9 years ago
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
In which the blogger explores medical phenomena with the illustrious Countess
Felix J. Bedingfield: Do you think my health issues might be caused by my acid blood?
Countess Bunny Hoppinmad: Acid blood?
Felix J. Bedingfield: Yeah. Everyone knows you can tell a gay by his acid blood.
Countess Bunny Hoppinmad: Oh, I see. I was hoping it was something useful, like spitting acid.
Felix J. Bedingfield: Kind of. It’s useful for destroying the hearts of stupid boys.
Countess Bunny Hoppinmad: Heartburn is in your stomach, so if you would just stop eating the hearts of your enemies, you might feel better.
Felix J. Bedingfield: True, but then how would I absorb their powers?
Countess Bunny Hoppinmad: That is a small problem.
Countess Bunny Hoppinmad: Acid blood?
Felix J. Bedingfield: Yeah. Everyone knows you can tell a gay by his acid blood.
Countess Bunny Hoppinmad: Oh, I see. I was hoping it was something useful, like spitting acid.
Felix J. Bedingfield: Kind of. It’s useful for destroying the hearts of stupid boys.
Countess Bunny Hoppinmad: Heartburn is in your stomach, so if you would just stop eating the hearts of your enemies, you might feel better.
Felix J. Bedingfield: True, but then how would I absorb their powers?
Countess Bunny Hoppinmad: That is a small problem.
In which the blogger hopes his whiffle ball never, ever goes over that fence
"You damn kids get off my lawn!!"
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
In which the blogger feels like he should now appreciate life more, but he wonders, "Whose life...?"
My blood is clean. Urine, too. Sugar is a little high, but that’s what I get for drinking pop with breakfast. Chest X-Rays (front, back, side, side) show that contrary to recent popular belief, yes, I DO have a heart. Lungs, too, a liver, and a bunch of other lumpy organs. The EKG even shows that my heart beats, albeit with an irregular pacing. I like to think of it as syncopated, like a Gloria Estefan song. CAT scan shows that though I feel like lately I’ve not been using it, the brain’s still present and accounted for. I asked if they could us that big machine to zap out the parts that make me crazy/bad boyfriend/ADD/anxious. They said no, so I just laid there and got scanned.
Diagnosis? Left arm paresthesias, accompanied by vertigo. Translation: tingly, numb arm with an unknown cause. It might be a pinched nerve stemming from a wild Friday night out (three words: Hula Hoop Contest). Could be a product of my (evidently) high blood pressure, which is (obviously) a product of my high stress level, which is (undoubtedly) a product of my anxiety, which is (primarily) aggravated by my life. It might be degenerative nerve disorder. There’s a chance it’s the same nerve inflammation my mom experiences. My arm could be slowly mutating into a super-extremity, so I’ll soon live my dream of fighting crime with a quirky sense of good and evil.
And it could be a “small aneurism or stroke”.
I was sitting at my desk Saturday, when my vision clouded twice in rapid succession, and someone grabbed the top of my head, jerking it quickly forward, to the right, back, and then tossed it forward. Well, that’s what it felt like. My hot ER doctor told me it was vertigo, and it was pretty common. Not common for me, I thought.
I passed all the cute neuro-tests he put me through.
Hot ER Doctor: Grip my fingers.
Me: But I just met you. *grip*
HERD: Lift your right leg, then your left.
Me: Should we be doing this in the hall?
HERD: Move your tongue both ways
Me: Only if you do the same. There’s not much room to maneuver in there.
Since CAT scans are rarely enough to make a diagnosis, I’m going back for an MRI so the crazy weird Asian CAT scan guy can look for “bleeding, clots, or signs of trauma”. I asked if he meant emotional trauma and its tendency to become lodged in the folds of my ever-expanding consciousness. He said no.
I’m freaked, but I’m dealing. I’m alive, and the same things that piss me off on any other day are still pissing me off today. That’s why I’ve been instructed to find ways to stop letting things piss me off.
And I said they needed to find ways to remove those parts of my brain I mentioned.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
In which the blogger wonders what the hell is goin' on in Salt Lake City
Mia Michaels was wrong. Screw dancing.THIS is the Mormon thing: No sex, drugs, drinking. So turning guns on innocent douchebags who screw around in traffic becomes a great outlet."
In any case, this guy is obviously a [expletive] nutjob. Who doesn't [expletive] like dijon [expletive] mustard...?
