CITIZEN PORK

3 legged dog yoga collective

2012-03-01T18:48:00.000-05:00

Three is a magic number.

Yes it is. It's a magic number.

Somewhere in the ancient mystic trinity,

You get three, as a magic number.

--schoolhouse rocks--

photo by steve metz bunny

When you first meet Bunny, the resident canine and elder stateswoman of 3 Legged Dog Yoga Collective, in Northside, you may scarcely notice that she is different from most dogs. You'll be gently coaxing your hips just a little deeper into pigeon pose. As you turn your head towards the front window of the charming and peaceful Hamiltion Ave. location, she will meet your gaze and you will hear the gentle thwap of her tail against the floor. Then, you will notice that there is a shape missing from Bunny. Where most dogs have four of something, she has only three. Bunny has spent nearly half of her life in this way, having lost one of her front limbs to cancer. But, four minus one is three, and that's a magic number. Yes it is.

photo by steve metz i love you/i love you too

The serendipitous part of Bunny's "tail", is that, in addition to being one of the sweetest pooches around, her person in life, is Ms. Donna Jay R. Donna is not the type of person who lets a friend struggle without helping, so, she did all of the right things for her sick pal, and, Bunny is still here, some five years later, at the ripe old age of twelve. And now, because love and tenacity pulled Bunny through that dreadful disease, when the students in one of Donna's classes raise one leg and glide from Downward Facing Dog into 3-Legged Dog, they are in the company of the real deal.

photo by steve metz donna jay

Donna Jay began a life which would be devoted to motion, fluidity, and the wellness of other people, as a young dancer, in California. Born in Pittsburgh, she would eventually call Cincinnati home, but only after vacillating between Ohio and California several times. Her canine cohort entered the scene during one of the westerly phases of her life, when one day Donna felt compelled to rescue Bunny from a presumed drug dealer. How like her. Since that fateful day, the two have been inseparable, Bunny at Donna's side on the long journeys from the west to midwest and back again, and, on the short journeys from home to yoga studio. After all, that's the meaning of faithfulness, isn't it: being present on the long journeys as well as the short ones?

photo by steve metz donna jay

Four years ago, Donna made the decision to let her roots inch their way a bit deeper into Cincinnati soil by opening 3 Legged Dog, in the former location of hair salon, the Northside Chop Shop. Being a yoga collective, the studio now offers a variety of styles taught by several different instructors, all of whom pay a monthly rental fee for their time in the space: a very communal way of running a shop.

I myself have stood at the top of my mat in the cozy and welcoming place. I have closed my eyes and listened to my own breath. I have paid attention to the vital parts of me which are so often overlooked, drowned in the noise of the daily, conscious mind. There is something so peaceful about this place, about these others around me, about this unassuming pooch napping by the front door. I have had these thoughts in that very space. The experience brings us back to small things that matter from the depths of large things which don't. The light from the front windows of our homes, the sounds of our loved ones breathing while they sleep, the music that a creaking tree makes in the night: these are all things that we should notice, but often fail to. Yet yoga in a meaningful place, opens our eyes, by stripping away some of the falsities which obstruct our vision.

photo by steve metz bunny

But for Donna, and those precious few of her mindset and spirit, the intent is to extend the benefits of practice far beyond the self, the family, and the immediate community: it is to provide a ripple effect of nurturing. In addition to her studio classes, she regularly offers after-school programs at Winton Montessori and SCPA, and has even taught children as young as nursery-school. Even after having borne these gifts into the community, she's looking for more ways to connect. She will also soon be making yet another journey out west to attend a series of workshops on how to offer the benefits of a yoga practice to the underserved. How like her.

photo by steve metz donna jay

As long as there is suffering. As long as there is a way to serve. These are the principles which daily guide Donna. These are the phrases she uttered to me in the quiet solitude of her studio during our time together, with Bunny. These simple principles are the reason that there is a three-legged dog in a place called 3 Legged Dog. These are simple, actionable ideas, accessible to everyone. It begins at the top of the mat, with a deep breath.

3 Legged Dog Yoga Collective
Map
3 is a Magic Number

dusmesh india restaurant, feb 23

2012-02-23T18:58:00.000-05:00

photo by steve metz Dee

One of the things I love most about doing this blog is that the path for each story is totally unknown to me, until it unfurls itself like a vibrant cloth, in front of my eyes. Today, I thought that I would be telling you about a restaurant, which has the most wonderful food I've ever tasted, but instead, I will be recounting a true story of love, sacrifice, and selflessness, and, of a union, the strength of which, can not be measured.

The beautiful, beaming face you see above, belongs to Dee. If you have eaten at Dusmesh India Restaurant, on Ludlow Ave., you may have met, or at least seen Dee, or, one of her two children, Maya and A.J. If you've eaten there more than a few times, chances are that all three of them have memorized your name, as well as your favorite order. The mindbogglingly delicious food, which I've already mentioned, is the inspired work of their father, Mahabir, the head chef, and his smiling kitchen staff.

photo by steve metz A.J.

The story of their journey to Cincinnati, Ohio, U.S.A., begins more than twenty years ago in northern India, where Dee, the woman who always has a smile for everyone she sees, the woman who walks you to your table and who brings you water, was a practicing physician. Dr. Dee. Mahabir, her husband, was a farmer. The children were new to this world. The family form had taken shape, but the future was uncertain.

Dee and Mahabir were typical of any good parents in that they wanted greater opportunities for their children. Their willingness to radically change their own lives in order to make this hope a reality, is where they truly set themselves apart.

In 1985, Dee would board a plane, by herself. She would leave behind her career, culture and language. She would leave behind her husband, son, and daughter. She would leave behind her parents, her extended family, and most of her worldly possessions. It would be fourteen years before she would have a life which would include daily contact with her nuclear family. Dee got on a plane one day, bound to parts unknown, to a place named San Francisco.

photo by steve metz the physician's hands

The plan was for Dee to travel to America to lay the foundation for a new life for her family. Her career as a physician would pave the way. At least that was the idea. But, as so often happens, a smooth and simple plan was introduced to a harsh, complex reality. It became much more difficult than anticipated for Dee to transfer her Indian medical credentials, to become a practicing physician here in the United States.

