Taylor Clark, _Starbucked: A Double Tall Tale of Caffeine, Commerce, and Culture_

Long ago, in a verdant valley not so far away, dwelt a small coffeehouse located in a small suburban strip mall. Though its daily brew was admittedly acrid, Coffee Manoa nevertheless created a haven. Kathy, the owner/head barista, knew everyone by name, greeting customers with warm aloha, and the locale was perpetually blessed by double rainbows arcing above the tangle of aerial cables, the then-KC Drive Inn, and the slick, inky, oil-slicked concrete expanse of the Manoa Marketplace parking lot. There, eccentric poets, artists, professors, poor students, up-and-coming folk musicians, counter-culture holdovers, and caffeine junkies alike held court, recited Proust, debated philosophical issues, played endless games of chess, and lingered at the outdoor tables for hours, long after the last orts of scone had been fed to the ravenous doves and the espresso drained to the lees, without fear of expulsion from Eden. And then, one day, Starbucks moved in on the corner of East Manoa and Huapala, a site haunted by businesses past: Bank of America, and before that, Manoa Chop Suey. Coffee Manoa shuttered its windows, and the neighborhood was never quite the same after that...

Despite its decidedly mixed critical reviews, I found Taylor Clark's Starbucked: A Double Tall Tale of Caffeine, Commerce, and Culture an addictive, fun, and fast read. Clark chronicles the rise of legendary corporate giant Starbucks: how it built its expansive, international empire of clean, well-lighted coffeehouses and became those popular, yet simultaneously despised purveyors of tasteful music, pandering to high-maintenance no-dairy, double-venti caramel frappucino drinkers. He also documents the social history of coffee and America's consumption of the glorious bean, as well as ponders the ethical quagmire surrounding the economics of coffee (if you buy Fair Trade, can you drink your morning brew, sans guilt?) Clark also offers some provocative tidbits: contrary to popular conspiracy notions that Starbucks single-handedly deals death-blows to small, mom-and-pop cafes like Coffee Manoa, the caffeine mogul's ubiquitous presence actually increases sales at competitor coffeehouses, something you might've already surmised, taking a gander at the brisk action happening at the Manoa branch of Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf, just a stone's throw from the aforementioned Starbucks. So grab a cuppa joe, and start reading.

Push Yourself Up

For the past 2 years, every semester the English Department has published an in-house chapbook called Banter. Since I'm a notoriously undisciplined writer when left to my own devices, I've found that the social pressure to submit pieces to said publication provides nice incentive to write.

This fall, Paul, our department head, provided 9 different college essay prompts to choose from, and asked us to write an essay of not more than 450 words. For the record, this is 448. I've been tossing this piece around in my mind for a while and suspect this incarnation could still use additional tweaking. But here goes...

If you were to look back on your high school years, what advice would you give to someone beginning their high school career? (Simmons College, Essay Prompt 2009)


PUSH YOURSELF UP

At first, she lies prostrate, face down, unmoving. Then she writhes and strains, grimacing in pain, an accusing eye searing into us: stone-hearted sadists, Stasi, tormentors. Pitiful mews crescendo to banshee wails, but she pleads in vain. We are impassive. Her leaden skull lifts fractionally for a split-second, then crashes, face first, to the ground. Torture? No: tummy time.

During tummy time, parents place infants on their stomachs, preventing them from staying in one position. The daily exercise promotes neck and shoulder development, priming the muscles that enable children to roll, sit, and eventually crawl. Constant repositioning, pediatricians opine, promotes infant development, preventing skull-flattening and muscle atrophy. But what doctors don’t divulge is that for many babies, ours included, tummy time is a daily dose of unadulterated hell—initially.

Then, in month 2, we have a breakthrough. One day, we deposit our resentful spitfire onto her quilt for her requisite 15 minutes of tummy torture, chanting, “Go, little girl! You can do it!” But our choleric daughter will have none of it. Her toes claw viciously at the unyielding floor, while her face, a hostile, wrinkled, red walnut, sounds the alarm: “WAAAAHHHHHH--” Suddenly, screeching ceases: arrested, mid-shriek, by silence. Mystified, she looks down to find she’s attained naga-asana, propped on her elbows, chest raised, head erect as a flag. She glances at us, face blossoming with laughter as she savors her newfound equilibrium. In the days that follow, our baby continues to push herself up. And we find her exploring new frontiers, raising a hand off the mat, then shifting to the other, or gleefully rolling, a miniature firkin, barreling from belly to back to belly again.

