It is a widely heard message across Ohio: buy local. Consumers are encouraged to eat, drink, bathe, sleep, live, listen and build local. It is a notion that has gained significant momentum in recent years, despite the rise of multinational chain outlets. However, as one local group has discovered, living local is a hard slog. 

"We are committed to local entrepreneurial ventures. Period," says Patrick Billows, co-founder of the Center for Righteous Aspirational Poverty. "We commend those organizations that refuse to be bought by big business, instead relying exclusively on local organizations, businesses and people to fund their enterprises." 

Billows, the former proprietor of a boutique sweater shop, featuring goods only made using wool from regionally raised alpacas, opened the center in 2008 with his wife and business partner Amanda, who admits their venture was a bit shortsighted. "We launched in November and business was great for the first six months," she says. "When the weather changed in spring, business tanked and never recovered." 

The center raises money for local enterprises by relying on fund-raising efforts at events throughout Northeast Ohio. To date, local philanthropy has helped the organization raise close to $800. "We gave $100 each to six different outlets that sell local products only." The pair kept $200 as rent money for Billows' brother, who the couple lives with. 

"When we opened, we knew it would be tough; we took a vow of poverty to be local," says Renee Dintan, owner of Style Us, a clothing and record shop in Sheffield Lake. "We wanted to carry only locally made clothing and only sell albums recorded by Ohio artists." Dintan argues that the manufacture location of the vinyl is a moot topic given the artists' Ohio connection.

Business at Style Us has been tough, and Dintan sleeps on a pullout cot in the 400 square foot store and relies on a pay phone down the street from her storefront. "We read how interested people were in supporting local businesses – just go on Facebook, and it seems as if everyone is championing a local business," says Dintan. "I see lots of people talk about my store, but I don't think they're all really shopping here."

Jake Pembrooke may disagree.  He owns Father's Farm Cottage in Portsmouth, Ohio, a quiet southern Ohio town where Pembrooke's restaurant business has been booming. "I read about the problems facing local retailers – heck, I even see them; plenty of businesses have come and gone since I opened the Farm Cottage, but we don't seem to be affected," he says. Since opening, Pembrooke's highly seasonal, highly local menu has won rave reviews, and residents are clamoring for a seat. "Everything we serve is from Ohio soil, and while it costs more, it certainly tastes better." An Ohio rib eye with local purple potato hash and a roasted corn maque choux made with local vegetables costs $39. The average yearly income in Portsmouth is $24,000. "Our profit margins are negligible," says Pembrooke. "From staffing, licensing, permits, food, billing, materials and all the other costs, we barely break even, which stinks because there's not much left we can reinvest in the community." It's an alarming trend, according to at least one financial analyst. 

Bill Rearoro, a financial analyst with Bender & Beggs in Canton, says that this situation has historical precedence. "At one time, China was the technological and cultural center of the world," he says. "Yet, after years of self-imposed isolationism, the country crumbled. I see parallels to the misguided if well-intentioned business plans of today's entrepreneurs." Success comes at a price, too. 

 "I opened Primrose Particulars in 2004, selling a variety of locally made goods, from honey and soap to books and pottery," says Janet Primrose. "Yes, we carried lots of other goods to help pay the bills and help us continue to support the local artisans." Local critics saw things differently.

"Being local means you have to struggle, or 'you're not keeping it real,' I was told," says Primrose. "If you make money, you're clearly doing something wrong." Primrose closed her store in late 2009, and now lives in Florida. 

[Photo by Kevin Nortz]

I've never been an avid sports fan. I'll choose the Arts pages over the Sports pages, and I'd rather listen to NPR or music than sports talk radio. I was a mediocre tennis player and had a blessedly short soccer career as a youth. I'm utterly hopeless when it comes to most other athletic pursuits requiring more coordination than a brisk walk. I enjoy watching tennis and I follow Formula 1. I cheer for Cleveland's sports attempts, and the Browns bring out my inner meathead. However, nothing rivals the excitement and intensity of the World Cup. 