Imagine for a moment, that it's you. You have arrived at a place in which everything is utterly foreign. You are alone. You are tasked with finding a permanent place to live, a temporary job to sustain yourself while you trustingly reach for a way to transfer your career to this foreign culture with its foreign methods. You are tasked with learning a new language, a new city, a new form of government, a new way of interacting with people, new roads, new light sockets, new fruits, new vegetables, new household supplies, new ways of dressing, new idioms, new public transit, new banks, new beds...absolutely everything you knew is gone. Now, imagine, also, that the backbone of your plan has fractured. What would you do?

photo by steve metz Maya

Meanwhile, your husband is thousands of miles away. He is toiling in the fields to provide food and shelter for your two small children. They are so small that, at some point, they might even become confused as to whether the woman who is helping to take care of them while you are away is their mother or their grandmother. Soon, they will begin school. They will develop personalities, idiosyncrasies, and manners of speech. Their faces will change. Their feet and hands will grow. Will they recognize you when you are able to visit? Will you recognize them? Will they like you? What would you do with these thoughts, with these obstacles, these fears? What would Dee do? Would she acquiesce and return home to India, fating her family to less than she and Mahabir wanted for them?

photo by steve metz saag mushroom

buffet tag

No, she would not. Instead, she would do what all those who achieve greatness do. She would fight. She would find an alternative. She would find a way. Dee decided that the next best thing to being able to resume her medical practice in the United States, was to become a nurse. For a person who is a true mother, this is not shocking, or even questionable. After all, nurturing is nurturing. The vessel by which care is delivered, is irrelevant. Until 1999, Dee would provide care to others by nursing them through illness, stashing away as much money as she could, a bit at a time, until, finally, at long last, her family was able to join her. The children, so small when she had left, were now teenagers.

photo by steve metz Mahabir, in blue stripes, and the kitchen staff

I have tried to imagine their first night together, in San Francisco: the first night living together as a family, under one roof, after what must have seemed a countless number of years. I imagine tears of happiness and laughter. I imagine some fear and uncertainty, too. They could not have known what the future held at the time, any more than Dee could have known it when she stepped onto that airplane so many years ago. They could not have known how difficult the first day of school would be for Maya and A.J., who didn't understand a word of English. They could not have known that it would become difficult for Mahabir to find work in America and that he, too, would eventually embark upon a solitary journey of his own, to a place called Ohio, where he would work as a dishwasher while his family remained in California. They could not have known that, by way of this experience, Mahabir would discover in himself, a great gift for cooking and that this gift, along with the hard work and dedication of his wife and children, would allow them to, at long last, realize their family dream, some twenty years in the making.

It would be in the form of their own restaurant, a business they would build from the ground up, using the same tenacity and sense of purpose, which had served them so well for so long. It would grow from being a well kept secret, frequented by a handful of lucky customers, into a bustling, community hub, which would be packed with happy customers seven days a week. This success would come from the high quality of the product served, but even more so from the high quality of the people who provide it. They would name it Dusmesh, which, loosely, means "Ten God," in their Sikh faith, in honor of their family heritage. It would be on a road named Ludlow, in a place called Cincinnati.

You can visit Dusmesh India restaurant seven days per week. They are open for lunch and dinner. Lunch features the greatest buffet in the world, which includes many vegetarian options. :)

Dusmesh Indian Restaurant

944 Ludlow Avenue, Cincinnati, OH 45220

(513) 221-8900 ‎
Map
Hours: Lunch Buffet - Monday - Friday 11:00 - 2:30; Saturday & Sunday11:00 - 3:00; Daily Dinner Hours 3:00 - 10:00

the freestore foodbank, cincinnati cooks!

2012-02-16T19:00:00.000-05:00

photo by steve metz Cincinnati Cooks! Student

Some things can just be kept simple. Some things are so elemental that we needn't overcomplicate them with our opinions, our politics, or biases, or our religions. One such thing is the requirement that every man, woman, and child on earth should have the opportunity to nourish his or her body with food and clean water. If you are reading this, you are, most likely, seated in a comfortable, sheltered environment, with access to electricity, clean water, and sanitary disposal of waste. You have probably also eaten today and you won't have to question whether or not you'll eat tomorrow. I'm one of you. We're the fortunate and we're in the minority. In a true world view, WE are the 1%.

Chopping Skills at Cincinnati Cooks!

When we hear about hunger, the first impulse is to the let the mind wander across great expanses of ocean, sand, and brush, and to imagine people living in places whose names we can't pronounce, speaking languages, which, to us, sound as though they are comprised of things which are not words. This gives us separation. This gives them an "otherness" quality. This makes them too foreign, too far, too difficult to help.

Perhaps, then if the task of wrapping our minds and our hearts around the problem of hunger, in people who are oceans and deserts away from our wireless access points, is too stultifying, then, we should look only around the corner, down the block, up the highway, or across the river.

I'm guessing that most of us rarely think about the daily struggle of people who are truly in need. We might casually click "like" next to a status update containing some profundity or another about poverty, homelessness, or unemployment. I'm likely to even get some "great article" comments on this post. But, what will you actually do? What will I do? How can I change so that I might help others whom I don't even know? We may not dwell upon these things at present, but we can start to. One thing which I know will help, is to become inspired by others who are already doing it.

photo by Steve Metz John: President/CEO of the Freestore Foodbank

Cincinnati Cooks! Student

There is a wonderful organization, full of dedicated, soulful people who wake up every day with a purpose in their hearts. We're very lucky that we have them. It's the Freestore Foodbank. Their mission statement says it better than anything I could possibly say. We provide food and services, create stability, and further self-reliance for people in crisis.

Last year, the Customer Connections Division and the Foodbank Division of the Freestore, combined to serve almost 19 million meals in the Cincinnati area. That's 19 million meals, which did not come from anyone else, which were eaten by people who simply needed food. The Customer Connections Division alone, fed over 160,000 individuals from its downtown Cincinnati location.

