My Personal One Person Boycott

I’m participating in a boycott, organized by me, poorly enforced by me, and not really a boycott, because I’ve even broken it myself. It’s more that I’m avoiding returning to a place where I suffered a huge disillusionment, a loss of faith perhaps, and an emotionally traumatic experience.

Having just recently moved back to Portland, my home and love, and having just recently decided to live carfree, my family took a bike ride to check out Portland’s most-beloved bike shop slash gathering space. A space imported from Southern California, it turns out. We visited the morning after a big event at the space, an after party for the Portland Disaster Relief Trials, and event my family attended. I’ll quote from an email I sent to my friend, but not to the bike shop, VeloCult, about the experience.

~~~~

This is a letter I'm very sad to be writing. I was in your shop today, excited to be visiting the first time with my family. Excited because a huge part of the reason we moved back to Portland after 3.5 years in the SF Bay Area was that we were sick of car culture, and wanted to be involved in bike culture. We sold one car before moving here, my husband bought his awesome Bullitt the next day, then after two weeks of me using it every day to take our daughter around town, I ordered my own cargo bike, a Winther Wallaroo. You may have seen me around town. We sold our other car soon afterwards. It's amazing. I love my bike. I love the looks on the faces of other parents as we ride by, as a family, on two wheels, the glowing looks of the glimmering realization that there is another way, and that way is fun and awesome.

Today, though, after being greeted (kind of gruffly I'll be really honest, but it was a Sunday morning after a big party, and I’d probably be gruff too), and browsing, and playing around on Emily Finch's bike that'd she'd left there from the DRT party, and picking out some (expensive but cool) rain pants for my husband, and some water/coffee holders for our bikes, I started to peruse the prominently displayed Velo Cult book.

And the pictures were as follows: Man riding bike, man who builds bikes, man, man, man all doing something very cool or just sitting for a portrait (fully clothed), hot chick with sexy open mouth modeling with bike, half naked hot chick's ass on a Brooks saddle, regularly dressed man, cute dog, man with top hat on bike, etc.

My thoughts were this: Oh, another typical cycling book without any women at all--holy crap all the women are sex objects--that's a cute dog.

I got really upset. I couldn't be in your shop any more. I was un-welcomed. That book was a big sign to me that said "Women are for F!*&ING ONLY." That book, Velo Cult, showed me that women are not cyclists, not mechanics, not builders.

I don't need to tell you that I don't mind sexy pictures. But there were no sexy dude pictures, and no pictures of women actually doing anything other than being sexy.

I calmed down enough to walk in and tell a nice man who works there how I felt. He was very nice. He had also noticed the stereotypical depictions of women in the book. And I also told him that I would not be shopping there again.

~~~~~

(I never sent the email to VeloCult, but I did send a few tweets to them about my experience.)

Now, this was in July of 2013. What I didn’t say in the email was that this book of artsy black and white photographs effected me to the core. As Art is supposed to do, it allowed me to see the world through another person’s eyes. This world that I saw, it made me cry. I felt burnt through to the core. I felt like by virtue of identifying as a woman, I was less than. I was eye candy, at best. I left the store shaking, crying, and I’m not a crier. This was the day after a really fun community event, the Disaster Relief Trials, where I felt surrounded by people who shared my values and respected me as a relatively new member of the community. So it was a shock, an ice bath after a sauna. But not in a refreshing way.

I took some pictures of the pictures I found disconcerting, posted them on Instagram, and to Twitter and Facebook. Mostly to crickets. I had some sympathetic support from some other women in the family bike community. I’m a grown up, I know that there is sexism in the world, I know that it’s traditional to depict naked women in Art, it’s a Thing. I stand by my assessment and criticism and reaction to the book. The book described itself as a representation of what the photographer loved about the bicycle culture (men doing cool stuff), and models (women looking hot).

I made it clear that I would not financially support a space that felt unwelcoming to me. But I never once asked anyone to join my boycott, and if an event was going to held at Velocult, I chose not to attend--except once I went to see Elly Blue, Mychal Tetteh, and Michael Anderson speak there about issues surrounding Equity in the bike community. It was a rare night off from taking care of my daughter so I bought a pint of cider and it was delicious. Je ne regrette rien!

The point is, I recognize how valuable a space VeloCult is for the community of people who ride bikes in and around Portland. I researched the book online, discovered it dated back to the pre-Portland days. After my initial outrage and hurt, I simmered down, figured that I had other things to do that would be more productive than run any sort of campaign boycotting a place I saw as doing a lot of good. So when I say I’m boycotting VeloCult, I’m doing it because I don’t want to spend time where I had my idealism shattered.

The best analogy I’ve come up with so far is this: In college, I broke up with my first love. The difficulty of the breakup was compounded by the fact that I had recently lost my father and hadn’t properly mourned him. My ex sent me a mixtape (I’m old). On that mixtape were lots of sad songs, but the one that hurt the most was Bob Dylan’s “Don’t Think Twice.” So for years and years (I’m old), any Dylan song, but especially “Don’t Think Twice” brought me right back to those months where I didn’t really eat, or sleep, or do much except work and cry while listening to that mixtape. It’s not Bob Dylan’s fault.

Yesterday, in the spirit of inclusiveness, a woman who knows about my personal one person boycott mentioned it in the context of choosing an event space for a Kickstarter about cargobikes (Less Car More Go http://www.lizcanning.com/Liz_Canning_Creative/Cargo_Bike_Documentary.html). A man whom I’ve never met defended Velocult (not knowing why I felt the way I did) and offered (as “hyperbole,” he later commented) to buy the staff a drink at a local Strip club to thank them for all the work they do for the community. This was before I’d said anything at all. I would’ve been willing to let it go, but it’s become sort of an issue, my personal one person boycott.

On a related note, I recently read about the distinction between “gallows” humor and “executioner’s” humor, in the context of some recent internet things.

Here’s a wonderfully written explanation from http://modelviewculture.com/pieces/gawking-at-rape-culture:

“In a chapter on “Auschwitz Jokes,” Dundes points out a distinction between “gallows humor” and “executioner’s humor.” “Gallows humor” is told “about and by the victims of oppression.” It helps to relieve tension, and also serves as a way to express fears and address terror through humor. “Executioner’s humor” is a way in which members outside of the gender, ability, sexuality, ethnicity, nationality, or religious group being joked about use the popular form in order to express aggression towards that group.”

When a man is all, “You have a problem with some sexism? Ha ha that’s ridiculous, I’ve never experienced sexism, so much so that I’ll say something sexist as a joke to prove it.” That sexist joke, in response to a complaint about sexism, is not “hyperbole,” it is reasserting the acceptance of the status quo. It’s a doubling down of the Patriarchy.

Facebook being Facebook, things were said. A different woman elegantly argued for my right to express my discomfort, and the owner of the shop said he didn’t want people calling him a “pervert” (a word no one ever typed or uttered until he did). The event was organized and is going to be held at his shop. And that’s good.

In conclusion, I got sexismed (not a word) by a VeloCult book while patronizing Velocult, it made me really upset, I talked about it a bit, then I decided not to go there except for the one time. Then someone brought it up in a comment on a Facebook post, and then it became a thing, and I got more sexism! So I thought I should clarify my position. To be extra clear: My personal one person boycott is doesn’t mean that VeloCult is a terrible, sexist place, it just means that I personally had a bad experience there and do not feel comfortable spending money there (except for that one time I bought a delicious cider).

Blueberry Birthday Cake with Two Cream Cheese Frostings

Our three and a half year old rules our life. She chose this cake for Chris’ 34th birthday. Well, she wanted a Blueberry Cake, and Chris wanted chocolate cream cheese frosting.

I didn’t have enough coconut flour to make the only Paleo recipe I could find. I had to make something up. This is one of those times where my invention came out way better than I expected.

But this recipe does take time, and forethought. As in, you need to get your cream cheese and butter to room temperature ahead of time.

In a small sauce pan, put

1 cup frozen BLUEBERRIES

cover with ¾ cup MAPLE SYRUP

Okay I didn’t measure this part. But make sure there’s enough maple syrup to barely cover the blueberries.

Bring to a boil, turn to low, and simmer until the blueberries turn really mushy and soft. Maybe 15 minutes. Then remove from heat and let cool. If you’re in a rush or just generally impatient, you can put the pot in an ice bath and stir. Then you can blend this mixture if you want to. I did, because if I don’t use my immersion blender for everything I feel like I’m missing out. If you don’t blend it, you could strain the berry skins out. Actually, just blend it.

In a medium bowl, sift

⅓ cup COCONUT FLOUR

⅔ cup ALMOND FLOUR

½ tsp BAKING SODA

In smallish bowl, beat

6 EGGS (I had more like 5.5 because I broke one and caught it before it hit the ground. My ninja skills are great.)

2 tsp VANILLA EXTRACT

½ tsp APPLE CIDER VINEGAR

Add the egg mixture to the dry mixture. Then add

1 cup of the berry maple syrup (reserve the rest for frosting)

Stir really well.

Butter and line a 6 inch pan with parchment paper. Lots of grease. You could also do something else like cupcakes but this is what I did.

Bake at 350 degrees F for about 40 minutes, until the cake is set, and a toothpick comes out clean from the middle.

Let cool.

Blueberry Cream Cheese and also Chocolate Frosting

This frosting pairing was an improvisation. I was planning on only making the chocolate kind, but the bright purple changed my mind.

Everything needs to be at room temperature or a bit warmer for this to work.

In a mixer, put

8 oz CREAM CHEESE (this is the standard pack size)

8 tbsp UNSALTED BUTTER

Mix until smooth. You’ll most likely have to scrape down the sides of the bowl if you use a stand mixer.

Add

¾ cup BLUEBERRY MAPLE  PUREE (or however much is left)

Continue mixing and scraping down the sides until the mixture is smooth.

Remove about half of the frosting and set it aside.

Add to the remaining frosting

⅛ cup COCOA POWDER.

Mix. Keep mixing and scraping and tasting, adding ⅛ cup of cocoa powder at a time until the frosting tastes delicious. It gets quite stiff if you add a lot. I ended up with about a half cup total.

To assemble the cake, slice the cake into two layers using a serrated knife. Spread the chocolate frosting in the middle, put the top on, and spread the blueberry frosting on the top.

Eat immediately, or refrigerate and serve up to one day later.

Facebook Breakup

It was early in the morning, and I’d spent a couple of hours overnight listening to an unreachable smoke detector beep, and trying to soothe my panicked panting dog as he tried to crawl under me. It was my daughter’s first day back to school after a long break, and the rosy fingers of dawn were beginning to spread, and SOMEBODY was wrong on Facebook. Actually, pretty much everybody was. And I snapped.

I broke up with Facebook.

I’ve been contemplating how this application on my smartphone was driving me bonkers for a while now. I’d been slowly pruning my newsfeed of unsavory posts, of relatives with political differences, or people compulsively posting not-cute pictures of their baby/dog/car. (Cute pictures I like, but most people are horrible photographers.) Snip, snip. Trim away the high school acquaintances with their fancy cocktail parties and private jets. Snip, snip, go away pictures of baby’s first professional modeling job. If a friend were to call me, or send me an email even, and say, “Look! My baby is so cute, she’s professionally cute and I have proof!” I would probably be really happy for everybody. How exciting! Your baby is really adorable and I’m glad you’re getting some monetary compensation for it. But when it’s a post on Facebook, in my heart I feel the green jealous rage, and begin wondering why MY baby isn’t professionally cute.

I was down to hardly any posts, except for a few friends who did interesting things whom I didn’t see in real life. I kept some people around simply because they were witty. And of course, close relatives, and my adorable niece and nephew. But every now and again someone would pop up out of nowhere, complaining about how their infant wasn’t sleeping through the night (THEY ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO!), or saying something else that was wrong, wrong I say!, and I would either check the comments to make sure that someone who agreed with me was voicing my opinion so that I wouldn’t have to, or comment myself. Also, I’m sure most babies turn out fine even if they are sleep trained (although my post-grad human development professor would disagree), and parents need to do what works for their own family, and what worked for me might not work for you, etc., so why did I feel the need to get involved? Because Facebook wants me involved.

That’s just part of it, though. Facebook was eating all of my time. It became a compulsion, a physical habit, a reflex, an empty gesture. Like the rat that sometimes got some sugar water and sometimes got zapped, I kept going back. Zap. Zap. Zap.

It’s not just that it made my self-esteem crumple, or that it made me angry at the world. Those are after all part and parcel of the human condition. There are a lot of good reasons to be grumpy at the world! What was getting my goat was how Facebook was taking my time away, my motivation away, from doing other, productive and/or pleasurable things. Like calling a friend with a new baby to check up on her, or meeting a friend to do art, or writing something substantial, or having a thought, or reading a book, or learning how to beat my husband at chess, or actually engaging with my daughter instead of glancing up from my phone once in a while to say “nice ballerina move!”

Facebook had become more about replacing socialization than about social networking. I need to see and hear and be with people. Facebook had become not only an empty proxy for that, but an all too easy and convenient substitution for me, an introvert with a smidge of social anxiety.

There are some people’s posts I’m going to miss. But maybe I could just call or email them instead? I talked on the phone to a friend this afternoon that suggested I call it an experiment and have it last a month. A month sounds good to me. I will say that it’s only been seven hours and I already feel liberated and light. Maybe this is simply the honeymoon period, like in a real breakup, before the abandonment sinks in. But I know that Facebook will always take me back.

(PS Your baby/dog/cat/car is really cute. You should text me a picture!)

(PPS I am really happy your baby/dog/cat/car has a modelling career. It is not your fault that I’m jealous of it.)

(PPPS I know babies are really tough the first year, and I’m sorry you’re struggling and I’d love to get a coffee with you or go for a walk or even just listen to you vent about how hard it is. Or maybe I can take the baby on a walk and you can take a nap?)

A Little Solace on the March to the Grave: Paleo Bread

In between discussing cannibalism, why we can't marry each other, and our inevitable mortality with my almost 3 year old, I made this loaf. Here's the recipe:

Paleo Bread

• 2 cups soaked and dehydrated almonds
• 1/2 tsp baking soda
• 1/4 tsp salt
• 1/8 cup flax seeds
• 1/8 cup sesame seeds plus additional to top, optional
• 2 tbsp coconut flour
• 1/4 cup cashew and coconut oil blend (homemade)
• 1 tbsp Apple Cider Vinegar
• 4 eggs

1) Preheat your oven to 350 degrees. In food processor type thing, blend the almonds until they are almost a flour. This part is annoying and takes a lot of work. Sorry. You could buy almond meal/flour, but I can't handle eating it in great quantities, so soaking and dehydrating the almonds beforehand make this bread easier on my belly.

2) Add the baking soda, salt, flax seeds, sesame seeds and coconut flour and mix.

3) Add the remaining ingredients and mix until it turns into a dough. A wet dough. 

4) Grease a small loaf pan (I used pastured butter) and pour batter into pan. Put in the oven. Bake for 30-40 minutes. It should puff up a lot and brown. 

About the cashew/coconut oil blend: I made my own cashew butter but it doesn't get smooth unless I add oil. I am not sure about the proportions, but I'd guess it's about 75% cashew. 

Grain-free Mac 'n' Cheese

This is a sort of complicated one-skillet leftover-utilizing meal, in that you need to make the cauliflower and/or cabbage before. If you plan ahead and have cauliflower and cabbage for dinner the night before, and you just don't eat all of it in one sitting, then it's a brilliant use of leftovers. Sometimes you remember and sometimes you don't. Don't beat yourself up. 

It starts with an onion. 

Okay no it starts with cooking a head of cauliflower in a pot with some water until it's cooked, and roasting some cabbage in the oven at 400 degrees F with some olive oil and paprika and ground caraway and salt and pepper. Roast the cauliflower until it's browned. And eat some of both with a steak or something. But don't eat all of it, Miss Piggy! Then put the leftovers in the fridge and go to sleep and have sweet dreams about being Hillary Clinton's wingman. 

Sleep well? Great! You're still going to have to wait because this would be a strange breakfast, but what do I know? When I lived in Japan my home stay mother made me hot-dog pizzas for breakfast while the rest of the family had miso soup and leftovers. 

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.

Remove four hippy local pastured eggs and some hippy local heavy whipping cream from your fridge, about a cup of cream, maybe more. Crack eggs and pour cream in the same bowl. Add paprika and caraway and salt and pepper. Whisk it. Into shape. Then add a cup of grated parmesan cheese and a smidge of other cheeses you might have around the house because your Mother-in-Law was visiting and cheese is delicious. I used a bit of Swiss Emmentaler. I didn't grate it, I cut it up kind of small though. Waste not want not.  

Now, the onion. Cut up one large onion and cook it with some fat (I used olive oil) in your big cast iron skillet until it's translucent-plus. Then add two cups of sliced brown mushrooms, paprika, caraway, salt and pepper to taste. I don't know how much. A sprinkling. Use your common sense. Cook this until the mushrooms are nice and soft and cooked. Remove to a plate.

Vegetarian? Skip this part. Cut up some Canadian bacon (do I need to tell you to get the best kind of pig-life bacon you can buy? I don't, you know better), and sautee it in the skillet until browned a bit. You could also use regular bacon but I didn't and I think it would be a different kind of thing but that's cool. Dude, you could use tofu, just keep it away from my face okay? (Said the former vegan.)

Add the mushroom-onion mix back.

Chop up the cold cauliflower and cabbage. Make it small. Add to skillet. Stir.

Turn off the heat. Pour the egg cream cheese mix on top of the other stuff and smoosh it all down. Put in the oven until it puffs up and is not jiggly. Eat all of it. It's really good cold too if you can control yourself. This amount served the three of us pretty well with a big green salad on the side. 

Listen, you could definitely add more cheese to this. I'm not going to stop you. 

Pizza! With Cheese!

I don't know, man, sometimes I just want to eat a pizza, or as was the case last week, I am invited to a pizza party and need to rustle up something. This pizza was a little bit complicated. I mean it's not so tough that you need to block out a week to prepare, but there are steps. Also, this pizza is a veritable cheese bomb. There's cheese in the crust, there's cheese on top, there's all the cheese you have to eat while you're grating the cheese. So if you're not eating dairy, move on, cover your eyes, and pray for us.


The first step is ricing the cauliflower. I used a whole small head of cauliflower. Look, it was a week ago and I don't remember exactly how much. Put the florets in a blender or processor or use a knife (poor you) and make that cauliflower really small. Like smaller than rice grains actually, if you can remember what those look like.

We don't have a microwave because we're hippy conspiracy theorists, but if you did you could nuke the cauliflower rice. I used a pot and a lid on the stove, over medium heat, and I added a smidge of water. Cook until the cauliflower starts to soften and weep. And this part is weird but next wrap up the hot cauliflower in a towel or cheese cloth and twist and squeeze (careful baby it's hot) until its pretty dry and looks like dough. Crumbly dough.

Put this into a bowl with 3 eggs and a cup of grated mozzarella. (Try to use the good dry stuff, not the suspended in brine stuff for this part, we want the crust to be dry.) then add a bit of oregano, maybe a tablespoon? And some salt? A pinch? Just some general Italian style seasonings. And mix it up with a spoon. Oh lord you can add so much to this.

Crap did I tell you to preheat your oven? 350F please. Go back in time and do that first.

Spread out some parchment paper on a baking sheet. Form some pizza crusts. Do not use your hands or try to spin it up in the air--that would be messy. I recommend making many smaller pizzas, since this doesn't have that much structural integrity. And bake until they start to brown a bit. And look firm. No, you don't need to look sternly at the pizza, I mean make sure to eggyness should look cooked is all.

Now I made my own pizza sauce by using a can of tomato paste and some Italian spices and garlic powder and water and heat. You can do that or just buy some. But I think you should still heat it up.

If I need to tell you how to top a pizza I'm so sorry about your life. I hope it gets better. I used sauce, two or three types of cheese, Coppa salami, green bell peppers, and mushrooms sautéed with garlic and olive oil. Then I baked it again until it was hot and bubbly and brown. Then, agonizingly, we biked it over to the party in Chris's cargo bike. So it was a bit cold when we ate it but it was still delicious and all the vegans at the party loved it.

Zoodles and Sausage Sauce

First of all, you need to know how to make Zoodles, or zucchini noodles, whether you are going to be Paleo or not. Because Zoodles are a thing of beauty, and they are easy. Well, okay, they are a little bit annoying to make, and you need a special tool. You need a julienne peeler. And you need to accept that you will have little zucchini strings around your kitchen for days. And maybe some blood. But trust me, it's worth it.So wash your zucchini and remove the stickers.

Then peel them with the julienne peeler into a colander. Peel until you see the seeds, then stop. Yes, it feels wasteful.

Now, use some sea salt, maybe two teaspoons--I never measure--and mix it up in the noodles. Just coat them so that all the noodles have a bit of salt. Not a ton. And wait. Put a bowl under the colander to catch the water that'll drain off the noodles. Wait at least 20 minutes, up to an hour; the longer you wait the firmer the noodles will be.

Now I'm not a scientist, and I'm lazy, so sometimes I squeeze the noodles to remove excess water, and sometimes I don't. But I know that you MUST RINSE the noodles unless you like salt noodles. Trust me. Salt noodles will ruin your day and you'll be up all night drinking water and peeing.

As for the sauce, brown some sausage and bacon in a big pot, then remove the meat but leave the grease. Then add one chopped onion and some julienned carrots until the onions are starting to brown. Add spices like oregano. Then add chopped garlic and stir for a minute. Add a bit of wine and tomato paste. Then add the strained tomatoes. Put the meat back in, and some chopped spinach. Cook on medium for a while. The longer the better. Serve over zoodles. Boom. Dinner.