Ancora Imparo strives for accuracy. Well, honesty if not accuracy. Anything for a story, I guess.
My posting from Thursday, October 27, 2011, titled "How Many Is Too Many?" contained a gross mistake.....a four-billion mistake to be exact. When I was writing about the next population level, I stated that the world would soon reach three billion. I guess I have been living in a cave or on an island with Tom Hanks and his soccer ball. I guess the good news here is that I caught my own error and corrected the posting before a reader caught the mistake for me.
As my favorite high school math teacher knows, math is not my strong suit. Now I know why in high school, when a youngish teacher seated his Algebra One class in order of test scores, a great guy and I arm-wrestled constantly over last chair. I think he is now deceased. I hope he did not die of a broken heart from math-class humiliation. I was never humiliated - although perhaps I should have been. Maybe I could count beyond the music-major's required twelve.
In my day, if I were being chastised in grade school, I would have to write "I am sorry." one hundred times on the chalkboard.
I am sorry.
I am sorry.
I am sorry.
I hope that three times is a charm in 2011.
Ancora impoligetico
Monday, October 31, 2011
We Wondered About That Odor
It could be called "Seagate", the newest scandal that the media is touting. Piscatologists and ichthyologists alike are shivering their timbers over the news of fish fraud that has been discovered in boats, live-wells, fish tanks, freezers, sushi bars, and dinner plates throughout the world.
Yes, the fish-type that your package is labeled or your menu has printed just may not be what you would actually eat. After DNA testing, (Did we even surmise that our fish fillets needed DNA testing?) "Consumer Reports" states that twenty-two percent of the samples were found to be not as advertised. 19 out of 22 restaurants sampled had mis-marketed fish offerings such as Red snapper that was actually ocean perch. Advertised sole was really sushi catfish from Vietnam, which uses drugs in their fillets not yet approved in the U.S., grouper was actually tile fish, which contains more mercury than the FDA recommends, and white tuna was actually escolar. The study goes on to report that only two percent of the fish, in the U.S., is inspected - period - and that less than .001% is inspected for fraud.
This totally shatters my fish-faith. You know that eel that I was planning on serving for Thanksgiving dinner? How can I now be assured that the eel is really eel, and not some slippery imposter, posing as eel when it is really an over-grown, food-color enhanced earth worm?
Something truly is rotten in Denmark......and everywhere else it seems. Capt. SO and I wondered about the odor and now we know. And I thought it was just the halls of Congress.
Sorry about that.
Ancora impostero
Yes, the fish-type that your package is labeled or your menu has printed just may not be what you would actually eat. After DNA testing, (Did we even surmise that our fish fillets needed DNA testing?) "Consumer Reports" states that twenty-two percent of the samples were found to be not as advertised. 19 out of 22 restaurants sampled had mis-marketed fish offerings such as Red snapper that was actually ocean perch. Advertised sole was really sushi catfish from Vietnam, which uses drugs in their fillets not yet approved in the U.S., grouper was actually tile fish, which contains more mercury than the FDA recommends, and white tuna was actually escolar. The study goes on to report that only two percent of the fish, in the U.S., is inspected - period - and that less than .001% is inspected for fraud.
This totally shatters my fish-faith. You know that eel that I was planning on serving for Thanksgiving dinner? How can I now be assured that the eel is really eel, and not some slippery imposter, posing as eel when it is really an over-grown, food-color enhanced earth worm?
Something truly is rotten in Denmark......and everywhere else it seems. Capt. SO and I wondered about the odor and now we know. And I thought it was just the halls of Congress.
Sorry about that.
Ancora impostero
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Eewwy
I deplore cleaning. It, along with laundry, seems to be one of the most useless and senseless chores known to womankind. Neither task lasts, with "it" being done one minute and the next undone by some person, thing, animal, or Mother Nature. People who say they enjoy cleaning? Gimme a break. There is nothing relaxing about it. The only satisfaction from cleaning or doing laundry comes with completion, and then completion may only last a millisecond.
To reveal a dirty little secret, the bathroom ceiling fan/light in the master bath/shower area has been looking a little "dusty" for some time now. Unfortunately, or fortunately depending on my frame of mind on any given day, the ceilings in the two upper-level bathrooms are vaulted and need an eight-foot ladder to access the fans. Finally, today, my knight-in-shining-armour, Capt. SO, said, "Let's tackle the ceiling fan." Now, this wasn't exactly at the top of my "just-what-I'd-love-to-do-on-a-Sunday-afternoon list, but when the tallest person living with you says "It's time.", you say, "Sure!" Up he climbed, disassembled it - passing the filthy parts down to me, who is, by now, showered in dust/dirt pieces falling from above. Even touching some of the parts was gross. It felt like, and possibly was, six years' worth of accumulated dust, moisture, and hairspray - although probably not the latter. A great deal of vacuuming, vigorous brushing with a whisk broom, soaking then scrubbing in a sink of hot, heavy-duty cleaning liquid got all the parts clean and looking like new again. So much dust and dirt particles had fallen throughout the process that I gathered up all the bath towels and rugs and added two more loads of laundry to my "just-what-I'd-love-to-do-on-a-Sunday-afternoon list.
Project completed. No more "eewwys" for the time being. May the remainder of your day be "eewwy"-free.
Ancoreewwy imparo
To reveal a dirty little secret, the bathroom ceiling fan/light in the master bath/shower area has been looking a little "dusty" for some time now. Unfortunately, or fortunately depending on my frame of mind on any given day, the ceilings in the two upper-level bathrooms are vaulted and need an eight-foot ladder to access the fans. Finally, today, my knight-in-shining-armour, Capt. SO, said, "Let's tackle the ceiling fan." Now, this wasn't exactly at the top of my "just-what-I'd-love-to-do-on-a-Sunday-afternoon list, but when the tallest person living with you says "It's time.", you say, "Sure!" Up he climbed, disassembled it - passing the filthy parts down to me, who is, by now, showered in dust/dirt pieces falling from above. Even touching some of the parts was gross. It felt like, and possibly was, six years' worth of accumulated dust, moisture, and hairspray - although probably not the latter. A great deal of vacuuming, vigorous brushing with a whisk broom, soaking then scrubbing in a sink of hot, heavy-duty cleaning liquid got all the parts clean and looking like new again. So much dust and dirt particles had fallen throughout the process that I gathered up all the bath towels and rugs and added two more loads of laundry to my "just-what-I'd-love-to-do-on-a-Sunday-afternoon list.
Project completed. No more "eewwys" for the time being. May the remainder of your day be "eewwy"-free.
Ancoreewwy imparo
Saturday, October 29, 2011
Pre Holly-Daze Planning
Last night, as Capt. SO and I sat in our sun room, albeit with no sun shining in, it was a time of day when the urge to accomplish, accomplish was thankfully overshadowed by the urge to unwind. It always feels heavenly when the urge to unwind trumps the urge to do "just one more thing". Cranky Kitty likes it when we sit our weary bodies down in the sun room because it usually means she can find a lap to settle in to.......if she so chooses. With mugs of hot apple cider in hand we took a rare moment to relax and enjoy each other's company and talk. After we made a rule that there were about six topics for conversation that were off-limits, since they tend to be stress-producing subjects, Capt. SO looked at me and said, "What do you have planned for Thanksgiving Day dinner?"
To be truthful, I had not given it much, if any, thought other than to be reminded as I grocery shopped on Thursday, that the three days leading up to Thanksgiving Day tend to be brutal at the store where I shop for food. The Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday just prior to Thanksgiving Day are awful days to grocery shop.....unless you arrive at the store around 8 a.m., which is what I finally got smart and started doing several years ago. The hordes do not start arriving until between 9 and 9:30 a.m. and then, legions of the bad grocery-cart drivers show up, clogging the aisles while driving the wrong way. I would almost rather endure root canal than suffer through a shopping experience with moronic and rude grocery-cart operators.
However, not wanting Capt. SO to believe that I did not have a firm handle on the menu for Thanksgiving Day's main culinary event, I replied, "Eel." Looking a little flabbergasted, he replied, "I'm sorry, did I hear you correctly? Eel????" Feeling every bit the smarty-pants that I am, I retorted back, "Yes! I am planning a seafood meal. I thought we would start out with broiled eel, as an appetizer, accompanied, perhaps, by roe, which I am sure you know is fish eggs. Then we'll move to baked snapper and broiled sea scallops for our entree, followed, perhaps, by Oysters' Rockefeller ice cream. Doesn't that sound like a tasty meal?"
The incredulous look on his face was totally priceless. He started to protest that he could think of several of our guests who would not enjoy such fare, when I could no longer hold the deadpan look I had plastered on my face. As I started to grin, he started to laugh and we laughed so hard we nearly cried. Cranky Kitty did not appreciated the mirth and merriment and jumped off to go find quieter digs.
If you are a regular guest to our Thanksgiving table, fear not. You will not be dining on eel or oyster ice cream. Now those sea scallops may be another matter. My mouth is watering at the very typing of the words.
Time will tell!
Ancora imparo
To be truthful, I had not given it much, if any, thought other than to be reminded as I grocery shopped on Thursday, that the three days leading up to Thanksgiving Day tend to be brutal at the store where I shop for food. The Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday just prior to Thanksgiving Day are awful days to grocery shop.....unless you arrive at the store around 8 a.m., which is what I finally got smart and started doing several years ago. The hordes do not start arriving until between 9 and 9:30 a.m. and then, legions of the bad grocery-cart drivers show up, clogging the aisles while driving the wrong way. I would almost rather endure root canal than suffer through a shopping experience with moronic and rude grocery-cart operators.
