I've been living in a town called Bububu in Zanzibar. I eat alot of rice and chapati and have a friend with a pet monkey. My swahili is rapidly improving and, though I wish I could report having recieved a tan, this is a strict Muslim country and my legs and shoulders must be covered at all times.

I spent some time in mainland Tanzania and saw some giraffes, elephants, zebras and shit, but mostly I've been around Zanzibar and sitting by the side of the only road in bububu and eating the best mangos ever.

I've involved myself in a few cool projects, and wish to take this opportunity to plug my favorite one. I have been helping out a women's co-op in Stonetown called Mkombozi. They formed a few months ago after breaking off from the main giant women's co-op in town that is run by a guy who basically never paid them. Anyways now they are trying to sell their pillows on their own.

And I’d say, “Yech.”Or at least I used to. I’m not sure when the exact transition from terrible to tantilizing took place, but I can assure you it’s a food miracle. As a child, if any part of a raw tomato touched my plate, I couldn’t eat the item on it. The pulpy, soft texture, the runny pink juice – don’t even get me started about the seeds – was all like garlic to a vampire. The only thing that was (and still is) worse – the pickle.  (How could they do that to the cool deliciousness of the cucumber?)  But, I digress. You seriously could have tortured me by forcing me to take a bite out of one. I would have given up every secret I had before I ever put one in my mouth.

The tomato was my friend as long as it was cooked. Pizza, spaghetti, even salsa (I know it’s raw, but spices count for a lot) was enjoyed with pleasure.  Gradually as I made my way into the world I became more embarrassed by my food quirks and stopped picking them out of things. If I could order something without the tomato, say a sandwich, I would. Though I didn’t like it I hated wasting a “perfectly good” slice I wasn’t going to eat.  However, as I became more and more addicted to big, bountiful salads – inevitable for anyone who moves to California where there’s fresh produce year-round – I found leaving the tomato out was a much harder request.

Let me indulge in some gentle proselytizing today, yes? I've just come home laden with plastic bags and I'm feeling chatty. Have a look at the collection of fruits and vegetables that I picked up today from my CSA drop-off point at a church here in Queens.

We've got a bundle of sweet carrots, a huge kohlrabi, some scallions, a bag of tender baby lettuces, a bunch of beets and their lovely greens, two cucumbers, the smallest, whitest turnips I ever did see, a gaggle of dark-green zucchini, a box of raspberries, a box of blueberries, a hardy head of lettuce, and two rond de Nice zucchini. (Oh, and a bunch of wispy dill, but I left that in the swap box, since my neighbors aren't here to take it.)

Now. Do you know how much this whole assortment cost? Go on, guess. I'll wait. Ready?

$24.00.

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Checks and balances.  Have you ever thought about how amazing those two words are?   In the simplest sense, writing checks and figuring out how much money you have left after you’ve written them.  In the larger sense, if something is depleted or out of whack, something comes along to reestablish order.

Which brings me to AANWR....

On the northern edge of our continent, stretching from the peaks of the Brooks Range across a vast expanse of tundra to the Beaufort Sea, lies Alaska's Arctic National Wildlife Refuge. An American Serengeti, the Arctic Refuge continues to pulse with million-year-old ecological rhythms. It is the greatest living reminder that conserving nature in its wild state is a core American value.
                    (National Resources Defense Council)