---------------------------------------
'Grey Poupon' Antic Leads to Pointed Gun
Mimicking a humorous 1990s commercial, three in car get an unexpected response from a fellow driver
The Salt Lake Tribune
A Sandy man took offense to a motorist, who, after getting him to roll down his window, asked, "Excuse me, sir, do you have any Grey Poupon?" After hearing the request for Dijon mustard, the 22-year-old driver pulled a black handgun from his glove compartment, cocked the weapon and pointed it at the three people in the other car.
"Here's your Grey Poupon, roll your [expletive] windows up," he responded.
The confrontation happened June 18 at the intersection of 900 East and Winchester Street (6500 South) in Murray, court documents state.
One of the three people in the car wrote down the sport utility vehicle's license plate number. Murray police later located the man, who admitted he pulled out the gun, racked the slide and threaten the other car.
He was charged Tuesday with aggravated assault, a third-degree felony.
In any case, this guy is obviously a [expletive] nutjob. Who doesn't [expletive] like dijon [expletive] mustard...?
---------------------------------------
'Grey Poupon' Antic Leads to Pointed Gun
Mimicking a humorous 1990s commercial, three in car get an unexpected response from a fellow driver
The Salt Lake Tribune
A Sandy man took offense to a motorist, who, after getting him to roll down his window, asked, "Excuse me, sir, do you have any Grey Poupon?" After hearing the request for Dijon mustard, the 22-year-old driver pulled a black handgun from his glove compartment, cocked the weapon and pointed it at the three people in the other car.
"Here's your Grey Poupon, roll your [expletive] windows up," he responded.
The confrontation happened June 18 at the intersection of 900 East and Winchester Street (6500 South) in Murray, court documents state.
One of the three people in the car wrote down the sport utility vehicle's license plate number. Murray police later located the man, who admitted he pulled out the gun, racked the slide and threaten the other car.
He was charged Tuesday with aggravated assault, a third-degree felony.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Food Thoughts: Vol. 2, Triple Sec Spiked French Toast with a Mixed Berry Compote
Here's Alan with another meal that was TOTALLY worth it. I've never been a huge French toast person, probably because the mushy mess I was fed as a child doesn't really count as "toast" so much as, well..."mush". Let's leave my mother out of this.
------------------------------------------
The French have had their high and lows in this county. Sure, we all love to mock them for their inability to win a war, berets, and outrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrragious accents… But let’s get real people. These folks know how to cook… And, aside from the fry, one of the greatest American treatments of a French classic (Ok, probably the Roman per Wiki but who’s counting) is toast. Today we’ll specifically be speaking of Triple Sec Spiked French Toast with a Mixed Berry Compote.
Let’s get started with an opening shot of the goodness:
It’s all good. I mean, there are TWO kinds of booze here peeps. How could you not like that?
The first step is to make the berry sauce...or compote if you happen to be snobby. Which I am. So on with the COMPOTE! This is pretty simple really… Just boil together some OJ, rum and sugar.
While that’s heating away, in a small bowl mix together some equal parts corn starch and water. Now, my grandma called this little concoction a slurry…and I seem to recall Alton or Emeril or some other food personality saying it once…so for the purpose of this blog (and possible even in real life), that it’s official name.
Anyway, once the sweet OJ-rum comes to a boil toss in said slurry and give everything a stir. Here’s an important point for the not so chef-y among us. DON’T turn the heat down yet. Cornstarch only works when it’s boiling…so resist! You won’t burn anything! Plus, it’s pretty cool watching it go from boring orange-water to delicious sauce in seconds. Or maybe it’s the kind of thing only I get excited about.
In any case, once the sauce has thickened up, toss in your berries. I used frozen ‘cause I’m cheap. But if your last name’s “Trump” then go ahead a blow your kid’s inheritance on a couple cups of the fresh stuff. At this point, the sauce is more or less done. Just take it off the heat and cover until your ready to plate up your final brunchy goodness.
Next we need to get down to business with the actual toast. First, chop up the Chollah! Bread. (This must have been named in the Jewish ghetto right?!) This is a wonderful eggy bread that sops up any most anything. Just like those shammys from the 2 AM infomercials…but more delicious. You should have about 8 slices when all’s said and done.
Wait, did I just do a whole step with no booze. Let’s fix that: next we create the egg wash for the toast. (I guess this is the “French” part…) Beat together the eggs and Triple Sec. Not a TON, but you want to know it’s in there. (You’ll see why I point this out in the recap…) After that, you’ll pour in some of the other French toast standards: eggs, milk, OJ, vanilla extract, nutmeg, salt… Whisk thoroughly.
