Fair warning: the following excerpt is graphic and it's recommended that you don't read it while you're eating or before you're about to.

"I see: a man reach inside cattle and pull out their kidneys with his bare hands, then drop the kidneys down a metal chute, over and over again, as each animal passes by him; a stainless steel rack of tongues; Whizzards peeling meat off decapitated heads, picking them almost as clean as the white skulls painted by Georgia O'Keeffe. We wade through blood that's ankle deep and that pours down drains into huge vats below us. As we approach the start of the line, for the first time I hear the steady pop, pop, pop of live animals being stunned.

Now the cattle suspended above me look just like the cattle I've seen on ranches for years, but these ones are upside down swinging on hooks. For a moment, the sight seems unreal; there are so many of them, a herd of them, lifeless. And then I see a few hind legs still kicking, a final reflex action, and the reality comes hard and clear.

For eight and a half hours, a worker called a "sticker" does nothing but stand in a river of blood, being drenched in blood, slitting the neck of a steer every ten seconds or so, severing its carotid artery. He uses a long knife and must hit exactly the right spot to kill the animal humanely. He hits that spot again and again. We walk up a slippery metal stairway and reach a small platform, where the production line begins. A man turns and smiles at me. He wears safety goggles and a hardhat. His face is splattered with gray matter and blood. He is the "knocker," the man who welcomes cattle to the building. Cattle walk down a narrow chute and pause in front of him, blocked by a gate, and then he shoots them in the head with a captive bolt stunner - a compressed-air gun attached to the ceiling by a long hose - which fires a steel bolt that knocks the cattle unconscious. The animals keep strolling up, oblivious to what comes next, and he stands over them and shoots. For eight and a half hours, he just shoots. As I stand there, he misses a few times and shoots the same animal twice. as soon as the steer falls, a worker grabs one of its hind legs, shackles it to a chain, and the chain lifts the huge animal into the air.

I watch the knocker knock cattle for a couple of minutes. The animals are powerful and imposing one moment and then gone in an instant, suspended from a rail, ready for carving. A steer slips from its chain, falls to the ground, and gets its head caught in one end of a conveyer belt. The production line stops as workers struggle to free the steer, stunned but alive, from the machinery. I've seen enough." - Fast Food Nation by Eric Schlosser.

I'm not a vegetarian, but after having read this, I thought long and hard about my choices. If you read Fast Food Nation and find out what goes into the meat that you eat, not to mention the conditions under which the meat packers work, you might seriously reconsider your choices, too.

Previously? Eyes Closed.

There are days when I get depressed.

I've never been a big social activist. To be fully honest, I spent the first eighteen years of my life oblivious to much around me. Years of childhood hazing combined with an ultimate escape land provided by the millions of books made sure that I spent my days unaware of my surroundings. I don't mean to imply that I didn't care. As a kid, I tutored other, less fortunate, kids in math, and later on, English. But, even as a teenager, I never got involved in the political or social conversations that many people around me debated over. Just like I didn't feel at ease with the lipstick-brand-name-jeans-and-ski-in-Switzerland crowd, I didn't find a home with the people who wanted to save the world. Or at least talk about saving the world.

Back then I knew too little to be disappointed.

During college, I started getting a little more involved with those around me. For the first time in my life, I felt like my surroundings invigorated me. I wanted to suck it all up. After drenching myself in it, I wanted to get others hooked on as well. Thus, I became an Orientation Counselor. I joined the Student Dormitory Counsel and organized part of the on-campus carnival entertainment. I signed up to be a Pre-college counselor. And later, a Resident Assistant. As part of those jobs, I got more involved in community service. I did Habitat for Humanity a few times. I went to a food bank. I became a sexual assault counselor. I moved up to organize school-wide programs like sex week, where we tried to address important issues and raise sexual awareness. I worked for the school newspaper. I taught computer classes. I served on the residence life judicial board. While I wasn't very involved in the city or outside community, I was mad about my school. I knew a lot about it and worked hard to make parts of it better.

At that point I was too intoxicated with the possibilities to get distraught.

Upon graduation, I moved to New York City. I signed on with an investment bank and got to work. In my first year, I became involved with two volunteer programs: Everybody Wins, whose goal was to instill the love of reading in elementary school children and Young Women's Leadership Club, whose goal was to teach high school girls the skills necessary to get accepted to college or to find a job. The work took about six to eight hours a month away from my jam-packed schedule. I became a member of the New York Public Library so I could checkout children's books that my third grader and I read during our lunch hours. My first year, I convinced a bunch of my friends to volunteer for New York Cares Day. By then I had also joined Jake in returning back to City Year for the Serve-a-thon in Boston, each year. My firm started a community service program where they gave each employee a day off, paid, to do community service. I went back to Habitat. I did Junior Achievement. I volunteered at pet shelter dog shows. I still didn't think I was affecting my environment as much as I could have, but I felt good about giving some of the little time that I had.

