Journo

Review: Boston's Trendy Myers+Chang

Yum Me. Yum You.

 

As a part-time Bostonian (and full-time ex-Bostonian), one tries to keep up with the times—restaurants, shows, visiting acts, bars, nightlife. You pick up copies of Improper Bostonian and The Phoenix and The Dig like they are going out of style. And recently, that’s in the last year or so, there was a noticeable trend in those papers: all were covering the restaurant couple Christopher Myers and Chef Joanne Chang and their joint effort to open a yummy Asian-inspired eatery in the trendy South End. Literally every restaurant section featured an interview of the pair, looking cute in their apartment as they picked out carry-out containers or planned color schemes while gazing adoringly at each other. The anticipation, the build-up, was both exciting and stress-free (at least for the foodie, if not for the owners), and the Boston public could hardly wait—especially those without cars, with no way to visit Ming Tsai’s Blue Ginger in Wellesley, henceforth known as “that other modern upscale Asian food place.”

 

The first, and probably only, major problem with Myers + Chang is the location. Although every ad and review cites its “trendy” South End space, the restaurant is in fact located way the heck down Berkley Street—like all the way down—past Tremont and the streetlights and shops and what I would consider “trendy.” I might consider it more “sketchy,” with a bus stop right outside and a nice long walk past ugly apartment complexes to get there (we took a cab when we left). But give it five years or so, and it will be a buzzing, bustling hub of trendiness.

 

Despite tongue-in-check faux Confucius-say isms on the walls and the large red dragon on the front window, the décor of the place is surprisingly underwhelming and understated, leaving the food the focus with a smallish bar and open kitchen with counter space for curious diners. We started out with glasses of red and white sangria—the red had a great ginger kick, the white a nice mellow melon vibe—and a plate of Green Papaya Slaw ($5)*, after our waiter (in a funny vest which should be scrapped immediately, how fug and awkward—and I’m a waitress who likes vests) explained that the plates were small, for sharing, and came out as ready in no particular order. I personally would have been content with a gallon of red sangria and an entire plateful of the slaw, which was fantastic; the menu indicated it was a spicy dish, but you hardly noticed the heat what with the roasted toasty peanuts and all the flavors. Plus, there’s something seriously satisfying about waving your chopsticks around as plate after plate of piping hot food is brought to your table.

 

We followed the slaw up with Braised Pork Belly Buns ($8) and pot-sticker dumplings with Chinese greens ($10), both quite nice (although the best part of the buns, was, in my opinion, the bun—probably not a great recommendation, as the pork belly seems to be a house favorite, but maybe I’m just a peasant). Then the largest plate we ordered arrived, the Chinese Fried Chicken ($21) with chili-lime and sweet-and-sour dipping sauces. The chicken was undercooked every so slightly, which I like just fine and so did not even notice until it was pointed out to me, and the delicious, crispy skin with the natural juices made the dipping sauces completely superfluous. Definite finger food—and I will never crave Southern-style fried chicken again, although getting up to Boston every time I want this dish might pose a problem.

 

We could have ordered more, but I was in the mood for dessert—as I almost always am—and was told there was no dessert menu, but a complimentary coconut tapioca, which we never actually received. Instead, we ordered a pot of jasmine tea ($5) and lingered over drinks until the combination of too few small plates and the promise of even more yummy food had us catching a cab to Finale for some serious dessert. Myers + Chang might be my day-off hangout for several months to come.

 

1145 Washington St | South End, Boston | 617.542.5200

http://www.myspace.com/myersandchang

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You Rascally, Vibrating Rabbit!

Threats to us raunchy, randy, and oh-so-naughty secularists

If Cape Codders and Islanders occasionally get fed up with the ridiculousness of local politics, the Cape Wind debacle, and the always absurd culture of seasonal tourism, they can just take a peek at their Rhode Island neighbors for a taste of relativism. For no where else on the planet does local politics matter as little as it does here, or inspire as much hysteria. Please take a moment to imagine the rabbit in Rep. Singleton's hands is equipped with a vibrator.

Rep. Rick Singleton of Rhode Island, erstwhile neighbor of mine and, coincidentally, erstwhile member of the Republican Party, introduced a bill last week only slightly less ridiculous than his Easter Bunny initiative, but potentially more threatening to us raunchy, randy, and oh-so-naughty (how naughty? very naughty) secularists.

