We called it hamburger-potato goulash. These three words -- hamburger! potato! goulash! -- evoke memories of warm summer evenings clinging to my mother's legs in the kitchen as she whipped up a batch for the evening meal. When times were good, we got goulash. Goulash memories are happy memories.

A bit of background: If you've ever cracked a joke about poor white trash, the butt of your joke was me at the age of 3. My father was your standard shiftless batterer. My mother was too smart to be there but too afraid to leave. I was their straw-thin, hyperactive daughter. My brother was just a baby. We were a family of four, poor as dirt, living the low life in Lubbock, Texas. The year was 1976.

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I was out on a date. The guy seemed nice, but he wasn't. I won't go into details because it's too painful and not necessary, but he raped me.

I'm OK with it now. I've had some therapy. I've moved on. I don't even think about it all that often. It certainly doesn't affect us, just me, but like I said, I'm fine. I'm a survivor. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, right? I just thought, if we're to grow close to one another, it's important for you to know this thing about me. I hope you won't think I'm needy or fucked in the head or anything like that.

Hey, are you OK? You seem distant.

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"Perhaps I am not the most patient creature in the universe to date, but it seems to me that I have been awaiting the Today Sponge's return for years. I would appreciate some concrete information. Where is it?" demands another.

Others can express only gratitude: "I am so glad that [the Today Sponge] is finally coming back! I am so miserable without them! I cannot be on the Pill anymore, and I used to use these things all the time! Only went to the Pill because they got rid of the sponge! My prayers are finally answered!"

Who can blame them for being anxious? It's been five long years since the Today Sponge sat on drugstore shelves. In March 1999, the newly formed Allendale Pharmaceutical Co. announced it would bring back the sponge, possibly as soon as fall 1999.

Fall came and went, then winter. Now Allendale predicts its resurrected product will be released in Canada sometime this month, and in the United States no later than May. For fans of the contraceptive sponge it can't happen soon enough.

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But on Monday, while pointing and clicking away at the computer next to this window, I learned that more than a crime a day takes place around here. Some 516 crimes occurred in the vicinity between February 1999 and February 2000, including 198 cases of larceny; 95 cases of burglary; nine rapes and two attempted rapes; 59 cases of auto theft; two car-jackings; 35 armed robberies; 11 cases of child abuse; 40 assaults; seven cases of arson; 17 reports of domestic violence and one homicide.

I found these stats on CrimeWatch, a one-of-a-kind application on the Oakland city Web site. Basically, an interactive map, CrimeWatch lets anyone select an area of the city and find out how many crimes have been committed there over a specified period of time. Originally created for internal use by the police department and city officials, the site allows users to create maps, graphs and spreadsheets, which can then be downloaded for personal use -- or activism.

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"There's been a certain group of people who I'd say are feeling somewhat depressed. It's like we have all had a relationship with Y2K for one year -- or if we were working with Y2K, for three or five years -- and we're suddenly divorced on 1/1/00," says Sheryl Coryell, a licensed marriage and family counselor who co-founded the group. "There is loss involved. I'm not saying we wanted something bad to happen, but there is a relationship between you and this thing called Y2K. It artificially got cut off," she explains.

The group, which will also be led by therapist Claude DeLaubert, will meet for a minimum of six weeks and address the issues of loss and disappointment, as well as anger, guilt and shame experienced by those who feel betrayed by the media and retailers who capitalized on pre-New Year's hysteria.

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Last week I was reminded of this by Salon's story about how the U.S. government paid networks to slip anti-drug messages into their scripts. As much as I'd like to see an episode of "Friends" where Joey gets addicted to crack and sodomizes all his roommates, I find abhorrent the idea that our elected officials will spare no expense and violate any law or civil right in the name of wiping out drugs -- an effort that, so far, has been 100 percent ineffective.

Here are a few more pernicious moments courtesy of the U.S. government.