I think the sorrow might have started when I saw how my third grader couldn't read.

A year and a half ago, I decided I wanted to reduce my hours considerably so I could spend some time volunteering at the New York Society for the Deaf. I'd been taking classes at NYSD and wanted an excuse to improve my sign language. I asked around and found out that almost all the opportunities were during the day, so after a lot of searching, I changed my work to a 3-days-a-week arrangement and started spending one of my other days at NYSD. I didn't care about what I did, I just wanted to be of help. A few months after that, I started spending part of my other day at Housing Works used bookstore, where I help run the register and do other necessary jobs. I'd say I'm still not involved with my environment as much as I want to be. My life is still pretty much the same, except for the wonderful people who've added color and insight into it. The people I've met in my multiple volunteer opportunities.

They're what make me worry.

A few months ago, I decided the few days weren't enough. I wanted to make more of an impact. I wanted to educate myself. I wanted to learn about what makes parts of our society fail. I wanted to make it a better place. I talked to a lot of people. Many told me I was naive. A whole bunch told me that I could do that with my money. Others told me it was a fruitless endeavor. A few encouraged me to give it a try. I looked around a lot and finally settled on Teach For America. I was inspired by what they stood for and figured I'd be proud to be a member of an organization with its goals. I applied. I got accepted. If all goes well, I will be an elementary school teacher by this September.

Now, I'm reading a lot about education and the plethora of the issues faced by educators today. I'm reading about racial bias and gender bias. I'm reading about poverty and parts of United States that would, should, make some people ashamed to call themselves American. I'm seeing that ignorance is bliss for many people. I'm finding out that a lot of people whine about how bad things are but don't do much about it. I'm realizing that there's a lot of work to be done. I'm horrified by the way many children are treated.

And I get depressed.

I see why people tell me I can't change the world. I know many have tried and failed. I know that it feels like an insurmountable undertaking. I get annoyed at the disorganization of some non-profits until I try to remind myself that most of these people are working practically for free in a job that's often under-appreciated and definitely under-employed. Tons of people have told me that it's not my job to fix the world.

But it is.

I live in this society. I reap the benefits of many people's hard work. I take for granted that someone grows the food I eat, that someone collects the garbage I accumulate, someone drives the subway I ride to work. I make money and live in a well-insulated house with doormen and elevators. I'm surrounded by people who make enough money to afford big houses and expensive vacations. It's easy to lose perspective in my environment. And that's exactly what many people do. Yet, if any part of the society decided not to execute its function, my world could crumble. It's my job to make sure that hardworking people get rewarded. It's my job to make sure that we can offer excellent education to everyone so our society as a whole can improve.

Most importantly, I plan to bring children into this society. It's my job to make sure that my kids can grow up in the best society I can provide. I don't want my children to have to worry about racial or gender discrimination. I want high quality education not to be an option that only the rich can exercise but a necessity and a guarantee to all children. I want my kids to be proud to be a part of their society. I want them to grow up secure of their abilities and opportunities. And I don't want all that to be tied to my income.

It's just as much my job to make this world a better place as it is yours. The more I read, the more I see, the more I hear, the more depressed I get. The sadder I get, the angrier I get. The angrier I get, the more determined I get.

My eyes might have been closed before, but they're wide open now. And it's never too late.

Previously? Dumb For Life.

"Intelligence is genetic."

I have had conversations on the nature of intelligence with several people in the last few months. The talks start softly, rise to animated levels and end without a climax. If I've concluded anything it's that people don't know enough to argue one way or another on the subject matter.

The first problem we stumbled upon was the definition of intelligence. What does it mean to be intelligent? Does it mean you can solve mathematical problems easily? Or that you pick up new information quickly? Are you intelligent if you have several college degrees? Or is it related to street-smarts? What about an amazing painter, is he intelligent?

I find intelligence to be extremely difficult to define. Everyone seems to have his or her own mis-definition, misconception, or bias. But no one can give me an all-encompassing definition. And don't even get me started on those so-called intelligence quotient tests.

Even though one cannot talk about how a characteristic is obtained when one cannot even define the attributes of that characteristic, we can move to the next issue of how one becomes intelligent. The idea that intelligence is inherited is too limited for me.

If intelligence is inherited, then why do we bother to push the limits? Why do we go to school and work so hard? It's all a useless endeavor to grow gray cells.

If it's something passed down from your parents, how come the world has intelligent and stupid people? Wouldn't the stupid people be weeded out by now?

The idea that you're locked into an intelligence level at birth is so depressing to me. That means, no matter how hard you try and how much you work, you can never improve your level of intelligence. Doesn't the idea make you want to cry too?