By now, Rhode Island residents are aware that Singleton, brave man, stands firmly against sex toys and pornography in our public schools. And I, for one, am glad he clarified that, because when I'd heard he left the Republican Party to become an Independent, I shook a little in my pink Docs, afraid he'd become a tree-hugging, dildo-embracing, free-love Libertarian hippie like myself and every other registered Independent in, say, some nameless town in New Hampshire where residents still don't wear seatbelts.

So this new bill is really great.

Except when it isn't-except when you're a health teacher bringing a dildo to sex-ed to teach older teens how to use condoms properly, and except when you're an English teacher trying to teach Lady Chatterley's Lover. Then maybe that bill is not so great. Maybe it isn't even great if you're just a substitute teacher and happen to have a little bag from Miko in your purse that no one, certainly no student, will ever have to see, or a copy of O. Maybe then this bill less than great, threatening prison time and fines up to $1,000 for actions which, if discovered, should illicit no more reaction than a self-conscious blush or a raised eyebrow.

Part of the beauty of our constitution is the implication that we have rights above and beyond what is outlined on paper-some are unalienable, to be sure, and some are unspoken, like the right to privacy, the right to stow our Rabbit^TM vibrators in our handbags and trust that they'll go undiscovered when we're out in public (except at airports, natch). The right of students and teachers to read whatever they can get their hands on, whatever seems fun, or interesting, or artistic, whether or not Rick Singleton and cronies see any "value" in it.

Singleton's main priority as representative, it seems, is to find those quiet rights-the rights we don't name, in part because we should never have to-and squash them. The right to rename the Easter Bunny if it fits our Evil Literary Agenda; the right to speak whatever language we call our own, English, Spanish or Klingon; the right to read Ulysses or to study the photography of Alfred Stieglitz, Annie Leibovitz, or Michelangelo's Leda and the Swan.

If it sounds absurd, it is. Laws already exist to cover the kind of malicious action implied by age-inappropriate behavior: verbal and physical harassment and abuse, sexual harassment, assault. All these things are already illegal, making a law of this kind against porn and toys not only redundant but also scarily intrusive.

Heck, Texas just repealed their anti-sex-toy law; surely we can't be showed up by a red state?

Singleton serves mainly as a shining example of the classical literary outdoing topos-a politician so intent on proving his moral values, his respect for tradition, his stoicism in the face of Magic Bullet vibrators and lube that glows in the dark, that he loses sight of whatever the heck he was supposed to be doing in the first place. His unabashed, posturing conservative earnestness smacks of the waffling Mitt Romney, whose presidential bid should have made all New Englanders feel squicky and unclean. Rhode Islanders should feel similarly about Singleton's presence in our legislative body.

Singleton's disembarkation from the Good Ship GOP, a reaction, he says, to the Iraq War, sparked some one-liners that I'll quote here for no other reason than to encourage sexual innuendo of the worst  kind:

On political jabs: "They said, ‘Here comes the independent man.' I said there are two of us in the building--one on top and one in the chamber."

On his new assigned seat: "I'm right in the middle of the whole thing. I like being on the aisle, easy to get in and out..."

On Democrats: "I think I'd like to see how the other side operates."

I know I do--and the only solution may be a trip to Miko. Want to come?

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A Political Animal

Man is by nature a political animal.
    - Aristotle

One of the rules of the internet happens to be that, if you can think of it, it already exists--and this rule may very well begin to apply to Facebook groups.

Barack Obama is a Character Created by Aaron Sorkin is a group I stumbled upon while looking for more serious groups about the candidates. While not strongly partisan myself, Obama is my favorite, for his eloquence, the passion of his ideas, his grassroots records that actually echoes and reflects his stated principles. If all politicians pander, than Obama panders to a group of intelligent, tolerant, free-thinking, and compassionate liberals--and I'm okay with that.

That being said, I haven't done much concerning the campaign of either Obama or Clinton (or any of the republicans) in the way of discourse, volunteerism, or activism. I don't hand out stickers or make phone calls or wear buttons. And lately, I've begun to wonder why.