I should note, aspiring chefs, that you can tweak this to fit your taste. Wanna try almond extract? Go nuts! How’s about skipping the OJ and some fresh lemonade? Could be good. Long story short, if the list of ingredients sounds good to you, then it’ll more than likely taste good at the end. And if it does…well kids, that’s what we call learning!
Now there are diverging theories on how long you should let bread soak in this egg mix. Some say it can hang out in there for a while. Me, myself, I’m a quick dipper. A couple 5-10 seconds on each side is OK with me. This helps give me flavorful toast without it becoming all soggy and sick. But again, personal opinion.
Once you have your toasts all good and French-ed it’s a simple matter of frying. For this recipe, I melted some butter in the pan over medium heat and fried the delicious slabs for about 5 minutes a side.
So, the end results were good. Not great sadly, but very acceptable. We all agreed that there probably should have been more triple sec or OJ. I didn’t get enough orange flavor to differentiate it from the “normal” French toast I order at our local greasy spoon. However, I thought the berry compote was excellent. And it was even better with ice cream the next day!
------------------------------------------
The French have had their high and lows in this county. Sure, we all love to mock them for their inability to win a war, berets, and outrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrragious accents… But let’s get real people. These folks know how to cook… And, aside from the fry, one of the greatest American treatments of a French classic (Ok, probably the Roman per Wiki but who’s counting) is toast. Today we’ll specifically be speaking of Triple Sec Spiked French Toast with a Mixed Berry Compote.
Let’s get started with an opening shot of the goodness:
It’s all good. I mean, there are TWO kinds of booze here peeps. How could you not like that?
The first step is to make the berry sauce...or compote if you happen to be snobby. Which I am. So on with the COMPOTE! This is pretty simple really… Just boil together some OJ, rum and sugar.
While that’s heating away, in a small bowl mix together some equal parts corn starch and water. Now, my grandma called this little concoction a slurry…and I seem to recall Alton or Emeril or some other food personality saying it once…so for the purpose of this blog (and possible even in real life), that it’s official name.
Anyway, once the sweet OJ-rum comes to a boil toss in said slurry and give everything a stir. Here’s an important point for the not so chef-y among us. DON’T turn the heat down yet. Cornstarch only works when it’s boiling…so resist! You won’t burn anything! Plus, it’s pretty cool watching it go from boring orange-water to delicious sauce in seconds. Or maybe it’s the kind of thing only I get excited about.
In any case, once the sauce has thickened up, toss in your berries. I used frozen ‘cause I’m cheap. But if your last name’s “Trump” then go ahead a blow your kid’s inheritance on a couple cups of the fresh stuff. At this point, the sauce is more or less done. Just take it off the heat and cover until your ready to plate up your final brunchy goodness.
Next we need to get down to business with the actual toast. First, chop up the Chollah! Bread. (This must have been named in the Jewish ghetto right?!) This is a wonderful eggy bread that sops up any most anything. Just like those shammys from the 2 AM infomercials…but more delicious. You should have about 8 slices when all’s said and done.
Wait, did I just do a whole step with no booze. Let’s fix that: next we create the egg wash for the toast. (I guess this is the “French” part…) Beat together the eggs and Triple Sec. Not a TON, but you want to know it’s in there. (You’ll see why I point this out in the recap…) After that, you’ll pour in some of the other French toast standards: eggs, milk, OJ, vanilla extract, nutmeg, salt… Whisk thoroughly.
I should note, aspiring chefs, that you can tweak this to fit your taste. Wanna try almond extract? Go nuts! How’s about skipping the OJ and some fresh lemonade? Could be good. Long story short, if the list of ingredients sounds good to you, then it’ll more than likely taste good at the end. And if it does…well kids, that’s what we call learning!
Now there are diverging theories on how long you should let bread soak in this egg mix. Some say it can hang out in there for a while. Me, myself, I’m a quick dipper. A couple 5-10 seconds on each side is OK with me. This helps give me flavorful toast without it becoming all soggy and sick. But again, personal opinion.
Once you have your toasts all good and French-ed it’s a simple matter of frying. For this recipe, I melted some butter in the pan over medium heat and fried the delicious slabs for about 5 minutes a side.
So, the end results were good. Not great sadly, but very acceptable. We all agreed that there probably should have been more triple sec or OJ. I didn’t get enough orange flavor to differentiate it from the “normal” French toast I order at our local greasy spoon. However, I thought the berry compote was excellent. And it was even better with ice cream the next day!