I like to believe that intelligence is a multi-threaded personality trait. It's like an octopus with lots of tentacles, each defining a different aspect of intelligence. I also like to think that we're each born with a capacity of unlimited intelligence, whatever that means, and all we have to do is water the seeds given to us.

I understand that different people have knacks for different things inherently, though even that can possibly be attributed to nurture but that's a side issue. Even if one person is quicker with addition than another, it doesn't mean that person was born more intelligent.

Maybe I'm too optimistic or naive, but I'm going to keep believing that everyone is capable of being extremely intelligent until someone can prove me otherwise. In the meantime I'm hitting the books on this subject matter. Howard Gardner seems to have written a lot on the issue. Do you know of anyone else?

Previously? Special Moments.

In between all the stresses of this past weekend we've had a few special moments.

As we drove to Rockport, Massachusetts, Jake and I decided to take some time to stop and enjoy the beautiful weather and the most amazing little town. The sea was calm and the sky only had white clouds. Jake couldn't believe the sand was really on the beach naturally. He claimed it must have been imported there.




The same day, I caught sight of the geese and begged Jake to stop. Much to my delight, he did and I spent the next twenty minutes watching the awesome animals.




On Sunday, the weather was getting colder but I still made Jake stop by Jamaica Pond, one of my favorite spots right by Jake's house. Ducks and seagulls were enjoying a little nap on the half-frozen lake. Earlier, we went to visit another photographer in Andover, MA and just as we exited his office, it started to snow in lumps and I decided it was important to catch a glimpse.




As stressful as this weekend was, we had a few special moments and made sure to enjoy every second of them. It's always a good idea to remember the little things as they're what make the world go round.

Previously? Uphill.

I simply haven't had time.

The demanding jetlag refuses to leave. The upcoming wedding has been looming in the not so distant future and the details change hourly. The only thing we know for sure at this point is that Jake and I love each other. Which, I guess, is all that matters.

We spent a weekend talking to three cake people, two photographers, four caterers, two florists, and a band. The amount of money that spills from these people's mouths so easily appalls me. The amount of work required to do a really simple wedding has begun to overwhelm me. I just want people to come and to have a good time. Is that really so hard?

This weekend is another several-hour drive to meet the officiator. I know it will be over soon. It has to be. May is approaching rapidly. Thankfully.

I came home to an envelope from my job, requiring that I fill college applications and get recommendations. I've graduated from college too long ago. I don't have any professors to write recommendations anymore. My Wall Street boss can't really speak on behalf of my capacity as an educator. Not to mention the ten hour exam I will have to pass next weekend. I can't really understand why I do this to myself over and over again. I must truly enjoy major challenges or loathe comfort.

I haven't even truly begun the apartment hunt, another overwhelming block in my hourly rising battle of getting things done.

So, you see, I want to be pithy. Instead, all I can be is amazed at my ability to keep complicating my life and marvel at my pleasure of torturing myself. Why do I keep striving to make my life more complicated? Why can't I just relax and enjoy life for a change?

I'm reading "Fast Food Nation" and put it down for the supremely unchallenging Grisham. I sit and watch TV. I run around and repeat details of my wedding to a million strangers. I am tired of giving my address and phone number out.

Things will calm down soon, right?

Previously? Jetlag.

I don't get jetlag.

This August, I will have been living in the United States for ten years. During college, I used to go home twice a year: Christmas and summer. Since my nephews were born, I've been trying to go home as often as every three to four months. With that many trips back and forth, one can waste a lot of time over jetlag.

During the week I spend at home, I don't even switch my watch to Turkey-time. I just keep adding 7 each time I glance at it. Impractical, you say? Well, habits are hard to break. I feel like if I don't change the watch, I will be in tune with both time zones at all times.

Ahem.

We came home two nights ago and as of 7pm tonight, by body is screaming "Please please let's sleep." My brain tries to explain to my body that if it could only hold out for a few hours, life would go back to normal much more quickly. And yet, here I am, staring at my computer, forcing myself to write an entry.

The truth is my brain is almost completely shut down, making it impossible for me to come up with something pithy or funny. Okay, so I'm never funny, but you get my point.

So I spent ten days in Istanbul. Our parents got along really well. I took over 300 pictures. I spent a wonderful night chatting with my sister until 3am while the kids were sleeping in the same room. I found a beautiful wedding dress and comfy shoes. I got my invitations printed. I bought shoes, skirts, dresses and pants. And lots of books. I read the Time Machine and finished most of the Count of Monte Cristo. I had a wonderful hot chocolate with my best friend, Levent. I got to see my best friend Milka and her son Moris. I had an amazing engagement party. I got wonderful presents. I slept, I relaxed. I felt glad to be alive and thankful for my life.

