on a an overpass.  It was sunny and warm.  I sheded my extra layers and picked up the pace. 

"You cheated," Sam  shouted when he heard folks in Bay Ridge cheering "Go Ted!" After much equivocation, I decided to pin my name to my shirt, and boy was I glad that I did.  I felt great for the first 18 miles or so.  I had heard about the proverbial wall, where you have exhausted all of your carbohydrate stores and are running on the biological equivalent of fumes, but I dismissed this notion.  The Wall was an artifact of poor nutrition race plans.  I had eaten 2 bowls of Steel Cut Oats and drank plenty of Gatorade along the way.  I also had been eating "GU," basically liquid sugar to replace what I was burning.  I was well easily 10 minutes ahead of my goal time when I reached the 59th street bridge.  It was a carnival like atmosphere--people stopping to take pictures, everyone cheering.  I spotted a former colleague who had his name on the back of his shirt--a perfect New York moment.  We chatted a bit and I proceeded to run up first Avenue.  That's when the race got excruciatingly hard.

Larry Hollander, long time member of the Essex Running Club said that the marathon is basically 2 races, a 20 miler, and a 6 miler.  And those last 6 miles almost left me like  Pheidippides.  They say the crowds on First Avenue whisk you up to the Bronx.  What they don't tell you is that First avenue is all uphill.  So this is the wall they were talking about?  I was cold, I was tired.  I wanted to stop.  I made jokes about being able to hail a taxi.  Who were these people shouting "Looking good Ted!"  Was I really looking good?  I felt peaked.  How many more miles?  8?  I'm in trouble. 

But I kept putting one foot in front of the other.  I watched my sub-4 hour goal tick away on my trusty Timex Ironman digital watch. I told myself that finishing would be a noble goal, and then even if I had to walk from this point, I'd still make it to the finish line.  I made it to the Bronx.  I was heartened by the little kids who wanted to slap me 5 and by running into a grad school classmate gave me a needed boost.  I crossed back into Manhattan and from there, I had the benefit of being able to count down streets.  Marcus Garvey Park, and then Central Park, never looking better at 110th Street.  I still wanted to stop and walk, but I was afraid that if I stopped and started walking that I wouldn't want to start running again.  So I kept going. 

There were more and more people along the race course now.  More "Go Ted's!"  I owe finishing it to them.  I owe it to everyone who's supported my bid.  I owe it to myself.  Into the park.  The crowds were several people deep now. And every one is cheering.  I pass by an older woman, who's wearing a shirt that says, Mia--my daughter's name.  So now I am hearing them cheering her name, and am thinking heh, they're cheering my little girl's name.  She'd want dad to finish.  I see 2 more friends in the park cheering for me.  More high fives.  I just want to be done.  When you round the corner at Central Park West, they've got a screen setup so that you can see yourself running.  I look up and am kind of surprised to see that I look like, well, a runner.  I manage a modest kick to get up to the finish line.  I am almost in tears as I run toward the finish.  I raise my hands and take a look at the clock. It reads 4:38.46  I stop running and start walking.  (My official time was 4:02:14 - it took almost half an hour to cross the starting line)

I am surprised by the human traffic jam.  A volunteer hands me a food bag and tells me to keep moving.  I don't want to move.  I want to pass out.  I move to the side, out of the way and lay down, feet in the air.  I feel nauseous.  Someone offers to bring me Gatorade.  I ask for water. He says, you need Gatorade.  I offer no resistance and thank him for the cup.  I drink.  I shuffle in the parade of silver mylar blankets and quip that no one told me about the post-marathon obstacle course to pick up my gear.  I fight off the urge to puke and eventually gather my things.  I am grateful for the tip that an experienced marathon friend gave me to get changed in the park.  I am warm.  I go and join my fellow runners on the bus back to Jersey.  I completed my first marathon. 

I'd be remiss if I didn't thank everyone who supported me on the way--as this post implies, the road to the marathon was much longer than the race itself.  I couldn't have more gratitude for all the encouragement I've gotten along the way.  A million thank yous.

I am a mediocre Scrabble player at best, but recently I've discovered Scrabulous, an online knockoff of Scrabble offered through Facebook and I found my inner bionic Scrabble superhero.  Full disclosure: I don't play the game online the same way I play sit-down, face-to-face Scrabble games, where, according to the rules that you have to keep all of the words in your head and have the pressure of the person sitting across from you to move.  Online, I approach the game differently.

I take advantage of every tool at my disposal, which is to say things like the 2 letter word list and dictionary built right into the application.  Someone also went and whipped up a nifty little webpage that even looks for patterns from your letters and suggest words.  I know, it's cheating you might say, but here's what I say, it's learning.  I learned more about how to play the game by 1) playing with players who were much better than me, and seeing what they do, 2) trying to emulate their play - I never realized just how quickly multiple little words add up and 3) by using the resources at my disposal to discover patterns that I didn't know existed, and I think, making me a better player for the next time I sit down to a real board.  Though I wonder if I would enjoy the game as much if I didn't have my bionic abilities. 

As Csikszentmihalyi writes in “Flow: The Psychology of Optimal Experience,” [learners should have] "a sense that one’s skills are adequate to cope with the challenges at hand, in a goal-directed, rule-bound action system that provides clear clues as to how well one is performing." 

Scrabulous meets these conditions.  Go on, play a game.  Not on Facebook? Head on over to http://www.scrabulous.com/   With the power of the internet, you too can go from drab to fab!

I pride myself on being an omnivore--at least I did until I read Michael Pollan's,"The Omnivore's Dilemma: A Natural History of Four Meals."  In it, he explains how the food that's on our plates--whether it's a Big Mac from McDonald's, an organic meal purchased at Whole Foods, a local meal produced by a sustainable farm or one that you might hunt for yourself makes it to the table.  The book lives up to the dictionary definition of dilemma, "a situation in which a difficult choice has to be made between two or more alternatives."  The story of how food arrives on our plates is complex--but Pollan explains it in heartbreaking detail--the amount of carbon fuel required to produce organic crops, the bushels of corn required to fatten a chicken to the guilty pleasure he gets from hunting--it's all in there, in wonderful, engrossing detail.

Having read the book, I almost wish that I had not eaten from Pollan's tree of knowledge--I want back into my ignorant Garden of Eatin' where I was happy with the stories I purchased from Whole Foods or the convenience of my McDonald's Egg McMuffin.  Though I must continue eating, it's impossible to revert to ignorance--instead, I have to live in denial.   It won't be the first time.  As a Peace Corps Volunteer, I lived close to Pollan's ideal.  My family had a garden, kept animals, and prided themselves on growing everything without chemicals and preserving foods through natural processes.  When I wanted a turkey for an American style Thanksgiving celebration, they introduced me to my neighbors who introduced me to the turkeys.  I thought, "I didn't want to meet and greet you, I just wanted to eat you." but there I was holding the squirming bird to see if he was big enough.  (He was.)   I must admit, those were some of the most delectable birds I've tasted, but still I longed for the familiar seemingly antiseptic Butterball.  They were so much less messy. 

All of the sudden those folks who are trying to eat local seem a little bit more rational, and I'm longing for the days when my Lithuanian hosts would go out and grab the eggs from the chicken coop in the morning.  I used to fret when I met an animal, and they told me when he was going to expire--"oh, the pig?  Easter."  I was still living in my saran wrapped cocoon of ignorance.  Now my cozy cocoon's been torn again--and I'm thinking, heh, isn't New Jersey the Garden State?  Maybe there's an answer on a local farm...

I pride myself on being an omnivore--at least I did until I read Michael Pollan's,"The Omnivore's Dilemma: A Natural History of Four Meals."  In it, he explains how the food that's on our plates--whether it's a Big Mac from McDonald's, an organic meal purchased at Whole Foods, a local meal produced by a sustainable farm or one that you might hunt for yourself makes it to the table.  The book lives up to the dictionary definition of dilemma, "a situation in which a difficult choice has to be made between two or more alternatives."  The story of how food arrives on our plates is complex--but Pollan explains it in heartbreaking detail--the amount of carbon fuel required to produce organic crops, the bushels of corn required to fatten a chicken to the guilty pleasure he gets from hunting--it's all in there, in wonderful, engrossing detail.

Having read the book, I almost wish that I had not eaten from Pollan's tree of knowledge--I want back into my ignorant Garden of Eatin' where I was happy with the stories I purchased from Whole Foods or the convenience of my McDonald's Egg McMuffin.  Though I must continue eating, it's impossible to revert to ignorance--instead, I have to live in denial.   It won't be the first time.  As a Peace Corps Volunteer, I lived close to Pollan's ideal.  My family had a garden, kept animals, and prided themselves on growing everything without chemicals and preserving foods through natural processes.  When I wanted a turkey for an American style Thanksgiving celebration, they introduced me to my neighbors who introduced me to the turkeys.  I thought, "I didn't want to meet and greet you, I just wanted to eat you." but there I was holding the squirming bird to see if he was big enough.  (He was.)   I must admit, those were some of the most delectable birds I've tasted, but still I longed for the familiar seemingly antiseptic Butterball.  They were so much less messy. 

All of the sudden those folks who are trying to eat local seem a little bit more rational, and I'm longing for the days when my Lithuanian hosts would go out and grab the eggs from the chicken coop in the morning.  I used to fret when I met an animal, and they told me when he was going to expire--"oh, the pig?  Easter."  I was still living in my saran wrapped cocoon of ignorance.  Now my cozy cocoon's been torn again--and I'm thinking, heh, isn't New Jersey the Garden State?  Maybe there's an answer on a local farm...