A Skeptic's Rebuttal

Just a few short months ago, I wrote about the uprising in Sicily that was not getting any news coverage--internationally or even here in Italy. And once again, real current events were left to us bloggers to spread the word. In the buzz that spread across the web, my humble little post, A Sicilian Revolt, was linked to by Joanne Nova, who wrote an excellent piece on the revolt and the current state of Italian journalism and media coverage (I highly recommend reading it). I was very flattered to be linked to by such a well known and popular person with a website of well over 200,000 viewers.
  

Of course, I researched a bit about this scientist/journalist/author/public speaker that linked to my little post in her in article. I discovered that Joanne Nova is the author "The Skeptic's Handbook" (you can download it from her website), which denounces the theory of global warming being caused by CO2 emissions and 'greenhouse gases'. Her firm stance on global warming has made her widely famous and certainly a favorite among American conservatives in their constant battle against environmental protection laws. With this discovery, however, I feel compelled to speak my mind on this subject, lest anyone assumes that my admiration of her afore mentioned article signifies my complete agreement of her environmental stance. I still admire Ms. Nova because I am a big supporter of intelligent discourse (something I feel this world lacks more and more each day) and I am in no position to argue over scientific findings. However, I disagree with the overall argument which, on a surface level, raises doubt about man's damaging effects on the environment and fuels the fire between environmental protection and corporate placation to "big oil" and power companies.
  

Cancer Strikes Again

 
Death is inevitable. It is the only thing you can count on in life—it will happen to me, it will happen to you, it will happen to everyone. The only thing we don’t know about death is when it will happen. The other night, this world lost yet another great physician. Last night I learned that my former boss, a talented acupuncturist, passed away on New Year’s eve after a two year battle with cancer. Knowing him was a pleasure and an honor. He was a great boss--fun and laid-back, interesting, brilliant and a very unique person. He was one of those geniuses that functions at a different level than everybody else. While that made him an exceptional healer, it also rendered him a difficult business owner. If it wasn’t for his incredibly competent and capable business partner and wife, the clinic would not have lasted very long. He was at times absent-minded and completely lacked an awareness of time. This caused many headaches and frustrations for his wife, his patients and the office manager (myself for a few years). Part of my job was to stay on top of him and constantly try to keep him on track—something that was pretty much futile. He meant well—we got him to set alarms on his watch, then on his iphone, but inevitably he would have patients or his kids waiting 30 minutes, 40 minutes.... His reasons for this were always due to his complete fascination for an ailing patient and what the key underlying factors could be. Like a compassionate Dr. House, he would ponder all the organs, all the factors at play and then write and rewrite herbal formulas. And, like Dr. House, he had his adolescent ways, a crass and at times inappropriate sense of humor. But behind the goofy, 6’5’’ bear, was a warm, caring, sensitive, intelligent and talented doctor. He loved to spend time with his patients, working on them, massaging them or just chatting with them. Just as Dr. House has his flaws, he is incredibly endearing and my boss was as well, plus he had a warm heart, was a big teddy bear and was someone fun to giggle with during down time.
  

Clafoutis de Susina

My old neighborhood in Los Angeles has a bakery that I referred to as going to Paris. It is absolutely beautiful and decorated just like a little Parisian bakery, from the wrought iron and marble tables, to the big red booths along the walls, even to it being filled with writers. Susina Bakery (corner of Beverly and La Brea Blvds.) is where I would go when I had a hankering for a great croissant and cappuccino, or for one of their fantastic oven roasted tomato and onion croissants. But with all the years of going to Susina Bakery, I never knew that susinas were a type of plum much loved in Europe (and a fruit that my husband loves). 

A Shared Lover

My Italian had only been back in Italy for two weeks when I spoke to him on the phone from the adorable shabby-chic apartment I was visiting in L.A.

He asked me: “How is my lover?” and I knew he wasn't asking about me.
I replied: “sexier than ever”.

In truth, his lover is also my lover and neither of us can get her out of our minds--and we're not the only ones. Our lover has inspired songs, films, novels and poems. She can be your most influential muse or the cause of your own destruction.

More songs have been written about her than anyone else--more movies have been filmed about her than anyone else. She attracts all kinds, from the destitute dreamers to the rich and famous; from low-life gangsters to Hindu gurus. She is Bold & Beautiful, famous and infamous--but also coy and secretive. Not everyone who meets her will know her--she doesn’t give it all up at once. You have to get to know her really well before she shares her real glory with you.

So who is this enigmatic diva?? 

She has been called many things, from "La La Land" to "Tinsel Town"; from "The City of Angels" to "The City of Broken Dreams". But perhaps she is best known by just her initials:

  

 
I had only left her a few months ago, but seeing her again makes me wonder why I ever left. She’s so beautiful and so much fun to hang out with--how could we have been so stupid???

I think of all the great times we could have if we got back together again. But this time, I would do it right--I would appreciate her more and take more advantage of all she has to offer. More evenings at great restaurants; more nights at the Hollywood Bowl; more lazy afternoons on cafe patios; more sunsets at the Getty; more hiking spots, more live shows, more days at the beach, more drinks by rooftop pools, more Sunday mornings at the farmer's markets...

