In an interview at Alternet titled Michael Pollan Debunks Food Myths, author Michael Pollan discusses his new book, In Defense of Food
. He talks about why news of the latest scientific nutritional studies is probably not the best source for nutrition information, and how the best eating advice given to Americans in the past five decades is probably the simplest — that fresh fruits, vegetables, and whole grains are good for us. According to him, we’re likely best off getting back to basics.
Pollan says:
“I’m not a Luddite; I’m not anti-science. I’m fascinated by nutritional science. But I’ve also acquired a healthy skepticism about how much and how little they know. It has only been around for about 175 years. Its history is of one overlooked nutrient after another. As I see it, nutrition science is kind of where surgery was in the year 1650, which is to say very interesting and promising, but do you really want to get on the table yet?” (read article)
Further on, Pollan mentions how the “imitation rule” was eliminated by the FDA, without going through Congress, and how what we eat has in some sense become a political statement. According to Pollan, cooking our own food from scratch may now be a subversive act:
“It’s funny to think of something as domestic as cooking and gardening as subversive, but it is. It is the beginning of taking back control from a system that would much rather do everything for you.” (read article)
Though I’m still following the election process, now that the choices have narrowed down considerably, and I’m not nearly as enthused about the remaining candidates, the blog won’t focus so much on the election.
I’m sure this news will relieve some of you no end, if you’re even still following the blog. But be warned, I will now and then post some politics, just as I have in the past. It’s too important to ignore completely.
I moved the dates forward on the previous two posts to help redirect the blog again to a primary focus on poetry, art, creativity, and alternative spirituality. I know, cheating. She’s too lazy to even write a new post.
Update 02-15-2008:
A belated
HAPPY LOSAR
to everyone. Februrary 7th was the Tibetan New Year, the start of year 2135 Male Earth Mouse. For more information about Losar, visit Wikipedia’s Losar page or this site.
For more information about Tibet and China, you might want to read TWELVE THINGS YOU SHOULD KNOW ABOUT TIBET AND CHINA.
The New Moon can’t be trusted.
Rather than float her darker
face as a shadow dotting
the brilliance of the sky,
she hides behind a blue mask.
Still the glassy surface of my
inner pool grows agitated,
my vision blotted and obscured,
as if a storm should darken
the horizon, or a great wave
loom and crest above my head.
Night comes. The Moon winks
as she sets, a slit of light that finally
confesses she has spied on us
all day. She pushes the Sun
over the edge of a cliff and
covers the deed in darkness.
As she slips away, she cracks a lock,
opening a door at the back
of my mind, so all the thoughts
I held contained by day
creep out to animate the night.
Dreams bring disordered, broken
shards, loose images, scattered bits,
some light and clear, some dark and
blurred, some missing altogether.
Night’s altered tale is hard to
grasp. It won’t conform to rules of
logic. Still it seduces me. I linger.
At the Sun’s next rise
I smuggle dreams inside my mind,
secret as the Moon’s dark face,
into the world of light.
* * *
Originally written for the New Moon in Scorpio of Friday, November 9, 2007.
Copyright © 2007 Barbara W. Klaser
I’ve found more fantastic art journal blogs, ninajohansson.se, and Laurelines Drawings and Paintings. Links courtesy of Jana’s Journal and Sketch Blog. Laurelines also recently posted links to other Must-Read Art Blogs for 2008.
In case you haven’t been watching my link updates in the sidebar, please also be sure to visit Beverly Jackson’s new art gallery website, The Art Shack Studio. I met Bev when we belonged to the same writer’s group, before she moved away. I’m proud to count her as a friend, and a multi-talented one at that.