The power of accurate observation is often called cynicism by those who don't have it. 
      - George Bernard Shaw

It isn't that my generation is slothful and ignorant and lackluster, despite what our biggest critics (our parents' generation, surprisingly) say about us. We're just hardened cynics who watched, dismayed and confused, as the country engaged in the Gulf War for reasons we couldn't understand, chattered on aimlessly about President Clinton's blowjob, and elected George W. Bush despite... well, so many things. When 9/11 happened, I can truly say that neither I nor my classmates (all freshmen in high school) was surprised. Interested, certainly, about the possible aftermath, and concerned for the victims and families--but my peers and I displayed none of the shock and awe that seemed to grip the older citizens of our nation. Perhaps we had grown up more afraid than generations past, more world-weary and world-wary, less trustful. The nation, and its leaders, seemed horrified and shocked to discover that people around the globe hated us and wanted us dead; I don't think any of my friends were the least bit surprised by the news.

A cynic can chill and dishearten with a single word.
      - Ralph Waldo Emerson

If politicians today are dealing with a group of hardened cynics, then, it's going to take something pretty special to get us riled up enough to vote in our best interests. I'm reminded of the youth turnout in the fictional Santos campaign during the last seasons of The West Wing--Santos, a minority, running a mostly grassroots campaign that explodes into a national movement and puts him, a young, hunky, and relatively inexperienced politician, neck-in-neck in a presidential race with Hawkeye of M*A*S*H. Where's the fire for Obama, a young man of which all the above can be said, and more? I reject the notion that race is the issue. Obama's targeted voting demographic was never going to be racist, ignorant white supremacists, but rather tolerant and diverse moderates and liberals.

But with Obama winning primaries left and right and his victory speeches growing more and more inspired, the ‘pretty special' something may just be upon us.

At the Providence Place Mall the other day, a young woman stopped me and asked if I'd like Obama campaign stickers. I said yes, I'd take a few, and then, to both our astonishment, a young man to my right piped up. "I'll take some, too." Given the speed with which citified people run away from street solicitors, this was a first. I'd never seen anyone ask to be solicited; but Obama, apparently, inspires it.

We need to know more about this candidate and his policies; kids, scenesters, hipsters, punks of voting age, all need to see that this guy could do good things that affect us, our children, the way we work and dream and live. Our childhoods have been stained with an ugliness that seeped out of Washington and infiltrated even the most idealist hippie college towns of the Northeast, and I think it's time to reclaim a bit of the spirit and the hope that we could have used as youths. I hope the Obama campaign gets on it: as Josh Lyman of West Wing would say, he might be "The Real Thing." It'd be great if we were given a real chance to find out.

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Wino Forever

Wine snob admits guilt,  asks for more Red Truck

Just when you thought I couldn't possibly be more obnoxious, here I come with another confession: I am a wine snob* and a foodie and I have subscriptions to both Gourmet and Bon Apetit (foodie overkill if ever there was). Recently, I've come to love the cheap bottles of Pinot Noir that seem to dominate the wino-on-a-budget scene: Rex Goliath (Boston folks will recognize the name from the giant ads found at bus stops all last year and the year before), George duBoeuf, Sidewise. But that's for my own kitchen. Dining out, my favorite restaurant cop-out is to glance at the wine list and request the waiter or chef (rarely do I venture to places with an actual sommelier) pick a wine that is either a house favorite or goes well with the meal. In this way I sound like a snob, but a humble one, deferring to the folks who create and serve the food--folks who should, in theory, know of what they speak. And that way, I don't have to ponder the list endlessly and end up drinking crap--I only recently turned 21 and, enthusiast though I may be, I am hardly an expert.

But when a restaurant doesn't offer anything good--or, as is the case with most of the best eateries on the mostly-dry Martha's Vineyard, anything at all--what is a wino to do?

I opened up the pages of February's Food and Wine and found an article on something I had never heard of: corkage. Corkage is the practice of charging clientele a fee (often around $25 but as high as $250 in some swanky places) for bringing their own wines. I understand the charge from a restaurant point of view, but from a customer's perspective I have to wonder what the upside is (a guide by the same author, Lettie Teague, on BYOB can be found here).

Really, now. Have a mixed drink or an iced tea or a glass of inferior, although perfectly adequate, wine (or a water! Mon dieu!) and drink that lovely bottle of wine at home with a nice bar of dark chocolate, watching a movie, cuddled up with your date. Doesn't that sound nice? Nicer, say, than spending $25-250 to buy the bottle and then $25-250 to drink it?