Cincinnati Cooks! Student

The Freestore Foodbank welcomed me, as it welcomes everyone, like a family member, to its Central Parkway offices, where I visited the Cincinnati Cooks! operation, to snap some photos and speak with a few people. Cincinnati Cooks! is a free training program, provided by the Freestore, for at risk adults. It prepares participants for employment in the food industry in and around our city. The program includes job placement assistance, career coaching, and mentoring. The majority of students arrive without work, and leave having a new job and the prospect for a productive career. Some of the students have even come back to the Freestore to help run the program, after having first spent some time in the field. See Marcus, below, for example.

"Food is the entry point into people's lives for our organization," John Y., President/CEO of the Freestore Foodbank told me. "It's a bridge. It helps us find out what other tools they may need to become self-sufficient." The Freestore not only feeds its customers, it also helps them locate other social services: vital resources on the path towards reconstruction and independence, which is always the Freestore's goal. Incidentally, I'd like to tell you that the smile in John's portrait, above, is absolutely genuine. There was a rich, warm, and shared type of caring in the place: a genuine sense of happy pride that comes from selfless accomplishment, exuded by all, but none more so than John.

photo by steve metz Stove at Cincinnati Cooks!

As I left the facility that day, I thought about the fact that I, as a 44 year old man, have never had to experience true hunger. I began to wonder how many small, wrong turns I might have been away from a much less fortunate life, or, might even still be. There are a million different ways for a life to fall apart: a drinking problem, recovery form which comes just a little too late, the unexpected loss of a spouse, or worse a child, the onset of an unexpected disease at exactly the wrong time, a broken heart. Anything unexpected is a possible entry point into a time of need. What if my life was the one from the mission statement...the life in crisis? How thankful I would be for people just like those who had welcomed me that day.

Marcus: Sous Chef, Cincinnati Cooks!

Fernando: Master Chef/Trainer

What is it that makes us human? To me, it is brother-and-sister-hood. It is about having an understanding that I am a being who makes choices, which impact not only myself, but my loved ones, my community, and my earth. It is about understanding that when one of us suffers, we all suffer, and, when one of us rises from suffering, to thrive, we all thrive. So, maybe if you and I make small changes in our lives, we can gradually extend our vision to include more and more of our brothers and sisters. Let's start with our neighbors. Maybe, if we do this for long enough and with enough purity of heart and goodwill towards others, this vision will extend across the oceans, sand, and brush, which now seem like juggernauts. I know that I'm going to be trying.

Freestore Foodbank: web

ria: aka, d.j. mowgli

2012-02-09T19:00:00.001-05:00

Ria has over ten thousand record albums. That's more than one for each and every man, woman, and child in the town where I spent my childhood. He has been gathering and assembling them, like threads of an elaborate and vibrant tapestry, since he was a kid.

photo by steve metz ria

Both of Ria's parents are Bengali. Bangladesh is a South Asian nation, bordered almost entirely by India, except for a small portion which is bordered by the Republic of the Union of Myanmar, also known as Burma. Ria's parents moved from Bangladesh, to Scotland. From Scotland to Newfoundland. From Newfoundland to Ottowa. From Ottowa to Baltimore. From Baltimore to Dallas. From Dallas to Cincinnati.

Ria was born in Texas.

photo by steve metz mr. bubble

Bengali is still spoken in Ria's nuclear family. Ria has visited Bangladesh many times in his life. His entire extended family still lives there, where they practice Islam. Ria is an atheist, but has joined his family on a pilgrimage to Mecca. He also joins them in prayer, out of respect for their religion and traditions.

I would like to know how to say "the twisty moustache man," in Bengali.

photo by steve metz the twisty moustache man

His father is an avid Rudyard Kipling reader and began calling Ria Mowgli when he was just a boy. His father also introduced him to an eclectic array of musical styles, including traditional Bengali music, jazz, and artists like Stevie Wonder.

Ria learned to play the violin. Then, the drums.

photo by steve metz goldfinger

Ria devoured music, floating from genre to genre. Like a pollenating bee, he carried a little bit of each style forward and impregnated the next with that which he had learned from the previous, much as his parents had traveled from culture to culture, country to country, town to town, assimilating, morphing, but still, somehow faithful to some unarticulated force at the center.

photo by steve metz happy death man

Ria worked in record stores. He made money, then he bought records. He made a little more, he bought a few more: on and on, a cycle of hunger and feeding, as perfect as the circle of a spinning platter.

photo by steve metz the red-plate special

Now, with those ten thousand platters at his disposal, and with the heritage of traditional Bengali culture infused with an American childhood, Ria dj's. You can hear those varied threads in his method. First, a jazz riff. Next, an obscure, eighties synth band, of whom you've never heard (this will have you spending hours on your own trying to track down the origin of that sound). Lastly, there goes Mowgli, running through the concrete jungle. I imagine that his father would be smiling.

d.j. mowgli: facebook

circus mojo

2012-02-02T19:00:00.000-05:00

photo by steve metz circus shoozez

In 1979, when I was 12 years old, I had a moment of profound revelation, which would change the course of my life forever: I was not going to be an NBA basketball player, as I had imagined, because, contrary to my own self-image at the time, I actually really sucked at basketball. I mean, I reeeeellly sucked. It took getting chopped from the Fighting Yellow Jackets, Jr. High team, on the first day of tryouts, for me to understand this. Larry Bird was going to be able to keep his job and I was going to have to become rock 'n roll star, instead. Still waiting for that one, by the way.

photo by steve metz young lady/happy circus person

My point is, there are very few times in our lives when we know exactly what that small, dark shape on the horizon actually is. Certitude and intuition, be damned. We can shape it a bit, but at the end of the day, we must follow the path placed before us by the convergence of all of the disconnected, yet interdependent moments of our lives. So, I imagine that Paul M., founder and Chief Circusarian (I invented that word, at this very moment) at Circus Mojo, a circus school in Ludlow, Ky., did not imagine himself to be a circus performer, while studying as a theater major in college.

"I kind of did it as a joke at first," he tells me of his first audition with Ringling Bros.. "I was a sophomore at CCM, and I thought it would be fun to audition. I wanted a backup plan, too, in case theater didn't work out for me."

Despite missing the mark on that first audition, the backup plan would become Plan A, when, the following year, among, literally thousands of auditioning performers, Paul was selected for one of only ten available positions in the traveling show. Statistically, that's more prestigious than Ivy League. Paul hit the road and joined the proverbial circus.

