Headspace-On my stereo: The Very Best Of John Coltrane by John Coltrane; In my backpack: The End Of Faith: Religion, Terror And The Future Of Reason by Sam Harris; On my nightstand: Autumn Bridge by Takashyi Matsuoka; On my computer: The Goose by Muriel Spark; On my screen: The Politician’s Wife (***) directed by Graham Theakston, written by Paula Milne.

I watched the 1995 BBC movie The Politician’s Wife last night. It’s a three-part mini-series about a conservative Member of Parliament who is caught in an affair. His wife is at first devastated and numb. Her husband’s political advisors and their wives are crowding around her, telling her that she must stand firm; for the good of the Party.

The main plot is how the wife reacts and ultimately gets her revenge. But what I found most interesting was a side plot that involved the MP’s plan to push through legislation that would privatize child care and deliver a great boon to the insurance companies that would manage the funds. Sound familiar?

Headspace-On my stereo: Life And Crimes (disk 1) by Alice Cooper; In my backpack: The End Of Faith: Religion, Terror And The Future Of Reason by Sam Harris; On my nightstand: Autumn Bridge by Takashyi Matsuoka; On my computer: Ice Storm by Jane Kenyon; On my screen: Jersey Girl (**) written and directed by Kevin Smith.

One of the things I like the best is learning new stuff. Every morning I get up and celebrate my ignorance because, if I haven’t learned everything there is to know then, I might learn something new that day. That was the case this afternoon as I sorted back through the blog pile and found The Zen Masters Of Coffee.

There’s lots of fun stuff about coffee to read, but one of the first places I landed was: Talking The Coffee Talk. There I learned that what I’ve been getting when I didn’t feel like an espresso was not a Cappuccino-an espresso topped with foam-but rather an improperly made Cafe Latte.

According to Colin Newell, a Cafe Latte is: espresso with steamed milk and a thin(very thin) layer of foam on the top. What the baristas have been serving me has been espresso with steamed milk and thick foam. Now I have to try it that way in the morning.

Headspace-On my stereo: Life And Crimes (disk 1) by Alice Cooper; In my backpack: The End Of Faith: Religion, Terror And The Future Of Reason by Sam Harris; On my nightstand: Autumn Bridge by Takashyi Matsuoka; On my computer: The Blue Blanket by Sue Ellen Thompson; On my screen: Jersey Girl (**) written and directed by Kevin Smith.

As much as I would have liked to have traipsed along with George Nemeth, Brewed Fresh Daily; Steve Goldberg, What’s In The Bag; and Valdis Krebs, Orgnet on their tour of Cleveland’s hotspots (as in wireless accessible), I was too burned out from my own Louisville: The Coffee House Tour. I did meet up with George and Jack Ricchiuto, Gassho, at the Phoenix Coffee House on Lee Road where we sipped an espresso and talked wifi. Valdis and Steve showed up just in time to drag George out of his chair and head out for Tommy’s on Coventry.

The coolest part was, of course, that George was recording the whole thing with his iPod so you can listen to the stops on Brewed Fresh Daily. To hear our ramblings from Phoenix, click here.

Headspace-On my stereo: Full Moon Fever by Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers; In my backpack: The End Of Faith: Religion, Terror And The Future Of Reason by Sam Harris; On my nightstand: Autumn Bridge by Takashyi Matsuoka; On my computer: The Blue Blanket by Sue Ellen Thompson; On my screen: Jersey Girl (**) written and directed by Kevin Smith.

There is a scene in The Benny Goodman Story (I believe) where Goodman’s big band is playing at a club and the people stop dancing so that they can really listen to the music. There is a point where music ceases to be entertainment and becomes a transcendental experience. I imagine that the first audience that heard Beethoven’s 9th felt that.

I like to think that the best of all music has that potential. There is a short list of pieces that I’ve grown up with that have that power for me. I can’t begin to count the number of times I sat in the dark listening to (Cat) Steven’s Sitting from Catch Bull At Four. Those three minutes and eleven seconds of bliss and introspection helped to shape me.

Johnny Cash did a masterful cover of the song on his America III: The Solitary Man album and I often play the two versions back-to-back. What Petty and Cash did was turn into music, into enlightenment, a credo from one of my personal heroes: Admiral Hyman G. Rickover: Good ideas are not adopted automatically. They must be driven into practice with courageous impatience.