Aside from the Olympics, no other sport unites the finest athletes to compete on an international stage with such grand spectacle. Unlike the Olympics, the World Cup has a singular focus: play soccer and play it to win. The games are not for pride of city, region or state. A successful bid on this stage universally translates to transcendent moments of national pride. Unless you're lacking a pulse, it's impossible not to be swept away with the cross-cultural exchange, the sharing of once-in-a-lifetime moments with the whole world as an audience. 

As fans, we linger on every nuance of a game. For soccer newbies, the magic of a moment is quickly learned. Locally, fans, friends and friendly strangers gather around TV sets, in homes and bars. (Editor's Note: Special nod goes to the Charles Stewart Parnell Pub in Cleveland Heights, whose owner Declan Synnott continues a much-appreciated tradition of opening for every single World Cup game, regardless of the hour. It should also be noted that Synnott's pub is home to the finest Guinness pour in the city.) The atmosphere is tense yet friendly, as each passing moment could equally result in tears or cheers. It's an excuse to gather as fellow Americans, fellow Ohioans, fellow Clevelanders and Akronites. For 90 minutes, we can all agree to root for the good guys – ourselves.

On Wednesday, I watched as the United States clinched a hard-earned win in the 91st minute. It was inspired. Despite officials whose questionable judgement threatened to derail the hopes of a nation and the efforts of a focused team, emotions were collectively reigned in for the greater good. It was as expressive a display of determination as you'll ever see. Never once did the United States team relent, and when the odds seemed squarely stacked against them, they rose to the challenge, victors in epic fashion. Although Landon Donovan gets credit for the goal, it was hardly the actions of one man who shaped the course of the game.  

Given the seemingly endless barrage of negative developments at the national and local levels, from oil spills and healthcare debacles to corrupt leaders and a devastated economy, Americans – and Ohioans – could stand to watch a few games. One man isn't going to solve all our problems. No struggle is too great. We work best together, and it only takes a small group to facilitate major change. I hope you're taking notes, sports fans. We all have a sporting chance. Class resumes tomorrow when the United States plays Ghana.

There was a time when enjoying a meal meant sitting down with friends and family, sharing tales from life's rich pageant. "That type of dining is dead," says David Skonting, director of the Northeast Ohio New Media Foodie Club. "Sure, dining is still about sharing a meal with people, connecting with others, but we're advocating doing so on a much bigger scale." 

Skonting and his cronies spend as much time with iPhones and Blackberries in their hands as they do knives and forks. The club's members are encouraged to bring laptops, so that every moment of a meal can be recorded and posted to the Internet's annals of anonymous dining. Others rely on their mobile devices, providing Twitter and Facebook updates as the meal progresses. "Checking in with FourSquare was just the beginning," says Louis Daley, who will open what he calls a "cyber gastropub" this fall in Avon. "We are planning an aggressive Swarm marketing campaign." Twitter subscribers can earn the much-coveted FourSquare Swarm tag by luring large groups to certain destinations at the same time. Daley says that Twitter followers who participate in "swarms" at his restaurant will be rewarded with complimentary cocktail napkins and extra ice cubes in their water.

The Swarm tactic provides a solid group  of customers, but creates havoc for staff members. "Of course, we love the business, and we love the tips," says a host from a popular restaurant who preferred to remain anonymous. "Unfortunately, it negates much of the efforts we make in terms of scheduling to avoid huge influxes of patrons. Our primary goal is to provide excellent service, and having 50 people arrive at once, playing on their computers and Blackberries disrupts the entire restaurant." 

However, NONMFC members disagree, pointing out that business is business, and restaurants should be grateful for the coverage and reward them for dining there. "We're basically the new food critics," says Samantha Brawn. "We talk about the food and tell the chefs who we are. We take pictures and post them on our blogs. This is great publicity for the restaurant, and I've had many chefs apologize after I've posted about bad dining experiences.

