From We are America: Stories of Today’s Immigrants:
From the ACLU of Arizona:
From a woman in Portland who I will interview soon for my book:
From We are America: Stories of Today’s Immigrants:
From the ACLU of Arizona:
From a woman in Portland who I will interview soon for my book:
Just figured out how to Google virtually from Mexico, or any other locale. Just go to http://www.google.com.mx/ and surf as if you were in Mexico (h/t Boise State Green Guy in Bilbao). If you want to find other Google localizations, just Google whatever country you want to search from and “Google” and it will probably be the first result.
I’m taking out another contract on my garden today. It seems our trellis is in the right-of-way and the Ada County Highway District wants to make sure I won’t whine, should they ever exercise their rights.
A few months ago, Boise Weekly readers might recall, I was served with a fence violation for erecting a trellis in my front yard. The fence violation spiraled into a full-fledged historic preservation violation because of the materials used in its construction and because of the major landscaping change which the trellis surrounds: a nearly 2,000 square foot front-yard garden.
The garden is thriving. We have been eating salad every day, carrots are maturing, radishes are almost all eaten up, some peas are crawling up the trellis, though looking a bit yellowed already. Everyday I walk barefoot in the garden and eat turnips right out of the ground, graze on the lettuces. Every day multiple people walk or bike by and stop to chat about the garden. At nearly midnight last night a group of cyclists rode by and shouted, “Nice garden, dude,” as I read on the porch.
So it is with great pleasure that I report to you that the City of Boise has deemed the garden and trellis “appropriate.” That is the term they use. I have a Certificate of Appropriateness pending for my little urban farm.
It’s pending because I need to get my license agreement with ACHD done first. And because they’ve asked us to put some permanent greenery along the street-facing edge of the yard. So I need to find a low-water, low-profile creeping plant that will grow down a nearly vertical slope to the street but not take over the garden, if anyone has any recommendations … something that is not grass.
But the other interesting thing that came out of this process is that the city’s Historic Preservation Department plans to convene a working group at the end of the summer to discuss gardens in Historic Districts. Sarah Shafer, the lead staffer at Historic Preservation told me that the commissioners prefer raised beds but said that the were looking for some more recommendation on how to handle gardens in historic districts.
I argued in my letter to the city that gardens are inherently historical. And if I end up participating in the garden working group, I will argue that raised beds are inherently limiting and a touch elitist. Well, I won’t argue, but I will try to make that point as graciously and eloquently as possible.
I can’t be sure, but I think our giant front-yard garden has inspired some others in the neighborhood to plant it up. There is a yard a few blocks down that has a ton of corn and beets coming in and I noticed some new raised beds in an alley around the corner. Wouldn’t it be amazing if people started finding tomato plant volunteers in their lawns instead of dandelions?
I’d like to share the letter I wrote to the city requesting the Cetificate of Appropriateness … you can read it after the jump. Hell, it’s public record, so anyone can see it anyway. In the letter, I stressed that the city is encouraging urban gardening and other environmentally responsible practices on the one hand but limiting people’s imaginations through zoning on the other. I think they realize that and are looking for a solution.
In the meantime, I’m hoping that whatever neighbor complained about my plot will come forward and talk to me about it. I have no hard feelings, even though the process of being forced to defend my land-use choices has been pretty annoying. I would say now that I still believe the city has a right to regulate things like fences and landscaping to some degree, but that it would have been better for any aggrieved neighbor to have a discussion with me first, and then turn me in if I was an asshole about it. That’s a more local solution.
Writing a book is like learning to write all over again.
That’s the topic sentence of this blog post. In addition to writing a book this summer, I will begin teaching topic sentences and other lies you learned in school starting next week at Brown Mackie College in Boise.
These two new exploits—book writing and college teaching—are taking on an unexpected convergence in that my recent review of basic English composition pedagogy is bringing back all the fundamentals, like topic sentences, outlines, audience, tense.