In yoga, it is said that the faithful practice of naga-asana, the cobra pose, awakens kundalini: a creative, spiritual energy, coiled at the base of the spine, that expands consciousness. In life too, we open new vistas and strengthen ourselves through motion--through struggle, not stasis. Yet we too often gravitate to security, retreating to the comfort of what is easy or familiar, even when it’s detrimental. Sometimes, when we seem to be making no headway, despite our best efforts, we’re tempted to quit or seek refuge in what we do well, imprisoning ourselves by distrusting our power within. Progress and personal growth, however, are never automatic, nor do they spring from luck or talent. Rather, they demand commitment and sustained effort through tribulation. So, when things are tough and obstacles insurmountable, dare. Persevere. Have faith. You’ll never know what you can truly accomplish until you test your boundaries. Brave those challenges, step by step, moment by moment, trial by trial. You were meant to do this. Push yourself up.

Stuart Brown, _Play: How It Shapes the Brain, Opens the Imagination, and Invigorates the Soul_

(Caveat: a literary rant follows! But if you were contemplating reading this title, I'll give you the short executive summary, to spare you precious reading time.)

Alas, that this book in no way lives up to the promise of its title! I was hoping for some juicy neurological research examining the importance of play, in order to glean some teaching ideas, but no, no, no. Brown, a medical doctor, psychiatrist, clinical researcher, and founder of the National Institute for Play, treads the road oft taken. No scientific knowledge is needed to understand that humans, like animals, learn by playing, acquiring the skills for survival, successful social interaction, and conflict management, and that we gain resilience as a result. It also is a no-brainer that we are happier and more engaged, to paraphrase Robert Frost, when our avocation and vocation are united. What gives us pleasure and inspires passion ought to be merged with our work.

So, these are the three key points for teaching:
1. Novelty activates the brain.
2. Make things fun.
3. Risk, generally, is an important and positive element learned by playing--though Brown undercuts his own argument by noting that naturally, we want to strike a happy balance between allowing people to risk, and potentially fail, as long as the consequences don't severely compromise one's safety, and/or prove fatal. Duh.

Elizabeth Bunce, _A Curse Dark As Gold_

Winner of the American Library Association's William C. Morris Debut Award, Elizabeth Bunce's A Curse Dark As Gold is a suspenseful retelling of the Rumplestiltskin fairy tale, set in the late 1700s at the dawning of the Industrial Revolution. The story opens with a funeral: plucky and headstrong Charlotte Miller, along with her younger sister Rosellen, have been orphaned. The two daughters are the lone survivors of the Miller clan, the family that runs "Stirwaters", the mill of Shearing Village. Their family enterprise is plagued by financial troubles, as well as an evil curse which has destroyed generations of male Miller heirs. In the face of calamity, however, Charlotte not only assumes the mantle of Stirwaters' miller but also the burden of breaking the black magic, once and for all. A heady brew of fantasy, historical fiction, romance, intrigue, and superstition, this novel delights.

Gene Luen Yang, _American Born Chinese_

Although I'm not normally a big fan of graphic novels, I was enthralled with Gene Yang's amazing graphic novel, American Born Chinese, which I recently borrowed from my local library. The book, a finalist for the National Book Award-Young People's Literature category, and winner of the 2007 Michael L. Printz Award, encompasses three different narrative threads, all deftly woven together at the novel's conclusion: the story of the likeable Jin Wang, a Taiwanese immigrant struggling with issues of cultural identity, teenage angst, and girl problems; a mythic strand about the fabled Monkey King of Chinese legend, who, fueled by desire to earn the reverence due to a deity, seeks transcendence from his simian roots; and a surreal third strand about an all-American boy, Danny, who is haunted by a visiting relative, Cousin Chin-Kee, an Asian-stereotype incarnate. Suitable for young adults, this novel has style, substance, and heart, as well as an uplifting message about self-acceptance.

Cormac McCarthy, _The Road_

Cormac McCarthy's Pulitzer Prize-winnning novel details the harrowing adventures of a son and his father, two survivors in a post-apocalyptic world, making their way to the coast. I'm not normally a fan of McCarthy, but the novel's spare, muscular prose, as well as the poignancy and suspensefulness of the situation, kept me turning pages. A difficult read--I felt emotionally drained upon the book's completion, as there are no fairy-tale endings for this family of two. Still, I'm praying that there's a glimmer of hope for the boy--that his resilience, fueled by the enduring love of his father, will be the sustaining fire that abides in him, despite the charred destruction without.

The Unbearable Lightness of Connection: Face to Face with Facebook

In an effort to remind us that we are writers, as well as readers and teachers, my department head, Paul, asked English Department members to write something, no more than a page in length, that speaks to our role as teachers. Plagued for weeks by the paralysis of integrity--please God, let me write something halfway decent!--I finally came up with the essay below, slightly edited for public consumption. Reading over it, I'm reminded that I've never been particularly good at just answering the question directly.

