politically shaded ramblings

I've discovered a love for NPR. Maybe it's the upcoming elections, but something in me wants to tune into the news, and if you listen to NPR you can also get fabulous music, Guy Noir, Writer's Almanac reports, and Science Friday. I was grinning this morning because I knew every author in the Writer's Almanac who was born today (HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MAXINE HONG KINGSTON!).

One of the news reports from this morning concerned the gas prices, which are expected to remain lower than all summer but will still (surprised?) bring the profits rolling into the oil industries. An audio file of a company respresentative speaking in ecstatic tones about the "record profits for the third quarter" almost had me wrecking the car yelling THAT'S BECAUSE YOU HELD THE AMERICAN PEOPLE HOSTAGE ALL YEAR, YOU UNPRINCIPLED FREAKS.

I could have understood the high gas prices if the oil companies were barely scraping by with what they've been paying and what they've been charging. But for God's sake. And I know, I know, Europe has been paying through the nose for years. But Europe has a.) smaller countries and b.) outstanding public transportation. The bus lines in South Bend don't run after eleven at night. The only trains running through most small cities and towns and villages carry freight. Most Americans commute long distances to work, rendering cycling absurd. I once saw a news report saying, "And now a look at how Britain has been dealing with the rising gas prices," with a shot of hundreds of people on bikes in the city. I choked on my water. England is pretty much the size of New Jersey, and the population tends to be more dense due to the limited available space. Of course biking is a great option. But not here, if you're one of the average middle-class suburban-dwelling commuters. There's not that much leeway for creative options.

Obviously suburbia sucks (and I don't understand the range in gas prices any more than the next averagely aware individual; but I'm tired of it jumping up and down twenty or thirty cents every three days like some demented sugar-high kindergartener). When MP and I visited Pittsburgh the other weekend, it enforced to me how much I'm coming to love city life. There's always something to do within a short walk or shorter drive; car pooling is excellent, recycling regular; there are fabulous family-owned businesses to frequent, markets to support, and political buzzes to listen to. In short, you can be pretty "crunchy."

I have MP to thank for introducing me to crunchiness. South Bend has a way to go before it's a truly crunchy city, but it's not that big and not that old, so there aren't as many creative opportunities to postmodernize, say, an abandoned stone church by turning it into a coffee shop and arts center (as in Pittsburgh, where we bought coffee and locally made mugs on our Homecoming trip). But it's a start. The Farmer's Market carries every kind of imaginable produce (including skinned rabbit), most of it organic, all of it local; I've even begun buying my milk there, which is the kind of milk that makes all other milk seem like skimmed blue shadows of what milk really is. Nearly every Saturday morning I roll out of bed, don a pair of jeans and a hoodie, and head to market with MP.

I still shop at Wal-Mart for the things in bulk that I need, or for housewares (n. v. crunchy). But I also have to live within my means, which I became very bad at this summer, and sometimes you just need chicken stock at forty-seven cents a can, instead of a dollar-fifty.

And at least once a week we wander around the worn brick streets of our incredibly, beautifully conscious neighborhood and revel in the fact that the houses are so old and that we live so close to everything in South Bend.