These are all things that, in my practice of journalism, were mostly predetermined or maybe just blown off. I’ve said it before, but anyone who follows a certain formula and harbors a healthy interest in the world around them can be a journalist (I think I’ll tell my students that on the first day of class). It’s not rocket science. It’s not even vet tech or paralegal. And since the basic structure and facts of a 500-1,000 word news article can be held in one’s head, there is not too much thought that goes into the actual writing.
That’s not to say I have been an unthinking journalist, but the thinking is front loaded. We pick our topic, pick our sources, question them, choose the most interesting/relevant/controversial/novel facts, slip into the royal we and present the facts in a neatly-wrapped logical package. It’s easy.
But writing a book is proving to be a much less formulaic challenge. I’ve picked the topic: love stories of American citizens and their undocumented partners. And I’m working on the sourcing—there are tens of thousands of these stories from which to choose.
But I can’t hold the entire book in my head at once. It’s too complicated and my head is too small. So I need to get back to outlining and planning and maybe even taking notes on flashcards with numbered bibliographic citations embedded on them.
I also need to pay special attention to my audience. This is going to be a journalistic book, so there is some overlap, but I’m not writing to Boise sixth graders anymore, or more accurately, to Boise’s aging hipsters. The audience is national and ranges from congressmen and supreme court justices to Oprah to day laborers. That’s a challenging audience.
I am also struggling with the voice. I have let myself creep steadily into my journalism in the last few years and think I do it subtly enough (this post excluded) to be effective and interesting. But the first immigration book I picked up in researching the genre, Border Crosser, by Johnny Rico is written in a hyperbolic and annoying first person that does not inspire confidence in the facts. Johnny Rico is not even his given name.
So I plan to write about my failed attempts to cross illegally from southern to northern Cyprus in 1998, but I won’t hit ya’all over the head with it.
I will let the stories of border crossed lovers speak for themselves.
Then there is the question of topic sentences, which I think I already blew in this post. According to our text, Steps in Composition, Eighth Edition, topic sentences set up the main idea of each paragraph. I have just written a slew of one sentence paragraphs which obviously are not all topical. I’m more used to working with a “nut graf”—the third or fourth paragraph, which summarizes the essay at hand and keeps people reading. And for the book I need more of a thesis statement, I think.
I am teaching the five-paragraph essay this semester, in which an introductory graf sets the theme, three paragraphs featuring topic sentences back up the argument and a final concluding paragraph sums it all up. That is after I teach sentence and paragraph writing and some basic grammar. All of this will make me a better writer as well; as the dean who hired me said this morning, “you’ve got to know the rules in order to break them.”
Once upon a time, this website was purely political; an Idaho news aggregator with a leftist-sarcastic tilt. People would ask me what PaleoMedia meant, and I’d say it was a description of my politics and that someday I’d write about it.

Future Farmers of Backyards
Well, I have a secret. The main reason I live in Idaho, the one thing I dream of every night, my goal for the rest of my career and into my pending retirement, is to strive for a simpler, more paleolithic existence. More caveman.
I say that sitting in my wooden house blanketed in fiberglass insulation typing on my PowerBook G4 and fully aware that I have pathetic facial hair and, while not perfect, a decent posture.
But I yearn to cut myself off from cheap plastics, processed foods, things that society tells us we need (insurance, investments, gasoline). And I yearn for DK Donuts and Hagen Daz and an iphone.
This is paleomedia: absolute relativity, the obliteration of contradiction. Online Luddite. Stem and seed eater who has a burger and fries for dessert. Total paleomedia is what you will find here.
At this point in my life I am failed big game hunter and lame fisherman. I am growing some lettuces and onions in my backyard, but the plot is rife with weeds and I let my chickens chew up the Asian greens. My pile of sheep and elk hides is starting to decay. It is time to get serious in my cave.
Join me in this journey, dear readers. I will need help. So I will turn to books and local experts to make me into the caveman I yearn be. Soon it will be my birthday. In the next year I plan to accomplish the following, and you, especially you boor bastards who don’t live in Idaho, can accomplish the following too and even make snide comments along the way, here, at PaleoMedia.org.
Here is my cave list for the next four seasons:
Anything I missed? Probably. But it’s time to crack another beer and brainstorm ways to make my own beer by this time next year.