Sometimes we need to sit and sometimes we need to stand.

Well I won’t back down, no I won’t back down
you could stand me up at the gates of hell
but I won’t back down

Hey baby there ain’t no easy way out
hey I will stand my ground
and I won’t back down
No, I won’t back down

My words, my art, wants to be worthy of such obstinacy.

Headspace-On my stereo: The Cream Of Clapton by Eric Clapton; In my backpack: The End Of Faith: Religion, Terror And The Future Of Reason by Sam Harris; On my nightstand: Autumn Bridge by Takashyi Matsuoka; On my computer: Landscape by Mary Oliver; On my screen: Jersey Girl (**) written and directed by Kevin Smith.

Scott Stantis’ Prickly City.

Headspace-On my stereo: Indigo Girls by the Indigo Girls; In my backpack: The End Of Faith: Religion, Terror And The Future Of Reason by Sam Harris; On my nightstand: Autumn Bridge by Takashyi Matsuoka; On my computer: Boarding a Bus by Steven Huff; On my screen: Jersey Girl (**) written and directed by Kevin Smith.

OK. I’m about to be a cold-hearted bastard. Nowhere have I seen who’s paying what has to be the several-thousand-dollars-a-day hospital bill for keeping the physical body of Terri Schiavo functioning. And I want to know. The reason I want to know is that despite all of the anguish by those who love her, the insertion of state and federal authority in the case is driven by money.

I say this because of the case of Sun Hudson. According to The Dallas Morning News in Hospital Ends Life Support Of Baby by Bruce Nichols:

In what medical ethicists say is a first in the United States, a hospital acting under state law, with the concurrence of a judge, disconnected a critically ill baby from life support Tuesday over his mother’s objections.

“I held him … I talked to him. I told him I love him,” said the child’s mother, Wanda Hudson. Then doctors took the mechanical breathing tube out, the child took a couple of breaths, struggled briefly in her arms and it was over, Ms. Hudson said.

In explaining the hospital’s decision, Nichols writes:

The hospital acted under a Texas law passed in 1999 that allows attending physicians, in consultation with a hospital bioethics committee, to discontinue life support when a patient’s condition is hopeless. The law gives a parent or guardian 10 days to find another hospital or institution. After that, the hospital is free to act.

For anyone who might be mathematically or historically impaired George W. Bush was governor of Texas and signed the Texas bill into law that allowed the breathing tube to be pulled. The law allows the family in such cases 10 days to find an alternative hospital or care facility before life support is withdrawn.

Wanda Hudson couldn’t find anyone willing to keep her baby alive. Nichols does not say what health insurance the unemployed dental assistant had. And there are other factors in the case that make it far from black and white.

But the obvious question is where were the congressional and white house voices calling out for Sun Hudson?

I cannot comment on the decisions of Terri Schiavo’s parents and husband. I’m not in their shoes and I can’t begin to imagine the pain they feel.

I can, and feel compelled to comment on the actions of elected officials. I find them shallow, deplorable and self-serving. And why is no one asking if the money being spent on keeping Schiavo’s body functioning might be better spent on others who will be allowed to die because they lack the funds necessary to keep them alive?

PZ Meyers offered what I think is the best assessment of the case when he criticizes both sides. In Schiavo, Meyers writes:

I disagree that she must be allowed to die. She doesn’t care anymore, and whether there was a living will or request to be allowed to die simply doesn’t matter. Just as there is nobody there to preserve, there is nobody there to protect from the right-wing ghouls who want to preserve her mind-free still-warm corpse.

In a Schiavo Reconsidered, however, Meyers offers some additional thought, links to other commentators and a brain scan from Schiavo. He holds to his original position that there is no Schiavo there to protect either way, but the wishes of her husband of 15 years must hold some weight.

I’m more likely to be swayed by arguments about compassion for the living than about rights or respect for the dead. It’s clear that her husband has made great sacrifices to carry out those wishes (not the least the way he is standing up to the outrageous vilification of the right), and he has the valid legal rights in this case.

