![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
The Romie Times Herald
I have been meaning to write a journal entry for some time now, but the main topic on my mind was "I am about to get divorced; how depressing." As it happens, I am not going to get divorced (and this is the first time in about three months that I've believed that); thus, the main news items are the following:
I. I hate everybody.
II. I don't experience empathy, which is getting me into trouble.
III. I am depressed by the fate of the Gros Michel banana.
Item One: I Hate Everybody
If you are reading this, I hate you. It is not personal. I am sure you've been very nice to me, and are probably inherently good. If it is any consolation, I also hate me. People I do not hate are Mom and Tom, leading me to believe there is some kind of consonant-oh-em exception. (Patrick has wisely demanded he be called "Pom" for the duration.) Although this might seem comic and irrational, it is very real, and is a strong motivator behind many of my actions. You are probably right to be offended, and I am a terrible person for hating you like this. The fact that I hate you does not provide me with much solace, since I hate you for being offended and/or not maximally self-actualized, and thus your knowing I hate you only makes the situation worse. Nevertheless, I am telling you this because we are friends. There is no need to account for yourself.
Item Two: Empathy
For years and years - in fact, for my whole life - people have been calling me "manipulative," "cold," "calculating," "unfeeling," "devoid of compassion," "oblivious to emotion," and so forth. Actually, there is not a single person I have had multiple conversations with who has not brought up this subject at least once. Apparently, this is one of those things people notice about Romie straight off the bat.
I always sort of thought they were being insensitive, because I work very hard at being empathic; I'm always trying to figure out what motivates people and why they feel the ways they do. Turns out that should have tipped me off to the fact that I'm not actually empathic - it is becoming clear to me that most people don't need to work that hard. I see someone crying and think "I wonder why they're crying; is it something I should also be sad about?" Most people see someone crying and think "how awful; that makes me sad." I just assumed that most people didn't analyze themselves enough to see the interim step.
I do cry at movies, and at songs, and stories. I do hate unnecessary suffering. But I can't feel what you're feeling. I can only ever put myself in your position, and imagine wanting what you want. I'm a good writer. But if a situation is hurting you that I would just walk away from, I am unable to feel sorry for you. If you crack before I would because you're not strong enough, I am unable to feel sorry for you. If you've ever felt I asked too much, this is why. If you've ever wondered why I don't like children, this is why. Rest assured that I do understand you, whether I approve or not; I can usually predict your actions, and act accordingly sympathetic.
Maybe I'm still just misunderstanding what people mean when they say "empathy." I get why people like me less after they've known me for a while. And I sort of hate them for it. (See item one.)
Item Three: The Gros Michel Banana
The banana that most Americans think of when they hear the word "banana" is called the Cavendish banana, and it's in trouble. Never mind why it's in trouble; just accept that it will soon no longer exist in the way it does now. The banana has been cultivated for at least 4000 years; it may be the world's oldest fruit tree. But it's not really a tree - it's a really tall herb. You don't grow it by planting a banana; you grow it by taking a cutting, as you would with mint or rosemary. As a result, there's not a lot of genetic diversity within banana plantations.
There are over 100 types of banana in the world, many of them savory and potato-like. They're an essential staple crop throughout much of Asia, Africa, and South America; they're extremely easy to grow. The Cavendish, on the other hand, is a dessert banana - sweet and creamy. It is sold as three different types of banana - some of which are large, some normal sized, and some tiny - but they all come from different places on the same tree. As a matter of fact, every single Cavendish banana is the same banana, genetically speaking. They are clones of each other.
What with the Cavendish being threatened, banana exporters are scrambling to replace it. Some want to alter its genes to be more resistant to fungus. Others are trying to breed another banana which will be acceptable to American palates. So far, the leading contender, which has an apple-like taste, has not caught on at all, except in Australia.
None of this is important.
What matters is that this has already happened. The Cavendish was the banana that replaced the Gros Michel, or "Big Mike." This was the banana America fell in love with. This was the banana about which authors wrote rapturous odes. This was the banana which was so popular that cities began curbside trash pickup; all those "slipping on a banana peel" gags in movies were founded on a real problem. The song "Yes We Have No Bananas" grew out of the shortages when Big Mike first started to falter.
The Gros Michel was a taller tree, more susceptible to inclement weather. It was also even less fungus resistant than the Cavendish, and when the black fungus swept down, there was nothing to be done. Banana cultivators tried anyway, replanting on new land again and again - and destroying lots of rainforest in the process. In the end, the Gros Michel couldn't cut it. Now it's nowhere to be found, and even if you could, it would be illegal to import it. The Cavendish had a thicker skin, and so it was easier to ship. It could also be sprayed with more powerful pesticides.