"The restaurants need us; the chefs need to reach out to us, offering us special dining experiences, so we have something to write about." Not to be outdone, traditional media–advocates are jumping in on the action, albeit in a way they know how. 

Every Sunday, the Paper Boys, a new social group dedicated to the preservation of print media, meet at a local eatery or coffeehouse, and bring copies of various Sunday newspaper editions. "Our numbers are really growing and certainly holding strong," says Paper Boys founder Richard Dullard. "This so-called 'new media' will never replace the print product, it's just a fad. We'd just as soon ignore the whole thing." At the time of writing, the group had six members, with no new applicants in two months.

For more information, look around the Internet. [Photo by Kevin Nortz]

Moving is never easy. Aside from the physically taxing process of shifting all my worldly possessions, as trivial as they may be, there are great emotional attachments to break. For years, I had called a modest apartment in Cleveland Heights home. I moved there shortly after graduating college, and its proximity to Coventry (read: La Cave du Vin, the Grog Shop and B Side) was immensely appealing. I was a stone's throw from work, first in University Circle, then in Little Italy. I lived with a great friend who I had known since our first days as freshmen at St. Ignatius High School. I made loads of friends in the neighborhood, and navigated a lifetime of meaningful moments I'll never remember. It was ideal.

Then the walls came down.

As an optimistic twentysomething living in Coventry, it was easy to overlook the aging apartment's shortcomings: windows with unique draft features, heating elements that doubled as refrigeration units, a not-so character improving dearth of electrical outlets, a sad kitchen. However, as I aged, so did the apartment. While I did personal maintenance to insure I didn't fall apart, the owners of the apartment did not see fit to do the same with their property.

First, the little apartment that could was stricken with a plumbing problem that prevented my roommate and I from flushing anything. Not pleasant when you share one toilet. It took the landlord months to rectify the problem, and after the horrors I encountered during that time, I don't think I'll ever be the same. Around this time, I also lost my job. The proverbial excrement had really hit the fan. I fled to the Outer Banks for a week that summer, trying to enjoy a vacation that had been booked nearly a year prior. On a journalist's salary, I rarely vacationed.

As the harsh Cleveland winter took hold that year, and I was working from home, I became painfully aware of our landlord's policy of turning off the heat during the day, conveniently between "work hours". Having always been away during those hours, I never noticed. Combine that with poor insulation and the draft flow windows, and I was wearing winter woolies at my desk.

On January 15, the kitchen ceiling collapsed. It had happened for the third winter in a row, and despite repeated calls to the landlord alerting them of ever-increasing water damage. With sub-zero temperatures, the apartment was not livable. It took numerous calls to the City of Cleveland Heights housing department to get the ceiling fixed. That happened more than 10 days after the collapse. That week, I told my roommate I would not be renewing our lease. After a faulty gutter fell from a property owned by our landlord, causing thousands of dollars in damage to my roommate's car less than a month later, he decided that he would not be staying there either. It was the end of an era, but a change was overdue. The apartment was headed in the wrong direction, and my roommate and I were headed in different professional directions. Logistically, I was headed East.

Home is now in North Collinwood. When I tell people I live in North Collinwood, they often take on a blank expression, explaining that they're not familiar with the area. In most cases, they react as if I've just told them I have a terminal illness. In one rare case, my best friend visited and grew nostalgic, as he was raised in the area.

My new apartment represents a new lease on life. My girlfriend and I joke that it's like being on vacation. We have such capitalist extravagances as central air and 21st century windows, an ice maker and countertops.  We even have fully functional plumbing and a ceiling. I'm a one-minute walk to Lake Erie, and the sunrises, midday reflections and sunsets make morning, day and night that much more dramatic. I've always been drawn to the siren song of the water's ebb and tide. Having lived in Ireland, Boston and Rocky River, it may be a deep-seated yearning. As a bonus, I'm very close to the Waterloo Arts District.