Monday, July 21, 2008
COCKTAIL: Pineapple Sangria
On a random, rainy Friday afternoon, Alan and I were perusing the cookbooks for dinner ideas, so I surfed (does anyone say "surfed" anymore...?) over to Epicurious.com to poke around for culinary inspiration. Shining like a brilliant topaz among recipes for Lamb Skewers with Hot Mint and Pistachio Sauce and Asian Avocado Salad was this simple recipe. We cut the mint (it's used as a garnish, not for flavor) and used a 2007 Dancing Bull sauvignon blanc.
Hindsight being 20/20, I would have cut the pineapple soda and used ginger ale. It was a bit cloying in its sweetness. Also, next time I'd like to try prosecco in place of the white wine to give it some sparkle and a different profile.
Oh, and careful with this stuff. It works quick.
Whatcha Need:
3 cups pineapple juice
1 bottle dry white wine, such as Chardonnay or Sauvignon Blanc
1 cup brandy
1 ripe pineapple, cut into 1-inch chunks
1 cup pineapple soda
1 bunch fresh mint, roughly chopped
1 orange, supremed
Whatcha Do:
In a pitcher, combine the pineapple juice, wine, brandy, pineapple chunks, orange slices, and soda and stir. Pour over ice into large wineglasses and garnish with the mint.
Saturday, July 19, 2008
In which the blogger just can't wait any longer, dammit
My butt has been puckering in anticipation of The Dark Knight for weeks. What can I say? The dark anti-hero thing turns me on. Let the following be a precursory nod to what is sure to be my very first film-induced orgasm.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
In which the blogger just doesn't really know what to say about Bessy's fart backpack
Cow Farts Collected in Plastic Tank for Global Warming Study
By Rupert Neate
Last Updated: 9:55PM BST 09/07/2008
Scientists are examining cow farts and burps in a novel bid to combat global warming.
Experts said the slow digestive system of cows makes them a key producer of methane, a potent greenhouse gas that gets far less public attention than carbon dioxide.
In a bid to understand the impact of the wind produced by cows on global warming, scientists collected gas from their stomachs in plastic tanks attached to their backs.
The Argentine researchers discovered methane from cows accounts for more than 30 per cent of the country's total greenhouse emissions.
As one of the world's biggest beef producers, Argentina has more than 55 million cows grazing in its famed Pampas grasslands.
Guillermo Berra, a researcher at the National Institute of Agricultural Technology, said every cow produces between 8000 to 1,000 litres of emissions every day.
Methane, which is also released from landfills, coal mines and leaking gas pipes, is 23 times more effective at trapping heat in the atmosphere than carbon dioxide.
Scientists are now carrying out trials of new diets designed to improve cows's digestion and hopefully reduce global warming. Silvia Valtorta, of the National Council of Scientific and Technical Investigations, said that by feeding cows clover and alfalfa instead of grain "you can reduce methane emissions by 25 percent".
By Rupert Neate
Last Updated: 9:55PM BST 09/07/2008
Scientists are examining cow farts and burps in a novel bid to combat global warming.
Experts said the slow digestive system of cows makes them a key producer of methane, a potent greenhouse gas that gets far less public attention than carbon dioxide.In a bid to understand the impact of the wind produced by cows on global warming, scientists collected gas from their stomachs in plastic tanks attached to their backs.
The Argentine researchers discovered methane from cows accounts for more than 30 per cent of the country's total greenhouse emissions.
As one of the world's biggest beef producers, Argentina has more than 55 million cows grazing in its famed Pampas grasslands.
Guillermo Berra, a researcher at the National Institute of Agricultural Technology, said every cow produces between 8000 to 1,000 litres of emissions every day.
Methane, which is also released from landfills, coal mines and leaking gas pipes, is 23 times more effective at trapping heat in the atmosphere than carbon dioxide.
Scientists are now carrying out trials of new diets designed to improve cows's digestion and hopefully reduce global warming. Silvia Valtorta, of the National Council of Scientific and Technical Investigations, said that by feeding cows clover and alfalfa instead of grain "you can reduce methane emissions by 25 percent".
Monday, July 14, 2008
In which the blogger shakes his beautiful, perfectly-shaped head in disbelief
No ma'am. No.
"One somewhat-sunny day, after suffering a grueling day of hat hair, Lauren literally pulled her baseball-style cap apart. She wondered if a cap with a hole in front might solve her problems, and began some serious and not-so-serious research into cap design. After multiple trips to fabric and craft stores, and a sack filled with experiments gone wrong, something interesting happened.