If someday I were to be a mindless hulk, I would want my wife to be able to do what she felt was best. And damn any superstitious ninnies who get in the way of allowing her to find peace and closure and dignity because they think my idling quasi-corpse needed salvation.

I think that is right. The chain of authority for what happens to our bodies should be ourselves first, our spouses second, our parents third, our children fourth, and then, and only then, the State.

I see this as just one more example of how the Republican Party is really the party of intrusive Big Government, something I oppose.

Headspace-On my stereo: Ten Year Night by Lucy Kaplansky; In my backpack: The End Of Faith: Religion, Terror And The Future Of Reason by Sam Harris; On my nightstand: Autumn Bridge by Takashyi Matsuoka; On my computer: Boarding a Bus by Steven Huff; On my screen: Jersey Girl (**) written and directed by Kevin Smith.

If you mention poetry to the vast majority of Americans their eyes will glaze over. But people who understand the way things work know that there is power in poetry. In his collection The Muse Is Always Half-Dressed In New Orleans, Andrei Codrescu writes about how the communist government of his native Romania carefully maintained control of its poets. American thinkers are not far behind.

Poet Sherry Chandler notes in Terroristic Poetry that one of my favorite poets and writers, Alicia Ostriker, has been put on the enemies list.

Sherry writes:

In the United States, poets and poetry have been marginalized, characterized as a small group of academics and theorists mostly talking to one another. Poetry in the United States rather famously “makes nothing happen.” Or, as was implied by some when Sam Hamill boycotted Laura Bush”s symposium in protest of pre-emptive war, it should be content in its ghetto, that higher realm called art, and should deliver that spiritual news men die miserably everyday for lack of.

When they come for the poets you know the opponents of freedom and liberty are getting serious.

Headspace-On my stereo: A Quiet Normal Life by Warren Zevon; In my backpack: The End Of Faith: Religion, Terror And The Future Of Reason by Sam Harris; On my nightstand: Autumn Bridge by Takashyi Matsuoka; On my computer: Boarding a Bus by Steven Huff; On my screen: Jersey Girl (**) written and directed by Kevin Smith.

Several of you have noted my sporadic postings while I was in Louisville. Part of the reason was that I was down with a cold Wednesday and Thursday. The other part is that I was having way too much fun writing and sharing with friends while I was at the retreat. Over the next couple of days I’ll fill in the blanks with the rest of the coffee house pieces and an announcement of my picks for the best of the bunch so be sure to scroll back over the week (if you are so inclined) to get the whole picture.

Thank you for your patience.

Headspace-On my stereo: The British And Irish Hour On WCPN, 90.3; In my backpack: The End Of Faith: Religion, Terror And The Future Of Reason by Sam Harris; On my nightstand: Autumn Bridge by Takashyi Matsuoka; On my computer: 6 by Hayden Carruth; On my screen: Jersey Girl (**) written and directed by Kevin Smith.

I’m back home safely and wouldn’t you know, when I got to just south of Strongsville on I-71 the drizzle that had been falling for most of the trip turned to snow. That was the line where the snow had stopped last Sunday as I was driving south. None of it is sticking, thankfully, but you’d think that we’d be past the lion part of the month and be getting some of that lamb.

Only two phone messages were waiting for me-that’s a good thing: one from the library to let me know that Jeremy Rifkin’s The European Dream (Another Rif From Rifkin…, Sunday, 20 February) is in for me; and the other from the mother of one of my students asking to reschedule a tutoring session tomorrow.

I made the six-hour drive up from Louisville with only one stop at a rest area south of Columbus. I always come away from the annual Green River Writers’ Novels-In-Progress Workshop with good feelings from being part of a writers’ community and if nothing else occurred, that would be wonderful.

So what happened yesterday was gravy. Two agents: Scott Hoffman and Jim McCarthy (he should update his photo, I’d never recognize him from the one on the website) asked to see my psycho-sexual thriller: Cold Silence. Hoffman wants the complete manuscript and McCarthy asked to see the first 50 pages. Nobody has written any checks yet, but it’s always good to know that someone doesn’t think you should get a job delivering pizzas. The way the day started, I was fortunate that I sat down to talk with these two.