He would later finish his degree at CCM, but that experience with Ringling Bros., would forge a path for him, and, transitively, for hundreds of kids whom he and his organization have since helped. The art of circus had gotten into his blood enough for him to want to teach it. He began by offering circus performing classes at prestigious east coast schools while working as a part-time soap opera actor in NYC. You may have seen him on Days of Our Lives. No, I'm not kidding, but thank you for asking.

photo by steve metz paul m./circus mojo

Early on in his teachings, Paul noticed something important: something that would solidify the idea of offering circus skills to the public as an ardent passion...the passion of which Circus Mojo would later be born. "All people need a sense of achievement in their lives, and circus offers that," he tells me. "You come here and you may not know how to juggle or walk on a giant ball, and then, suddenly, you can juggle or walk on a giant ball." With the right amount of effort, the reward is quick. It's also measurable in the intent smiles on the faces of the participants of Circus Mojo. Moments of "oooh I got this...I get it" abound.

photo by steve metz ring juggler

I was lucky enough to witness this effect when I joined Paul and his students at Circus Mojo one Saturday morning. There were kids (and even a few adults) from all walks of life. Some had probably been spending too much time with their PlayStations. Others, sadly, had even spent some time in detention centers. But none of that mattered when they joined together on the floor of Circus Mojo. The varied experiences and backgrounds of the kids were somehow washed away and instead, there was a commonality and a communion, to their effort, their learning, and the joy of discovery.

photo by steve metz happy circus people

We are all born with natural strengths and deficits. One of the things Paul likes to point out is that learning circus skills fortifies us exactly where we need to be fortified. The kid who can pick up juggling in 2 minutes, but who hasn't yet understood teamwork, gets to help others and experience the nurturing and growth of a group. The kid who joined Mensa at the age of seven, but who can't hold a conversation gets to be the same as everyone as else for awhile. There is a true sense of community there, which doesn't seem coerced. It's just naturally born of a shared, positive experience. The most dedicated among them have even gotten to perform in Germany.

photo by steve metz young man/happy circus person

Personally, I know that I could have used something like Circus Mojo when I was that grief-stricken kid who had just gotten cut from the b-ball team. I was shy, awkward, and as thin as a slip of paper. I imagine the twelve-year-old me stumbling through the door to Circus Mojo. I'm immediately put at ease because there is fun music playing and Paul M. is wearing crazy shoes and cracking jokes right and left. Moments later, we begin a group juggling activity. A circle forms. I'm nervous, but for some reason, not as nervous as I would be if this were gym class or a book report. Paul M. is in the middle. The bowling pins start flying. What? Did that just happen? Did Paul just drop one? Maybe he did it on purpose. Kids are smiling, clapping for each other, dancing in place to the music. It seems like they feel the opposite of pressure. I smile too. Oops...that girl across me from me dropped one. At least I won't be the first kid to do so when it's my turn. Wait, though...no one said anything mean to her. That's odd.

photo by steve metz juggling while walking high wire

Soon, I'm next in line. I'm nervous as hell, but I'm happy too. Now, the green pin is flying at me. I catch it and manage to toss it back. A split second later, the orange. Yes! But, the red one bounces off of my hands, into my shoulder, and onto the floor. I can feel a familiar heat build in my face. I turn to run after the fallen pin. I listen, but, to my surprise the sounds of the room do not change, as I expect them too. There is still music and clapping. By the time I turn around, Paul M. has moved on to the next kid. No one seems to have even noticed my blunder.

photo by steve metz young lady/happy circus person

After the group juggling, Paul splits us into pairs. This is horrible. I'm paired with a girl who must be older than I am: maybe she's even in high school. She's cute. The braces on my teeth feel like they're growing. We stand about 10 feet apart. We're holding glowing plastic rings. We start throwing them. I'm dropping them all over the place. It's a nightmare. I feel like vomiting.

photo by steve metz building a human tower

It doesn't take long for Paul to notice my struggle. We take a break. Paul stands directly in front of me and looks me dead in the eye. I can't even see the girl. He's telling me exactly what to do...how to change my rhythm, my motion, my focus, my gaze, the way I grasp the ring. He's telling it like it's fact...like if I just do what he's told me to do, it will just work. He steps back a few paces and starts tossing rings at me. I catch, throw, catch, throw, catch, throw, drop. We keep going. Soon, I'm keeping up. Twenty tosses in a row! Now, thirty! Next, the girl steps back in. I barely notice because I want to get back to it. We're counting out loud together. We hit 50 and I hear her say "yes!" She drops number 72. She runs towards me and puts her arm around my shoulder. Wait. Did that just happen? Yep, it really did. Thanks to Circus Mojo.

photo by steve metz young man/happy circus person

Circus Mojo will be holding an open house and performance as part of Macy's Arts Sampler 2012:
https://www.facebook.com/events/362077490469372/

Circus Mojo: map

Circus Mojo: website

the save the animals foundation

2012-01-26T19:00:00.000-05:00

my boy, cap'n lou

my girl, frances

Anyone who has known me on a personal level for more than about 15 seconds will already know that I love animals. Reasons number one and two are to the left and right, respectively: my deaf pit bull Frances, and my 17 year old, Energizer Kitty, Cap'n Lou. Given the lifelong connection to animals, with which I have been blessed, this is a very special edition of Citizen Pork for me.

The Save the Animals Foundation, or STAF, is a volunteer operated, no-kill shelter on Red Bank Road, which simultaneously cares for over 600 animals at any given time. Tonight, as I write this, there are volunteers offering their time and energy to provide for these animals in need, many of whom are innocent victims of human neglect, irresponsibility, and cruelty. They are there working on Christmas day. They are there on Memorial Day. They are there on the Fourth of July. You get my point: the volunteers of STAF have carried the ball 99 yards, but they need people like you and me...people with loving homes and open places in their hearts...to push it across the goal line.

The mission of STAF is simple, pure, and beautiful: to provide each animal with the highest quality of life and care until they can be found a permanent home or until they reach their natural end of life, the former always being preferable. The facility is magnificent. The volunteers are dedicated and tenacious, and they are making our city a better place through their selfless work and steadfast devotion to these wonderful creatures, with whom we share this world.