To her surprise, she had created a cap that was curiously comfortable. It was flattering. It was a solution to hat hair. And to top it off, the visor could be detached from the cap, so the wearer could choose from two different looks.
And now, after dealing with the usual headaches that plague new business, Bang-go® caps are headed to the marketplace.
"It might seam like a gimmick. It's 'cute', and it does keep hair out of your eyes," Lauren says, "but once you try it on, you'll know it's really all about comfort."
No.
.......................NO.
"One somewhat-sunny day, after suffering a grueling day of hat hair, Lauren literally pulled her baseball-style cap apart. She wondered if a cap with a hole in front might solve her problems, and began some serious and not-so-serious research into cap design. After multiple trips to fabric and craft stores, and a sack filled with experiments gone wrong, something interesting happened.
To her surprise, she had created a cap that was curiously comfortable. It was flattering. It was a solution to hat hair. And to top it off, the visor could be detached from the cap, so the wearer could choose from two different looks.
And now, after dealing with the usual headaches that plague new business, Bang-go® caps are headed to the marketplace.
"It might seam like a gimmick. It's 'cute', and it does keep hair out of your eyes," Lauren says, "but once you try it on, you'll know it's really all about comfort."
No.
.......................NO.
In which the blogger gets personal on your ass about someone getting personal on his
Never, ever....EVER...underestimate the value of a quick, secret, and hot booty call from your boyfriend. The recouperative powers of such an encounter boggle the mind.
And it makes me feel naughty, which is very rarely a bad thing.
And it makes me feel naughty, which is very rarely a bad thing.
Sunday, July 13, 2008
In which the blogger yawns, stretches, and slits his wrists
So far this morning, I've woken up at 7 am with cotton mouth and a searing hangover; had a panic attack; ordered a java chip Frappucino and received a watery disgusting mess; had an hour-long fight with my boyfriend while driving a friends car (that I'm not insured on) in spite of the fact that I don't even possess a valid driver's license; fought with Sunday morning Lakeview traffic to secure a parking space near my building; spilled tuna water all over my kitchen counter.
So far this morning, my cat has woken up in the blazing Chicago morning sun; received a neck massage; eaten six salmon treats; chased a Coke bottle cap across the room a few times; taken a nap; gotten tangled in a cable wire; gotten brushed twice; received three more treats; eaten half a can of tuna.
That cat has my fucking life.
So far this morning, my cat has woken up in the blazing Chicago morning sun; received a neck massage; eaten six salmon treats; chased a Coke bottle cap across the room a few times; taken a nap; gotten tangled in a cable wire; gotten brushed twice; received three more treats; eaten half a can of tuna.
That cat has my fucking life.
Saturday, July 12, 2008
In which the blogger reminds that evil is relative, and is always a good time
"I'd been waiting for the vampire for years when he walked into the bar.
Ever since vampires came out of the coffin (as they laughingly put it) four years ago, I'd hoped one would come to Bon Temps. We had all the other minorities in our little town -- why not the newest, the legally recognized undead? But rural northern Louisiana wasn't too tempting to vampires apparently; on the other hand, New Orleans was a real center for them -- the whole Anne Rice thing, right?
It's not that long a drive from Bon Temps to New Orleans, and everyone who came into the bar said if you threw a rock on a street corner you'd hit one. Though you'd better not.
But I was waiting for my own vampire."
I can't express how excited I am for the new HBO series Tru Blood. It's based on one of my favorite book series, Charlaine Harris' Southern Vampire Mystery novels.
The recent invention by the Yakanomo Corporation of Japan of a synthetic blood substitute has brought about the Great Revelation, a night when vampires across the globe pirated the airwaves to officially announce their existence to the planet's population. The books, set in and around Bon Temps ("Good Times"), Louisiana, follow the adventures and exploits of Sookie Stackhouse, a small-town barmaid blessed/cursed with the natural gift of telepathy. Sookie has it rough as the most beautiful girl in her small town who everyone thinks is crazy because of her "disability". She's a virgin, if for no other reason than she finds it impossible to have a relationship when she can hear every thought that passes through her date's head.
The first book Dead Until Dark opens with Sookie expressing how badly she wants to meet a vampire. She gets her wish when Bill Compton, a Civil War soldier and Bon Temps' resident bloodsucker, sits in her section at Merlotte's Bar. Sookie quickly realizes she can't hear Bill's thoughts the way she can with others, and the two fall in quickly together.