The article points that the line used by many restaurants--bringing outside drink into the restaurant is illegal--is often not the case. It's certainly not the case in Mass or RI, where dry towns and cheap Asian-cuisine places (Galaxie and Noodles in Providence come to mind) make BYOB pretty standard. But at the gastro-pub where I work (heavy on the pub, light on the gastro), managers often look around, confused and terrified, when customers produce a bottle of Champagne to celebrate an event. Waitstaff are told to immediately tell them, "Stop! You can't do that here!"

 But you can. While I wouldn't neccesarily waste my good wine on burgers or a rack of ribs (especially not if I was in a microbrewery, duh), I could see why someone would want to do so. Yes, my restaurant carries Rex Goliath, but the other "labels"--Sycamore Lane? Rodney Strong?--aren't really worth the price. Even if they were, say, free.

So when fancy martinis or craft beers aren't your thing, and the restaurant clearly has no wine list, my choice would be to go elsewhere. I won't pay corkage, but more importantly, a restaurant should be judged not only by its food but by its drink. If the wine list simply sucks, what does that say?

But here in New England, where we don't really do wine and if we do, not very well, it make sense to order off the menu. In places like California, the article mentions, BYOB is much more common, since people are walking right off the vineyards and into their favorite diner.

I expected the article to be snotty, and it was, although not in a terribly annoying way; and I was pleasanlty suprised when, at the conclusion, Teague quoted a resteraunteur praising the $10 Red Truck Pinot Noir (something I buy with seriously frightening regularity). I doubt I'll ever have the wallet or the guts to bring my own bottle to a restaurant, or the forethought (since Teague encourages calling first to make sure BYOB is okay). Plus, the restaurants in Providence and Boston that I love all have good wine lists, and I'd rather spend $20 for two glasses of good wine with dinner than $20 for an average bottle and a corkage fee.

A Brief Guide to Providence-Boston Wine, on a Budget:

Best Cellars: a no-brainer. Located conveniently off the T at Copley Square and only a block or two away from the Back Bay commuter rail station in Boston, the staff are friendly and knowledgable and there's no shame in browsing the $7 bottles--in fact, you'd be hard pressed to find anything more pricey than $10-$15. Perhaps a little gimmicky--trying too hard to cater to the young , broke, and clueless--but still, Best Cellars knows their stuff.

Madiera: a lovely little Mom and Pop liquor store on Ives St. in Providence. Great deals on mixed cases (10% off) and a wide variety of cheap, good stuff. I love the way the owner studied my ID--they clearly don't care to serve underage frat boys. It's nice to browse the wine racks undisturbed, without being interrupted by customers asking where they keep the Jager.

Gasbarro's: avoid. Unless you are in the mob. Located in the historically fussy Federal Hill district of Providence, home to the often underwhelming and overpriced Italian fare that makes it famous, the folks here are knowledgable and not at all snotty. Why, then, did I pay almost twice as much as I should have for a simple Tuscan table wine? It's got to be the high cost of owning or renting on Atwell's Avenue--the store itself is clean but shabby, with boxes on the floor and hardly any display. I'm 5' 8" and hate bending down to read labels. Still, the staff recommendations were right on target. And it's within walking distance. I'm torn.

Citron: a nice wine bar right across from the (<cough> useless </cough>) Capital Grille in downtown Providence. The food is tasty (the Ceasar Salad is great--a weird thing to recommend, but really, it is) and the wine list is really fun. They do wine tastings often or you can order a flight. I've never tried a wine I didn't like at Citron, and their colorful (although very busy and kind of confusing) wine list can be helpful if you already know what you're in the mood for. Their mixed drinks are fancy and pretty good, too.

Okay, I'm done. Now to open a bottle of Red Truck, crack open a romance novel, and enjoy my evening. Corkage free.

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And You Thought Shoe Size Was Complicated

I've often wondered at the cynical folks who scoff at Al Gore (and countless other celebs of the Green movement, like Leo DiCaprio) for flying in jets while touting environmentally friendly measures like energy saving light bulbs, or, as Jack Johnson recommended, surfing as a mode of transportation. It seems like overly negative criticism in the face of so much else to whine about.

So not all celebs know their stuff when it comes to environmentalism, but at least they have their heart in the right place (or their PR people, anyway). Off-setting the CO₂ emissions of a flight from New York to Los Angeles, for example, only costs about $8 worth of tree-planting--and airlines are now making it easy to add that fee onto the price of your ticket.

And so I thought--what exactly is my carbon footprint, and how would I offset it? Could I afford to it on my current budget?