I, and two other writers, took Rachel Vater to lunch at Browning’s Brewery at Louisville’s Slugger Field, home of the Cincinnati Red’s triple-A farm team, the Louisville Bats. In the past I’ve done well at these lunches, but this year I was way off. It might have been the cold, but I just couldn’t seem to make an impression. The other two writers did a much better job of presenting themselves than I did.

Coming back from lunch I felt like I had done so badly that I was sorely tempted to go take a long nap: like for the rest of the weekend. But I’d paid good money for the chance to talk to agents (the fees go to pay their travel expenses, etc.) and I had to get my money’s worth.

Next up was Jack Byrne. Byrne is a long-time veteran in the industry and was the representative for one of my writing heroes, Andre Norton, who passed away last Thursday, 17 March, at 93.

I offered Byrne my condolences on his loss and he told me that she had left instructions that he was to receive the pen that she wrote with. There were memories of tears in Byrne’s eyes as he told me the story. But the moment passed quickly and he shifted gears with a “tell me your book.”

Like a rank amateur I started to tell him where the story of Cold Silence had come from. Fortunately he stopped me and I said, “I know. Tell you what the story is about, not where it came from.” And I tried, but I just couldn’t find the rhythm. Byrne ended up saying some nice things about the manuscript and making very cogent suggestions and he ended with an offer of reading a query from me if I made the changes he had suggested. Not a bad meeting, but not the kind of impression I like to make.

Then it was off to talk to McCarthy. I don’t know why, but I seemed to find a second wind and sat down to dive right into the pitch as I had written and practiced it. He asked a handful of on-target questions and within five minutes had handed me his card and asked for the first 50 pages. I thanked him and got in line to talk with Hoffman.

It was the perfect way to end the day. Hoffman remembered me from the previous year and his energy was infectious. I gave the pitch again and he liked the twist in the novel. He wanted to know where the idea came from and I gave him the genesis of the story. He handed over his card and told me to box of the manuscript and send it to him.

My goal is to have it in the mail so that it’s on his desk first thing a week from tomorrow. It should go in the mail on Thursday.

What a way to try and make a living. I must be crazy. The gods must be crazy. Or maybe just the World is crazy.

Ignore this post, it’s just a marker

Headspace-On my stereo: Life And Crimes (disk 1) by Alice Cooper; In my backpack: The End Of Faith: Religion, Terror And The Future Of Reason by Sam Harris; On my nightstand: Autumn Bridge by Takashyi Matsuoka; On my computer: Letter in Autumn by Donald Hall; On my screen: Jersey Girl (**) written and directed by Kevin Smith.

The Have Coffee Will Write Crema, named for the lovely layer of thickly effervescent foam that defines well-crafted espresso, is a totally worthless bit of fluff completely devoid of even the faintest whiff of prestige, but hey, I had to do something to bring closure on Louisville: The Coffee House Tour.

The selections are, of course, subject only to my own prejudices and, in the immortal tone of voiceovers everywhere, your mileage may very.

So, with no pomp and even less circumstance the winner of the 2005 Have Coffee Will Write Crema is:

Highland Coffee at 1140 Bardstown Road. This was the place that combined everything to make the perfect coffee house for me. I can imagine spending many a Spring morning there sipping espresso on the patio as I write.

Selecting the top winners was really tough. The next three places are so close that I might as well have drawn lots. So, in that spirit I list them together as the runner’s up. They are:

The Java Brewing Company at 4th and Mohammad Ali-best staff;

The Old Louisville Coffeehouse at 1489 South 4th-coolest location and outdoor seating; and

Day’s Espresso And Coffee Bar at 1420 Bardstown-greatest internal architecture.

My ranking for the other contenders are:

No. 5-Heine Brother’s Coffee at 1295 Bardstown;

No. 6-Perkfection at 359 Spring (Jeffersonville);

No. 7-Expressions Of You Coffee House And Gallery at 1800 West Muhammad Ali;

No. 8-Coffee Treats at 429 West Muhammad Ali;

No. 9-Ermin’s French Bakery at 4th and Broadway; and finally

No. 10-Common Grounds at 802 East 10th (Jeffersonville).