However, not wanting Capt. SO to believe that I did not have a firm handle on the menu for Thanksgiving Day's main culinary event, I replied, "Eel." Looking a little flabbergasted, he replied, "I'm sorry, did I hear you correctly? Eel????" Feeling every bit the smarty-pants that I am, I retorted back, "Yes! I am planning a seafood meal. I thought we would start out with broiled eel, as an appetizer, accompanied, perhaps, by roe, which I am sure you know is fish eggs. Then we'll move to baked snapper and broiled sea scallops for our entree, followed, perhaps, by Oysters' Rockefeller ice cream. Doesn't that sound like a tasty meal?"
The incredulous look on his face was totally priceless. He started to protest that he could think of several of our guests who would not enjoy such fare, when I could no longer hold the deadpan look I had plastered on my face. As I started to grin, he started to laugh and we laughed so hard we nearly cried. Cranky Kitty did not appreciated the mirth and merriment and jumped off to go find quieter digs.
If you are a regular guest to our Thanksgiving table, fear not. You will not be dining on eel or oyster ice cream. Now those sea scallops may be another matter. My mouth is watering at the very typing of the words.
Time will tell!
Ancora imparo
Friday, October 28, 2011
Where Angels Fear To Tread, And I Probably Should Have, Too
Occasionally - OK, frequently - I read or hear something about something that completely catches my attention and brain, both of which may have been permanently frozen - even damaged - in junior high, (That's what it was called in my "day") which also may explain my total comfort and delight teaching middle school students for most of my educational career and has aided me in instructing and leading adults for most of my adult life.
Yesterday, on NPR's "All Things Considered", one of the regular contributors, Mr. Adam Frank, did a piece on the death of one John McCarthy, professor emeritus at Stanford University, who is known as the father of artificial intelligence. No academic slouch himself, Mr. Frank is an astrophysicist at the University of Rochester, thus making him perhaps more qualified to discuss artificial intelligence than a retired middle school band director.
Yet I am not deterred.
Quoting Mr. Frank, "Artificial intelligence has become such a standard part of culture that I can refer to it by its initials, A.I., and you know what I'm talking about. But the possible consequences of developing an intelligent self-aware machine are just as familiar. If I say "robot overlords," you will still know what I mean." I post this quote to inform Mr. Frank that by simply saying "AI", one's mind does not necessarily go immediately to "artificial intelligence".
Another well-known "AI" is artificial insemination and, depending on what your profession is or who you hang with, artificial insemination may well be a more recognized term than artificial intelligence. While Ancora Imparo is not the place to delve into the gory details of artificial insemination, let me just say that in the medical community, AI is more commonly referred to as "human reproductive technology". But, wait......AI first began in animal husbandry, primarily with dairy cattle and pigs - bovines and porcines, to be exact - with that research eventually benefiting humans. I personally know three individuals who have become world-reknown, and wealthy as well, because of their success in the animal AI world.
So, Mr. Frank, please be careful when making blanket statements like "you know what I'm talking about", because your AI and other peoples' AI are two totally different concepts, neither one of which is particularly pleasant to think about but both are facts of our modern world....................perhaps even not that unrelated.
There is yet a third AI and that would be this blog, Ancora Imparo
No need to restate it.
Yesterday, on NPR's "All Things Considered", one of the regular contributors, Mr. Adam Frank, did a piece on the death of one John McCarthy, professor emeritus at Stanford University, who is known as the father of artificial intelligence. No academic slouch himself, Mr. Frank is an astrophysicist at the University of Rochester, thus making him perhaps more qualified to discuss artificial intelligence than a retired middle school band director.
Yet I am not deterred.
Quoting Mr. Frank, "Artificial intelligence has become such a standard part of culture that I can refer to it by its initials, A.I., and you know what I'm talking about. But the possible consequences of developing an intelligent self-aware machine are just as familiar. If I say "robot overlords," you will still know what I mean." I post this quote to inform Mr. Frank that by simply saying "AI", one's mind does not necessarily go immediately to "artificial intelligence".
Another well-known "AI" is artificial insemination and, depending on what your profession is or who you hang with, artificial insemination may well be a more recognized term than artificial intelligence. While Ancora Imparo is not the place to delve into the gory details of artificial insemination, let me just say that in the medical community, AI is more commonly referred to as "human reproductive technology". But, wait......AI first began in animal husbandry, primarily with dairy cattle and pigs - bovines and porcines, to be exact - with that research eventually benefiting humans. I personally know three individuals who have become world-reknown, and wealthy as well, because of their success in the animal AI world.
So, Mr. Frank, please be careful when making blanket statements like "you know what I'm talking about", because your AI and other peoples' AI are two totally different concepts, neither one of which is particularly pleasant to think about but both are facts of our modern world....................perhaps even not that unrelated.
There is yet a third AI and that would be this blog, Ancora Imparo
No need to restate it.
Thursday, October 27, 2011
How Many Is Too Many?
Seven billion people.......that's a lot of humanity all crammed onto the surface of the planet we call Earth. The earth's population is poised to hit the seven-billion mark within the next twenty-four hours, according to world population scientists. The experts just do not know where the landmark will be reached. Actually, how they will know is what piques my interest.
So, what is the earth to do with seven billion of us? Perhaps the greater question is: What is the earth to do with the next billion. This is really a sticky and prickly question because unless we expand our livable environment to new horizons or we severely control population growth, the earth is left with the idea of dwindling and/or non-existent natural resources with which to support life as we now know it.
Medical science continues to advance to the next level and, along with researchers, fuels progress that enables us humans to live longer and longer. What is the answer?
I have long held that there are certain products that we currently have access to that can solve most population-density control issues. I'm not quite sure how, but I know that by increasing the use of Rubbermaid, Ziploc and 3M products, plus anything that H.C. Johnson - a family company - manufactures, we can communally solve this overcrowding problem. Between Ziploc plastic bags and 3M Duct tape, we should be able to build whole communities, plus divert natural resources to places in need.
I am not worried. I have enough hot chocolate and ramen noodles in my pantry to hole up for years. Add in the number of chewing gum packets I just discovered last week and I might be able to support the next generation.
Seven-billion-and-one? Bring it (him or her) on!
Ancora imparo
So, what is the earth to do with seven billion of us? Perhaps the greater question is: What is the earth to do with the next billion. This is really a sticky and prickly question because unless we expand our livable environment to new horizons or we severely control population growth, the earth is left with the idea of dwindling and/or non-existent natural resources with which to support life as we now know it.
Medical science continues to advance to the next level and, along with researchers, fuels progress that enables us humans to live longer and longer. What is the answer?
I have long held that there are certain products that we currently have access to that can solve most population-density control issues. I'm not quite sure how, but I know that by increasing the use of Rubbermaid, Ziploc and 3M products, plus anything that H.C. Johnson - a family company - manufactures, we can communally solve this overcrowding problem. Between Ziploc plastic bags and 3M Duct tape, we should be able to build whole communities, plus divert natural resources to places in need.
I am not worried. I have enough hot chocolate and ramen noodles in my pantry to hole up for years. Add in the number of chewing gum packets I just discovered last week and I might be able to support the next generation.
Seven-billion-and-one? Bring it (him or her) on!
Ancora imparo
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
Sign Readin'
The signs of approaching cold weather are everywhere and brought yet another song to mind. In 1971, a Canadian rock band named the Five Man Electrical Band (formerly named The Staccatos) had a Billboard hit single called "Signs". The refrain has been running in my head all day.
Sign, sign everywhere a sign
Blockin' out the scenery, breakin' my mind
Do this, don't do that, can't you read the sign?
Trees outside my office window, which one were densely leafed, are now barren, simply organized stick-mazes. Their defoliation seems to have happened overnight, although I know that it was a gradual process.
My floors are colder than normal and my feet recognize the change. I am no longer able to go sock-free indoors for extended periods of time without my feet becoming uncomfortably cold. Rooms with carpeting are more luxurious on my pieds than those with hardwood and tile. Laundry baskets are filled with Smart Wool socks of every color, thickness, and design. I should buy stock in the SmartWool company.
Store and home decorations are resplendent with pumpkins, scarecrows, gourds, bales of hay, squash, witches, ghosts and goblins. Store sale flyers are in every newspaper, online and in the mail announcing pre-winter season sales and specials. Television ads for Halloween costumes and Halloween-themed television episodes appear on almost every commercial break.
My clothes closet is now a clear sign that warm, summer weather is over. Gone are the shorts, sleeveless shirts, brightly colored garments and sundresses. In their place are long pants, long-sleeved tops, sweaters, muted colors favoring blacks, grays, and burgundy. My snow boots now sit where my sandals once did and my winter jackets are all in place.
My crockpot is pulled into action each week, turning out tasty soups and chilli. Warm apple cider with a cinnamon stick and teas are now the favored evening beverages, replacing iced drinks.
The signs for weather that I am not fond of are numerous. They are breakin' my mind.
