Tag Archives: sharing economy

Partially-Read Book Review: Sharon Astyk’s “Making Home”

Making HomeAre you ready for life in the future? Are you really ready for the-future-that-is-now? Find out by reading at least the early chapters of Making Home: Adapting Our Homes and Our Lives to settle in Placewhich is by far the most fun book about the apocalypse I’ve read yet! Seriously. Let me start with that assurance, so you don’t get thrown off by this wild quote from its author, Sharon Astyk, which is what I really wanted to use for my lede:

“I admit I find it enormously difficult to imagine a scenario in which the US does not collapse on some level—in nearly every available measure, it is in danger of doing so.”

It’s my belief that we’re not scrambling about like rats on a sinking ship on climate change because the enormity of the climate-change bogeyman — catastrophe, apocalypse, doom, collapse — is both too big and too hard to believe. Won’t happen, we think. We watch movies about phenomenal disasters and experience catharsis and comfort to witness an extreme outcome that seems to outstrip any possible horror we might face in real life. (I don’t think that’s my idea, but I have no idea who to credit for it.)

But what if “collapse” meant something different? Something less Bruce Willis and more Cormac McCarthy? The Soviet Union collapsed. Cuba collapsed. New Orleans collapsed. Collapse, in Astyk’s book, means (I’m quoting, in abridged form):

  1. People get really mad at their government.
  2. Crime goes up while police protection is less available or privatized
  3. Everyone gets poorer fast.
  4. Cost and attainability of food becomes an issue.
  5. Services and utilities are widely disrupted.
  6. People are pushed together.

Right. That could definitely all happen has been happening. Collapse is more of a continuum of degradation than a fireworks show.

So Making Home is really a book about how to set yourself up so that a rougher, less secure society with expensive or hard-to-get food and expensive or frequently-interrupted utilities and services, doesn’t throw you into a personal crisis at every bump.

Which is what happens to us, right? We’re not set up to lose access to food and electricity and gas and water, so when natural disasters — earthquakes, hurricanes, blizzards — come our way, we go into panic mode, stockpiling at the grocery store and filling our bathtubs with water. Our (for the general population living in better-than-poverty conditions) lifestyle and society is built so well, has been so reliable, that we’re ill-equipped for its disfunction.

A really easy example from my own experience? In the United States, I never worry about how much cash I have. I can use my plastic cards at stores or use the plastic to get the cash. Power doesn’t go out citywide, banks don’t run out of cash. When I visited Argentina, I had a few close calls where I dashed from bank to banks, because the ATMs were out of cash.

The most fun part of Making Home is the Triage section. The book assesses the relative merits of staying where you are and getting prepared to deal with more instability versus picking a new place to hunker down. I found myself surprised to see that no one region of the country or type of environment is advocated over another. It’s about your own personal calculation.

But it’s awfully fun to read her take on the pros and cons of choosing the city, the suburbs, or the country. She pulls no punches. “Do you drink a log of milk?” she asks of the potential country dweller. “Well, I hope you plan to milk each morning,” because you are not getting milk from Ye Old General Store.

If you’re a city dweller who “presently enjoys all the benefits of urban life with extended trips into the countryside to reconnect with nature, ask yourself how you will like doing without these — in August, during a heat wave.”

“It is useful, I think, to decide which sort of person you are, and thus, where you will be happy—out in the country where you can get drunk and shoot deer through the unopened windows of your trailer or in the city where you can get drunk and lecture a passerby on the evils of jaywalking or public urination.”

See, doesn’t the collapse sound fun? It’s like rated-R summer camp, forever. 

The book then begins to outline all the ways Astyk thinks we will manage our food, income, and comfort (you’ll be wearing a lot of sweaters in winter and sharing that wide mattress with more bodies). She’s no mere philosopher—she manages a homestead complete with husband, children, crops, and animals in New York (she picked “the country”).

It’s plenty interesting, but that’s about when I got a notice from the library that the book was on hold and I couldn’t renew it anymore. So that’s where I leave it, and you!

I’ll end, though, with its ending, for another bit of fun. I love a good index — it’s like a old-fashioned word cloud, giving you an at-a-glance flavor of its contents. It can be suggestive, evocative, a list-poem. Here is a taste of this book’s index entries, which really tickle me:

  • Iceland
  • immigrants
  • indebtedness
  • informal economy
  • infrastructure
  • ironing
  • Jerusalem artichokes
  • job loss
  • Kale
  • knives
  • medical issues
  • New Orleans
  • parsnips
  • pass-down economy
  • peak oil
  • pepper spray
  • pet food
  • Poem of Difficult Hope
  • refrigerators
  • refugees, preparing for
  • relationships
  • rhubarb

Well, on to the next read, I suppose! I think it’s going to be Please Kill Me, an oral history of punk music. I’m expecting it’ll be more of an upper.