I recently had a chance to spend time with, play with, and photograph several of the beautiful animals the good people at STAF are saving on behalf of all of us. Here are just a few of the hundreds of animals available for adoption. I hope that you will read their stories, look into their eyes, and then consider doing something to help. There will be contact information for STAF at the end of the post.

--CP--

Sabra

photo by steve metz sabra

How are those for some loyal, eager, and soulful, brown eyes? This is Sabra. She's a shepherd mix. Sabra was, sadly, dealt a double-whammy when it came to her earliest interactions with people. A breeder sold her as a pure-bred German Shepherd, which she isn't, and the person who bought the story, and consequently, the dog, decided that it would be ok to not feed poor Sabra very often or very much, after having attempted to return the dog to the shady breeder, to no avail. So, at 11 months old, Sabra arrived at STAF weighing only 37 pounds: far underweight for a dog of her stature. Those two encounters with humanity temporarily diminished her physique, but not her spirit or her mind. Luckily, for Sabra, and for her, future family, STAF is well versed in handling these situations and reversing the course. They know just how to nourish a soul like Sabra. Lots of love, high quality food, and even weekly water-therapy to help build muscle mass, have all combined to give Sabra a second chance at life. Now all she needs is a permanent place to call home and permanent people to call family. This highly intelligent girl loves children, rope toys, playing fetch, and will be a faithful companion to you and your family.

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Shay

photo by steve metz shay

This love, a striped, brown Tabby was actually born at STAF. Shay's mother was left at the doorstep of the shelter, in a box, and carrying 9 kittens, all of whom were born at STAF. Shay is the perfect cat for a loving family with children. Your kids will be able to memorize those beautiful markings in his fur and carry those fond memories forward. Shay is very well socialized. He's loving, affectionate, and gently playful. Isn't now the right time for this lovely creature to have his permanent home? As I look at Shay's photograph, I imagine reaching my hand towards the top of his head to pet him. He tilts his head slightly to give me just the right angle, squints his eyes, and purrs.

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Cupcake

photo by steve metz cupcake

I'll be honest here, when Cupcake walked into the visiting room at STAF to be photographed, there was a part of me that wanted to just sneak out the front door with her, hop in the car, and take this baby girl home. She's that lovable and that beautiful. In fact, in my opinion, she's television-commercial-beautiful. When you factor in her sweet nature, Cupcake's story becomes even more difficult to understand. She's a 3 1/2 year-old boxer, mastiff mix, who was dumped at a high kill shelter. She was scheduled to die, but thankfully the staff at the high kill shelter saw something special in her, and they saved her life by finding her a place at STAF. Now, it's nearly a year later, and Cupcake's still waiting for the perfect person or family to see what I see: a sensitive, adoring animal, who will be the perfect friend for you, once she settles into her new life. Cupcake loves playing with her toy football and giving big sloppy kisses. She's a bit of a snorer, too. Zzzzzzzzzz. Can't you imagine this cutie curled up in your house? Maybe even on the couch, too? Don't leave this sweet girl at STAF much longer than the year she's already been there. Give her a chance to lay a big sloppy wet one on you.

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Ophelia

photo by steve metz ophelia

Along with her 3 young siblings, Ophelia, a Blue Maine Coon mix, was left at the front door of STAF in the middle of the night. They were malnourished, infested with fleas, emaciated, and terrified. The volunteers at STAF gave the kittens intensive medical care, special handling, and feeding for several months to follow. All of their hard work paid off. All four of them survived their shaky start and blossomed into beautiful, friendly cats. Ophelia is the last of the siblings to need a permanent home. Despite, the abundance of luxurious, soft fur, which you'll feel like petting for hours, she is a petite girl. Her spirit belies her size though. Independent, intelligent, and playful in nature, Ophelia will make the perfect addition to many different households. She just needs the right one to come and find her. Take a chance. A rescued pet can make almost any happy home even happier.

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Pascal

photo by steve metz pascal

To me, one of the most rewarding aspects of pet ownership is being exposed to someone extracting unbelievable and repeatable joy from a seemingly small activity. For instance, my dog Frances, even after over 7 years, still jumps for joy at the sight of a flashlight and a night-filled back yard. She howls like a wolf and runs in circles like a holy terror, no matter how many times she's experienced chasing that beam of light. Our next little buddy, Pascal, has a similar feeling about tennis balls, although less emotive than my pooch. If you toss a ball for Pascal, you've got yourself a lifelong friend. He came to STAF this past November, well groomed, well cared for: an apparent runaway. Efforts to reunite Pascal with his first home were unsuccessful, so now he's ready for phase two of his life. You'll be constantly amused by this canine comedian. Part basset and part terrier, but all irresistible. Imagine this adorable guy dropping a tennis ball at your feet. Sure, you'll have to pause the MacGyver rerun for a few minutes, but man, will it be fun...for both of you. Giggles abound with Pascal.

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Polly

photo by steve metz polly

This beautiful American Short-hair, with nothing but kindness in her soft gaze, had a rough entry into this world. Only a few short hours after her birth, Polly's mother became startled, and was killed, having run in front of a car. Polly and her 5 tiny litter-mates were brought to STAF, where they were bottle fed for 6 weeks by shelter volunteers. Polly and 2 of her siblings remain at STAF, the others having found permanent homes. Polly is a healthy, happy, well adjusted cat who can handle any situation with ease. She will bring a calming, peaceful presence to your home. Imagine how much human love and care this small wonder has already been given by the folks at STAF. She's ready to give it back to the family that gives her the chance to do so. When I look at Polly's photograph, I imagine petting her neck and then seeing her knead little imaginary biscuits with her paws. Back and forth. Back and forth. Soon, you'll both be taking a nap. Polly's waiting for you at STAF.

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Contact STAF

web: http://www.staf.org/

phone: (513)561-STAF

email: info@staf.org

google map to STAF

tara h.

2012-01-19T19:00:00.000-05:00

photo by steve metz tara h. and the tools of her trade

There is a history of farming on the paternal side of my family. While I have never milked a cow before dawn or ridden a tractor into the glow of a setting sun there is another feeling which I have experienced. Each time I'm on a farm, I feel a soulful, intuitive tug. It's a melancholy sort of feeling. It doesn't matter whose farm it is, or what they're growing or tending to: I just end up with this slightly sad longing in my chest: my gut. This feeling comes from my blood, from a part of my own past which existed long before I did, from people who lived and died before I was even born, but whose hopes and aspirations are somehow in me.