So, I spose if the cost of these incredible ten days is a bit of jetlag, I could do much worse.

I'm off to bed to doze off while I read the rest of the Count of Monte Cristo.

I promise to do my best to get awake and pithier soon.

Tho, I am leaving for Boston day after tomorrow.

Previously? People Watching.

I've been a member of metafilter since September 8, 2000.

It appears I have posted twenty-five comments, more than half of which are replies to the one link I posted. One could easily deduce that I'm not an active member of the site.

The fact is I read the site almost daily and, often, several times a day. And I don't just use it for the links; I read the comments, I look at the links. At times, I even print out some of the more interesting conversations so I can read and think on the subway home.

While reading the interesting goings on at metafilter tonight, I realized what I love about the site so much. I'm the sort of person who likes to people-watch. I can sit for hours and observe the people passing by and I also love making new friends, finding about their ideas and thoughts. Metafilter gives me the luxury of both without having to leave the comforts of my home.

I like to be able to click on a topic on a controversial issue and see tens of viewpoints and at least a few well thought out opposing arguments. I like the wide range of its members. Geographically. In age. In background. In priorities. In just about every which way. It's the kind of varying audience that would be almost impossible to arrange in real life. Talk about getting to do some quality people watching.

I read about all these people getting fed up/frustrated/emotional about the changes in the site and making their dramatic exits and it makes me ponder. I've observed all the changes in the site too and there are days I get annoyed because there are too many links and not enough quality conversation. There are days I feel like it's all crap. But then a neat topic starts up and I remember how much I love it.

I guess a people watcher never really gets emotional cause she's observing and not really an active part of the crowd and hence feels less of a sense of belonging. Hence less of the sense of loss.

Or so one would think.

All I can say is that if Metafilter disappeared tomorrow, I would be really really sad. And if I can feel this way as a member who mostly watches from afar, I can only imagine the sorrow of its core participators.

Previously? Chocolates and White Dresses.

I went wedding-dress shopping today.

My mom, my sister, one of her little boys, Jeff, and I filled in the car and drove to the other side of town. Jeff was coughing a bit and my sister's doctor is in the same neighborhood as the dress shop so she tagged along. Since his brother got to go to kindergarten instead of the doctor's, Jeff was feeling bummy and didn't talk to us in the car.

After we made it to the dress shop, he decided he wanted some candy. He didn't want to wait till we left the wedding store, he said and since we knew it was going to be a while in the store my mom went across the street and bought him some mints and some chocolate. The cute little two-and-a-half year-old sat quietly and chunched on his mints while we looked through collections of white dresses.

A half hour later, I put on the dress that we liked the most and turned to Jeff, who was now munching on a chocolate bar, I asked if he liked my dress. 'Yes,' he replied. 'Should I buy it?' I asked. 'Yes,' he replied. 'Will you give me a kiss?' I asked. He nodded and to the anxiety of my mom and the sales woman walked over to me in my white dress with his chocolate bar and gave me a kiss on each cheek.

He did not touch any of the dresses and when his bar was finished, he raised his hands and told my sister that her hands needed to be washed.

Not all kids make a mess.

I got a kiss from my nephew, found a pretty dress, arranged my invitations and even found comfy and pretty white shoes.

Today was a good day.

Oh, and the flight over was just fine. It feels good to be home.

Previously? That Time.

It's that time again.

It might seem to you as if I go home very often, but to me, if feels like years have passed since the last time I saw my little nephews. My sister. My parents. My brother-in-law. My friends.

This time it's even more special than usual. This time we have a celebration. This time we have Jake's parents and his siblings. This time we get to take our relationship to the next level. To a more permanent one. This time I get to shop for wedding dresses. This time I get to prepare invitations and maybe even party favors.

All of that fills me with anxiety and excitement. But mostly happiness.

This will also be the first time I've been in a plane since the day before my birthday. I don't even want to say the date that seems to roll off people's tongue's so easily lately. It hasn't been that long and I personally haven't adjusted all that well just yet. At least not well enough to have made it part of my vocabulary.

I've never been afraid of riding on a plane. When I was little, my mom would hold my hand on the plane, her palms sweating right into mine. I would tell her that there's nothing to fear, the chances of something going wrong are very low.

I'm uttering the same words to myself now.

I'm not sure things are back to normal. I'm not sure they ever will be. But I am sure that for as long as my family lives that far away, I will regularly have to get on a plane and travel over the Atlantic Ocean. I don't intend to let anyone stop me from being able to do that.

Especially not when it means I get to hug the two little boys I miss the most.

I will try and update frequently from home, but as always, no guarantees, so in the meantime feel free to browse the archives, leave some fun comments, or contact me personally.

And keep smiling.

Previously? Smut or Substance.