Harris uses the convention of vampires "coming out" in the modern world, as well as setting her work in small town rural Louisiana to loosely explore themes of racism, homophobia, sexism, betrayal, sex, and the American class system. They make the reader think while being playful, fun, and fast-paced, all written in Sookie's first-person colloquial Louisiana accent.
The advertising for the show has been really impressive, if a little tongue-in-cheek. Really. Check these out. And, if any of you in Chicago has a TiVo and access to HBO, we might be able to work out a deal.
Ever since vampires came out of the coffin (as they laughingly put it) four years ago, I'd hoped one would come to Bon Temps. We had all the other minorities in our little town -- why not the newest, the legally recognized undead? But rural northern Louisiana wasn't too tempting to vampires apparently; on the other hand, New Orleans was a real center for them -- the whole Anne Rice thing, right?
It's not that long a drive from Bon Temps to New Orleans, and everyone who came into the bar said if you threw a rock on a street corner you'd hit one. Though you'd better not.
But I was waiting for my own vampire."
I can't express how excited I am for the new HBO series Tru Blood. It's based on one of my favorite book series, Charlaine Harris' Southern Vampire Mystery novels.
The recent invention by the Yakanomo Corporation of Japan of a synthetic blood substitute has brought about the Great Revelation, a night when vampires across the globe pirated the airwaves to officially announce their existence to the planet's population. The books, set in and around Bon Temps ("Good Times"), Louisiana, follow the adventures and exploits of Sookie Stackhouse, a small-town barmaid blessed/cursed with the natural gift of telepathy. Sookie has it rough as the most beautiful girl in her small town who everyone thinks is crazy because of her "disability". She's a virgin, if for no other reason than she finds it impossible to have a relationship when she can hear every thought that passes through her date's head.
The first book Dead Until Dark opens with Sookie expressing how badly she wants to meet a vampire. She gets her wish when Bill Compton, a Civil War soldier and Bon Temps' resident bloodsucker, sits in her section at Merlotte's Bar. Sookie quickly realizes she can't hear Bill's thoughts the way she can with others, and the two fall in quickly together.Harris uses the convention of vampires "coming out" in the modern world, as well as setting her work in small town rural Louisiana to loosely explore themes of racism, homophobia, sexism, betrayal, sex, and the American class system. They make the reader think while being playful, fun, and fast-paced, all written in Sookie's first-person colloquial Louisiana accent.
The advertising for the show has been really impressive, if a little tongue-in-cheek. Really. Check these out. And, if any of you in Chicago has a TiVo and access to HBO, we might be able to work out a deal.
VIDEO: Reach! A Lecture Musical
This is epic.
(I think it was supposed to be "Teach! A Lecture Musical", but, you know...typo.)
(I think it was supposed to be "Teach! A Lecture Musical", but, you know...typo.)
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
VIDEO: Ethel Mermon's, "There's No Business Like Show Business"
Irving Berlin knew what he was talking about. You can be anyone you want to be, or anyone someone else wants you to be, too. All it takes is a costume, a shift in your pitch, and a willing suspension of disbelief.
I've been ruminating on the concept of identity. Does it belong to us, or is there something in the idea that reality is in the eye of the beholder; that once I close my eyes, everything ceases to exist? "I am whatever you say I am..."?
As humans, it's rather necessary for us to require an "us" and a "them" in order to properly organize the world in which we live. I've can personally apply this line of thought to a few parameters: friends and foes; gay and straight; parents and children; boss and employee, et cetera. In all these relationships, identity inevitably becomes a kind of currency, able to be traded to gain certain priveleges or services. Our boss thinks we're one person, which becomes her reality concerning your place in the organizing of her life. Yet, when we're not in the office, that identity ceases to be, and another identity takes its place with our family/friends/enemies. We're someone different when we're with our partner than who we are with friends.
So which identity is true? Is it that fluid? Does this particular coin of trade really belong to us, or is it another tool with which others manipulate and shape the world around us to suit their particular wants and needs? Or is the currency of identity used to buy and sell on behalf of those others ("I'm ________ because ________ is what I think/perceive you want/need me to be.")
Who gets to decide who I am?
Are we doing people favors (good!)? Are we lying to them (bad!)? Is it all really as Berlin said...a show? As long as the audience loves you, you're a star.
They smile when they are low
Even with a turkey that you know will fold
You may be stranded out in the cold
Still you wouldn't trade it for a sack o' gold
Let's go on with the show
Let's go on with the show!
The show!
The show!
In which the blogger continues to believe that all the routes to easy cash have been taken
Ever see something...