A similar feeling must launch seamstress, Tara H, into her Blue Ash sewing studio each morning. To hear Tara tell it, she has generations of her family articulating through her fingertips, and they won't stop.

photo by steve metz vintage machine

"My great-grandmother taught me how to sew with a needle and thread when I was six," she tells me in her studio space. I imagine two sets of hands. One belongs to young Tara. They are smooth, nimble, and eager to work, but they're callow, untried. The other, her great-grandmother's, are practiced, assured, and confident, but they are nearly ready to rest. So, now, the young girl watches, listens, and mimics. Connections form in the girl's body chemistry, emanating to her psyche, like links in a chain, falling into place: like a perfect row of stitches. The switches have been flipped and soon the girl will feel compelled to do that which her great-grandmother, grandmother, and mother did before her. She will not even remember not knowing how to do this.

When this child becomes an adult, she will feel so driven to create, in this vein of heritage, that she will name her products, Robot Inside. The quirky owls and the lovable monsters, which she imagines and then stitches into existence, will be born of an internal mechanism which is always running and which will outlast even the most industrial sewing machine. It's the gift of lineage, a DNA imprint, a natural selection into a creative passion.

photo by steve metz tara h., owls a-danglin'

In writing this piece, I thought a lot about choices and about freewill. Does Tara have a say in the matter? Is she free to not design and create these visual delights, or is she just hard wired to do it. Am I sitting here, right now, writing this blog, simply because I am my grandfather's grandson? In the end, if we're able to eke out a modicum of happiness in this upside down world of ours, does it really matter? When we're doing that which we're meant to do we've achieved meditation.

photo by steve metz owl, hooot hooot

I imagine that someday, hopefully many decades from now, Tara will be sitting next to another child, and it will be her hands that are ready to rest. She'll be imparting her craft to the child in much the same way...by simply flipping a switch which already exists in the small one. A tiny new robot roars to life. That's really how we make a mark on this world, isn't it: by letting our talents, our trades, our arts, and our passions live on through the ones we love.

Tara received this gift once, and I'm sure she'll give it back too. For that, and for the lovely things she makes with her hands, I'm very happy that she's a citizen of Porkopolis.

photo by steve metz owl too, hooot hooot

Tara is teaching a sewing class at the Blue Ash Public library. Click here for information.

Tara's going to have a booth at Arnold's, downtown. Click here for information.

Tara's Etsy store, where you can purchase lovely things:
http://www.etsy.com/shop/robotinside

paul b

2012-01-13T18:30:00.000-05:00

Surrounded by the fruits of his own labors: heroic and villainous creatures from conjured worlds, all of whom he has borne into this one with his imagination, craftsmanship and painstaking patience, you'll find him hunched over his work in the rear corner, his back to you, working by the light of a single lamp. He may not even notice you, but there will be plenty of other eyes following as you approach. You'll try to discern which creature's eyes just flickered, which inanimate figure just sprang to life for a moment. It's a futile endeavor, though. There are far too many. When at last, he turns, he'll be gripping a scalpel. The magnifying glasses he dons will distort his eyeballs to Dali-esque proportions. A half-excited, half-nervous chill creeps the length of your spine. After a moment, however, his mouth evolves into a subdued, yet, welcoming smile.

photo by steve metz paul b. uses crazy glasses to see tiny figures

To find our Gepetto's workshop, in the heart of Clifton Gaslight, in a towering Georgian, don't bother ascending the elaborately hand-carved staircase to the second floor. You'll have to go down to visit this cellar dweller. Watch your head. Watch for spiders, too. Heck, watch for trolls, dragons, and anything else that little boys wearing homemade paper hats and cardboard sabers dream of slaying, for master toy designer and figure sculptor, Paul B. has, at some point, in his nearly two decade long career, crafted all of them. He's designed for Kenner, Hasbro, and oodles of others toy manufacturers, and, in a world where nearly everything has become digitized, they keep coming back for more of Paul's handmade treasures.

photo by steve metz someone please save the princess

Despite the fact that his model figures, most of which are only a few centimeters tall, are ornately detailed, wildly complicated, hand carved, and, most impressively to me, never even drawn on paper first, Paul will still be the first person to recognize an inherent irony in his craft. After all, he's pouring surgeonesque skill and outrageous levels of artistic vision and creativity into something which might very well have its head gnawed off by an ambling toddler, or which might spend its life under a buzz-lightyear-sheet-ensconced twin bed. A dog hair tumbleweed rolls by as a sad dragon sighs.

Paul has a way of putting his work-life in perspective with a one sentence retort to the commonly asked question, "how's work been?"

"Well, I just spent two solid days sculpting a new saddle for My Little Pony." *Snort*

We could easily jump on board this mind-train, born of Paul's own modesty, by dismissing his work as child's play, but that would be taking the easy way out. That would shortsighted, and we don't do that here in the Porkopolis of my dreams. Instead, we look more carefully. We look with the wide eyes of children. We look through those crazy eyeball-buggin' glasses of Paul's, too.

photo by steve metz hi kid-o

Put your awareness now, on the photograph above, for a moment or two. Imagine that you have a small ball of clay in your hands. Now, begin to massage it into a form. Work the clay with your fingers. Could you even begin to make the rough figure that will eventually become this two inch tall child? Now that the rough form is complete, you'll be working with a new medium. You'll be holding a waxen, featureless object: a faceless mold. It's dimensions are intact, but it is without personality. You hold a scalpel-like object connected to a heating element, and, minute detail, by minute detail, you carve it into being. You melt minuscule lines of detail into existence: the lifeline on a tiny palm, a belt buckle no larger than a few grains of rice, a wisp of hair the size of a pinky cuticle. You are giving birth to something new for this world, and you are doing so from an image which exists only in your mind's eye.

Can you place yourself in this place: in this perfect, harmonious confluence of imagination, precision detailing, and technical prowess? Can you see yourself in Paul's factory of dreams?