Headspace-On my stereo: Satellite Radio’s Classic Jazz At Perkfectin at the corner of Maple and Spring streets in Jeffersonville, Indiana; In my backpack: The End Of Faith: Religion, Terror And The Future Of Reason by Sam Harris; On my nightstand: Autumn Bridge by Takashyi Matsuoka; On my computer: (Eve speaks to Adam) from Paradise Lost by John Milton; On my screen: Jersey Girl (**) written and directed by Kevin Smith.

OK, Jeffersonville, Indiana, has redeemed itself thanks to Terri Galloway and her sister. The Perkfection coffee house at the corner of Maple and Spring makes a fine espresso (the coffee is roasted by The Java Brewing Company) and you can sit in the front window and watch people doing what people in Jeffersonville do, which, like the whole of the Mid-West, is make it possible for the rest of the country to get along.

The lunch crowd is gone by the time I get there, but Perkfection has the feel of a place where corn futures are discussed in loud tones. And never would anyone make the mistake that a young radio student at Ohio University once made while reading the farm report at 5 a.m. when he informed those who cared that spring ee-wees were up.

I feel much better as I glance back at Exit 0 and hurry across the Ohio River to Louiville again.

Headspace-On my stereo: Country Music Television’s Music Videos At Common Grounds at 10th and Penn streets in Jeffersonville, Indiana; In my backpack: The End Of Faith: Religion, Terror And The Future Of Reason by Sam Harris; On my nightstand: Autumn Bridge by Takashyi Matsuoka; On my computer: (Eve speaks to Adam) from Paradise Lost by John Milton; On my screen: Jersey Girl (**) written and directed by Kevin Smith.

There is much to be said for experience in a barista. We take it for granted, but when you come across one on the first day of the job it can be edifying. That’s what happened at Common Grounds-in Jeffersonville, Indiana, across the Ohio River from Louisville, Kentucky. The high school girl working alone behind the counter confessed that no one had ever come in and ordered just an espresso before. The double espresso I ordered tasted like Maxwell House made with a level-tablespoon-to-the-cup measure. I could almost see the bottom of the eight-ounce polystyrene cup it was served in.

Looking north from the glassed-in front porch of the coffee house I can see the flat horizon you’d expect in southern Indiana. Between me and the long line are Stemler Irrigation, Ritter’s Auto Center with clean used cars and The Dock, serving seafood. My dad once warned me to never eat sea food where you couldn’t see the sea. That does’t apply anymore. But it should.

Life feels so very different on this side of the river. In Louisville there was a sense of the frontier, the urban, the edgy. There is none of that here on 10th street. The cars and pick-ups are shades of beige and silver. The most color I’ve seen has been on semi tractor: one obviously from out of town.

I don’t want to, but I finish my mock espesso. It’s the the thing to do.

Headspace-On my stereo: Shaman by Santana; In my backpack: The End Of Faith: Religion, Terror And The Future Of Reason by Sam Harris; On my nightstand: Autumn Bridge by Takashyi Matsuoka; On my computer: Ireland by John Hewitt; On my screen: Jersey Girl (**) written and directed by Kevin Smith.

The very best coffee shops are all about community. And on Louisville: The Coffee House Tour, I think that a wonderful example of that is Expressions Of You Coffee House And Gallery, out west of downtown, on the south-west corner of 18th and Mohammad Ali. The coffee service is almost hidden in the alcove in the back but there’s no rush to get there. The front is too comfortable. It’s bright with sunshine from the front and side walls of tall glass. In that light, the paintings on your right and the books in front of you and to your left, grab you.

Thomas Nord, assistant editor for Velocity, writes about The Bean Scene in Louisville and picks up on the sense of community.

“I like a family atmosphere,” says Kevin Haggard, killing off the remains of the day at Expressions of You, a coffee house at 18th Street and Muhammad Ali Boulevard. “They welcome you when you come in. It’s not like patronizing a business. It’s like going to see some friends.”

Expressions of You is a secular church, a town meeting hall and an island of calm. “There’s no hidden agenda here,” says Anderson-Linton, 40. “I don’t want somebody to come in and just drink a cup of coffee, then leave. We want this to be a little hangout. When someone comes in here and says they are so comfortable they don’t want to leave, our mission is accomplished.”

The paintings and most of the books are from local artists and writers. The painting styles are all over the place, with the artists clearly expressing their vision. But that is what you expect from painters.