I still love Cleveland Heights, and I maintain that there are few places in our region so bursting at the seams with an amazing arts and culture scene, unique shopping and great dining options. Now, I have to drive a few extra minutes to get there, and, as was the case when I lived there, I still have to pay to park everywhere. Tax breaks are nice, too.

Sometimes it takes stepping outside your comfort zone to realize how uncomfortable it made you. Also, my landlord is currently showing my old apartment, if you're interested.

[Sunset photo by Sarah R. Sphar]

Through July 16, Detour at SPACES Gallery presents the work of five artists rerouted by an obstruction. Last month, prior to the exhibit's opening, the artists met to discuss their practices and share their areas of comfort and discomfort. By the end of the evening, each was assigned an obstacle by his or her peers. Their challenge was to create work for the exhibit while dealing with the assigned obstacle, all the while paired with a documentarian who would provide "color commentary" on the process. OhioAuthority arts writer and critic Eleanor LeBeau was asked to participate; this is the second in a series of her blogs - originally published on SPACES' website - documenting the experience of artist Arzu Ozkal. Join SPACES for Detour through July 16.

THE ENDURANCE PERFORMANCE: Day Two

6:08 a.m.

I wake excited and panicked. How am I going to pull off this play-by-play color commentary? I have obstacles, too:   

• Day job
• Distance from here to Oberlin
• Access to Arzu

Plus another big one: Is it even possible to document the creative process? Especially the creation of a performance? All I know is what Arzu tells me verbally and in writing. In the name of mischevious play, she could very well mislead me. There are no sketches or maquettes to give snapshots of her thoughts. 

How does she work? Does she make notes? Write a performance score? Does it happen all in her head? I drink three cups of coffee (milk, no sugar). I listen to music—not NPR’s morning news—on my commute to work. I don’t need anything else to fill my head.

2:53 p.m

I’m at my day job. Arzu beams an email while she’s in class at Oberlin: I have some ideas forming. Shall we meet tomorrow night to discuss? I have to meet with a choreographer at 4 (yes for Detour), so it would have to be after 6, if that’s okay with you.

A choreographer! What kind?

7:38 p.m.  

I hit Arzu’s Web site to learn more about her work. I watch a half-dozen videos. I read everything, except for an article written in Turkish. Slam! I’m shut out. Now that’s a pedagogical moment. Here’s a CliffsNotes version of her practice.  Keep in mind that form and content are inextricably intertwined: 

FORM:

• New Media: video, Web sites, sound
• Public interventions
• Objects: original and appropriated
• Graphic Design
• Lectures
• Teaching

CONTENT: 

• The body as a site of social and political discourse.
• The body as a site of state surveillance and control.
• How is “knowledge” produced?
• What is the relationship between “knowledge” and myth?
• Semiotics: The processes of signification: How do words and objects accrue and produce meaning?
• Strategies used by the “state” to inculcate feelings of  nationalism—i.e. a collective identity and goals—in its citizens. How and why do national symbols like flags evoke profound feelings of nationalism? How is language used to inculcate identity?
• What is the purpose of nationalism?
• Homogeneity is a consequence of nationalism. What are the consequences of homogeneity?
• Personalized digital technologies can be used as a form of government and corporate surveillance. Arzu writes in “Technology Hijacking the Public Sphere,” a 2006 paper delivered at a symposium in Istanbul: Today, everyone in the world—even the youngest member of the populace—is encouraged to connect and stay connected to the network 24/7. It looks great to see those mini-laptops-for-children campaigns in the name of supporting education. Certainly, there will be many positive imapcts. But on the other hand, one should not dismiss that every computer hooked up to the network, every IP address assigned to a person will identify another traceable individual to be surveyed for national security and/or corporate interest.  
• The effects of war on children.
• Strategies for breaking down socioeconomic and racial/ethnic barriers in communities.
• The power of passive resistance.

Good night.