Cheese

November 13, 2009


I love cheese. Love it.

LOVEIT.

Kerrie asked me recently to guess the three classes of consumables she appreciated the most. I kinda sorta guessed correctly: coffee, beer, bread. And, I wholeheartedly agree – my three are nearly the same, with the only difference being my choice of cheese over bread.

(Though both are crucial for the most underrated great food in the world: the grilled cheese.)

Coffee. Beer. Cheese. I’m good, thanks.

That being said, there are things I don’t want to know about cheese.

It’s fermented. Through acid and coagulation, it’s rotted to a perfect, pungent taste. It’s separated like bad cream, the chunky part smashed and left to sit. Sometimes, it’s curdled.

We usually throw out things that are curdled.

It’s moldy. It’s often filled with gross things like pimentos and horseradish. It’s smelly. It has a rind. Oranges have a rind, and you DON’T EAT THE RIND.

It’s populated with weird (albeit awesome) words. Curd. Rennet. Milkfat. Blue vein. Sometimes, it’s barely cheese at all; it’s milk-like (see: Époisses) or it’s processed (see: Velveeta).

Despite the fact that it’s a staple in my diet, and despite the fact that it’s responsible for my second favorite Monty Python sketch, cheese is sort of creepy.

If you think about it too much.

Which is why I don’t think about it too much.

[Prompt: Cheese is sort of creepy, if you think about it too much.” – Abi Jones, editrix of Heat Eat Review, UX expert, Arnold Schwarzenegger expert.]

Tags: BMOWP: By Request, Food |

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From cliques to computers

November 12, 2009


When we’re in high school, the differences between cliques and social classes are evident. Striking, even, in that, once they are set, there is nothing short of a miracle that could release you from one to another.

After all, barring relocation or other life-altering change, we’re in the same group as everyone our age – in fact, we’ve probably been with some of them since grade school, moving from situation to situation together, a tightly packed puzzle, all pieces ultimately fitting together for society’s sake despite their defined borders.

And then, graduation. Everyone scatters.

Some stick around. Others go to college. Even more wander. And suddenly, because the constraints of grade and social circle and cliques have been broken, we’re forced to reinvent our identity. No longer tied to each other, we search for a new group. The unlikable join with the prom queens, the nerds team up with jocks.

The petty differences of public school are erased in the name of industry. And, just like that, the industry itself becomes independent of the groups that defined them in public school.

Example: in high school, you knew who the “spends too much time on the Internet” people were. But in college, EVERYONE is part of the “spends too much time on the Internet” group. It’s at this time everyone realizes that the world of the Web isn’t based on geekery and nerdiness, but on the same standards the rest of the world embraces.

Because for the Web to be as encompassing as it is, it needs people from every discipline, every social circle, every clique. It needs artists and geeks and gregarious marketers. It needs hyper-competitive sports nuts and moody goth filmmakers and word nerds. It needs everyone.

It’s this inclusion – and the surprisingly accepting nature of those in the computer industry, whether it be in technical support or design creation – that blurs the line between who was cool and who wasn’t.

Because the Internet is cool, now. Working for the Internet is even cooler.

And it took a little bit of everyone to make it that way.

[Prompt: Is the perception of IT workers/programmers changing in America? Or are we still the nerds in the dark? Why or why not? – Chris Uthe, who likes cars a lot and has a blog under the same name.]

Tags: BMOWP: By Request, On..., Technology |

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Wikitention deficit

November 10, 2009


Talk about being hard to pin down. Welcome to my mind on Wikipedia.

First, I look up Neanderthals (Homo sapiens neanderthalensis), primarily to make the distinction between Neanderthals and prehistoric Homo sapiens sapiens. I’m instantly distracted by the fact that, despite there have been no definite specimens younger than 30,000 years old, there is evidence of fire by Neanderthals at Gibraltar dating 24,000 years ago.

My first thought: “How do they know the fire was from Neanderthals?” My second thought “OMG CLICK GIBRALTER.”

Gibralter, a British territory best known for the rock of the same name, is self-governed. It is home to the only wild apes in Europe (the Barbary Macaques, which number 230.)

The Rock of Gibraltar itself is famously used by Prudential Financial as their logo.

Prudential Financial holds more than $2 trillion in life insurance, and has received a 100% rating on the Corporate Equality Index (compiled by the Human Rights Campaign) since 2003.

The Corporate Equality Index rates companies on a sale of 0-100 based on the “10 Principles of the Equality Project,” which include provisions designed to help promote equality in the workplace.

The Human Rights Campaign uses that “yellow equals sign on blue background” logo that seems very familiar to me from an “I went to a liberal college” standpoint.