Books, however, are a different matter. Among volumes by the likes of Walter Mosely were the books of local authors like Pandora Jackson-Sears, a retired Louisville school teacher

In Dipped In Milk the:

fears and anxiety weigh heavy on a mothers heart, as Jackson-Sears explores the mind of one black adolescent male, her son. Many black male youth struggle with their individuality and their place accepted in America. Through her conversations with her adolescent son, she reveals the truth regarding the pressures of being a black adolescent male and growing up in America.

It was at Expressions that I got my second dose of Louisville poetry. First, from Evangelene Jordan’s Expressions From The Heart, and then from a children’s collection by Patricia Dave: Come!!! There Is Poetry In The Bag is bright with illustrations by Jimi Lee Martin. I’m sorry now that I didn’t buy a copies of either book.

Because Expressions was one of two coffee houses I visited that did not have wifi, I was unable to check on the books until later and I discoverd to my dismay that not only are there no copies of either book for sale at Powells or gasp Amazon, there also isn’t a copy in the Cleveland Public or Cuyahoga County library system.

What a sad oversight that is. Children, at least, still appreciate poetry and should have all of it we can give.

Headspace-On my stereo: Shaman by Santana; In my backpack: The End Of Faith: Religion, Terror And The Future Of Reason by Sam Harris; On my nightstand: Autumn Bridge by Takashyi Matsuoka; On my computer: Ireland by John Hewitt; On my screen: Jersey Girl (**) written and directed by Kevin Smith.

And now back to our regularly scheduled program-Louisville: The Coffee House Tour continues. As noted above, this morning I’m at Heine Brothers’ Coffee on Bardstown Road. This is the only coffee house in Louisville that I have visited before. In fact, I’ve been here a number of times because Heine Brothers’ occupies the back half of Carmichael’s Bookstore. This was the first time, in fact, in which I didn’t browse the shelves and walk back out with half a dozen books in my backpack. I really am trying to be good about not buying more books until I’ve read those I already own.

But back to coffee. Heine Brothers’ is even more counter-culture than either Highland Coffee (Highland Times…, Monday, 14 March) or Day’s Espresso and Coffee (Hump Day At Day’s…. It’s close, but the bookstore connection that puts Heine at the top of the Bardstown heap when it comes to that certain coffee house ambiance.

I also like the patio area at Heine Brothers’ more than I did the outdoor seating at Day’s (two tables on the sidewalk) or Highland (nice tables in a fenced area accessible from the inside of the coffee house). Again, it’s close, but it’s the little things that make the difference.

The clientele at Heine Brothers’, however, was not as vibrant or interesting as that at Highland (the best crowd of any coffee house I visited) or Day’s. You get the sense that most people who come to Heine Brother’s take their coffee and go. Or, perhaps, they’re all hiding in Carmichael’s? It could be.

Headspace-On my stereo: Living With Her Hair On Fire by Kimberli Ransom; In my backpack: The End Of Faith: Religion, Terror And The Future Of Reason by Sam Harris; On my nightstand: Autumn Bridge by Takashyi Matsuoka; On my computer: Ireland by John Hewitt; On my screen: Jersey Girl (**) written and directed by Kevin Smith.

Louisville: The Coffee House Tour continues-this entry is coming from the original Heine Brothers’ Coffee on Bardstown Road-but I have to take a brief timeout to note Andrew Sullivan’s good works on keeping the continuing revelations about the use of torture in Iraq in front of the public eye.

Writes Andrew this morning:

Anyone who has read even the white-wash reports, like the Church report, knows that what happened at Abu Ghraib was torture under any definition. Anyone who reads the NYT this morning will note that only one [emphasis mine, JH] of the murders took place at Abu Ghraib. This was systemic mistreatment of detainees. It still is. And this doesn’t even deal with the CIA, which has been given carte blanche to torture or kidnap anyone it suspects of terrorism, even if innocent, or to send them to Syria, Egypt or Saudi Arabia to get hung from hooks in the ceiling.

It is wrong to charge, convict and sentence the soldiers in the field and not connect the crimes to their source: those who conceive and propagate policy.

Finally for the benefit of OED lexicographer Bernadette Paton: mansplain, mansplain, mansplain, mansplain, mansplain, mansplain.