I took a look online for easy and comprehensive carbon footprint calculators, to see exactly what I sending up into the atmosphere every year and how I could remedy it. There are some things I can control: energy-saving light bulbs, recycling what I can, minimizing my time in cars and maximizing my time on foot. Well, I can't afford a car-I guess that makes me pretty green.

There are other things I can't control: how inefficient my apartment is when it comes to heat, the recycling Providence does not provide, the car I must borrow or rent when I want to take a vacation. Sure, I turn off lights when I'm not in the room and I try to keep the heat low at night. I even buy organic when I can (although the walk to Whole Foods is not as fun as I originally expected).

• The Carbon Footprint online claims to be the best calculator on the web, and it certainly seemed the most thorough. My carbon footprint was 5.14 tonnes of CO₂, which translates to 12160 lb. (from now on I'll list everything in pounds, although every website uses something different--tons, tonnes, pounds). The average US footprint, according to this site, is 44970 lb. So I'm doing well. Offsetting my total footprint for the year would only coast €56 in donations to tree-planting foundations, or about $82.00 in US currency. Not bad to make up for a year of garbage, transportation, and energy.
• Nature.org didn't think I was doing so well, at 40000 lb of CO₂ versus the US average of 54000 lb.
• The EPA was much more generous, and I clocked in at 10,760 lb of CO_2.
• Earth Day measures their footprints in biological acres, which is kind of cool and yet not very positive. If everyone lived like me, according to the site, we'd need 4.1 planets instead of just the one we've got. I cost 18 acres a year, versus the normal American average of 24.
• BP measured it at 8818 lb versus a US average of 40960 lb. Al Gore's own site, An Inconvenient Truth, was even more lenient: 4500 lb, versus a national average of 15000 lb.
• Yahoo! Green measures my footprint at 9200 lb of CO₂, versus the national average of 18880 lb.

Even the advocate groups can't decide if I'm a good guy or a bad guy. I felt pretty good about myself until the Earth Day people reprimanded me. Can't we all just get along?

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Iran and the Intelligence Vaccine

So, new intelligence indicates the Iranians stopped pursuing nuclear weapons in 2003, and even if they started doing so again today, wouldn't be able to achieve that kind of technology until at least 2010.

That's odd. That would mean that President Ahmadinejad--that handsome devil--has been basically telling the truth every time our president accuses him of being Hugely, Terribly Evil and wanting what... wait, what we have.

I don't hear the Iranian government discussed in depth often enough. Political talking heads and journos alike seem to think (or at least, they like to pretend) Pres. Ahmadinejad has some sort of infinite, absolute power in Iran and his word is The Law--rather like how some people view Pres. Bush abroad. And while Pres. Ahmadinejad does wield quite a bit of popular power (note the trendy, everyman sort of outfit and the perpetually unshaven dimples, bestillmybeatingheart), his words and actions are tightly controlled by the Ayatollah, traditionally a much less attractive man.

*The Ayatollah, it should be noted, has a much fancier title: Supreme Leader. Chosen by the Council of Guardians, the humorous parallels between how the Ayatollah is 'elected' (by 12 men with lifetime appointments to their powerful stations, of which the responsibilities include interpreting the Constitution of Iran) and our how our own leader was elected (by the ruling decision of 7 Supreme Court Justices with lifetime appointments to their stations, the responsibility of which is to interpret the Constitution) are rarely drawn. Laughing yet?*The Ayatollah, a conservative, is nonethless progessive on issues our own leaders dare not touch: stem cell research, alternative energy, and thereuptic cloning. While he doesn't get an A+ in the human rights department, he does acknowledge the Holocaust as a factual event and a genocide. Something to think about.

We Love Diplomacy. Welcome to our Country. Psych!

And still, the American people have been wondering whether or not our country will go to war with Iran--despite the current mess we're in with Iraq, and despite the claims of Pres. Ahmadinejad that Iran was not seeking nuclear weapons as our president assumed. One must also wonder, rightly, I think, at the moral leg America has to stand on in this matter. The world-weary cynic in me dismisses the argument that the US has the responsibility to monitor and control the spread of nuclear technology after inventing, using, and abusing it; with so many countries possessing or seeking the bomb, it seems hopelessly naive to stand in their way.