But it didn't taste as good.
All those old people who say "food tasted better in my day!" aren't lying. The bananas were better. So was the beef, and the milk; so were the tomatoes. They've been replaced by strains that are cheaper and easier to produce en masse; what matters now is profit and not flavor. We've been lied to. Things don't taste the way they should.
My quality of life is worse than it appears to be. In some cases, the good stuff is out there; I'm just not allowed to have it. A global economy has not increased specialization. It has not made us able to get the best of everything all the time. Instead, it's made shelf space more expensive and driven out small farmers. It's driven out artisans. And the groceries that do carry the remaining good stuff? You can bet they're passing on the price of shelf space to you - plus some. So instead we buy things with the illusion of being food.
We buy into a lot of illusions. Giant mansions that fall apart five years after they're built. Fast food French fries that fill our stomachs but pass on no nutrients. Companies aren't owned by individuals anymore; they're owned by investors - people who care less about the product than the money returned. Nobody is proud anymore. Nobody has integrity. We're all just employees, and we don't work for anybody.
The revolution's never going to happen. The structure may be falling apart, but it has a nice coat of paint.
(See item one.)
I. I hate everybody.
II. I don't experience empathy, which is getting me into trouble.
III. I am depressed by the fate of the Gros Michel banana.
Item One: I Hate Everybody
If you are reading this, I hate you. It is not personal. I am sure you've been very nice to me, and are probably inherently good. If it is any consolation, I also hate me. People I do not hate are Mom and Tom, leading me to believe there is some kind of consonant-oh-em exception. (Patrick has wisely demanded he be called "Pom" for the duration.) Although this might seem comic and irrational, it is very real, and is a strong motivator behind many of my actions. You are probably right to be offended, and I am a terrible person for hating you like this. The fact that I hate you does not provide me with much solace, since I hate you for being offended and/or not maximally self-actualized, and thus your knowing I hate you only makes the situation worse. Nevertheless, I am telling you this because we are friends. There is no need to account for yourself.
Item Two: Empathy
For years and years - in fact, for my whole life - people have been calling me "manipulative," "cold," "calculating," "unfeeling," "devoid of compassion," "oblivious to emotion," and so forth. Actually, there is not a single person I have had multiple conversations with who has not brought up this subject at least once. Apparently, this is one of those things people notice about Romie straight off the bat.
I always sort of thought they were being insensitive, because I work very hard at being empathic; I'm always trying to figure out what motivates people and why they feel the ways they do. Turns out that should have tipped me off to the fact that I'm not actually empathic - it is becoming clear to me that most people don't need to work that hard. I see someone crying and think "I wonder why they're crying; is it something I should also be sad about?" Most people see someone crying and think "how awful; that makes me sad." I just assumed that most people didn't analyze themselves enough to see the interim step.
I do cry at movies, and at songs, and stories. I do hate unnecessary suffering. But I can't feel what you're feeling. I can only ever put myself in your position, and imagine wanting what you want. I'm a good writer. But if a situation is hurting you that I would just walk away from, I am unable to feel sorry for you. If you crack before I would because you're not strong enough, I am unable to feel sorry for you. If you've ever felt I asked too much, this is why. If you've ever wondered why I don't like children, this is why. Rest assured that I do understand you, whether I approve or not; I can usually predict your actions, and act accordingly sympathetic.
Maybe I'm still just misunderstanding what people mean when they say "empathy." I get why people like me less after they've known me for a while. And I sort of hate them for it. (See item one.)
Item Three: The Gros Michel Banana
The banana that most Americans think of when they hear the word "banana" is called the Cavendish banana, and it's in trouble. Never mind why it's in trouble; just accept that it will soon no longer exist in the way it does now. The banana has been cultivated for at least 4000 years; it may be the world's oldest fruit tree. But it's not really a tree - it's a really tall herb. You don't grow it by planting a banana; you grow it by taking a cutting, as you would with mint or rosemary. As a result, there's not a lot of genetic diversity within banana plantations.
There are over 100 types of banana in the world, many of them savory and potato-like. They're an essential staple crop throughout much of Asia, Africa, and South America; they're extremely easy to grow. The Cavendish, on the other hand, is a dessert banana - sweet and creamy. It is sold as three different types of banana - some of which are large, some normal sized, and some tiny - but they all come from different places on the same tree. As a matter of fact, every single Cavendish banana is the same banana, genetically speaking. They are clones of each other.