It’s at this point – and it happens every time – that I barely remember how I ended up on this tangent.

Listen, I know this isn’t an incredibly original point. (In fact, I’ve probably posted something about it in the past.) But seriously, it never fails.

From Albert Brooks to Kerry Von Erich.

From Harry Beck to particle acceleration.

Wikipedia lowers my attention span to that of a two-year old. Though, lets face it; sometimes, that’s okay.

After all, it got me out of writing about Neanderthal copulation.

[Prompt: “Neanderthals and prehistoric humans probably had sexual encounters.” – Miles Rausch, who often uses an exclamation point in his name, of which I refuse to comply. Also, he’s proficient on the Web: Of Miles Rausch, The Miles Rausch Family Website, Newsbleep ... whatever, too many to count.]

Tags: BMOWP: By Request, Random Links |

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On seeing Audis everywhere

November 5, 2009


Ever since I started my current job, I see Audis everywhere.

My bosses both drive Audis. I had never noticed them before. Now, during my short commute to work, I swear I see at least 700 Audis. Silver. Black. Sometimes white. But always Audis. The model is unnecessary – after all, all Audi sedans look the same: which is to say, they look like understated luxury; all clean lines and simplicity and modern class.

It’s like there was a sudden boom in April 2006. Like, the stars aligned and now everyone had one. Just like my bosses.

Part of this is location. I work in the south end of Sioux Falls, which is a higher income area. Because it’s the South Dakota way to eschew flashiness in the ways of wealth, Audis have become the car of choice over the typical luxury vehicle: Jaguar, Mercedes, whatever. So there are a lot of them out there.

The other is the phenomenon of our mind focusing on what it knows. When we bought our Jetta, we suddenly started seeing Jettas everywhere. Not because there were more, but because it had finally entered our lexicon.

The same holds true for catching the clock at 11:11 (as in, you only remember it at that point because it’s so recognizable, and it seems like more often than not.) Or, for hearing the same songs on the radio over and over again.

Maybe this is what allows people to be so closed minded about certain political and social differences. Though they may have been exposed, they haven’t truly experienced a change in mindset. Therefore, it’s off the radar.

Sometimes, these coincidences – which seem like a divine aligning of the stars – are simply that: coincidences. But as humans, we seek answers beyond the uninteresting. We want to believe.

The fact is: if you suddenly start seeing marsupials everywhere, stop and look around. It doesn’t mean that there’s some kind of cosmic connection. It might simply mean you’re in Australia.

[Prompt: “Marsupials” – Katie Levitt, creative director, copywriter, blogger at Over Caffeinated Katie.]

Tags: BMOWP: By Request, On..., Science |

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A receding hairstyle

November 4, 2009


Hair is something sacred. It’s often the first thing you notice about a person. It’s a central piece of style; entire industries are built upon hair in a way that other body parts barely touch upon.

The love affair with hair could be scientific. After all, it protects our head, somewhat; that is, as much as your head needs protection from things like extreme cold and extreme heat. That’s what its original evolutionary purpose was, you know. To regulate body temperature.

But to many, it also protects our pride. Which means, to just as many, it’s difficult to change.

A botched haircut or style can’t be fixed easily. It takes time. And with that time comes weeks of embarrassment. A feeling of dread. Some have gotten past this. “It’s only hair,” they say. “It will grow back!”

Others haven’t.

You see this every day. You see this every time you notice an awful hairstyle, and you think to yourself, “Wow. That’s really bad.”

“Did they even look at themselves this morning?”

“Is that hair even relevant?”

But imagine the mind that rests under that hair. It’s comfortable. And quite possibly, it’s scared. Scared of change. And scared of chance.

I know this because I went through it myself. Always at war with my hair, I often wear outdated styles simply because I don’t want to mess with what works. And I’m not alone: look around, and you’ll find people still clinging to their 80s bangs, or their dirty grunge ponytail, or their creepy combover.

I don’t believe these strange hairstyles carry on because the wearers are ignorant. Simply, they are afraid of the change.

Because hair doesn’t grow back instantaneously. And for some, that’s too much of a risk to take.

[Prompt: "Strange Hair" - James Zajicek, who works at a video producer at Good Samaritan Society and seconds my claims that Mason Jennings is both underrated and destined for greatness.]

Tags: BMOWP: By Request, On..., Vilhauer |

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On getting sick, and how it faintly and probably incorrectly relates to Hume’s Fork.

November 2, 2009


It starts with a tickle, sometimes observed as a scratch, often discovered through chance. Then, the cough, occurring on its own, without the baggage of an entire suite of symptoms. But those symptoms are there: the cough reaches down a little too far, brings up phlegm when it should simply bring up noise.

