Italo Calvino said: The more enlightened our houses are, the more their walls ooze ghosts. Describe the ghosts that live in this house: Image credit: “love Don’t live here anymore…” – © 2009 Robb North – made available under Attribution 2.0 Generic
Off to the kitchen to experiment with hot sauce recipes
MC D are fighting back with Mc Cafe but they need to expand the menu
I am not talking about exercise or turning off the electronics—both good ideas—but about social justice work. Last week, the speaker at our Shabbat service to honor Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., Dr. Alexes Harris, grabbed my daughters’ attention. Instead of leaving them feeling like the world’s problems are too big to fix, she inspired them to be actors in their own lives and community. WOW! Anyone who gets my kids as excited about justice as the latest beauty blog is someone I need to pay attention to.
One of my daughters said, “This speech was not just about Dr. King’s legacy, but what I can do today, with attainable ideas, small things that are acts of social justice.” Yes, she really said that. Here is a shortened version of the speech that got her there:
I am a mother, wife, daughter, friend, professor and social activist…. I am…
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There’s a new living meme I’ve been closely watching as it achingly creeps into an everyday reality because of economic compression and the new relativism of the repression of the American Dream for a growing generation of born scavengers.
I’ve been cautiously observing the new momentum of young people moving out of big cities and into small, rural, villages — or their parent’s basement — where the rent is cheap, the food is affordable, and the quality of life is quiet and unsubstantial.
At a time when these young people should be at their maximum earning potential, they are instead in “retirement mode” and collecting welfare subsidies and banking the goodwill of the generation ahead of them. When it comes time for them to pay back the deed, they will be able to do so because they were never in the earnings game in the first place.
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Know the feeling
It’s exactly like this:
A prestigious Toronto-based arts festival calls you up and tells you that you’ve been selected to take part in their festival this coming January. You graciously accept, hang up the phone and think to yourself, “Well. It’s no surprise that they’d select me for such a thing. I’m the most talented person to ever walk the earth.”
The Festival sends you an email giving you 48 hours to come up with a title and brief synopsis for your new solo show that doesn’t yet exist in any part of your brain or universe.
You send them something vaguely promising.
July 28th – November 1st
You 100% forget about The Festival. The only time you mention that you’re taking part in The Festival is when you’re trying to impress cardigan-clad women with large eyewear.
You realize how far…
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Guest contribution by Sabiha Mahmoud
My latest journey began in Morocco. Despite the hustle and bustle of the region’s strong tourism industry, within its fabric lie many layers of poverty. The orphanage I visited in Agadir, a major Moroccan city, seemed well funded. But a plane journey across to La’ayoune, also known as El-Aaiún, in the Western Sahara revealed a stark difference. The Western Sahara already faces occupation and more and more of its people are becoming displaced from it. I wanted to make certain I documented as much as I could, and orphans always remained sore point. The abandonment and neglect from a place that is already being forgotten or erased is a story that needed to be told.
An orphan from the girls quarters points me in the right direction of where I could catch a taxi back to the main city in La’ayoune.
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