Ancora imparo
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
The Real Deal
They say that big things come in small packages and Broadway singer and actress, Kristin Chenoweth, is the real deal. At only 4' 11", Chenoweth may be vertically challenged, but her magnificent voice makes up for her small-scale height. Her speaking voice, which is quite distinctive, belies the sound that emanates from her when she opens her mouth to sing. And sing, she can. A coloratura, which in lay terms means she can sing really high, her range has breadth and depth. I doubt there is a note she cannot sing perfectly.
Why am I writing about Kristin Chenoweth? Because (here comes a value judgement) she performed last night, live, on national television and showed the female vocal-wannabees of this world what a real singer sounds like. Granted, she sang a couple of Broadway show tunes, and Broadway is her principle domain, but I have also heard her sing gospel, rock, blues, and jazz and it all comes off flawlessly. The airwaves are filled with female (male, too) singers who can barely sing a pitch in tune, or carry a tune. True, the music that is written for them is what I have heard described as 7/11 music. Seven notes sung eleven times, over and over. Much of the music that the female wannabees sing leaves little room for vocal platitudes but does lend itself to bumping, grinding, pelvic thrusts, pole dancing, and rhythmic shuffling from side to side. Add a little raw meat to their already skimpy costumes and, voila! you have a pop star who shouldn't even be mentioned in the same breath as Kristin Chenoweth.
Good singers, be they female or male, don't need cleavage or loin enhancements to wow a crowd. Hair length and gender identity has little to do with vocal prowess, either. Look at Freddy Mercury or American Idol's runner-up, Adam Lambert.
I'm all for pop, rock, blues, heavy metal and funk but give me good singers who sound good out of the recording studio. The litmus test is live, no lip-synching and no Milli Vannili.
Kudos, Kristin Chenoweth. Way to bring the house down.
Ancora imparo
Why am I writing about Kristin Chenoweth? Because (here comes a value judgement) she performed last night, live, on national television and showed the female vocal-wannabees of this world what a real singer sounds like. Granted, she sang a couple of Broadway show tunes, and Broadway is her principle domain, but I have also heard her sing gospel, rock, blues, and jazz and it all comes off flawlessly. The airwaves are filled with female (male, too) singers who can barely sing a pitch in tune, or carry a tune. True, the music that is written for them is what I have heard described as 7/11 music. Seven notes sung eleven times, over and over. Much of the music that the female wannabees sing leaves little room for vocal platitudes but does lend itself to bumping, grinding, pelvic thrusts, pole dancing, and rhythmic shuffling from side to side. Add a little raw meat to their already skimpy costumes and, voila! you have a pop star who shouldn't even be mentioned in the same breath as Kristin Chenoweth.
Good singers, be they female or male, don't need cleavage or loin enhancements to wow a crowd. Hair length and gender identity has little to do with vocal prowess, either. Look at Freddy Mercury or American Idol's runner-up, Adam Lambert.
I'm all for pop, rock, blues, heavy metal and funk but give me good singers who sound good out of the recording studio. The litmus test is live, no lip-synching and no Milli Vannili.
Kudos, Kristin Chenoweth. Way to bring the house down.
Ancora imparo
Monday, October 24, 2011
But Will I Listen Next Time?
Occasionally my foolishness comes back to bite me in the derriere and this morning I lost at least half of my posterior I was so foolish. In a hurry to eat something, I opened up the refrigerator door and cast an eye over its contents. I almost grabbed the egg carton, going to my standard eggwhite something-or-other and then I spied the Rubbermaid 9X13 inch container. Big mistake. The minute I saw the pan of left-over lasagne, my brain was hooked and no matter how hard I tried, I could not shake the idea of eating lasagne for breakfast. My arms took on a life of their own and they rose up from the sides of my body to reach the pan on the top shelf of the refrigerator. As I lifted the pan down and placed it on the countertop, a small-but-very-loud voice in my head kept screaming, "What are you doing?" I ignored the small-but-very-loud voice and placed one piece of lasagne in a bowl and headed for the microwave.
Bad, bad, very bad idea.
Once the lasagne had been nuked in the microwave, my second wave of uber-foolishness occurred and I reached for a giant coffee mug, thinking a steaming mug of freshly brewed coffee would compliment the lasagne nicely. Quite possibly.....at 6:00 p.m.in a Chicago diner but not at 8 a.m. in a Midwest condominium.
While I was eating the lasagne and enjoying my coffee, all was well internally and I gave little thought to the odd combination of foods so early in the day....until shortly after I had finished my culinary dalliance and then the honeymoon was over. Heartburn - with heat so intense it felt like a six-alarm fire.
Of course, by now, the small-but-very-loud voice that I had ignored earlier was now laughing uncontrollably while shouting, "I told you so, I told you so.....but YOU didn't listen."
I learn the hard way. I need a Food 504 Plan.
Ancora imparo
Bad, bad, very bad idea.
Once the lasagne had been nuked in the microwave, my second wave of uber-foolishness occurred and I reached for a giant coffee mug, thinking a steaming mug of freshly brewed coffee would compliment the lasagne nicely. Quite possibly.....at 6:00 p.m.in a Chicago diner but not at 8 a.m. in a Midwest condominium.
While I was eating the lasagne and enjoying my coffee, all was well internally and I gave little thought to the odd combination of foods so early in the day....until shortly after I had finished my culinary dalliance and then the honeymoon was over. Heartburn - with heat so intense it felt like a six-alarm fire.
Of course, by now, the small-but-very-loud voice that I had ignored earlier was now laughing uncontrollably while shouting, "I told you so, I told you so.....but YOU didn't listen."
I learn the hard way. I need a Food 504 Plan.
Ancora imparo
Gobblers of a Menacing Kind
This past weekend provided the opportunity to travel both north and south of my residence. Most of the miles were covered on interstate highways and one twelve-mile section was on a state highway. Both directions had construction, neither of which was too constrictive in terms of traffic movement. There was a plethora of orange cones and barrels in sight, due to the powerful American Union of Barrel Putterouters. This union has amazing and powerful clout, enabling its members to place cones and barrels willy-nilly, with no obvious plan to begin construction on any near-future date.
However, I digress.
As we traveled the highways and biways of the Upper Midwest, what was notable and disheartening was the significant number of farmland acres being lost to construction of some kind, whether it be roads or bike paths. Wide swaths of prime, tillable acreage is being gobbled up by bulldozers, earth movers and backhoes all feeding dozens, perhaps hundreds, of dump trucks, busy ferrying rocks, boulders, scrub brush and, sadly, thousands of tree-skeletons. Trees that once were green and verdent are now nothing more than cut-up limbs and shredded bark.
This is progress?
One of the destruction zones is a route I drive on an almost daily basis and it pains me to see mile after mile of rich topsoil being stripped away, exposing the hard-packed earth below it that once supported corn, wheat, and soy bean crops. Over a past number of years, the media has interviewed landowners whose voices have been lost in the hungry quest for more roadways to accommodate more drivers who want to drive to more new subdivisions that demand services such as water, sewer, power, cable.....the thirst for expansion is insatiable and, more importantly, seemingly out of control.
This is progress?
Most of these landowners did not chose to "sell" their land in the name of "progress". They had no choice in the matter. Eminent domain gives governments the option for compulsory purchase of property, which also enables governmental entities to set purchase prices. These owners did not get up one morning and decide it was a good day to bring a new roadway within yards of their buildings, cut off easy access to acres, carve up their acreage "donating" land to local, state or federal projects, and see perhaps generations of family sweat-equity get carted away in dump trucks. This has to be like watching the autopsy of a loved one for these families.
This is not progress. My daily travel route is currently a two-lane highway which does need repair, upgrading - maybe even replacing, and some additional traffic signals - but it does not need to become a four-lane carnivore, destroying farms in its ugly path. We, as a nation, are setting ourselves up for the taste of foreign commodities - once easily, cheaply and safely obtained on our own soil.
This is NOT progress.
However, I digress.
As we traveled the highways and biways of the Upper Midwest, what was notable and disheartening was the significant number of farmland acres being lost to construction of some kind, whether it be roads or bike paths. Wide swaths of prime, tillable acreage is being gobbled up by bulldozers, earth movers and backhoes all feeding dozens, perhaps hundreds, of dump trucks, busy ferrying rocks, boulders, scrub brush and, sadly, thousands of tree-skeletons. Trees that once were green and verdent are now nothing more than cut-up limbs and shredded bark.
This is progress?
One of the destruction zones is a route I drive on an almost daily basis and it pains me to see mile after mile of rich topsoil being stripped away, exposing the hard-packed earth below it that once supported corn, wheat, and soy bean crops. Over a past number of years, the media has interviewed landowners whose voices have been lost in the hungry quest for more roadways to accommodate more drivers who want to drive to more new subdivisions that demand services such as water, sewer, power, cable.....the thirst for expansion is insatiable and, more importantly, seemingly out of control.
This is progress?
Most of these landowners did not chose to "sell" their land in the name of "progress". They had no choice in the matter. Eminent domain gives governments the option for compulsory purchase of property, which also enables governmental entities to set purchase prices. These owners did not get up one morning and decide it was a good day to bring a new roadway within yards of their buildings, cut off easy access to acres, carve up their acreage "donating" land to local, state or federal projects, and see perhaps generations of family sweat-equity get carted away in dump trucks. This has to be like watching the autopsy of a loved one for these families.