In Which I Re-Insert Myself Amongst Fellow Natives In Los Angeles And Learn How They Are Going To Save The World

Ahh, nothing like winter in Los Angeles. Nights are cold and clear, there’s a faint whiff of fireplace smoke in the air, but the days are warm, sunny, and feel much longer than their east-coast counterparts. This particular return to my native L.A. has been a great chance—because I have more time and no terrible head-cold, for once—to explore some of L.A.’s off-the-beaten-path-of-consumerism aspects.

Over the weekend, I had a nouveau hippie double-header. On Friday night I went with friends to a Salon at a co-op house called Synchronicity. It really took me back to the days I went to parties at the college co-op houses, and the salons friends and I started in Chicago and New York years back. Overcrowded couches, kitchens with lots of signs about chores and rules taped on them, a guy doing fire poi in the backyard. I tried taking good pictures but mostly failed. But this photo from their site should give you a good idea:

Synchronicity gathered in their Los Angeles backyard

Synchronicity houses 12 people, some gorgeous citrus trees, a jacuzzi, and a recording studio in what looked like a converted garage or guesthouse. Apparently the house’s success has inspired at least half a dozen other co-housing groups to blossom on the very same block. The vibe was upbeat, some of the music was freaking fantastic (what were those sisters’ names?!), and one of the house members, a music teacher at a citywide organization, was on cloud nine because his housemates were holding a bake sale to recoup what he’d lost when his wallet was stolen.

The next day I got to see a Synchronicity-type setup on an even larger scale. I signed up for one of LA Eco-Village‘s regular Saturday tours. I brought a friend (who lived in one of the aforementioned college co-ops) with me, as did almost everybody else on the tour. I guess we were nervous about being kidnapped? Actually, I’d been really eager to see the place after reading Jennifer Chen‘s article about it in Bust magazine (sorry, no online article available). I’d had no idea it existed!

LA Eco-Village has a forty-unit apartment building, a second smaller building, a learning garden, and a mission to support all its’ residents efforts to live with as little ecological impact as possible. The tour, the group’s history, their mission and challenges were all fascinating and complex. Which explains why the tour is two and half hours long. Here’s a photo slideshow of some of the delights that caught my eye:

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The big, difficult question is whether one would live in a place like this. The price is right (rents are stabilized), and these are full apartments, so for better or for worse there’s more privacy and no regular communal cooking. There are monthly meetings that use a consensus process, and new residents face a two to six month getting-to-know-you process, which is probably also both for better and for worse for all involved.

It was an uplifting, inspiring example of the kind of mini-reality (communal, spontaneous, democratic, beautiful, affordable, green) you can create, though, when you refuse to simply slot yourself into the systems and choices (real estate, lawns, grocery stores, cars, individualism and accumulation) that you’re given. The woman who led our tour studied bio-ethics—she’s no slouch!—and has spent some sixteen years working with her neighbors to make LAEV’s dreams into realities, one small initiative at a time.

The result is impressive, and yet they are one oasis in a vast, polluted city. When my friend and I wandered through Koreatown to find lunch, I felt like I was transitioning between parallel universes, and I felt deeply grateful  that I’d been allowed to visit.

Partially-read book review: The Circle Of Simplicity

Look, oh friends, where I’ve been all morning. Post-shower, post-breakfast, I didn’t have it in me to sit down at the old laptop just yet. I was sleepy, sure, but I was also nervous because I have to return a library book a.s.a.p. — some other patron has requested it, and so I can’t do my usual renew-it-six-times-until-I-get-around-to-it routine — and I’ve been wolfing it down like it’s a cake that’s about to spoil. So I took my green tea to the community garden to camp out for half an hour, to get a few more pages in. You know, until the mosquitoes drove me to insanity. But this is a perfect day, warm but not humid, sunny but not hot, and the mosquitoes must all be napping, and I read and chatted with other gardeners coming in to water their plants and walk their babies for an hour and a half. 20130731-113334.jpg

“What are you reading?” asked JoJo, a fellow gardener, a public school teacher and expecting father asked when he came in to water his plot. I showed him my book: The Circle of Simplicity: Return to the good life, by Cecile Andrews, which caught my eye on a recent borrowing spree at the library. (Its first blurb is from the one and only Juliet Schor.) “Does she say you should join a community garden?” he said with a smile. “I think she’s going to,” I replied.

Andrews’ premise is, in a nutshell, that we’re not well, we hard-working Americans. We’re tired and cranky and lonely and sick and divorced and a little desperate. And it’s because we’ve been sold on the idea that we should follow a certain formula: success in work + success in building a little castle = happiness and success in life. But the big TVs and cars only separate us from other people, and working to buy those things separates us from our true gifts, passion, and drains our energy for life. Not to mention the toll this all takes on the poor planet, which we’re squeezing dry with all our successful widget-producing and comfortable, affluent living.

Re-thinking your priorities, finding your own truths about what you want in life, and connecting with other people— at the grocery store, on your block, at the playground or church or temple — are some of the big-picture remedies she suggests. The more involved you are in authentic relationships, and the more time you spend doing things that give you pleasure, fulfillment, and purpose, the less time you spend numbed out in front of mediocre television (this book was written in 1997, before TV got a lot better) or shopping, worried that your clothes aren’t good enough yet.

A lot of her anecdotes and analyses might feel familiar to a reader who is already exploring these ideas, but she’s very astute at identifying subtle factors: for example, the way wide streets and the fact that we don’t build front porches anymore make it harder for us to have casual contact with our neighbors. Even in New York, where we live in close proximity, many neighborhoods have seen their hangout cafes, or their community-based grocery stores, replaced by big chains. This book will make an outstanding introduction for anyone interested in just exploring their own doubts and questions about their lifestyle for the first time. In fact, I think it makes an excellent read to start with before jumping into Juliet Schor’s Plenitude (check out Treehugger’s recap here), which is less philosophical but gets down to the brass tacks of sustainability and personal economics.

“Simplicity Circles,” a cross between a book-club and a consciousness-raising group, are part of Andrews’ vision toward helping people change their lives. You can’t change without support and community, she says, and you can’t have community without laughter. That’s partly what I hope to do with this blog — laugh at the foibles that come along when trying to make deliberate change, and to share them with others. I’m thinking about putting a little note inside the book when I return it to the library, so maybe the person who’s waiting for it so eagerly will invite me to join theirs.

UPDATE: I picked up the book again over a late lunch, and came across this spot-on description of gardening:

“My whole life experience has taught me that the intellectual life is superior to the physical life, particularly the life of nature. So it wasn’t until just a few years ago that I started gardening. I had always thought that the reason you gardened was to have flowers around, so it would look beautiful. I didn’t realize that gardening was an end in itself.

 

In fact, I was astonished to see how much I loved weeding—it was almost a mystical experience. I would start weeding and become totally absorbed. Down on my knees among the tall flowers and plants, I felt different, I felt expanded. I wouldn’t want to stop, even though I knew that, after all that bending, I probably wouldn’t be able to walk the next day.”

WNYC Bike Graph

Last one to the bike station has to take the train!

Even though the Wall Street Journal and other forward-thinking institutions believe New York’s CitiBike program is the perfect storm of evil, a silly-and-charming story aired on WNYC pitted the bike program against the subway and a Yellow Taxi to see which could return its radio producer to the studio fastest.

I’ll spare you the suspense: the bike won!

It’s probably due to that irrefutable journalistic evidence that the bikes are becoming so popular in certain areas, you almost can’t get one. Check out the graph below from another great bit of WNYC coverage of the new program. It shows that the bikes near Penn Station are basically “selling out” during the morning commute. I wonder if the main customers are people who commuted into the city afar — isn’t that a fascinating possibility?

Steven Melendez and Louise Ma / WNYC Data News Team. Follow @datanews. http://project.wnyc.org/penn-station-bikes/
Steven Melendez and Louise Ma / WNYC Data News Team. Follow @datanews. http://project.wnyc.org/penn-station-bikes/

I love that the program is seeing early success like this — now if only we could know how many of those estimated 30,000 rides a day (WNYC’s number) were from people who otherwise would take a car or taxi.

And availability does seem like a critical issue. As someone who’s pretty familiar with constant nearly-late-to-work syndrome, not knowing whether or not I’d get a bike would discourage me from making it my regular commuting routine, even if it only took me a block out of my way to go see. (Currently, I’ve still got my own private, personal bike. So 2012!) That block makes the difference between needing to power walk and needing to break into a light trot, between on-time-ish and definitely late.