...and wish to whatever God that ignores you that you had thought of it first? This doesn't just happen with the jokes on Will and Grace to me.
...and wish to whatever God that ignores you that you had thought of it first? This doesn't just happen with the jokes on Will and Grace to me.
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
In which the blogger is desperately seeking a subsitute for this summertime treat
I ate a Bomb Pop today. At some point during the consumption, I realized: I have officially lost my gag reflex. I had suspected this was the case, since I've eaten so, so many popsicles. I knew all those hours weren't put in for nothing.
Monday, July 7, 2008
In which the blogger dreams of how sparkly he'll be in the afterlife
I'm having trouble deciding if this concept is incredibly beautiful or sphincter-puckeringly creepy. Either way, it's legitimate.
Coffins Are Out, Diamonds Are...Forever
AFP News Briefs List
by Patrick Baert
At the end of their days, most people end up six feet under or up in flames, others get frozen or mummified.
But some lucky ones are spending eternity as sparkling diamonds, thanks to a peculiar chemical transformation.
For a fee, a company called Algordanza in the eastern Swiss canton of Graubuenden offers a service to turn ashes into precious stones.
Every month, it gets 40 to 50 commissions -- some as far away as Japan.
One came from secretary Lilly Hess-Sollberger, who saw an article about the service and made her daughter Michele Galmarini-Hess promise to call Algordanza when she passed away.
She died three years ago at 82 and her ashes are now a half-carat blue diamond pendant that adorns her daughter's neck.
"I wear it day and night, even when I go to bed. For me she's alive, and it does me good," said Galmarini-Hess who lives in Montreux.
When asked about the diamond, she said some have shuddered but most people find it a "great" idea.
"You can't imagine how many of them ask if they can kiss the stone," she said.
Rinaldo Willy, 28, one of two co-founders of Algordanza, said the commissions come from "all kinds of people -- they could be bus drivers or professors in philosophy."
At the firm's laboratory, about 15 machines run non-stop alongside employees wearing plastic protective glasses who work behind a yellow and black line that visitors are not allowed to cross -- out of respect for the dead.
"Five hundred grams (one pound) of ashes is enough to make a diamond while a human body leaves behind on average 2.5 to three kilograms of ashes," said Willy.
Potassium and calcium, which makes up some 85 percent of the ashes, are first separated from the carbon.
The carbon is then subject to extremely high pressure and heat --1,700 degrees C, a process which compresses it into graphite, a carbon allotrope or a structurally different form of carbon.
More pressure and heat are applied to the graphite to turn it into diamonds -- the hardest allotrope of carbon.
The entire process takes six to eight weeks, hardly a fraction of the time it takes for the formation of natural diamonds which take thousands of years.
When the process is complete, the crude diamond still requires polishing and cutting. Many are cut into heart-shaped stones which can be worn as a pendant or mounted on a ring.
"Each diamond is unique -- the colour varies from dark blue to almost white," said Willy. "It's a reflection of the personality."
-- The industry of 'human diamonds' is booming --
Willy acknowledges that it is impossible to prove that each diamond is indeed made from a particular person's ashes. "DNA burns," he explained.
But the "chemical imprint" of the ashes, determined at its arrival to the laboratory, allows for documentation to be made and for the finished product to be traced, he said.
The whole process costs between 4,500 and 17,000 Swiss francs (2,800 to 10,600 euros or 4,400 to 16,700 dollars), depending on the weight of the resulting stone (from 0.25 to one carat), and does not include the setting of the stone.
Algordanza, which means 'remembrance' in Romansch, one of the four official languages in Switzerland, defends this as a reasonable price.
"A burial could be very expensive: it costs 12,000 euros in Germany," said Willy, who would not divulge his company's revenues.
Not all agree with the process. Undertaker Yannick Abel-Coindoz, who works for the Murith funeral home in Geneva, said he has never received a request to transform ashes into a "life gem", as some call the stones, and has no plans to offer the service.
"It's not in line with our ethics of burial and remembrance," he said. "To wear your loved one as a ring and carry it with you everywhere prevents you from distancing yourself and thereby recovering from the loss."
Yet the industry of 'human diamonds' is booming, with similar companies in Russia, Spain, Ukraine and the United States.
Founded in 2004, Algordanza has already expanded to 20 countries, including six outside Europe, and employs about 100 people in all.
Willy said it is particularly popular in Japan, which sends between two to four urns daily, and the firm is setting its sights on China and India.