This is not progress. My daily travel route is currently a two-lane highway which does need repair, upgrading - maybe even replacing, and some additional traffic signals - but it does not need to become a four-lane carnivore, destroying farms in its ugly path. We, as a nation, are setting ourselves up for the taste of foreign commodities - once easily, cheaply and safely obtained on our own soil.
This is NOT progress.
Friday, October 21, 2011
Early-Bird Worm Collections
I just looked at the clock and realized that, at 5:40 a.m., I have been awake since 3:00 a.m. and up since 4:20 a.m. I am not sure if I should give myself a prize for having initiative or insanity. When I finally gave up trying to sleep and rolled out of bed, I could hear the vehicles moving along the state highway that is about one-half to three-quarters of a mile behind our condo. The traffic wasn't heavy, by any means, but it was constant and was rather comforting to know that there were others who weren't under their comfy covers, either. As I moved about cat-like so as not to disturb Capt. SO, I was fortunate to know, by touch, where all of my clothes were and exactly where my glasses were. It is one thing to be fully dressed and ready to go and another to not have my eyeglasses on. Dressed but sightless simply does not work at all.
Shuffling out to the kitchen, I turned on the under-counter lights, which are my favorite light-sources when I am prowling during the night. For some reason, I find these lights comforting, perhaps because although they add bright light immediately below them, their illumination does not extend much beyond the counter area so the kitchen stays relatively dark. I can still move about and work, which is what I decided to do with my sleepless extra time. Coffee seemed to be a prescriptive measure, so a big pot was made, resulting in the steaming cup of brew sitting next to my laptop. Next I decided to start the white bean soup, thinking I would get a jump on the day's task of making white bean/black bean soup. The proof of whether or not my brain can work in the early hours of the day and whether or not I had enough kitchen light will come tonight when the soups are done and we sit down to enjoy the fruits of my nocturnal labor.
I note that even Cranky Kitty has not ventured out of her bed to check on me. Perhaps she is smarter than I give her credit for. Smarter than me this morning? For sure!
I am headed back to the coffee pot. May you have all the caffeine or internal/external stimulation you need today.
Ancora imparo
Shuffling out to the kitchen, I turned on the under-counter lights, which are my favorite light-sources when I am prowling during the night. For some reason, I find these lights comforting, perhaps because although they add bright light immediately below them, their illumination does not extend much beyond the counter area so the kitchen stays relatively dark. I can still move about and work, which is what I decided to do with my sleepless extra time. Coffee seemed to be a prescriptive measure, so a big pot was made, resulting in the steaming cup of brew sitting next to my laptop. Next I decided to start the white bean soup, thinking I would get a jump on the day's task of making white bean/black bean soup. The proof of whether or not my brain can work in the early hours of the day and whether or not I had enough kitchen light will come tonight when the soups are done and we sit down to enjoy the fruits of my nocturnal labor.
I note that even Cranky Kitty has not ventured out of her bed to check on me. Perhaps she is smarter than I give her credit for. Smarter than me this morning? For sure!
I am headed back to the coffee pot. May you have all the caffeine or internal/external stimulation you need today.
Ancora imparo
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Get Yourselves Some Silver Polish
Protesting is not my cup of tea. At least not the stand-around-and-hold-a-placard type or the sit-down-and-refuse-to-move type. I am more of the school of "If I am not part of the solution, then I am part of the problem". I am most likely apt to protest by firing off a letter, making an appointment to share my grave disappointment, never shopping at your store again, or voting against you or them as often or as long as it takes.
Because I understand that to understand, I must walk a mile in your shoes, I try to not pass judgement when I see you picketing, striking, or demonstrating. If you or I break a law, then I believe that both of us should be led away in handcuffs.
When the Wall Street protestors began mulling about and the national and international media picked up on the story, I watched with mild amusement, deciding that perhaps people had better things they could be doing with their time. (A judgement, I know.) Over the past month, not only has the movement not gone away, but it has gained momentum in New York City and around the nation. An Associated Press article from Wednesday, October 19, 2011 caught my eye and my ire.
I have to give it to these mostly young protestors. They have created a job for themselves when no one else, including the Great Illusionist and all of Congress, could. And, they are doing this in a way that will showcase skills on future resumes. These protestors are receiving so much in financial and material donations that they are having to money-manage the spoils of their protesting. They are becoming that which they protest. The I-Hate-Wall-Street movement has about $435,000.00 in donations already, with tens of thousands of dollars being donated in person, perhaps by some of the evil-awful people with Wall Street jobs. Apparently, the protestors are looking to manage the $435,000.00 to help them get through the winter. Here is a snapshot of how the protestors are getting by: $1,500.00 a day on food, a recent $2,000.00 bill for dry cleaning their sleeping bags, "about $20,000.00 on equipment such as laptops and cameras, and costs associated with streaming video of the protest on the Internet." The protestors have received enormous amounts of other donations such as blankets, canned food, swim goggles to protect their eyes from pepper spray, and a warehouse to keep all of the stuff in. According to the AP article, written by Verena Dobnik and Karen Matthews, about $8,000.00 a day comes in.
Many of the protestors have college degrees, with a healthy emphasis on Ivy League schools. I just wonder what all of New York City's homeless think of the Tajmawallstreet atmosphere that has enveloped the movement. I have to believe that the homeless look at this with envy and more than a little disgust, wishing their plight was receiving all of the money, sleeping bags cleaned on a regular basis, food, laptops, and a warehouse to boot.
Wall Street protestors - I hope you appreciate the silver spoon that is dangling from your mouths. The silver is tarnishing quickly. Get yourselves some polish. You are going to need it.
Ancora imparo
Because I understand that to understand, I must walk a mile in your shoes, I try to not pass judgement when I see you picketing, striking, or demonstrating. If you or I break a law, then I believe that both of us should be led away in handcuffs.
When the Wall Street protestors began mulling about and the national and international media picked up on the story, I watched with mild amusement, deciding that perhaps people had better things they could be doing with their time. (A judgement, I know.) Over the past month, not only has the movement not gone away, but it has gained momentum in New York City and around the nation. An Associated Press article from Wednesday, October 19, 2011 caught my eye and my ire.
I have to give it to these mostly young protestors. They have created a job for themselves when no one else, including the Great Illusionist and all of Congress, could. And, they are doing this in a way that will showcase skills on future resumes. These protestors are receiving so much in financial and material donations that they are having to money-manage the spoils of their protesting. They are becoming that which they protest. The I-Hate-Wall-Street movement has about $435,000.00 in donations already, with tens of thousands of dollars being donated in person, perhaps by some of the evil-awful people with Wall Street jobs. Apparently, the protestors are looking to manage the $435,000.00 to help them get through the winter. Here is a snapshot of how the protestors are getting by: $1,500.00 a day on food, a recent $2,000.00 bill for dry cleaning their sleeping bags, "about $20,000.00 on equipment such as laptops and cameras, and costs associated with streaming video of the protest on the Internet." The protestors have received enormous amounts of other donations such as blankets, canned food, swim goggles to protect their eyes from pepper spray, and a warehouse to keep all of the stuff in. According to the AP article, written by Verena Dobnik and Karen Matthews, about $8,000.00 a day comes in.
Many of the protestors have college degrees, with a healthy emphasis on Ivy League schools. I just wonder what all of New York City's homeless think of the Tajmawallstreet atmosphere that has enveloped the movement. I have to believe that the homeless look at this with envy and more than a little disgust, wishing their plight was receiving all of the money, sleeping bags cleaned on a regular basis, food, laptops, and a warehouse to boot.
Wall Street protestors - I hope you appreciate the silver spoon that is dangling from your mouths. The silver is tarnishing quickly. Get yourselves some polish. You are going to need it.
Ancora imparo
Could Go Either Way
I'm experimenting. Tinkering - well, maybe tampering -with two tried and true recipes.
I've written about my past experiences "tweaking" recipes only to discover that the outcomes were less than palatable. I've also written that substituting low-fat or fat-free ingredients for the "real thing" is a hit and miss proposition and the outcome is like a culinary Las Vegas game of chance. But, here I am today substituting and tinkering.
This probably isn't be best idea because earlier this morning luck was not running in my favor. I stopped at my favorite bakery, a local Great Harvest Bread Co., only to discover that the store's debit and credit machines were not working. Ironically, a sign posted on the door said only cash and checks were being accepted even though they have a strict no-checks-accepted policy as a rule. Fortunately I had a little cash tucked away. Then, needing some cash, I drove to my bank's headquarters, only to discover that the ATM machine was not working properly......after I'd used my card, my personal identification number, entered the desired amount of cash, and the machine had flashed, "please wait......". After too many minutes had passed and then screen then flashed "thank you", I grabbed my cell phone and called the bank, telling the person who answered the phone about my predicament and also telling him that I was not moving away from the camera until he assured me that the problem could be rectified inside and that they would believe me. Yes, the problem was rectified to my satisfaction.
Which brings me back to the wisdom of testing the universe yet one more time today, which I have now done - twice. Instead of making the Three Musketeers' favorite red and green cookies, I have changed the food coloring to make yellow and orange cookies, in the spirit of autumn and Halloween. Twill be interesting to see if the change in coloration influences their minds enough to convince themselves that the cookies will taste different. The second testing-of-the-universe has to do with my family's all-time favorite lasagna recipe. I am making two pans - one as usual to take down to the Three Musketeers and their parents and in the other pan I am substituting Italian-spiced ground turkey meat instead of the customary Italian sausage for Capt. SO and I to enjoy here at home. I tried a bit of the ground turkey and the taste was OK but the color was not-so-appealing. I can only say that it "twill be interesting". Our pan of lasagna may fall into the category of "never again".
This could go either way. Success or "yuck".
Ancora imparo
I've written about my past experiences "tweaking" recipes only to discover that the outcomes were less than palatable. I've also written that substituting low-fat or fat-free ingredients for the "real thing" is a hit and miss proposition and the outcome is like a culinary Las Vegas game of chance. But, here I am today substituting and tinkering.
This probably isn't be best idea because earlier this morning luck was not running in my favor. I stopped at my favorite bakery, a local Great Harvest Bread Co., only to discover that the store's debit and credit machines were not working. Ironically, a sign posted on the door said only cash and checks were being accepted even though they have a strict no-checks-accepted policy as a rule. Fortunately I had a little cash tucked away. Then, needing some cash, I drove to my bank's headquarters, only to discover that the ATM machine was not working properly......after I'd used my card, my personal identification number, entered the desired amount of cash, and the machine had flashed, "please wait......". After too many minutes had passed and then screen then flashed "thank you", I grabbed my cell phone and called the bank, telling the person who answered the phone about my predicament and also telling him that I was not moving away from the camera until he assured me that the problem could be rectified inside and that they would believe me. Yes, the problem was rectified to my satisfaction.
Which brings me back to the wisdom of testing the universe yet one more time today, which I have now done - twice. Instead of making the Three Musketeers' favorite red and green cookies, I have changed the food coloring to make yellow and orange cookies, in the spirit of autumn and Halloween. Twill be interesting to see if the change in coloration influences their minds enough to convince themselves that the cookies will taste different. The second testing-of-the-universe has to do with my family's all-time favorite lasagna recipe. I am making two pans - one as usual to take down to the Three Musketeers and their parents and in the other pan I am substituting Italian-spiced ground turkey meat instead of the customary Italian sausage for Capt. SO and I to enjoy here at home. I tried a bit of the ground turkey and the taste was OK but the color was not-so-appealing. I can only say that it "twill be interesting". Our pan of lasagna may fall into the category of "never again".
This could go either way. Success or "yuck".
Ancora imparo
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Handy-Dandy Weight Loss Tools
Belly-wrapping. I had not heard of it as a serious weight-loss tool until this morning when a network-television morning "news" (There's an oxymoron, for you.) show did a segment on it. Prior to this enlightening moment, my total knowledge of body-wrapping came from Mirabel Morgan's early 1970's book, The Total Woman. In her book, one of Morgan's tips for a woman to be Mary Magdelene, Betty Crocker, and Angelina Jolie all in one, was to disrobe, wrap herself in Saran Wrap and greet her husband at the door when he arrived home from work. This is what I grew up with as an example of how to be the "perfect" wife. I never thought of Saran Wrap as a weight-loss tool.
Later, in my life, I knew a young high school student who used plastic wrap and aluminum foil wrapped around body parts (then covered by a sweat suit) to loose pounds and shed water while jogging in order to manipulate his weight for wrestling purposes. I never tried it because, well....I should think my reasons would speak for themselves.
Now that I know about belly-wrapping, I think this procedure fits in nicely with my fall closet-cleansing. I am certain that I could duct-tape all of those tiny plastic, zippered bags that I found all together and form a plastic wrap that should fit around one thigh. I know that I have beaucoup bubble wrap in my walk-in closet, just waiting to be needed for something. Why not wrap my other thigh and torso in bubble wrap? I own several rolls of packing tape that could be used to secure the bubble wrap and ensure a hot climate and tight adherence to my body.
Remember all of the term-paper plastic covers I wrote about? I did not discard them and they could also be fastened together with - of course - duct tape and be used on my upper arm flab that has begun flapping as I wildly gesture with my arms. As far as reducing my turkey neck, I think I can utilize the nylon line I found that was once used for a camping clothesline. No, not to injure myself, but to stabilize my neck nicely in order to promote heat retention and re-establish a lovely neck curvature.
Today Capt. SO and I threw out an old floor mat that we had kept in the garage on which we wiped our feet before entering the condo. I'm kind of sorry we let that go. I'm quite certain I could have used it as wrap around something......but now I'll never know.
To all my female readers - throw out nothing until you are certain it cannot be used as a body-part wrap. We'll all be size fours before the Holly Daze.
Ancora imparo
Later, in my life, I knew a young high school student who used plastic wrap and aluminum foil wrapped around body parts (then covered by a sweat suit) to loose pounds and shed water while jogging in order to manipulate his weight for wrestling purposes. I never tried it because, well....I should think my reasons would speak for themselves.
Now that I know about belly-wrapping, I think this procedure fits in nicely with my fall closet-cleansing. I am certain that I could duct-tape all of those tiny plastic, zippered bags that I found all together and form a plastic wrap that should fit around one thigh. I know that I have beaucoup bubble wrap in my walk-in closet, just waiting to be needed for something. Why not wrap my other thigh and torso in bubble wrap? I own several rolls of packing tape that could be used to secure the bubble wrap and ensure a hot climate and tight adherence to my body.
Remember all of the term-paper plastic covers I wrote about? I did not discard them and they could also be fastened together with - of course - duct tape and be used on my upper arm flab that has begun flapping as I wildly gesture with my arms. As far as reducing my turkey neck, I think I can utilize the nylon line I found that was once used for a camping clothesline. No, not to injure myself, but to stabilize my neck nicely in order to promote heat retention and re-establish a lovely neck curvature.
Today Capt. SO and I threw out an old floor mat that we had kept in the garage on which we wiped our feet before entering the condo. I'm kind of sorry we let that go. I'm quite certain I could have used it as wrap around something......but now I'll never know.
To all my female readers - throw out nothing until you are certain it cannot be used as a body-part wrap. We'll all be size fours before the Holly Daze.
Ancora imparo
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Is There A Museum In My Future?
As I sit, I am looking at a container with six, plastic, long-handled iced-tea-style spoons. The colors are fun and bright - orange, lime-green, yellow, sapphire blue, aqua-blue and red. I remember buying the spoons two or three summers ago, keeping one set on the Aqua RV and bringing the other set home, intending to put the home set out for general usage, but putting it away and then forgetting about the set.......until I discovered them last night when I cleaned and organized my office closet.
Digging back into the depths of the closet, my quest for order yielded many forgotten treasures and other items that need to be forgotten. One of the more fascinating discoveries was a 6"X10" Rubbermaid container that, clearly marked, had dozens of shoestrings, leather strings, and other "strings" of questionable origin and purpose. This container's existence must have kept its roots from long ago - like twenty years and longer - when my children were young and wore tennis shoes with shoe strings and boots that required leather ties. The container also held various bits of string in different colors as well as multiple spools of packing string....from back in the day when you mailed a package in brown paper and tied with string. That method of package-wrapping has long since been discarded and disallowed by the US Postal Service. If it were spring, I would have laid all the string pieces out on the lawn for the birds to use in nest building. I also found a thirty-plus year old nylon rope used as a clothesline for camping trips.
My closet organization and cleaning spilled over into the drawers of my sewing desk as well as the little office-shelf organizer on my desk, right behind my laptop. Between these two places I found numerous tiny, zippered plastic bags, one even had two screws in it for eyeglasses. Also being saved for posterity were about a dozen paper sacks, each about two-by-three inches. I located an old, family sugar-cookie recipe that I had searched the condo for - upside and downside, inside and outside - during this past winter, coming to the conclusion that I must have accidentally discarded the recipe. Now, Aunt Ruby's sugar-cookie recipe will once again come to life as a family favorite.
There is still "stuff" on the shelves and in drawers that needs to be thrown away, but maybe I'll save it for another deep cleansing. I have a dozen, or more, hand-crocheted dishcloths that will last me until my grandchildren graduate from college. I have enough mailing envelopes that could supply a new US Postal Station, and I have enough term-paper covers to wallpaper the halls of Congress.....none of which are practical or useful since I don't think college (or high school) students actually turn in hard-copy papers any longer.
Maybe I should just open up my own museum?
Ancora imparo
Digging back into the depths of the closet, my quest for order yielded many forgotten treasures and other items that need to be forgotten. One of the more fascinating discoveries was a 6"X10" Rubbermaid container that, clearly marked, had dozens of shoestrings, leather strings, and other "strings" of questionable origin and purpose. This container's existence must have kept its roots from long ago - like twenty years and longer - when my children were young and wore tennis shoes with shoe strings and boots that required leather ties. The container also held various bits of string in different colors as well as multiple spools of packing string....from back in the day when you mailed a package in brown paper and tied with string. That method of package-wrapping has long since been discarded and disallowed by the US Postal Service. If it were spring, I would have laid all the string pieces out on the lawn for the birds to use in nest building. I also found a thirty-plus year old nylon rope used as a clothesline for camping trips.
My closet organization and cleaning spilled over into the drawers of my sewing desk as well as the little office-shelf organizer on my desk, right behind my laptop. Between these two places I found numerous tiny, zippered plastic bags, one even had two screws in it for eyeglasses. Also being saved for posterity were about a dozen paper sacks, each about two-by-three inches. I located an old, family sugar-cookie recipe that I had searched the condo for - upside and downside, inside and outside - during this past winter, coming to the conclusion that I must have accidentally discarded the recipe. Now, Aunt Ruby's sugar-cookie recipe will once again come to life as a family favorite.
There is still "stuff" on the shelves and in drawers that needs to be thrown away, but maybe I'll save it for another deep cleansing. I have a dozen, or more, hand-crocheted dishcloths that will last me until my grandchildren graduate from college. I have enough mailing envelopes that could supply a new US Postal Station, and I have enough term-paper covers to wallpaper the halls of Congress.....none of which are practical or useful since I don't think college (or high school) students actually turn in hard-copy papers any longer.
Maybe I should just open up my own museum?
Ancora imparo
Monday, October 17, 2011
Creating More Work
Me thinks this fall "to-do" list that I have compiled for myself is getting out of hand. The list was long to begin with and, to make matters worse, I keep adding to it. I seem incapable of not picking up a writing instrument and adding "just one more" task. As of last night, when the condo was filled with smelly smoke from my self-cleaning oven cycle, I was asking myself where my brain had escaped to.
The day had begun early and with a bang - a good bang - but a bang nevertheless that left me a little tired-but-happy. Napping was not an option so, after lunch, I turned to my fall, done-with-summer- get-reacquainted-with-my-home-back-to-reality list, determined to begin crossing off tasks. This year my determination seems to be lacking and my feet seem to be mired in concrete when it comes to tackling minor-to-medium sized projects. I can ignore a task that needs to be accomplished for days - or so it seems.
I gave myself a good talking to, grabbed my list and a pen and set to work. It was late afternoon when I thought (erroneously) to myself, "Why don't you clean the oven?" Oven-cleaning was on my list and it was a task that I could have easily put off for a long time, but that was precisely the issue - I had put it off for a long time - and the time was now. I searched for - and found - the oven operating manual (even though I was secretly hoping I would not be able to locate it), read the self-cleaning instruction part, pushed the right buttons, (Actually there are no buttons any more. Now you push "places".) the unit locked itself, and the process began. Not too long into the three-and-one-half hour cycle, the smoke that was predicted began to be emitted from the oven. Real smoke and a nasty odor permeated the condo. I didn't want to open the condo to the out-of-doors but when I walked into the first-floor master bedroom and noticed I was looking through a haze I sprang into action and opened up as many doors with screens as I could. Soon a cross breeze was doing its best to push smell and haze out but then the condo became a little on the cool side. I was thrilled with the coolness but Capt. SO is not a fan of being cold and he began to complain. His protestations had to fall on deaf ears because clearing out the haze was more important than his body temperature. (Heartless wench that I am.)
Today I am realizing that I simply created more work for moi because now the interior of the oven needs to be wiped out and the the oven racks are silently waiting for me in the laundry room - waiting for their turn to be scrubbed and polished.
I should have taken that nap.
Ancora imparo
The day had begun early and with a bang - a good bang - but a bang nevertheless that left me a little tired-but-happy. Napping was not an option so, after lunch, I turned to my fall, done-with-summer- get-reacquainted-with-my-home-back-to-reality list, determined to begin crossing off tasks. This year my determination seems to be lacking and my feet seem to be mired in concrete when it comes to tackling minor-to-medium sized projects. I can ignore a task that needs to be accomplished for days - or so it seems.
I gave myself a good talking to, grabbed my list and a pen and set to work. It was late afternoon when I thought (erroneously) to myself, "Why don't you clean the oven?" Oven-cleaning was on my list and it was a task that I could have easily put off for a long time, but that was precisely the issue - I had put it off for a long time - and the time was now. I searched for - and found - the oven operating manual (even though I was secretly hoping I would not be able to locate it), read the self-cleaning instruction part, pushed the right buttons, (Actually there are no buttons any more. Now you push "places".) the unit locked itself, and the process began. Not too long into the three-and-one-half hour cycle, the smoke that was predicted began to be emitted from the oven. Real smoke and a nasty odor permeated the condo. I didn't want to open the condo to the out-of-doors but when I walked into the first-floor master bedroom and noticed I was looking through a haze I sprang into action and opened up as many doors with screens as I could. Soon a cross breeze was doing its best to push smell and haze out but then the condo became a little on the cool side. I was thrilled with the coolness but Capt. SO is not a fan of being cold and he began to complain. His protestations had to fall on deaf ears because clearing out the haze was more important than his body temperature. (Heartless wench that I am.)
Today I am realizing that I simply created more work for moi because now the interior of the oven needs to be wiped out and the the oven racks are silently waiting for me in the laundry room - waiting for their turn to be scrubbed and polished.
I should have taken that nap.
Ancora imparo
Sunday, October 16, 2011
Not A Happy Sitter
My office chair is possessed, I'm quite certain. Not an inexpensive chair, it and I have been together for quite a few years now and we have never reached an agreement on how high the chair should remain. I swear that there is some live being in the chair's mechanism that lowers the chair while I am not in it.
My supposedly ergonomic chair has some kind of paddle-arm thing-a-ma-gig that I am supposed to be able to push on to lower the chair and lift up to raise the chair. I have been at odds with it since Day One. Oh, to be sure, lowering the chair is no problem. It either lowers itself or lowers instantly if my hand comes within a fraction of an inch above the paddle thing-a-ma-gig. In fact, I think it delights in being as low to the floor as possible. I have short legs to begin with and when the chair is at its lowest position, my knees can practically touch my chin.
Raising the chair is another matter. There must be something in the upper atmosphere of my office that my chair does not like. Perhaps it feels oxygen deprived....I do not know. I not only think my chair is possessed but I am certain it does not like females. When the chair has self-lowered, I can call out to Capt. SO to help me raise it and he always obliges. He sits in the chair, somehow gets his hand under the paddle thing-a-ma-gig and the chair whizzes to its highest position. When I sit it in the chair and attempt the same routine maneuver, the chair will not budge. Rather, it usually lowers itself even farther down than it is programmed to go. The only way I can get the chair to rise is to get on the floor, position myself under the chair, and push up on the paddle thing-a-ma-gig as hard as I can. It then will slowly rise to the highest position.
I do not like my chair and I do not think my chair is fond of me, either, but I refuse to coax and cajole this possessed-yet-inanimate object. If there were no-kill shelters for uncooperative office chairs, my chair would be in the Suburban this afternoon.
One of us has got to go.
Ancora imparo
My supposedly ergonomic chair has some kind of paddle-arm thing-a-ma-gig that I am supposed to be able to push on to lower the chair and lift up to raise the chair. I have been at odds with it since Day One. Oh, to be sure, lowering the chair is no problem. It either lowers itself or lowers instantly if my hand comes within a fraction of an inch above the paddle thing-a-ma-gig. In fact, I think it delights in being as low to the floor as possible. I have short legs to begin with and when the chair is at its lowest position, my knees can practically touch my chin.
Raising the chair is another matter. There must be something in the upper atmosphere of my office that my chair does not like. Perhaps it feels oxygen deprived....I do not know. I not only think my chair is possessed but I am certain it does not like females. When the chair has self-lowered, I can call out to Capt. SO to help me raise it and he always obliges. He sits in the chair, somehow gets his hand under the paddle thing-a-ma-gig and the chair whizzes to its highest position. When I sit it in the chair and attempt the same routine maneuver, the chair will not budge. Rather, it usually lowers itself even farther down than it is programmed to go. The only way I can get the chair to rise is to get on the floor, position myself under the chair, and push up on the paddle thing-a-ma-gig as hard as I can. It then will slowly rise to the highest position.
I do not like my chair and I do not think my chair is fond of me, either, but I refuse to coax and cajole this possessed-yet-inanimate object. If there were no-kill shelters for uncooperative office chairs, my chair would be in the Suburban this afternoon.
One of us has got to go.
Ancora imparo
Saturday, October 15, 2011
No Ambivalence Required
Facebook. Twitter. Linkedin. Just three social media site names that are, perhaps, the most recognized.....depending on one's point of view.
What started this thought process was an overnight post by a friend who wrote, "Facebook is like a party line on crack.", which cracked me up, at first, then made me think, at second, (word choice intentional) and then made me look up "social media" where I discovered that there must have been at least two hundred sites listed. If pressed, I might have been able to list twenty social media sites, never naively dreaming there could be so many.
There is little ambivalence about Facebook, or any other social media. Since I am a Facebook member and user, it is the one with which I am most familiar and I remain fascinated by "it", in general, and what people do with it, in particular. Facebookers, I'll call us, use it to chat, wax sentimental, rage, inform (to what degree is debatable), teach (only from the poster's point of view), influence (gotta question this one), rant, air disagreements, declare love for someone or something, question, query, quote, whine, moan, organize, invite, besmirch, belittle, defame, decry, and debate......just to name a few verbs.
I am discovering that those who use computers are either comfortable with social media or they avoid it like the plague. To those who are not "connected" in some way it may be viewed as a waste of time, to others it is a surefire way to "catch a virus" and to yet others, it is "just not something I care to do", to quote from a recent conversation. Again, to reference Facebook, for some it seems to be their link to the world, a remedy for boredom, or a platform on which to espouse political, religious, or moral views. Facebook users say the darndest things, post the most outrageous things, find the funniest things and use the most offensive language....depending on your point of view. I have learned that I must separate the person from what they post online, otherwise I would drive myself nuts.
I agree with my "friend" who said that Facebook is like a party line on crack. She is right. You will find no ambivalence from me on this statement. And now, would you like to read my views on the political climate in the United States?
I didn't think so.
Ancora imparo
What started this thought process was an overnight post by a friend who wrote, "Facebook is like a party line on crack.", which cracked me up, at first, then made me think, at second, (word choice intentional) and then made me look up "social media" where I discovered that there must have been at least two hundred sites listed. If pressed, I might have been able to list twenty social media sites, never naively dreaming there could be so many.
There is little ambivalence about Facebook, or any other social media. Since I am a Facebook member and user, it is the one with which I am most familiar and I remain fascinated by "it", in general, and what people do with it, in particular. Facebookers, I'll call us, use it to chat, wax sentimental, rage, inform (to what degree is debatable), teach (only from the poster's point of view), influence (gotta question this one), rant, air disagreements, declare love for someone or something, question, query, quote, whine, moan, organize, invite, besmirch, belittle, defame, decry, and debate......just to name a few verbs.
I am discovering that those who use computers are either comfortable with social media or they avoid it like the plague. To those who are not "connected" in some way it may be viewed as a waste of time, to others it is a surefire way to "catch a virus" and to yet others, it is "just not something I care to do", to quote from a recent conversation. Again, to reference Facebook, for some it seems to be their link to the world, a remedy for boredom, or a platform on which to espouse political, religious, or moral views. Facebook users say the darndest things, post the most outrageous things, find the funniest things and use the most offensive language....depending on your point of view. I have learned that I must separate the person from what they post online, otherwise I would drive myself nuts.
I agree with my "friend" who said that Facebook is like a party line on crack. She is right. You will find no ambivalence from me on this statement. And now, would you like to read my views on the political climate in the United States?
I didn't think so.
Ancora imparo
Friday, October 14, 2011
My Autumn Is Complete
My autumn is complete. (Actually I was going to use the word, "fall", but I was afraid that would be too confusing to the readers of Ancora Imparo, who might think I had actually fallen.) Therefore, I was intentional about using "autumn" and I was decidedly intentional when I said my autumn is complete. Yes, my autumn is complete because today I made my trek to my favorite apple orchard and did you-know-what.......ate my one requisite apple cider doughnut. It was heavenly, that one doughnut. I ate. I regret nothing about the experience - let's make that perfectly clear. I was able to take small bites, savoring the texture, aroma, and feel of the cinnamon/sugar that it had been dipped in. Capt. SO and I ate our "lone" doughnuts in the car, taking intermittent sips of the delicious coffee we had with us. We took our time and when the doughnut had disappeared, I licked each and every crystal from my fingers.
Prior to consuming the apple-cider doughnut, we had walked about in the apple orchard retail barn, where simply everything is either tempting to eat or buy. From the moment you walk in, retail merchandising techniques take over your senses and sensibilities. The array of fall colors, shapes and textures is dazzling and luring. Capt. SO and I went with a purchase "list" in mind and we stuck with the list - although we had a great time between "list" selections. The food-tasting stations are EVERYWHERE, at every turn. Dips, sauces, marinades, crackers, dipping pretzels, cheese spreads, cheese, fudges, assorted candies and, of course, apple slices are just a few of the food items one can consume at the apple orchard. In addition to the many foods for sale, the non-food items number in the hundreds, maybe more. You could literally spend thousands of dollars redecorating your home with just the merchandise found at the apple orchard.
I'm so glad we went. Now I can cross that experience of my once-a-year bucket list and move on to the next item on my list. We came home with one doughnut in our bellies and lots of visions in our memories. We went early to avoid the to-be-expected crowds and got in and out in a timely manner. Apple-orchard web site reviews reveal tales of ultra-long waits to check out, pick up doughnuts and catch rides out to the orchards.
We picked a perfect time to visit and a perfect time to depart.
My autumn is complete. (Well, nearly. Next weekend we visit the Three Musketeers!)
Ancora iparo
Prior to consuming the apple-cider doughnut, we had walked about in the apple orchard retail barn, where simply everything is either tempting to eat or buy. From the moment you walk in, retail merchandising techniques take over your senses and sensibilities. The array of fall colors, shapes and textures is dazzling and luring. Capt. SO and I went with a purchase "list" in mind and we stuck with the list - although we had a great time between "list" selections. The food-tasting stations are EVERYWHERE, at every turn. Dips, sauces, marinades, crackers, dipping pretzels, cheese spreads, cheese, fudges, assorted candies and, of course, apple slices are just a few of the food items one can consume at the apple orchard. In addition to the many foods for sale, the non-food items number in the hundreds, maybe more. You could literally spend thousands of dollars redecorating your home with just the merchandise found at the apple orchard.
I'm so glad we went. Now I can cross that experience of my once-a-year bucket list and move on to the next item on my list. We came home with one doughnut in our bellies and lots of visions in our memories. We went early to avoid the to-be-expected crowds and got in and out in a timely manner. Apple-orchard web site reviews reveal tales of ultra-long waits to check out, pick up doughnuts and catch rides out to the orchards.
We picked a perfect time to visit and a perfect time to depart.
My autumn is complete. (Well, nearly. Next weekend we visit the Three Musketeers!)
Ancora iparo
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Birds Of A Feather.....
I don't know about you, but where I live, flocks of just about every bird that waddles about is on the move these days. Large clusters can be seen everywhere and often are in either unwelcome or inhospitable places.
The flock of seventeen wild turkeys that I have been complaining about is still meandering through the common backyards of my condo association. The number has not changed over the past two weeks. They haven't lost any to blunderbusses.....yet. These birds roost nightly in trees directly behind our unit and then meander about during the day, being way too comfortable lounging about on lower deck patios and feeling secure enough to strut up stairs and check out upper decks. I do my best to imitate an Australian Shepherd dog but they still return, day after day after day.
It is also not uncommon to encounter large turkey flocks on major country highways. The birds seem oblivious to the danger that they are in as they saunter across two or four-lanes-plus-a-median of traffic. It is a wonder that vehicles do, or are able to, slow down, even coming to complete stops to wait for the dumb fowl to traverse from one side of the road to the other.
Today I was driving on a normally very busy four-lane-with-median roadway and came upon a huge gaggle of geese that had commandeered my side of the highway. Fortunately for the geese, mine was the only vehicle within a half of a mile. I came to a complete halt and blasted my horn for several seconds, finally getting their attention. Did they pick up their pace? Not much. Maybe I noted a bit more hastiness in their webbed feet, but for the most part they just continued on as they were. As my lane cleared, I moved forward and when the vehicle behind me came upon the birds, they had completely cleared to the edge of the highway. Lucky birds.
Thusly, I began thinking about how we humans are a bit like the turkeys and geese. We hang as a group, taking our sweet time to meander through whatever project or situation we find ourselves in, at times oblivious to what is happening around us. We begin thinking more as a group member than the individuals we really are.
Birds of a feather may flock together but let's all think for ourselves. Let us not wait until the horn is blaring in our ears before picking up the pace a bit.
Ancora imparo
The flock of seventeen wild turkeys that I have been complaining about is still meandering through the common backyards of my condo association. The number has not changed over the past two weeks. They haven't lost any to blunderbusses.....yet. These birds roost nightly in trees directly behind our unit and then meander about during the day, being way too comfortable lounging about on lower deck patios and feeling secure enough to strut up stairs and check out upper decks. I do my best to imitate an Australian Shepherd dog but they still return, day after day after day.
It is also not uncommon to encounter large turkey flocks on major country highways. The birds seem oblivious to the danger that they are in as they saunter across two or four-lanes-plus-a-median of traffic. It is a wonder that vehicles do, or are able to, slow down, even coming to complete stops to wait for the dumb fowl to traverse from one side of the road to the other.
Today I was driving on a normally very busy four-lane-with-median roadway and came upon a huge gaggle of geese that had commandeered my side of the highway. Fortunately for the geese, mine was the only vehicle within a half of a mile. I came to a complete halt and blasted my horn for several seconds, finally getting their attention. Did they pick up their pace? Not much. Maybe I noted a bit more hastiness in their webbed feet, but for the most part they just continued on as they were. As my lane cleared, I moved forward and when the vehicle behind me came upon the birds, they had completely cleared to the edge of the highway. Lucky birds.
Thusly, I began thinking about how we humans are a bit like the turkeys and geese. We hang as a group, taking our sweet time to meander through whatever project or situation we find ourselves in, at times oblivious to what is happening around us. We begin thinking more as a group member than the individuals we really are.
Birds of a feather may flock together but let's all think for ourselves. Let us not wait until the horn is blaring in our ears before picking up the pace a bit.
Ancora imparo
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Just Plain Inconsistent
Have you ever noticed that it is becoming more difficult to be invisible in today's world?
Not that I ever tried, but not too many decades ago, it probably was not all that difficult to "disappear" from society and become a recluse or reclusette. You probably could ride into the sunset like Gary Cooper or ride over the cliff like "Thelma and Louise" or live on a tropical island with your soccer ball like Tom Hanks but now? Fuggedabowdit. Computers are so sophisticated - as are computer forensic experts - that you can track a person's online history with little expert effort. Shoot, I can find my online history with little effort. Cell phones provide GPS coordinates to anyone looking for them and our vehicles store information on where we've been, what routes we took, what speeds we traveled at and whether or not we applied the vehicle's brakes. Your cell phone can be run over or saturated with liquid and information can still be retrieved from it. Your shopping habits, preferences and purchase information is easily produced, as are what reading materials you select at the public library. Driving? Well, many of your moves will be tracked by cameras situated at intersections, store fronts, parking lots and garages and even street lights.
Where can a person escape to?
Advertisers try to lure consumers into escaping onto a cruise ship, booking nights in Las Vegas (remember that what happens in Las Vegas stays in Las Vegas), drinking certain beverages - alcoholic and non-alcoholic, taking bubble baths, eating certain foods, and even wearing certain fragrances.
Different strokes for different folks. What really works?
Read a book! Get a dog! Listen to your favorite music! These are powerful escape methods that have been proven to work and are therapeutic to boot! No food needs to be consumed, you do not have to drive anywhere and no social media has to be involved! Of course, you will have to set aside your laptop, tablet, computer, connective phone.....and all things Apple. This could be hard to do but think of the benefits. Seeing the sun rise or set, watching the stars with your dog (or cat, I suppose), lower electric bills....the list is endless.
Oops, my cell phone is vibrating. I'd better see who is calling. Catch you later.
Ancora imparo
Not that I ever tried, but not too many decades ago, it probably was not all that difficult to "disappear" from society and become a recluse or reclusette. You probably could ride into the sunset like Gary Cooper or ride over the cliff like "Thelma and Louise" or live on a tropical island with your soccer ball like Tom Hanks but now? Fuggedabowdit. Computers are so sophisticated - as are computer forensic experts - that you can track a person's online history with little expert effort. Shoot, I can find my online history with little effort. Cell phones provide GPS coordinates to anyone looking for them and our vehicles store information on where we've been, what routes we took, what speeds we traveled at and whether or not we applied the vehicle's brakes. Your cell phone can be run over or saturated with liquid and information can still be retrieved from it. Your shopping habits, preferences and purchase information is easily produced, as are what reading materials you select at the public library. Driving? Well, many of your moves will be tracked by cameras situated at intersections, store fronts, parking lots and garages and even street lights.
Where can a person escape to?
Advertisers try to lure consumers into escaping onto a cruise ship, booking nights in Las Vegas (remember that what happens in Las Vegas stays in Las Vegas), drinking certain beverages - alcoholic and non-alcoholic, taking bubble baths, eating certain foods, and even wearing certain fragrances.
Different strokes for different folks. What really works?
Read a book! Get a dog! Listen to your favorite music! These are powerful escape methods that have been proven to work and are therapeutic to boot! No food needs to be consumed, you do not have to drive anywhere and no social media has to be involved! Of course, you will have to set aside your laptop, tablet, computer, connective phone.....and all things Apple. This could be hard to do but think of the benefits. Seeing the sun rise or set, watching the stars with your dog (or cat, I suppose), lower electric bills....the list is endless.
Oops, my cell phone is vibrating. I'd better see who is calling. Catch you later.
Ancora imparo
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Regular Or Nada
There are some foods that simply should not be tampered with......where no palate should have to withstand the ugliness of "light", lo-fat, fat-free, and sugar-free. Please note that I am not advocating that foods with these labels should not be produced. Indeed not! There are many people, world-wide, who depend on those categories in order to be able to enjoy many foods. I am one of those people who needs to avoid a wide range of foods unless they do have the terms "light", lo-fat, fat-free, and sugar free somewhere prominently on the label.
While my health and well-being requires constant vigilance regarding what goes in my mouth, I am fortunate to like so many foods that substitutions can be made for off-limit foods and still leave me culinarily satisfied. Let's face it - as I said, there are some foods that simply cannot be altered without sacrificing either flavor, texture or both. Take, for instance, fat-free cheese. I've been keeping shredded fat-free mozzarella and cheddar cheese on hand for years now, using it in a variety of ways and being able to ignore the cardboard-like texture and flat flavor - or lack thereof. Perhaps manufacturing practices have changed......but the other morning I sprinkled some on scrambled egg whites and discovered that the consistency was so pasty that it literally stuck to the roof of my mouth and teeth. The same can be said for some substitute bacon-like foods. Offensive textures, atmospheric salt contents, and sub-par flavors.
Today, while in the grocery store, I came across "lite-braunschweiger" in the deli case. Capt. SO and I love braunschweiger but it is one of the foods that must be on our "do-not-eat" list. After reading the nutrition information, I determined that it was "safe" enough to give "lite" a try and I ordered a half-inch thick slice to take home. I have now added "lite" braunschweiger to our list of foods to only consume at regular strength......regular anything. The flavor wasn't bad but the texture - oh, the texture - left something greatly to be desired. It rather resembled braunschweiger-flavored canned dog food.
Yes, there are just some foods that should never be tampered with. If they are unhealthy to begin with, then these foods and their flavors should remain as they are......flavorful and delicious, albeit bad for some.
Like I said: Regular or nada.
Ancora imparo
While my health and well-being requires constant vigilance regarding what goes in my mouth, I am fortunate to like so many foods that substitutions can be made for off-limit foods and still leave me culinarily satisfied. Let's face it - as I said, there are some foods that simply cannot be altered without sacrificing either flavor, texture or both. Take, for instance, fat-free cheese. I've been keeping shredded fat-free mozzarella and cheddar cheese on hand for years now, using it in a variety of ways and being able to ignore the cardboard-like texture and flat flavor - or lack thereof. Perhaps manufacturing practices have changed......but the other morning I sprinkled some on scrambled egg whites and discovered that the consistency was so pasty that it literally stuck to the roof of my mouth and teeth. The same can be said for some substitute bacon-like foods. Offensive textures, atmospheric salt contents, and sub-par flavors.
Today, while in the grocery store, I came across "lite-braunschweiger" in the deli case. Capt. SO and I love braunschweiger but it is one of the foods that must be on our "do-not-eat" list. After reading the nutrition information, I determined that it was "safe" enough to give "lite" a try and I ordered a half-inch thick slice to take home. I have now added "lite" braunschweiger to our list of foods to only consume at regular strength......regular anything. The flavor wasn't bad but the texture - oh, the texture - left something greatly to be desired. It rather resembled braunschweiger-flavored canned dog food.
Yes, there are just some foods that should never be tampered with. If they are unhealthy to begin with, then these foods and their flavors should remain as they are......flavorful and delicious, albeit bad for some.
Like I said: Regular or nada.
Ancora imparo
Monday, October 10, 2011
Little Things
It is amazing how little things can grab our attention, calm our nerves, sooth our soul, brighten our spirits, and tickle our funny bones. Even though I have been awake, upright and functioning for only nine hours, I have experienced all of the aforementioned.
Mid-morning, as I was driving on a rural Wisconsin highway and hoping for vivid fall colors, I was feeling disappointment at every mile I passed. The colors all blended together in one muted collage of bright yellows fading to pale yellow. Suddenly, upon rounding a curve, the splendid and brilliant hues of a grove of maple trees came into view, far enough away that I could enjoy their beauty for almost two miles.
My attention was grabbed and my soul was soothed.
I had an unexpected treat-to-beat-all-treats this morning when I had the opportunity to Skype (video chat) with the Three Musketeers. As in teaching - when one really good day could carry me for weeks - the time spent seeing their faces and hearing their excited voices as we shared "show and tell" will remain in my visual and auditory memory until I get to see them face-to-face in a couple of weeks.
Spirit-brightening for sure!
For some reason, unknown to me, I arrived home from my drive to Wisconsin a bit mentally discombobulated. There was no logical reason for my discombobulation but it was there, nonetheless. Brewing a fresh cup of coffee was the only action I could think that could sooth my troubled mind and calm the internal unrest.
Mission accomplished.
Lastly, as I was enjoying my early-afternoon cup-a-joe, I signed on to the internet and found an email from a department store that promised a $5.00-off coupon if I answered a few questions. I figured I could use five bucks any day so I answered the queries on the survey. When I had concluded the survey part of the email, there were a few questions to determine demographics, which I did not mind answering since none of them were personally intrusive.......but, it was seriously depressing yet funny-bone humorous that, when the last bit of information was posed and I had to input the year of birth, my sidebar cursor had to scroll almost all of the way down my screen to locate the year in which I was born.
Funny-bone tickling.........I guess.
Ancora imparo
Mid-morning, as I was driving on a rural Wisconsin highway and hoping for vivid fall colors, I was feeling disappointment at every mile I passed. The colors all blended together in one muted collage of bright yellows fading to pale yellow. Suddenly, upon rounding a curve, the splendid and brilliant hues of a grove of maple trees came into view, far enough away that I could enjoy their beauty for almost two miles.
My attention was grabbed and my soul was soothed.
I had an unexpected treat-to-beat-all-treats this morning when I had the opportunity to Skype (video chat) with the Three Musketeers. As in teaching - when one really good day could carry me for weeks - the time spent seeing their faces and hearing their excited voices as we shared "show and tell" will remain in my visual and auditory memory until I get to see them face-to-face in a couple of weeks.
Spirit-brightening for sure!
For some reason, unknown to me, I arrived home from my drive to Wisconsin a bit mentally discombobulated. There was no logical reason for my discombobulation but it was there, nonetheless. