June « 2008 « Black Marks on Wood Pulp / by Corey Vilhauer

Studying expressionism

June 19th, 2008

Where do our facial expressions come from?

Charles Darwin tackled the subject in his book The Expression of the Emotions in Man and Animals, and now a study published in Nature Neuroscience has revisited the question.

(Check out NPR.com for the full audio version of the article.)

It seems that facial expressions were developed to create a survival advantage. For instance, an expression of fear increases sensory information by opening up the eyes, flaring the nostrils and speeding up eye movements, allowing for better peripheral vision and faster breathing. An expression of disgust elicits an opposite response, scrunching up the face to shut out unpleasant sensory information. It all makes a lot of sense – so much that I’m surprised it hadn’t been noticed before.

Of course, it had never been studied before – at least, not since Darwin threw together his thoughts 125 years ago. It seems like such a simple subject, a natural point of curiosity. Why smile? Why frown? Why were these expressions ever developed, outside of simple communication?

It’s something that seems very interesting to me. Yet, despite purchasing Darwin’s book over a decade ago, I’ve never opened it.

I will admit, at times I feel a twinge of the excitment I used to experience while studying science years ago. It’s a facinating field, one filled with constant dicovery, one that slowly uncovers every secret of our life.

So though I’ve never opened Darwin’s book, I can’t help but thinking that, even if it’s just for a chapter or two, it’s about time I did.

Comments: 2

Issues Considered: Books, Journalism, Science

BBC in SD

June 19th, 2008

Five and a half years ago, Kerrie and I moved from St. Cloud, Minnesota, back to our hometown of Sioux Falls. It was a happy occasion all around, save one minor annoyance: I had lost my BBC World News Service.

Four years of dedicated Minnesota Public Radio listenership had spoiled me. It’s not that South Dakota Public Broadcasting was that much different. They played many of the same programs as MPR, offered the same insightful local news and public interest and overall filled a void that commercial broadcasting created. But they didn’t offer BBC World News Service.

No. Instead, we got classical music. Seriously. Both during midday and overnights. Classical music. Sleepy strings and muted tympanis and other classical stuff.

I’ve always felt that classical music on a public radio station is an antiquated ideal, something that only perpetuates the general opinion of public radio as snotty, stuck up, over-intellectual tripe. I don’t know anyone who listens to it, especially in my younger generation. It’s like public radio filler, something put on because they can’t go silent.

As if the classical music itself wasn’t a silence of its own. BBC World News

I don’t have any beef with classical music as a genre. Aside from the fact that it was impossible to keep organized while I worked at Best Buy, I have respect for the music. It’s just that I don’t think it belongs on the radio. Especially when there was great chance to offer something that no one in South Dakota else did – unbiased world news in a sweet British accent.

Once, while camping, we were listening to the director of SDPB present a question and answer session on changes to their radio services. I grabbed my cell phone, ran to the edge of the lake (where our service was better) and made my plea: please, please, please bring BBC World News to SDPB. Please.

“We will keep it in mind. But many people enjoy our classical programming.”

Oh yeah? Name one.

Those people will be very upset today. An announcement during the morning news program revealed that I may have been right after all. Due to a lack of listeners, the overnight classical programming is being cancelled – from their end, not SDPB’s – and it will be replaced with…

…wait for it…

BBC World News Service.

Comments: 6

Issues Considered: Journalism

A champion’s swagger

June 17th, 2008

I never realized a championship could feel so good. Of course, I had never felt so much emotion toward a team. Not the Pacers. Not the Bulls. Until now, I’ve never really felt like a fan, never been willing to watch every game, to count every point, to become a livid and inconsolable fanatic.

(c) ESPN And before this season, I couldn’t have been. There was no Boston Celtics last season – at least, no Boston Celtics like this team. In just a few months, a franchise went from laughingstock to contender, rebuilt to championship level like a phoenix rising from the ashes of lottery hell. The right moves were made, and luck was on their side. Red Auerbach looked on, winked and said “That’ll do.”

A legion of fans have latched onto this team, and they’re all deserving of their new fandom. Because this isn’t a team like the Spurs or Pistons. This isn’t a bandwagon that everyone can jump on top of. This wasn’t even a team last season. This was a blackened shell, a mockery of legend. It took a firestorm and a miracle to rebuild it, and we’re looking at a brand new team.

Seriously. Did you see this team last year?

Kevin Garnett and Ray Allen brought new life to the team. Ultimately, they brought new life to Paul Pierce, creating a trio that could not be denied. A series of legendary games was highlighted by a group of legendary players – guys that you could love, guys you could respect.

For a long time, I wasn’t sure how to do that anymore. Five years of Ron Artest and Jamaal Tinsley can do that to someone.

More than anything, I feel the best for Kevin Garnett, my favorite player in the league, an amazing talent, a paragon of intensity. Up until a few minutes ago, he was arguably the best player never to win a championship. He was a player so tied to his word that he hated moving out of Minnesota, hated himself and hated the idea, until it became evident that everyone else expected him to. One night in a steak house. One night, the beginning of selfishness, of getting what he wanted. Of not turning his back on his fans, but instead turning toward greatness, the exclamation point of a career.

This was the spark that changed the landscape, that shifted the parquet floor beneath the team’s feet. One choice, one forced hand, and we’re looking at a different team – an animal that we never thought we’d see, a joining of three nearly also-rans to form a holy triumvirate.

And just like for KG and Ray Allen, everything for me started over this season.

At the beginning of the year, I was a Pacers fan. I was a Garnett and Allen and Pierce fan, but above all, I was a Pacers fan. I was a Larry Bird fan; a Bill Russell fan; a Kevin McHale fan. But before all of that, I was a Pacers fan.

Then, something happened.

The Boston Celtics created a championship team not by adding a superstar to an already talented team. They did it the hard way, building a team from the bottom up, changing the culture from one of dishonor to one of intensity, of a dominant streak that makes the Celtics teams of the past proud. They did it with honor, bringing in good players and good people and meshing them into a team – a team, by God.

My fanhood made a similar shift this year. It was spit upon, thrown around and abused by a team that had broken my heart more than once. I started the season without any allegiances, refusing to pay attention to the trainwreck in Indiana, instead rekindling fond memories of my father preaching the gospel of the Celtics. I remembered my love for Larry Bird, my reverence for those 80s teams, my respect for the green and white, my hatred of the Lakers, and one by one, each piece fell into place, as if I was building my own team of discarded and forgotten role players and disgruntled future hall-of-famers.

I built a new way to watch basketball this year. One steeped in history. In legacy. And it coincided with a championship. And I feel like I’ve been rewarded.

This feels natural. This Celtics team is exactly what I’ve always wanted to follow.

I never thought a championship could feel so good.

For Ray Allen. For Paul Pierce. For Kevin Garnett. For a legion of fans that have felt cursed since Len Bias passed away, followed by Reggie Lewis. For people who have been following since the 1960s, and for those who have stood behind them for just this season. For Boston residents and transplants, and for those who have never stepped foot in the city. For the history. For the future. For the sake of everyone who has thrown on a Celtics shirt, or donned a hat, or screamed at the television screen, or wiped a bead of sweat from their nervous forehead as the Celtics snuck out another win.

Soak it up. This is as good as it gets.

This feels good.

Comments: 2

Issues Considered: Basketball, Boston Celtics, Sports

On respecting magazines

June 16th, 2008

At home, I read books. I enjoy their heft. They’re created out of time, like a sculpture, and their solidity makes me feel like I’m doing something filled with honor; something worthwhile.

Or course, I also read magazines, but with a much slighter frequency. I find that I don’t give magazines any respect. They’re too easy to throw away, filled with short snippets of information. I enjoy them, yet, I don’t trust them. I refuse to let myself get caught up in them, regardless of my personal desires.

Why the difference?

I’ve always convinced myself that it’s a matter of time. Magazines come too often. I don’t have time to read everything. And being a completist, I’m the kind of person who feels the need to page through every article – whether or not I read them – in order to feel as if I’ve gotten everything I can get out of a magazine.

They’re also time sensitive, for the most part. A book I can set aside for months – years even – but a magazine begs to be read immediately.

So I don’t subscribe to magazines, even though that’s exactly what I should be reading in my much busier, post-delivery life. Instead, I cling to books, which are more difficult to read and ostensibly solid. They’re permanent, while magazines are flighty. They’re serious, while magazines are jaunty.

And here’s the irony. I cling to books, yet I haven’t completed one in over a month. In fact, I haven’t read one since May.

But magazines? I devour the trade pubs at work. I read Paste at home. I would probably get a lot of use out of a subscription to The New Yorker, or The Believer.

At home, I read books – but really I don’t. Instead, I pretend to read books, while actually scouring the house for magazines. Which, as I said before, I don’t trust.

When it comes to reading, I’ve got a lot of things to sort out.

Comments: 2

Issues Considered: Books, Journalism, Literature

Fresh baked

June 14th, 2008

Just a quick gush: Queen City Bakery in downtown Sioux Falls has some of the best baked goods you can imagine. Using fresh fruit and veggies from Warner’s (where we get our CSA) and a healthy dollop of butter, they’re heavenly. Seriously.

Queen City Bakery And as if that wasn’t enough, they’re in this great little loft-style bakery next to Latitude 44 – a classy, rustic looking downtown building filled with great food. It’s like a little bit of big city bakery mistakingly dropped into the middle of Sioux Falls.