Her allure is intoxicating and her food tantalizes my senses.

In our few short days together, I slowly checked off my list of favorites: late night coffee and cake at Urth Cafe; the special rolls at Boss Sushi on La Cienega; Thai spicy eggplant at Pink Pepper on La Brea, the BEST brunch at the Alcove on Hilhurst, the BEST veggie burger, "The Big Macro", and at M Cafe, freshly mashed guacamole and L.A. Lemonade at El Cholo. Oh, my list could go on forever...

   

But what is it about L.A.? 

What is that voodoo that she do?

Is it all the shiny, beautiful people? 

No. For me, it is much more than that. For me, it is all her beautiful neighborhoods with quiet, tree-lined streets and the only the sound of chirping birds. It is hearing at least five languages every time I leave the house. It is knowing that I am surrounded by artists actively being artistic at all hours of the day and night. It is laying on the couch, in the afternoon sun with all the windows open, feeling the cool, ocean breeze and hearing nothing but the song of birds--okay, maybe also helicopters, but after a while, you don't notice them anymore.

It is sitting in Susina Bakery on Beverly, surrounded by the glowing apples of MacBook Pros quietly writing scripts that just might get green-lighted; watching the Hacids walk by with little boys’ curls bouncing abruptly as they try to keep up with their dad’s stride; smiling to myself as a group of incredibly muscular West Hollywood bike cops come in for croissants and cappuccinos.

It is having more health food stores and holistic clinics per square mile than anywhere else in the world. It is Sunday afternoons on Urth Cafe’s patio on Melrose, sipping a matcha latte and watching the Aston Martins, Ferraris and Lamborghinis drive by. It is feeling giddy as I stand in line behind Billy Crystal to order ice cream at Milk on Beverly. It is running to the store to pick something up and getting caught in the middle of Oscar preparations.
  

It is the moment I stop and take in the incredible silence amongst the tall trees on Sycamore Ave. before going to a yoga class just one street over on busy La Brea Blvd. It is driving up Mullholland at dawn to watch the sunrise over downtown and color the hills and the Hollywood sign the most amazing pinkish-orange color. It is being able to eat everything organic and healthy, no matter where I go in the city and not being forced to eat at corporate chains. It is the deep, moving sound and vibration of the third OM at the beginning of my yoga class when you can feel that we are all in-tune and aligned.
   

Los Angeles is my lover, and I have to share her with about 18 million other people. She made her way deep into my heart and I will always think fondly of the good times we shared.

Sure, we had our ups and downs...the traffic, the parking tickets, the $45 breakfasts...but I still love her...and I always will.

♫ Los Angeleeeeez, I’m yours.......... ♫

 

Viola di Mare

Here in Sicily, Sunday is the day you have lunch with your family. It doesn’t matter what is going on or how busy you may be--you always go home for Sunday lunch (not lunch by US standards, though. This lunch lasts a good 4 hours). So in that fashion, another Sunday has passed, filling our bellies with pasta al forno (baked pasta), carne impanata (thin slices of steak, breaded and pan-fried), salad and pasticini (little Sicilian pastries usually filled with ricotta cheese). I brought a kilo of chestnuts to roast with wine, but there was no way--we were too full!

As usual, after all the eating, chatting and washing dishes, we got home around six. And as usual, we didn’t feel like doing anything else for the rest of the day. In the US, you don’t feel like doing anything on Sunday because it’s the day to be lazy. But here, you don’t want to do anything because you’re so full you can’t move. So Leo and I spent the rest of our evening either watching TV or surfing the internet.

We had been wanting to see a film called “Viola di Mare” (Purple Sea) that had just opened. Not only is it one of those beautiful, artistic, independent films, but it also is a completely female production. Written, produced and directed by women (no small feat, especially in Italy). Even the two protagonists are women, in love with each other in a time when that was punishable by death. Plus, it was a period film shot locally, so we had to see it! Around 10:00, we dragged ourselves out the door, stopped at a local bakery for some arancini (a typical Sicilian finger food, they are saffron rice balls, filled with ragú, coated in breadcrumbs and fried--sounds weird, but they’re so good) and headed to the theater.

I hadn’t been to an Italian movie theater in few a years, so I was curious if they were going to stop the movie half way through for intermission like they used to do. I always hated that because it interrupted the flow of the film. I am a very particular person when it comes to watching movies. I don’t watch a movie as just a member of the audience--I like to get completely engrossed and lose myself in a good story. My physical reality falls away and I become a witness or a voyeur in an alternate reality. For that reason, I hate interruptions like that--even talking, the blue glow of cell phones lighting up, bad acting, incessant pausing (you know who you are)--anything that severs me from the story and brings my attention back to my surroundings. So, fortunately, the movie played all the way through without the intermission.