What with the Cavendish being threatened, banana exporters are scrambling to replace it. Some want to alter its genes to be more resistant to fungus. Others are trying to breed another banana which will be acceptable to American palates. So far, the leading contender, which has an apple-like taste, has not caught on at all, except in Australia.
None of this is important.
What matters is that this has already happened. The Cavendish was the banana that replaced the Gros Michel, or "Big Mike." This was the banana America fell in love with. This was the banana about which authors wrote rapturous odes. This was the banana which was so popular that cities began curbside trash pickup; all those "slipping on a banana peel" gags in movies were founded on a real problem. The song "Yes We Have No Bananas" grew out of the shortages when Big Mike first started to falter.
The Gros Michel was a taller tree, more susceptible to inclement weather. It was also even less fungus resistant than the Cavendish, and when the black fungus swept down, there was nothing to be done. Banana cultivators tried anyway, replanting on new land again and again - and destroying lots of rainforest in the process. In the end, the Gros Michel couldn't cut it. Now it's nowhere to be found, and even if you could, it would be illegal to import it. The Cavendish had a thicker skin, and so it was easier to ship. It could also be sprayed with more powerful pesticides.
But it didn't taste as good.
All those old people who say "food tasted better in my day!" aren't lying. The bananas were better. So was the beef, and the milk; so were the tomatoes. They've been replaced by strains that are cheaper and easier to produce en masse; what matters now is profit and not flavor. We've been lied to. Things don't taste the way they should.
My quality of life is worse than it appears to be. In some cases, the good stuff is out there; I'm just not allowed to have it. A global economy has not increased specialization. It has not made us able to get the best of everything all the time. Instead, it's made shelf space more expensive and driven out small farmers. It's driven out artisans. And the groceries that do carry the remaining good stuff? You can bet they're passing on the price of shelf space to you - plus some. So instead we buy things with the illusion of being food.
We buy into a lot of illusions. Giant mansions that fall apart five years after they're built. Fast food French fries that fill our stomachs but pass on no nutrients. Companies aren't owned by individuals anymore; they're owned by investors - people who care less about the product than the money returned. Nobody is proud anymore. Nobody has integrity. We're all just employees, and we don't work for anybody.
The revolution's never going to happen. The structure may be falling apart, but it has a nice coat of paint.
(See item one.)
no subject
http://ift.confex.com/ift/2005/techprogram/paper_29501.htm
There *are* heirloom varieties of tomatoes and roses and primroses that are extinct. But there are many that have been quietly carried forward over the generations, plant succeeding plant in people's back yards. I live in artsy-craftsy California, and I buy heirloom (non-hybrid) tomatoes all the time. I grow a rose, Mme. Isaac Pereire, that was developed in 1881, and many older roses are still in commerce. http://ift.confex.com/ift/2005/techprogram/paper_29501.htm
I think we've already passed the peak of one-size-fits-all cultivars: the mass market is giving way to many smaller customized markets. Or so I hope.
Feel free to keep hating me.
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
4105 West Airport Freeway
Irving, TX 75062
Anywhere close to you?
Adventures are nice. Usually. And even the ones that aren't often make good stories. And a good yarn is the life-blood of civilization.
no subject
no subject
no subject
We should go get extremely drunk on vodka sometime.
no subject
no subject
Because serious poking of the discussion with a stick does nothing to convince...
AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
RE: 3
So what if I like french fries?
(see RE: 1 and 2)
Re: Because serious poking of the discussion with a stick does nothing to convince...
Re: Because serious poking of the discussion with a stick does nothing to convince...
"Smelly and ungrateful. But this AMERICAN toast is GREAT!"
Heh... sorry. Had to.
no subject
whatever the overall state of things, i remain glad to have had a time when you were a presence in my life, and i hope for a time when you will be a presence again. perhaps by that time, the bananas will taste better again, and we can wear our fleur de lis with pride once more.
no subject
I do think of you often, and would love to visit - only there are about a million places I want to visit, and I have a limited amount of money. If, in a few years, I am hysterically wealthy, I'm sure I'll drop by all the time. And then (because I would be rich) we could eat in very fancy restraunts and go to very exlusive musical events. It'd be the best.
I always think of you when I hear certain kinds of choral music. Also, one of my friends has recently become incredibly obsessed with chess, and another of my friends is marrying someone he doesn't know well in order to get her an American visa. These friends are roommates, and their other roommate (also my friend) is named Tom. So whenever I go over there (which is frequently) it is sort of like visiting you, only split into component parts. It amuses me every time.
love,
Romie
no subject
(Anonymous) 2005-09-19 03:45 pm (UTC)(link)*hugs*
have now caught up. back to work. see you tonight.
v