Archive for August, 2008

Supermarket Sweet

August 10, 2008 · Filed under literature and books, poetry, pure journal (more or less)

A little cluster of my favorite poetry—even a short story by John Updike—is all about supermarkets. Allen Ginsburg may have started it with his poem about wandering the aisles and finding Walt Whitman. Randall Jarrell followed suit with a wistful and poignant self-portrait of a 1950s woman—forty-ish, probably—ruminating about loss and anonymity. John Updike’s short story “A & P,” comes from the perspective of the bag boy—a chivalrous wannabe in a fluorescent non-wilderness, tilting at the middle class manager instead of a windmill. Peter Meinke, a contemporary Florida poet, picks up there, ruminating that “My supermarket is bigger than your supermarket. / That’s what America is all about.”

Even Melanie (whom no one under forty-five has ever heard of) sings about supermarkets:
“Take the children to school, and you go to the grocery store. You pass as a grown-up . . . “
So even an aging, hippie-style rock singer, sees grocery shopping as the purview of middling: middle class, middle age, mediocrity.

In sum, the supermarket emerges as an icon of America—possibly America at its most generic and boring.

But here’s the thing for me: I love the grocery store. If I were T.S. Eliot, I might write: “At the supermarket, there I feel happy.” For fifty years I’ve passed through the automatic doors to push or help push a chromed metal basket up and down the aisles that prove we are a land of plenty. There are no secret corners in the average grocery store. Light pours from above and exhibits every can and every cellophane package, every freezer case and every squared off cereal box. The tomatoes glow, the peppers shine, the oranges reveal their leather peels. There is a peace that comes in knowing where one’s next meal comes from—and that when that meal ends, more awaits.

For me as for many women, the weekly (or more frequent) trip to the grocery reaffirms something gendered. Of course, sometimes an inner rebel curses the necessity and the obligation. Why should it be a woman thing? And, in fact, these days, it’s not so much. That’s the thing: everyone is there. One sees couples, whole families, young men—sometimes in pairs—prowling through the soda aisles and stacking their pizza boxes, young women searching for vegan ramen or shuttling their toddlers past the Captain Crunch. It’s a watering hole, a gathering place. Though privately owned, it truly belongs to its customers, much more than other retailers where we go from time to time and buy something different every time. At the grocery we buy the same things again and again. We lay claim to our brands and our nutritional profiles.

I regard the local Publix as “mine.” Having shopped there for 25 years, I know every aisle. I notice the gradual shifts in product lines. I’m proud that there are more organics now and the baggers and cashiers seem to appreciate my canvas bags. I nosh my way through the sample carts when it’s lunch time. I help people find the condiments if they ask. Sometimes I make friends with strangers waiting at the deli for lunch meat. The pharmacist recognizes me, and I her. And checking out I always enjoy the cashier’s banter with the bagger, or congratulate myself on my friendliness to the occasional mentally challenged cashier.

It’s all lovely and personal without the stress of real relationship. If I meet a neighbor, it’s a treat, but we don’t have to tarry long or delve into details. We’re busy. The supermarket is an oasis of civility. Being alone in the crowd—usually regarded as a curse—is a blessing here. You’re all in it together, but you’re all going home and won’t have to deal with each other for long.
When I leave with my one hundred dollars of produce, chicken et cetera and packaged groceries, I’ve accomplished something, I’ve socialized, I’ve once more staked out my identity and I’ve proved the world to be still reliably ordinary, even as it offers the danger of new hot peppers, the mystery of persimmons or guava or strange and spindly fungi from far away. The small adventures proffered are optional only, the comfort of familiarity is the mainstay.

And, just think, next week you get to go again.

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why gas prices should stay high

August 9, 2008 · Filed under politics · Tagged , , ,

Gas prices are down. Great news. Most people are thrilled. Truckers will be able to stay on the road. Moms won’t have to exchange their Suburbans for Volvos. Ford and Chevy can abandon production of hybrids and electric vehicles. Pressure to increase the CAFE standards will slacken. And life in McDonald’s land will return to its artificial veneer of optimism. Phew! It was all just a blip on the screen. A hoax, some will say, a conspiracy to deny us all the energy and other resources we can consume. Those doom sayers (among whom I proudly count myself) were just huffing and puffing: there’s no real crisis, plenty of oil, no need to turn one’s attention from the latest Olympic victory. And meanwhile, let’s blame it all on the Chinese–look at that pollution! (I can’t recall: was as much made of this when the games were in L.A.?)