The best part? They’re doing well. There was a sizable line the last time we went. Which is refreshing. If you’re in the Sioux Falls area, you owe it to yourself to visit. And tell Mitch hello.

Of course, our pear muffins and lemon-citrus scones and asparagus quiche from Queen City weren’t the only baked goods we ingested. On a day where we wondered how we could use our super-healthy CSA share, we spent more time devouring delicious pastries and donuts.

Donuts? Not from Queen City – from across the state: Wall, SD. Specifically, Wall Drug. They’re about as tasty as you can get. I suggest the maple frosted donuts.

(And yes, the Wall Drug donut mention is really an excuse to post some pictures I took with our new Canon. I love food porn.)

Donuts from Wall Drug

Comments: 1

Issues Considered: Random

The CSA: Week 3

June 14th, 2008

What we’ve learned over the past week is simple. You can have all of the fresh vegetables in the world at your fingertips but they aren’t worth a lick if you don’t have anything planned.

That was our problem this week. Our Week 2 share went largely untouched – unspoiled, yet uneaten. The dilemma was two-pronged; I was sick for half the week, and we never made a plan.

Ah, a plan.

When I was in college, I had no plan. I made whatever met my whimsy: macaroni and cheese, frozen pizza, ramen noodles – these are things that take little forethought. I didn’t need to rush around wondering if I had used all of the rest of the rice wine vinegar – on the contrary, I needed water.

Water. That we had.

Now, with a family leaning toward healthy eating and a 10-month old more interested in, well, anything that doesn’t involve Mommy or Daddy spending time in the kitchen, meal planning has become a true art.

Case in point: we have a bunch of green onions. We can a) put them on salad, b) involve them in a recipe or c) let them rot. The salad was easy. Rotting wasn’t an option. And because we hadn’t made a plan or visited the grocery store, a recipe was impossible.

So here we are, nearly all of last week’s CSA share intact. Add in this week’s assortment, and it’s as if we have a double share of our CSA. This week we received the same veggies as last week, though in much fresher and bountiful quantities. The lettuce is looking great, and the kohlrabi finally seems to be ready to pick. That’s good for quality. But that’s bad for the increasing pile of veggies in the fridge.

For this week, we’re looking at:
Kohlrabi
Rhubarb
Green onions
Radishes
Lettuce
Beets

Thankfully, we have stocked the fridge with something other than Fat Tire and pickle relish.

Which means we’re ready to cook. Again. For real.

Seriously. Our fridge can’t hold anymore green onions as it is.

Scanning the dial

June 12th, 2008

When I was younger, I would lie in bed with my Sony Walkman and scan the radio stations.

The tuner was phenomenal. Whether by nighttime resonance or a fluke in manufacturing, I was able to pick up radio stations from thousands of miles away, as if my Walkman had been equipped with a guerilla shortwave function. I would listen to Seattle Supersonics broadcasts. I would pick up Southern Baptist sermons from Tennessee. All from my room near downtown Sioux Falls.

As my fingers rolled the dial, I would find myself transported into someone else’s listening experience, like uncovering a letter someone had meant to mail but thought otherwise.

I found it to be phenomenal at the time. I was traveling, picking up rogue signals from a place I had never realized existed. I was eavesdropping on someone else’s community, tapping into their signal and making it my own.

It didn’t matter what they were talking about. Just that they were talking, just talking into the air, hoping someone would pick up their comments, hoping somehow they would make a difference. And that I was listening, from where I was, a million gallons of air separating us.

Now, when we camp, we tote along a short-wave radio. At night, we often scan the channels, staring into the fire and reaching out to the world. We hear radio from Japan, from China, from France. The world is condensed and brought together in our hands, so that after several beers we feel like world travelers, leaning back and listening, just as I did with my Walkman, to so many voices from so far away.

Sometimes I wonder if that’s what we’re doing in the blogosphere. Some sites have signals that are a little stronger, so they’re picked up by everyone. Others, like this humble little site, are tripped upon by people wandering through my section of the dial.

Sometimes I wonder if people just stop and listen, even for a little bit, because they too are traveling throughout a world full of messages, though this time the messages are a lot clearer. A lot easier to find. Just as muddled, but pointed all the same.

And I do the same thing I did then. I’ll roll my thumb over the dial. I’ll land on someone else’s blog, read their thoughts, move on. Sometimes I make it back. Sometimes I don’t. Either way, I feel like I did back then, in bed, searching the airwaves for a different voice, something I could sneak up next to and experience from a different angle.

As a stranger. And as a traveler.

Comments: 4

Issues Considered: Blogging, On..., Vilhauer