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Cleveland Free Times, Jan. 19-25

"Bullied" by Sean Rapacki

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As the poet Ogden Nash once said, "Any kiddies in school can love like a fool,/But hating, my boy, is an art." Indeed, to hate and hate well is a difficult task. The object of rancor must be chosen with a sharp eye for deep and complex flaws, to fuel your burning abhorrence. And one must be absolutely certain that the object of ire is indeed deserving; much scorn is misdirected, and hence wasted.

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Salt Lake City Weekly, Jan. 6-12

"SUV Luv" by Andrew Haley

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Metro Times Detroit

"Apocalypse, please" by Metro Times staff

This list of 1,000 reasons the Metro Times staff is glad the last millennium is over is actually just a shortsighted itemization of tripe from the last 50 years in pop culture. A sample: Heaven's Gate cult, Blue Oyster Cult, Ishtar, Jar Jar Binks, Virginia Slims ads ... Like who isn't pissed about "The Mummy"?

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I am reminded of D.H. Lawrence, who frequently would step out of his novels' plots and characters (quite notably in "Lady Chatterly's Lover") to reflect on what the Industrial Revolution meant to the English countryside he grew up on. Today, his worries seem quaint. But they are a useful reference point. Like Lawrence, we are struggling to understand and explain the changing landscape of our culture. Future readers may look upon these stories and chuckle at our naiveti and excessive verbiage. For now, let's take a moment to immerse and confuse ourselves in this brave new world.

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Seattle Weekly, Dec. 16-22

"Option envy" by Soyon Im

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But there's the conundrum. We're a nation that thinks with its eyes. We'd just as soon overlook unpleasantness -- unless it comes with a pretty face and a compelling story. So we dress up tragedy in a visual language and cross our fingers that we haven't pissed all over our object lesson's life or grave. We hope we've allowed our subject to retain his or her uniqueness, even as the story ratchets up thousands of hits on the Internet. They're yelling at each other again on CNN. A poster child is born.

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L.A. Weekly, Dec. 10-16

"The Dutiful Daughter" by Jim Crogan

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Take the new Arnold Schwarzenegger vehicle, "End of Days." Any cognizant being could see from the previews that one word, and one word only, could describe the film and its content: "crap." But of course that doesn't get critics off the hook.

The agreeable took the easy way out and described the film as -- and I sum up -- "A rollicking, action packed, apocalyptic hootenanny!" That's fine if you're writing to endear yourself to the L.A. film publicists. Commentators who wish to maintain their indie street cred must resort to either seething disdain, stand-up comedy or some amusing combination of the two.

The plot

"A young woman (Robin Tunney of 'The Craft' in a woefully underwritten role) is the chosen bride of ... (say it like Dana Carvey's Church Lady) SATAN! If he has her during the hour immediately preceding the millennial midnight, 'the world as we know it will cease to be.' So sayeth Rod Steiger ..." (The Hartford Advocate)

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Few, if any, can escape his bellowing cry: "Buy! Buy! Buy, dammit! Buy!"

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Imagine, if you will, the staff of your local alternative news source as a dysfunctional family. In the basement you have the rebellious teenagers, bucking tradition, subverting social norms and crashing the family car; we call them "editorial." In the master suite you have the parents who earn the dough that feeds the brats and enables them to pursue their snotty dreams of journalistic glory -- call them "sales." For the most part, these two factions coexist in a peaceful, though tense, state. Once a year, however, the parents demand that the kids dress themselves up, grab a tin cup and make with the caroling.

The result: The dread holiday gift guide.

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"Is It Time to Pull the Thug?" by Michael Kiefer

The entertainment media have imported urban gang culture -- slogans, clothing, even violence -- to the United States' most isolated, sleepy suburbs. Now, argues Michael Kiefer in this provocative essay, it is time for the media to use its powers of persuasion to combat gang-related violence occurring in neighborhoods where there are no air-conditioned shopping malls.

Kiefer points to the many expressions of gang culture in white suburbs as proof of MTV's and other media's success in packaging and selling the deadly lifestyle: pop songs with lyrics about murder, pants with pockets for ammo sold at J.C. Penney, gang slogans appearing on T-shirts and ski caps. It's a fascinating analysis of mall fashion statements and their origins.

Of course, despite a few well-publicized exceptions, suburban teens are not killing each other with the frequency that inner city children are. Gangster style may have been a successful import, but the accompanying violence seems to have, for the most part, stayed put. More likely, these teens relate to this violent, outsider imagery because it fills them with a sense of power as they begin the arduous task of asserting their independence from parental authority. Harmless teenage rebellion.

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The technology that runs these quizzes has not evolved much since then, but our understanding of how to make the best use of it has. Now, instead of a quiz asking whether you'd vote for Oprah or Warren, there's one that tells you who you should be voting for and why.

SelectSmart's American Presidential Candidate Selector lists 17 multiple-choice questions that gauge your opinion on key issues. It then compares your answers to the campaign promises of 18 presidential hopefuls and tells you who to vote for -- or at least whose platform comes closest to your views.

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I do not follow sports. But while the details of who made what play and who won what series may have slipped my radar, I haven't failed to notice one glaring fact: In sports reporting, women's teams (college and pro) almost always come second. I've observed that WNBA games are scheduled for 10 or 11 at night, while NBA games get prime time play. I can't remember the last time a women's sports event or issue received front-page coverage; perhaps it was Women's World Cup. When I have seen female sports stars displayed prominently, they're usually barely clothed and hawking a product or posed on the cover of a men's magazine. (You want media attention? Show us your sports bra!)

As Webb puts it: "I don't think it's [women's sports] treated with any respect. A lot of the editors, of course, come from earlier times when women's sports weren't on the map at all. Also, through the years it really has been seen as something that is covered after the 'real' sports stories."

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Like most online dating services, VeggieDate is little more than an SAT-like series of multiple choice/true-and-false questions filtered through a software program and sorted into categories. When this system works, it leaves as little room as possible for the unexpected: Not only don't I want to date a meat-eater, but I want to know HOW VEGGIE ARE YOU? before I set about getting to know you. Bisexual vegans only, please.

I've searched long and hard on Match.com and Matchmaker.com. But nowhere did they ask me about my meat-eating habits. Elvis vs. Beatles? Salsa vs. Swing? Yes. Steak or celery? No. If I'd chosen the Internet to make my love connection, and meatlessness was my highest criteria, then why shouldn't I use VeggieDate?

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The deluge of words accompanying this grim anniversary seems like a lot of fuss over what was, essentially, a one-hit wonder. Near the end of Kerouac's life, his anger against hippies and embrace of middle-class existence, save for the drinking, revealed him to be more icon than iconoclast. Yet his most famous work continues to inspire and influence our culture, so mention must be made. Here are two of the more unusual takes I've read on the fellow's life, work, death and legacy.

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Sennett is the editor of NewCity.com, which functions as a selective portal for the alternative press. He begins each day by scouring the Web sites of New City's 54 affiliates -- an impressive list of alternative newspapers and zines -- for news stories and features to link to. The site's latest addition, Alternative Vote 2000, went live last week. Like NewCity, it's a portal, but focused entirely on the upcoming election. Sennett hopes Alternative Vote will "bring an alternative press-type voice back to the national campaign coverage that we really haven't seen since Rolling Stone made an impact in the '60s and '70s."

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My response was that advertisers simply put the money where the eyeballs are. Four out of five eyeballs prefer crap to quality. Advertisers have a job to do. They want to reach as many eyeballs as possible, and preferably eyeballs that will be interested in what you have to sell. Hence, sports gear in Gear, cosmetics in Cosmo, and so on. If you want to have an intelligent, beautiful publication that's fine. But you shouldn't be shocked if subscription cards aren't overflowing your mailbox and advertisers aren't pounding down your door, wads of cash in hand, no strings attached.

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