Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Socrates and the Dung Beetle Discuss the Local Foodshed
ΣΩΚ. Indeed, it is just, you know, on the one hand, to eat only food produced within a 100-mile radius of one's household, and on the other hand to not waste any part of the plant or animal, "snout to tail, root to shoot," so to speak; but is it not the case, ὠ κανθαρε, that such virtue is more difficult for a single working mother who finds she can better stretch her food dollar at FoodsCo than at the farmer's market, than for a creature who literally eats the waste of other creatures?
ΚΑΝ. Let me first say, on the one hand, what it is I ought to say, and then on the other hand to say it: dung is one of the most nutrient-dense foods out there. Also, if people used fewer cell-phone minutes, they could probably afford enough Dapple Dandy pluots to make a batch of delicate but robust brandy, so as to intoxicate the citizens, so as to impair their judgment, so as for them to think they are doing good for the democracy.
ΚΑΝ. Let me first say, on the one hand, what it is I ought to say, and then on the other hand to say it: dung is one of the most nutrient-dense foods out there. Also, if people used fewer cell-phone minutes, they could probably afford enough Dapple Dandy pluots to make a batch of delicate but robust brandy, so as to intoxicate the citizens, so as to impair their judgment, so as for them to think they are doing good for the democracy.
Thoreau Weaves A Yarn
Having seen his industrious white neighbors so well off, - that the lawyer had only to weave arguments, and by some magic wealth and standing followed, the Indian had said to himself: I will go into business; I will weave baskets …
I too had woven a kind of basket of delicate texture, but I had not made it worth any one’s while to buy them.
Up comes the cotton, down goes the woven cloth; up comes the silk, down goes the woollen; up come the books, but down goes the wit that writes them. A woman's dress, at least, is never done.
I too had woven a kind of basket of delicate texture, but I had not made it worth any one’s while to buy them.
Up comes the cotton, down goes the woven cloth; up comes the silk, down goes the woollen; up come the books, but down goes the wit that writes them. A woman's dress, at least, is never done.
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