But my personal feelings of disenchantment aside, I marvel at the hypocrisy of the American media when it comes to dealing with Iran and Pres. Ahmadinejad. Ahmadinejad says he wants to talk; Bush won't resume diplomatic relations. Ahmadinejad has an interview with Mike Wallace; Mike Wallace condescends and whines and blows the follow-up questions until even the squeaky voice of Ahmadinejad's interpreter pales in comparison to Wallace's awesome arrogance. Ahmadinejad is invited to speak at Columbia; the University President barfs all over the introduction by calling him a "petty and cruel dictator." Ahmadinejad rebutted with an interesting choice of words: he suggested that the President of Columbia was providing a "vaccination" to his students, immunizing them from the nuance, power, and complexity of Ahmadinejad's speech. It seems all of America has been duly vaccinated in such a way, taught to disbelieve the words of foreign leaders without just cause even as we swallow the blatant lies of our own elected officials.

In the case of Iran, the original intelligence did not fail, per se; the intelligence just wasn't listening.

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Hipsters vs. Healthcare: Insurance Without Borders?

Where you live may affect your health

1. Describe, using diagrams where appropriate, the healthcare options available to 20-somethings in Rhode Island and Massachusetts who make less than $20,000.00 or so per year.

It would be a lie to say that as a Rhode Island resident I have no options when it comes to insurance. Since I'm still enrolled full time at Boston University, working on my Bachelor's, I piggyback on my parent's medical insurance--which includes eyecare and dental, a big bonus since I am blind as a bat. And if I weren't going to school, or my parents didn't have insurance, or were Evil, I could always go to work at Whole Foods or Starbucks, two corporations with great medical coverage* and convenient locations every five feet or so throughout this great land. BU even provides coverage, which, although I couldn't afford it outright, I could buy with my student loans--not a great option, but better than nothing. When I graduate, though, my options will shrink: parental coverage won't be an option, school won't pay for it, and if I don't immediately get a full-time corporate job, I might just go uninsured. Which is why I've recently begun scanning Craigslist for apartments for rent in Massachusetts.

*Whole Foods coverage is actually free for full-time employees after 800 hours of service. "Coverage" includes a holistic expense account of $300 to $1,800; domestic partner coverage (which does come at an additional cost); dental and vision; and lots of other great stuff that makes me bitterly resent my waitressing and writing jobs. I won't talk about the Starbucks package, because it's boring and has a hokey name: "Your Special Blend." It is pretty comprehensive, though, and you can pick your benefit package based on your needs and full- or part-time status. Sweet, huh? Or not, depending on how you like your latte.

My own political ideology straddles the thin line between Libertarianism and Socialism--and by "thin line," I of course mean "Huge, Gaping Hole the Size of the Grand Canyon." I'm a personal responsibility fanatic and more Republican than Republicans when it comes to small government, more Liberal than Liberals when it comes to education and healthcare. I believe our taxes should pay for the privilege of living in a free society administered by a government that provides, in exchange:

• Free healthcare for all citizens, including dental and vision.
• Free education.
• Free local public transit, and affordable national transit ($17 for a one-way Amtrak ticket from Providence to Boston would be a thing of the past).
• Free utilities. Yeah, that's right, I said it. What? (Seriously, though, the plan is simple: you get X amount of Y utility per month, per individual. Use more? Pay more. Use less? Tax rebate.)
• Free militarized defense (and an all-volunteer army).

Other than that, I want the government out of my family (marriage would no longer be a legalized institution, although if you want to file taxes jointly, go nuts); out of my uterus; out of my hookah (abolish ancient and unsupported drug law--can you imagine the revenues if cannabis was a legalized and taxable substance?); and out of my apartment building (goodbye Section 8, for one thing).

But back to the matter at hand.

Massachusetts has already taken a great first step with the whole healthcare thing. The Boston Phoenix recently ran an article on feisty (read: dumb) citizens refusing to sign up for the plan, even though it's affordable for people with my kind of lifestyle: if you make about $15k per year, you pay no premium and have a minimal copay; if you make what I make, around $18k per year, you pay $35/month with a minimal copay. I can afford that, and if you can't, you need to buy fewer CDs or go to fewer underground hipster shows at dive bars (to paraphrase the article, found here).