I really enjoyed the film. It was visually beautiful, the story was engaging and moving and I was completely absorbed in it.  When it ended, I had tears streaming down my face, and this is the most important part for me--the few minutes at the end, when I linger, in the dark, watching the credits roll. I let my psyche digest what I just saw, I come back to reality and discreetly compose myself (as I’m usually crying). Unfortunately, I didn’t get that digestive pause. As soon as the credits started rolling, the full house lights turned on, flooding the theater with harsh, fluorescent light. I felt shocked and exposed. Everyone was jumping up and leaving, and slightly disoriented, I too, jumped up to leave as if the theater was being evacuated. Then I thought, wait, where’s the fire? I want to see the credits. So my husband and I sat back down to finish watching the credits, as we normally do. But just then, as the credits got half-way through the cast, they turned off the projector!! And there we sat, in front of a dark screen--shocked, confused and feeling a little robbed.

Okay, I understand that we’re not in Los Angeles anymore, and it’s not The Arclight theater... Seeing a movie in Los Angeles is serious business. The picture and sound have to be perfect, interruptions are taken care of and everyone stays to watch the credits. Why? Because these are the people that actually make the movies. And if not, then they know how much work goes into it and they are interested in who made it, or know someone who did. Of course, I don’t expect the same here, but seriously, turning off the credits before it’s half way over? That’s not right--and maybe not even legal.

We looked at each other, shaking our heads, and got up again to leave. We walked out through the heavy curtains, and I was still feeling out of sorts. Without those precious moments for my brain to re-file my experience from reality to fiction, I was in a sort of fog. As we exited the theater, which basically dumps you in the middle of a busy street, a loud scooter zoomed by in front me, as if to yell “HEY! SNAP OUT OF IT!!”.  But I couldn’t--I was so caught up in the story it was like I was still there. What a great film.

What's a Nutritionist to do?

My whole life I grew up thinking that Europe was the seat of natural medicine. Homeopathy was a household word, pharmacies sold natural products and herbal remedies. All the conversations in my house that mentioned the state of health care in the US, contrasted the difference of the fantastic availability of natural cures in Europe. “At least there, you don’t need to worry about the FDA blocking the use of herbal medicine.”

Fast forward 20 years, I’m managing an acupuncture clinic, having a good rapport with several different reps from the top vitamin companies, being able to order just about any product sold anywhere in the world, and all the time I’m discussing how great it would be to live in Europe. I’m doing my grocery shopping at Whole Foods, picking up organic everything from fruit, nuts, oils, coffee to household products that don’t contain harmful chemicals. Knowing the sprouts guy at the Farmer’s Market and the butcher stand where the grass-fed beef is sold. All the while, thinking how much easier and cheaper it must be to shop in Europe because they don’t need to worry about where their beef comes from--it’s naturally natural.

Now, here I am in Sicily, thinking back on my life in Los Angeles, the health food capital of the world, and realizing that it’s not quite as I thought here in Europe. And that famous Mediterranean diet? They don’t know what that is here. Well, they know what it is, and they think they follow it (because they live in the Mediterranean). But that diet doesn’t include packaged croissants for breakfast, a pound of pasta a day accompanied with a pound of bread and to finish, a pound of ricotta filled pastries (I’m not exaggerating the amounts here, people). And that’s all on normal days--you won’t believe what they can put down during holiday meals! There are more overweight, hypertensive people with cholesterol levels through the roof here than anywhere else I have ever seen. It’s rather alarming.

Although, I must admit that other countries in Europe, even northern Italy, are light years ahead of southern Italy when it comes to diet, alternative healing, access to herbal medicine and availability of organic products. However, this is where I find myself for the time being, and I must admit that all the things I thought I would miss--I don’t. It’s what I thought I wouldn’t miss that has caught me by sheer surprise.

The question becomes: what do I do about it? Yes, I miss the convenience with which all things complimentary and alternative were available to me. To have local, raw honey suppliers, yoga classes and macrobiotic cafes at my fingertips. Whole Foods, herb shops and pristine, sparkling Integrative Medical Centers in every town. But does that mean I should run back to my health haven? Or does it mean that I should attempt to create a refuge here, and bring the beauty of accessible holistic health care to a culture set in it’s ways? And would it even be possible? No, it absolutely would not be possible. Not here. I am also learning that nothing can change here. Even a 19th century Sicilian poet, Giovanni Verga, said of Sicily: “Everything changes to remain the same.”

Living here, I have certainly become aware of all the little things I previously took for granted. Things I never thought twice about--like picking up a package of trail mix; ginger tea for tummy aches; buying organic berries, and simple, raw, unsalted nuts. Here, forget about it. I feel as though I have sent myself into health food exile. Oh, Trader Joe’s and Whole Foods, how do I miss thee? Let me count the ways: almond butter; maple syrup; quinoa; Zen household cleaner; Dr. Bronner’s Castile soap; black beans; almond milk; organic French roast coffee; cranberries (that one’s for Leo); coconut milk....Okay, I guess I’ll stop there.

So what do you constantly have stocked in the kitchen that you take for granted?