The sad truth is Americans will not conserve energy unless it costs them money to do otherwise. So, in true doom sayer style I am in mourning for the demise of the four dollar gallon.

I know this because I’m old enough to remember the first oil crisis.

It hit thirty years ago, when I was in my mid-twenties. Gas cost 29 cents a gallon or thereabouts. We watched it climb to 59 and gradually to a dollar fifty. In response, Honda introduced the Accord, which got over 30 mpg. The national speed limit came down to 55 mph–a move intended to save gas and heartily opposed by the trucking association. I’m not sure how effective it was. But it was an effort. That’s when the strategic oil reserve was established as well. Meanwhile, people lowered their thermostats and bought long underwear. Wood stoves became incredibly popular and the homeowners experimented with passive and active solar power for their houses.

At the time, two atmospheric catastrophes loomed large: one, the hole in the ozone layer, later subsided as the simple cause–CFCs–was removed from the market. Easily done as there was a ready and equally effective replacement (I don’t know what but it’s in my car and yours and propels the aerosols in your cooking spray and bug killer.) Global warming–greenhouse gases–also made the news back then. But discussion of that faded with the oil crisis. Prices fell a bit and leveled off at about a dollar where they stayed for the next 25 years. Instead of continuing to conserve and seek alternatives, Americans basked in the pool of cheap petroleum that irresponsible Congresses continued to promote. Congress refused to raise taxes or CAFE standards. Detroit, realizing that consumers were paying for oil about what they had paid in 1960–long before the oil crisis raised consciousness for six months–arranged with Congress to call great big heavy cars “trucks” so they were excused from the CAFE standards that were in place. People loved it. Or hated it. But the “can’t beat so join” mentality prevailed–there was no counter-balance to stop car buyers from concluding that when surrounded by enormous vehicles that block your view, the best counter-measure is to purchase a taller and heavier one yourself. Plus, you could get one with TV and other features that turned the gigantic gas-guzzlers into mini-RVs. You could drive your hypnotized children down 8-lane interstates, stop for fast food, go to the bank, even, in some cases, go to church all with the engine running. The American love affair with the automobile reached its narcissistic zenith–or nadir if you’re a doomsayer type.

And this pattern of consumption continued right up until gas finally topped 3 bucks a gallon. Then, issuing an enormous cry of “Foul!” the American public finally took notice and began to conserve. But, it was after all, only a beginning.

Even with all this, Congress has remained more interested in drilling for oil than in promoting conservation (by far the easiest and cheapest way to save money on petroleum) or rewarding the use of alternative fuels. There is precious little interest (except among the already converted) in alternative energies. This summer it was a huge struggle just to preserve tax incentives for solar energy. Sure, the Green Planet channel is on–but practically no one watches it regularly (please, prove me wrong!! please!) Instead, we’re adding ethanol–an admittedly renewable but almost equally polluting substance that demands absolutely no sacrifice of American greed and gluttony and no change in our lifestyle and habits. I’m blaming Congress but I know that they are simply doing their jobs: listening to their constituents who are convinced (erroneously but with typical American reluctance to sacrifice) that drilling for oil now will instantly lower gas prices. In fact, now that they’re down, Republicans in Congress are claiming that just “talking” about drilling caused the prices to go down (at least according to Paul Krugman).

And the public will believe them because it’s easier to do so. Prices will come down. Plans to buy a smaller car, to try the bus, to reduce one’s footprint will fade. I know this as well as I know what’s happened for the last 30 years.

Tom Friedman is right, our children and grandchildren will hate us. But by then it will be too late: the ice caps will be gone and along with them the polar bears. Insurance rates will be sky higher than they are now. But gas will be cheap and we’ll just keep guzzling it. Because that’s what we do in America.

And the only thing that can come effectively between us and our jones for oil is the price.

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