For Willy, a mobile world is fueling demand for such services. As people move farther from home, grave upkeep becomes difficult. And though cremation is increasingly popular -- and the norm in some countries -- special permission is generally needed to transport urns across borders.
Though most life gem requests come from families after a loved one's death, Willy said people are starting to ask for his firm's services themselves in living wills before they die.
Individuals can even pay beforehand, with an insurance policy that covers their wish to become a diamond... forever.
Coffins Are Out, Diamonds Are...Forever
AFP News Briefs List
by Patrick Baert
At the end of their days, most people end up six feet under or up in flames, others get frozen or mummified.
But some lucky ones are spending eternity as sparkling diamonds, thanks to a peculiar chemical transformation.
For a fee, a company called Algordanza in the eastern Swiss canton of Graubuenden offers a service to turn ashes into precious stones.
Every month, it gets 40 to 50 commissions -- some as far away as Japan.One came from secretary Lilly Hess-Sollberger, who saw an article about the service and made her daughter Michele Galmarini-Hess promise to call Algordanza when she passed away.
She died three years ago at 82 and her ashes are now a half-carat blue diamond pendant that adorns her daughter's neck.
"I wear it day and night, even when I go to bed. For me she's alive, and it does me good," said Galmarini-Hess who lives in Montreux.
When asked about the diamond, she said some have shuddered but most people find it a "great" idea.
"You can't imagine how many of them ask if they can kiss the stone," she said.
Rinaldo Willy, 28, one of two co-founders of Algordanza, said the commissions come from "all kinds of people -- they could be bus drivers or professors in philosophy."
At the firm's laboratory, about 15 machines run non-stop alongside employees wearing plastic protective glasses who work behind a yellow and black line that visitors are not allowed to cross -- out of respect for the dead.
"Five hundred grams (one pound) of ashes is enough to make a diamond while a human body leaves behind on average 2.5 to three kilograms of ashes," said Willy.
Potassium and calcium, which makes up some 85 percent of the ashes, are first separated from the carbon.The carbon is then subject to extremely high pressure and heat --1,700 degrees C, a process which compresses it into graphite, a carbon allotrope or a structurally different form of carbon.
More pressure and heat are applied to the graphite to turn it into diamonds -- the hardest allotrope of carbon.
The entire process takes six to eight weeks, hardly a fraction of the time it takes for the formation of natural diamonds which take thousands of years.
When the process is complete, the crude diamond still requires polishing and cutting. Many are cut into heart-shaped stones which can be worn as a pendant or mounted on a ring.
"Each diamond is unique -- the colour varies from dark blue to almost white," said Willy. "It's a reflection of the personality."
-- The industry of 'human diamonds' is booming --
Willy acknowledges that it is impossible to prove that each diamond is indeed made from a particular person's ashes. "DNA burns," he explained.
But the "chemical imprint" of the ashes, determined at its arrival to the laboratory, allows for documentation to be made and for the finished product to be traced, he said.
The whole process costs between 4,500 and 17,000 Swiss francs (2,800 to 10,600 euros or 4,400 to 16,700 dollars), depending on the weight of the resulting stone (from 0.25 to one carat), and does not include the setting of the stone.
Algordanza, which means 'remembrance' in Romansch, one of the four official languages in Switzerland, defends this as a reasonable price.
"A burial could be very expensive: it costs 12,000 euros in Germany," said Willy, who would not divulge his company's revenues.
Not all agree with the process. Undertaker Yannick Abel-Coindoz, who works for the Murith funeral home in Geneva, said he has never received a request to transform ashes into a "life gem", as some call the stones, and has no plans to offer the service.
"It's not in line with our ethics of burial and remembrance," he said. "To wear your loved one as a ring and carry it with you everywhere prevents you from distancing yourself and thereby recovering from the loss."
Yet the industry of 'human diamonds' is booming, with similar companies in Russia, Spain, Ukraine and the United States.
Founded in 2004, Algordanza has already expanded to 20 countries, including six outside Europe, and employs about 100 people in all.
Willy said it is particularly popular in Japan, which sends between two to four urns daily, and the firm is setting its sights on China and India.
For Willy, a mobile world is fueling demand for such services. As people move farther from home, grave upkeep becomes difficult. And though cremation is increasingly popular -- and the norm in some countries -- special permission is generally needed to transport urns across borders.
Though most life gem requests come from families after a loved one's death, Willy said people are starting to ask for his firm's services themselves in living wills before they die.
Individuals can even pay beforehand, with an insurance policy that covers their wish to become a diamond... forever.
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