The other major problem is dental coverage, and this is why I put the big asterix in my Venn diagram--both MA and RI seem to be pretty bad at caring for our molars. I became interested in the problem when I visited the AAA-affiliated Delta Dental RI website--which is awful, confusing and poorly designed--to look at their rates. $43/month and only 70% of procedure costs covered (cleanings and diagnostics are free)? Delta Dental can go take a hike, since I know no one among my peers who can afford that kind of thing. It was suggested that anyone needing a dental procedure contact a dental school, in hopes of getting free services in exchange for donating your mouth to science. Although it sounds freaky, it might not be such a bad idea when compared to the available options: sell your first-born child on the black market to pay for dental coverage, or let all your teeth fall out.

I assumed that Mass, with its progressive healthcare stance, would have something more affordable available--but when I did an internet search, I found nothing helpful, just a jumble of government and health advocacy websites that led nowhere. I assume the state-wide medical coverage doesn't include dental or vision, but I might be wrong (and if anyone knows, I'd love to hear more about it). Seriously, Googling dental insurance was like falling down the rabbit hole.

Free clinics are always an option for those with minor medical issues. Having a uterus helps; I can get a pretty good deal on The Pill and health services through Planned Parenthood or one of the several Providence-area health clinics. If I get knocked up, I can even get free dental services, and so can my kids--but my boyfriend? Nope. Although I understand the value in keeping babies and their moms healthy, and one must prioritize when you operate with thin grant money and volunteers, the idea makes me cringe. If I decide to go ahead and have a baby--which would be a huge, awful, terrible mistake at this point in my life, a burden to the state without a doubt--there are myriad health services available to me. Meanwhile, the guy who fathers my child can't get his cavities looked at?

As a Libertarian myself, I understand the argument against the new Mass healthcare--why should the government force us to buy a service? And the system is, of course, still flawed, although if one abandons political idealogy and rhetoric you see that the system is affordable and fair. In other words, for now, quit your whining. The argument for universal health is simple and has nothing to with empathy, or wanting people to live healthy, full lives, or butterflies and puppies: it's a matter of money. It's unethical for a state to let you die, plain and simple (ambulances do come when called, last time I checked) and so someone (a donor, an institution, a private foundation, the taxpayers) always foots the bill for medical costs if you cannot. Not acceptable.

You can jump in front of government-subsidized busses all day long if you want, but you'd better have health insurance, or there will come a time when the penalties will affect more than just your tax returns. In the meantime, we might need a Doctors Without Borders right here in New England.

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Blogger Inaction Day

I'm a few hours late, but I've decided to honor Blogger Action Day by selling my car.

That's right. From now on, it's just my trusty boots, my new road bike, and my bus and train passes. Aren't I just the perfect picture of eco-crazy hippie? Just the sweetest little earth-conscious flower child?

So let's tell no one that this decision came right after my Jetta, which needs a new engine anyway, dropped its exhaust and muffler in the middle of the road after leaving Whole Foods. It knew that Al Gore had just won a Nobel prize for his environmental work, and it knew that today (well, yesterday) was Blogger Action Day, and it thought: "Kate, what are you doing to help the planet today?"

See? Caring about the environment is easy! Just let your car do the deciding for you.

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Local Girl Mesmerized By TV, Falls Into Coma

I, famously, do not have television. No cable, no antennae. I do own a TV set, which serves as a handy plant stand.

Still, the darned thing is inescapable.

My place of employment recently installed three huge plasma screens, and in the mornings these things scream the news in neon colors using catchy phrases like "Firemen forced to endure lewd comments for hours" and "11 Year Old Boy Mauled by Bear" (both, unfortunately, true). Not only do they shout inane nonsense at loud volumes, but it's always the same loud nonsense: Vicks and dogs, O.J. Simpson, that same forest fire that's been raging around Tahoe since before I can remember... you know the drill. Nothing truly important on a national scale and certainly no international news about stuff like, you know, the Middle East. And, you know, other stuff.

I realize that I've jumped on the ‘24-Hour News Channels Are Schlock' bandwagon a little late in the game--forgive me, and note the lack of TV and the WGBH membership--but if I see another camera focused on the courthouse where O.J. may or may not be emerging (any minute now) or following a rookie reporter up the stairs at a senior home in Cranston, Rhode Island, I'm going to do something drastic. Like stop watching, if I could just tear my eyes away from the bright, shiny colors.

Don't Touch That Dial!

Luckily, I go to my parent's home a few times a month for laundry services and a chat-and my parents have cable. After a channel-changing marathon last Thursday, my mother and I settled down to watch Scrubs, that cute and witty medical sitcom that I really just can't get enough of.