Then, the coughs show up every few minutes; no longer an anomaly, they now represent a symptom. And there are surely more to follow.

Headache. Puffy eyes. A body that moves as if shackled to the air. Heavy breathing after a walk up the stairs, your lungs kicking into overdrive earlier than usual. Aches.

The aches, oh the aches. Up until this point, you’re running on observation. You assume you’re getting sick, or maybe you’re thinking it will all go away soon, that it’s a frustrating but easily defeated anomaly. But when the aches come – creeping up, revealing themselves after a cough, or after you bend over, etc. – you know that things are shifting into cold hard fact.

Thus, the lifelong debate begins again. Because you’re still decent, and not completely wiped out, you feel like you should go home. Save yourself and your co-workers. Spend the afternoon on the couch watching old DVDs, resting, waiting for it to pass. But, you have stuff to do. And it will still be here when you return.

For a few hours, it’s always the same. Do you wait? Or do you play it safe?

And after those few hours are gone, it’s also always the same. You waited too long. Now you’re sick, and the sickness is threatening to define you, like the top tong of Hume’s Fork.

Up until the point of agony, you’re only feeling sick. You’re rationalizing the senses. You’re trying to force yourself into being well. And then – boom – there’s no longer any rationalizing, as the grays fade away and you’re just SICK. The headaches, the aches, the coughs, the nausea – it’s all defining, at that point, easily substituted for a analytical equation.

1 + 1 = 2. No room for thought or sense or feeling.

You’re sick. And that sickness has become all that you are; no longer experiential, but a matter of cold, hard fact.

In my increasingly confused mind, this works. Then again, I should be lying on the couch, watching old DVDs, resting and waiting for it to pass – not mangling Kant-based philosophy.

[Prompt: "Hume's Fork. Also, if you're interested, Hume's butter knife." - Michael Hall, who I know only through twitter and who is, as far as I know, the Real Michael Hall.]

Tags: BMOWP: By Request, On..., Science, Vilhauer |

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I don’t remember things anymore

October 31, 2009


I don’t remember things anymore.

I don’t remember all of the state capitals. I don’t remember advanced geometry. I don’t remember the purpose or need for the mole in chemistry class, or my old locker combination (despite a handful of frantic dreams reminding me of its importance.) I don’t remember on which days moving holidays fall.

Let’s take it even more basic. I don’t remember what I have scheduled for next week. I don’t remember what I wrote about two weeks ago. I don’t remember what books are on my bookshelf, or what CDs are on my iPod, or what season of The Office I’m currently three episodes behind on. The only one of my friends whose birthday I can remember is Jim’s.

Because it’s on Christmas.

But that’s okay. I don’t need to.

I have technology.

I have a calendar that not only chronicles important dates and appointments, but pipes up and reminds me at the most opportune time. I have a phone that stores numbers, organized and searchable by name. I have the wide sweeping grandeur of the Internet to remind me of even the most trivial of things.

Listen - I remember what’s important to recall on a moment’s notice. I remember the birthdays of my immediate family, my anniversary, my social security number and Kerrie’s phone number. It’s not like I need some kind of device hard-wired to my brain to bring up things that are of strict importance.

But, as a typical scatterbrain, I find that more of my time is lent to concepts and ideas, not stats and figures. I don’t need to remember the years in which Magic Johnson won the MVP award – I can Google it. I don’t need to remember which issue of McSweeney’s Quarterly Concern Stephen King appeared in. I’ve got an online database. I don’t even need to remember all seven of Snow White’s dwarves. It’s on the Internet.

Though the concept of a global search engine has been with us for years – for what seems like decades, actually – it’s finally starting to hit home in the mainstream. It’s no longer novelty – it’s now commonplace. It’s Oprahfied. It’s Matlock-tested. It’s as cliché as those last two sentences.

The thing is, there’s really no change. It’s not like we weren’t creating huge depositories for complicated and dated information before. It’s just that, now, instead of relying on an index, or on a library, or on the available resources of our bookshelf, we’re now circumventing availability and cutting straight to need.

Leaving my mind free to squirrel away philosophies and applied knowledge.

That is, if my brain would ever bother letting go of its complete list of WWF Intercontinental Champions through 2001.

[Prompt: “Why do we memorize things anymore when we can just Google it? Case in point: I could only think of six of the seven dwarfs this morning, so what did I do? Googled it.” – Angie Johnson, who no longer has a blog, but has cute babies.]

Tags: BMOWP: By Request, On..., Technology |

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