A few weeks back, I joined Facebook, the ubiquitous social networking site, as an experiment. “So what’s the big deal?” I wondered. Why do students--and full-grown adults--spend hours tricking out spaces and festooning the Ether with their glamorous profiles? Why fritter away time “poking” people, playing Twirl, or taking quizzes to discover what kind of Asian you are or whether you’re smarter than Paris Hilton (and what does it say about you if you need to take a quiz to find out)? Why send virtual snowmen, ZipPacs, morel mushrooms, or good karma to 1,001 buddies? Why broadcast banal, quotidian details to the world? And with just a few extra mouse clicks, how ‘bout saving endangered animals, the rainforest, or greening your vino while you’re at it? Logging on, I am blizzarded by people’s photographic flurries of selves, kids, and significant others, baby announcements, romantic fallout, spontaneous declarations, sexual orientations, political affiliations, and house renovations. Thanks to Facebook, I know that Sheryl enjoys “So You Think You Can Dance” and Truffaut; that Candace kissed Barack Obama; that Liz is “astounded by this modern world of friendship; will she be able to get back to work?” (Liz: ain’t gonna happen, ‘cause Anita’s your guide into the abyss!), and that some Hogwarts ‘88ers still toast with “Oh, L’Amour” champagne flutes (as opposed to my own prom memorabilia, which’d been unceremoniously crated and deep-sixed at the Tank, après-graduation). Then there’s Wild West photo tagging--wasn’t there a “Do Not Resuscitate” sign on my bespectacled, gangly seventh grade self? Not to mention that rather torrid discussion on the ’88 class page about the “hotest” (ay, ay, ay: so much for a quality Hogwarts English education!) Hogwarts faculty member. Who could forget Mrs. Rouser, my freshman Algebra teacher and Fiero-speedster: she of the high-teased hair, black leather miniskirt, and electric blue mascara--gotta love the 80s!--and the day she staggered on her hot-pink, 4-inch stilettos while chalking variable equations and plummeted onto the tiled Bingham floor, like an ungainly exotic bird? Indeed, we are slaves to fashion, nostalgia, and our evolving public identities.

Early on in my experiment, my cousin Ralph commented, “If you haven't already gotten the intricacies of Facebook, you'll soon find you can learn a lot by not doing much at all.” He certainly got that right. And as my illustrious colleague, Jack, confided, there’s a certain voyeuristic pleasure in uncovering what students are really up to. Web 2.0 espionage, here we come! For many, Facebook also provides a notorious haven from homework, a den of scurrilous gossip, and a refuge from responsibility, though there’s genuine pleasure in reestablishing contact with long-lost amici. In my Inbox: messages from a ballet sister I’ve not laid eyes on for 20 years, a classmate turned high-profile lawyer/occasional Cambridge coffeehouse chanteuse, and an activist friend who’s officiating same-sex marriages with his recently-minted divinity degree. Friends: souvenirs of a life.

But arguably, the true attraction of Facebook is that you can literally construct and reconstruct your ideal self: the face you show the world. The site allows you to write your identity; weigh your worth, gauging popularity by friends and virtual tchotchkes acquired; and shamelessly brag in a socially-legitimate way-- like a post-modern holiday letter--and get comments besides! And by posting playlists, photo albums, booklists, causes, links, and sundry artifacts of your persona, you establish a fossil record that asserts your being. Yes, I exist. Yes, I matter. Yes, my thoughts have significance.

On a superficial level, Facebook provides community and connectedness—instantaneously, I’m apprised of my colleagues’, friends’, and students’ comings and goings. And sure, it’s beautiful to find unexpected well-wishes scrawled on my Wall and see loved ones waving at me from distant shores, from Escazu to Stockholm, Maine to Manhattan. That virtual sushi’s not half-bad, either. But ironically, Facebook leaves me hungry for the genuine, the real, the substantial: Eliza’s lush bouquet of spicy homegrown basil; a leisurely lunch with good company and conversation; the coos of Ligaya’s baby; the taste of Everett’s freshly-baked pumpkin bread, still warm from the oven; Charla’s daughter squishing strawberry guavas with Ella on Wa`ahila Ridge Trail: a second generation of friends; Richard and Martine arguing the merits of utilitarianism; Shyrl considering the art of absence, en français, no less; Kai’s illuminating smile; and the resonant strains of Dvorak as Hunter bends over his cello. Truly, it is not through digital means, but by living and savoring the here and now, and yes, by teaching and learning, that we affirm our irreplaceable, measureless, unseverable bond.