Before the program could begin, however, I slipped into unconsciousness and was immediately sucked into an alternate universe wherein CNN broke into choreographed song and dance ("For in spite of all temptations / To belong to other nations / He remains an Englishman!") and left Scrubs to cover popular political issues on the international front. I sat up, bleary-eyed and confused. What was going on here? How could this be Scrubs?

In the episode "His Story IV," an Iraqi War veteran is admitted to the hospital. Private Dancer (for that's his name, poor darling) bonds with Dr. Kelso and incites a full-on partisan battle between Republicans and Democrats, bleeding heart liberals against family members of servicemen, with all the players screaming overused sound bytes at one another and playing nasty tricks. While at times it was a bit forced, the best moment came when J.D., with nothing to contribute to the heated political battle and no knowledge of current events, begins to read The Iraq War for Dummies:

J.D.: You know what's so messed up? I just got to the point where President Bush gave his gives his "Mission Accomplished" speech on a battleship, and I still got like 400 more pages to go!

I changed the channel and indeed, the talking heads on CNN were stilling putting on H.M.S. Pinafore. What was I to do but change to the channel, which was playing last season's finale of ER? At least there I'd get some rapid-fire medical drama with all the familiar trappings.

Instead, ER gave me a sound bashing with a huge, and very heavy, war protest sign (the follow-up to which aired tonight, Thurs 9/27). In May, ER presented viewers with an unequivocal anti-war message that included a traumatized translator addicted to painkillers and shouting pleas for help in Arabic and the build-up to a huge protest rally, which an Iraqi war widow is bound and determined to attend. Thank goodness she did, because in the season premiere this evening, the protest rally blew up. Literally. And ER was off to the races.

Not to get all Grey's Anatomy on you, but, seriously? Seriously? Today's "journalists" are so busy wondering if they should be paying attention to O.J. (answer: please, for the love of God, no) and tracking down pre-teens at their immaculately landscaped suburban homes for incompetent interviews on why they ended up on the FBI No Fly list (answer: who gives a flying fig?) that fiction has begun to pick up the slack. The Daily Show has proven to be just the tip of the iceberg.

Republicans better get on this, stat, I thought. Because as we all know, Hollywood has an evil liberal bias, and if we let dramas and sitcoms do all our debating and reporting and satire, then pretty soon people might turn off their TVs and actually march on Washington, their minds full of snarky pacifist propaganda, and demand an end to the war and the torture and the unrecorded civilian casualties.

And then I woke up.

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We Can Do It!

Just the other day, my naïve and trusting landlady gave me permission to go ahead and replace my medicine cabinet. My recessed medicine cabinet, in my circa 1850 apartment, which has been ravaged nearly to death by the constant comings-and-goings of hipster tenants and the work of overzealous (and, often, woefully underzealous) handymen. My medicine cabinet was clearly old, painted and taped onto the wall, missing a shelf, and covered in bizarre stains. It really had to go, and so I asked permission to do it myself. Permission granted.

This was a mistake.

Taking it out was easy enough. I just unscrewed a few things, peeled away layers of masking tape, and pried paint away with the end of my screwdriver. Then I gave it a good yank, and out it came, along with several bushels of brick dust, plaster, and assorted ickies.

I exposed what once must have been the original wall, now covered in layers of drywall and plasterboard (and in some parts of my apartment, sheet plastic. Classy!). I am heartbroken for this building. Can you imagine if someone were to restore it? I could be living in luxury, with an exposed brick wall in the middle of my kitchen! Perhaps I could even have cupboards!

Unfortunately, the modern medicine cabinet I bought at Home Depot to replace the old one just didn't fit. Too wide. Since I didn't have a saw, I chipped away at the particle board with a screwdriver. Very technical work. When that failed, I removed one end by prying up the staples with, again, my screwdriver (the only tool a single gal needs, until she screws everything up, no pun intended). And what do you know! The cabinet fit into the oddly shaped hole. Of course, it no longer had sides, or part of its door.

Using wood glue (my favorite thing) and the weight of the mirrored door, I attempted to fix the cabinet and modify its size. Failure, once again. So I journeyed to Home Depot, bought a jab saw, measuring tape, molding, and clamps, and am now staring at the whole darn thing on my kitchen table.

I have no idea how I am going to fix this. But if it can be done, and tastefully, then I will do it. Hopefully before my landlady sees it.

 (to be continued)

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