We have a world that requires tiny joys: casual objects that make us happy when we take them from the shelf and roll them between our fingers. Maybe next time, thanks to Paul, you and I will both pause for a moment and wonder where these tiny things come from. Who hatches these ideas and sees them through to fruition? On behalf, of myself and your kids, I'm really glad that Paul does: that he provides us with these miniature bursts of felicity. I'm very happy that Paul and his parade of characters are citizens of Porkopolis.

photo by steve metz paul b., master sculptor, with his heads

To see Paul's work, open your child's toy chest.

robyn r

2012-01-05T19:00:00.000-05:00

It should come as no great surprise that artist Robyn R.'s preferred media for painting are organic: wood and human skin. Her work embodies the parasitic and necessary relationship of life and vitality with death and decay. It obscures the traditional lines of demarcation between pain and pleasure, the beautiful and the grotesque, and it forces us to dig in the dirt a little. Nothing could be more natural, and, if you are of the correct mindset for it, more lovely.

I met Robyn in the woods. In the cold, we hung her works (yes, most of them are skateboard decks). We placed them in bare trees and laid them amongst dead leaves and dirt, and even as we did this, I began to notice, that, despite the colorful, often otherworldly images conjured from her imagination, it became difficult to distinguish the point where the paintings ended and the forest began: so well did they intermingle with the trees, the leaves, the dirt, with sun and with shadow.

As I stood in the forest with Robyn, amidst the barren beauty and boundless evidence of nature's perpetual reclamation, a lyric by Iron and Wine sprang into my mind. Mother forget me now that the creek drank the cradle you sang to. The creek drank the cradle...I imagined muddy and angry seeming waters rising, softly absorbing the cradle, a birth in reverse, a watery lullaby, a grave.

For me, Robyn's work evokes the same feeling. The ruthless, yet morally neutral brutality of nature is intricately woven into the fabric of our existence. The rising creek is unable to not drink the cradle. It can't alter its own path. The vulture must pick at the carrion. The worm must feed. All that lives, must also, not live. As part of this framework, we people can choose to be horrified and to look away, or we can realize that because we are lucky enough to be part of the cycle of death and life, each feeding the other, that there is beauty in all of it: the entire circle. Robyn clearly has this vision.

I'm now quoting from Robyn's blog: When I first realized what death was I was 10 years old and it terrified me. Since then it made me question everything I was taught and steered me on a quest that isn’t even over yet. Am I still afraid of it? No, I’m inspired by it and it has helped me make some interesting things. Everything returns.

Everything returns. Through layers of swamp, mud, sediment, rock, decomposed insects, animal bones, and lava, Robyn's paintings also return, as though spewed forth from the very ground beneath our feet, belched into the sky to mingle with fantastical skeletal, winged creatures, floating leaves and snow. Grime glistening in sunlight, if only for a fleeting moment.

We people may have forgotten that we are animals, but the ground which bears our weight, hasn't. It's a difficult thing to articulate, but I believe that what Robyn is trying to say with her art is that the facade of humanity actually makes us less human: that the conventions we have fabricated to shield us from our own impermanence, have obscured us from our true selves. We've created a false platform, a mirage above the dung beetles and the moss and rising creek. Believing that we are standing on this platform, protected from the things we fear, we fail to see all truths, and, in our blindness, we make societies, clans, nations, religions, and wars. All of these constructs are articles of exclusion, all derived from our "humanity," and our need to deny our own mortality. We are trapped in a gauze of our own design, wrapped in partiality, fearing the unknown, and, at times, each other.

This may all sound gloomy, but it really isn't. It's liberating and uplifting as you peel those layers of gauze away. The more I force myself to examine the things I fear, the less frightening they become. When I have less fear, I'm able to live in this day even more. I can live by my senses and be more connected to others. I can live more like a human being, and less like a human character.

I'm here today, and so is the scent of my dog's neck. Let me breathe it. I'm here today and so is my girlfriend. Let me touch her hand. I'm here today and so is curry. Let me taste it. I'm here today and so is the wind blowing through the treetops. Let me hear it. I'm here today and so is the bird on the perch. Let me see it. Robyn does, and it's in her work. For that, and for the pleasure of having been able to spend a few minutes in the woods, on a cold Sunday, with her, I am very happy that she is a citizen of Porkopolis.

Visit Robyn at Mother's Tattoo: http://www.motherstattoo.com/
See her canvases: http://www.flickr.com/photos/n0madical/sets/72157619327484812/
Her skate-decks: http://www.flickr.com/photos/n0madical/sets/72157606306614351/
Her paper: http://www.flickr.com/photos/n0madical/sets/72157612166329750/
Her skin: http://www.flickr.com/photos/n0madical/sets/72157605688763444/

michael w

2011-12-23T16:20:00.000-05:00

photo by steve metz michael sees something

"Don't you have something else you can show us?" The art director for Warner Bros. records dismissively handed the professional portfolio back to young photographer.

"I just have this book of stuff...my personal stuff. You probably wouldn't be interested. They're just photos I take for me."

"Let's see it."

This is a story about stumbling into success by following your passion, doing what you love, and sharing it with other people. This is the story of Cincinnati photographer, Michael W. You may not have heard of Michael, but, with a partial list of portraiture subjects which includes, musicians Robert Plant, Lyle Lovett, Emmylou Harris, BB King, Chet Atkins, Pattie Labelle, Paul Westerberg, and David Byrne, writer Nick Hornby, actor Hugh Laurie, and artist Andy Warhol, it's very likely that you've seen his work.

michael's basement of memories
photo by steve metz

One Sunday in early winter, 1979, Michael chose to go on a solo photo excursion to Newport, Ky. At the time, he was a student at NKU. He wouldn't know until a decade later, how important the seemingly trivial decision to take photographs on a Sunday, would become. He describes the day as "somewhere between rain and snow."

A turn down Brighton Street would reveal two dogs that day, huddled in the road. Their vulnerable, yet unified and unbreakable form, the grey day, the grey and shimmering blacktop, the desolate road and buildings: these things told a story and Michael listened with his eyes. One dog looked up. The other looked away. They stood in opposing directions, soaking from the freezing rain, seeking, yet refusing. Should any of these small details have been slightly altered, how so, might the future have also changed?

Michael took a photograph.

He took it, not because he dreamed of acclaim he might some day receive or because he thought of some half-formed, unlikely possibility, but rather, because there was a picture to be taken and he was there to take it, in his own quiet, modest, and haunting way. Click.

Now, fast forward to the late eighties. Michael has achieved a modicum of success, but his career isn't where he would like it to be. He's in L.A. to photograph a hair-metal-Christian-rock band for and independent label. He's in search of something more substantive, and is using the trip as an opportunity to check in with Warner Bros. He's in a meeting with the company's art director.

photo by michael wilson the photo chosen as the cover for All Shook Down

"Don't you have something else you can show us? " she says. The words resound as prophetic, now. He hands the small book of eight or ten photographs to her. She leafs through them. She pauses. She points to the dogs.

Moments later, Michael W., has been awarded the cover for the Replacements' pending release All Shook Down. Flights are booked. Michael is to fly to Minneapolis to photograph Paul Westerberg and company, for the rest of the album artwork.

photo by michael wilson the same dogs, a year later on Brighton

The Lovetts, the Warhols, the Plants, the critically acclaimed gallery exhibits, the four fine art photography books...all of these successes would follow for Michael, all in their own due time...all of them connecting back to a Sunday morning in Newport, Ky., to two wandering dogs, and to a decision to embrace a moment which others might have overlooked. These successes are connected, as are all people, animals, and energies on earth: separate, yet, without the others, broken, incomplete.

It's been my privilege to know Michael W. for awhile now. Anyone who knows him can testify to his unbounded kindness and generosity. His work, his success, his spirit, they all inspire me. Even as I write this I feel sheepish and uncertain about the idea of photographs taken by me, appearing on a page with photographs taken by him. But I know that nothing good can come from doing nothing, and maybe there's a connection I can't see yet. Maybe it hasn't been made known to me. Maybe ten years from now, I'll point back to this moment or another, spawned by this one.

As for Michael W., I know that he'll always be the wonderful person he had to be in order to have his own unique brand of success. These things are bound indelibly together...the character of our person, our actions, and their outcomes. I wish for Michael continued happiness and success, and I know that I am very glad that he is a fellow citizen of Porkopolis.

See Michael's beautiful work at michaelwilsonphotographer.com.

photo by steve metz michael w., photographer

film canisters, michael's basement
photo by steve metz

dan m

2011-12-20T21:53:00.000-05:00

photo by steve metz dan at motr pub

Recently, I saw a statistic, which blew my mind a little. It said that twenty-one thousand people attended Cincinnati's Midpoint Music Festival this past September. Twenty-one thousand people from all over the country, in clubs all over the city, listening to bands from all over the world, for three solid nights of cutting edge, sonic bliss. I grew up in a town of ten thousand. Two of my hometowns, out watching rock and roll shows, for three days, in Porkopolis. To a person like me, who remembers all too well, the uproar over the Robert Mapplethorpe exhibit in Porkopolis, only twenty years ago, that's good stuff. It's a bit of a paradigm shift to see our city, often berated for its conservatism, bust those chains a bit, to embrace the fringe.

If you enjoy Midpoint as much as I do, you have a lot of people to thank, but the biggest debt of gratitude goes to the guy sitting at the end of the bar at MOTR Pub in the photo above. That's Dan, co-owner of MOTR. He also happens to be the wizard behind the curtain of Midpoint, which is fast becoming one of the nation's premier music festivals, thanks to his vision and his footwork. He's been pushing the wheel for the last five years of the festival's now ten year long run, and it's been picking up speed, year after year.

photo by steve metz motr pub pickles own their veggies for drinks which require veggies

Dan and a few of his pals opened MOTR Pub a couple of years ago. Their combined business savviness and acumen for understanding live rock and roll have catapulted MOTR to the top of the list of live venues in Porkopolis. One of the really great things about MOTR is that, aesthetically, it is a bar which could easily cater to an exclusive crowd. It's charming, clean, and boasts one of the most beautiful wooden bars I've ever seen. But Dan and his friends have chosen higher ground. They're here to deliver something special to their city...a friendly, clean, and inviting atmosphere, with great drinks, great music, and great food, at a price that regular people can afford.

vintage pinball at motr pub

yummy breffis' burrito at motr pub

So, if you see Dan, at MOTR, or anywhere else, give him a pat on the back and thank him for busting his tail for the past twenty years to bring great music to Cincinnati. We're lucky to have him here. A lot of other people would have headed to easier, greener pastures. I've heard him say "if you don't like Cincinnati, then change it into what you want it to be." Sounds daunting. But then...you see him do it.

Personally, on those warm, late summer evenings, when I'm outside listening to the Tom Tom Club, or inside listening to Toro Y Moi, I'm very glad that Dan is a fellow citizen of Porkopolis.

photo by steve metz dan enjoys a well deserved sip of bourbon

bill b

2011-12-18T01:07:00.000-05:00

photo by steve metz bill b with allie

This is Bill B. He's the Electronic Media Director for a network news affiliate, here in Porkopolis, and, an all-around wonderful guy: the type of person you'd like to call friend. Despite being incredibly busy with work, Bill still manages to find ways to do great things with his free time, one of them being to care for a beautiful Clydesdale horse, Allie, whom he rescued, with his girlfriend, Stephanie.

Bill and Stephanie invited me to the stable, where Allie stays, to take some photographs. She weighs 1,800 pounds. That's more than 10 of me. When she walks by, the earth moves. Like, me, she loves apples and carrots. Allie was eating when I arrived, and was still eating when I left, two hours later. Man, that horse can chow down.

photo by steve metz horseshoe & rope

You wouldn't know it by visiting the stable, but Bill is a bit of a rock star, too. He's a talented and creative musician, having played the drums in a number of noteworthy indy bands over the past twenty years.

photo by steve metz beautiful stable-mate

It might seem unusual, to the casual observer, that an electro-rock-drummer-web-guru-media-director would find himself shoveling horse poo on evenings and weekends, but it makes sense if you know Bill and Stephanie. They care. About a lot of things. As a person who is drawn to other people who have connections with animals, I'm very glad that they are fellow citizens of Porkopolis.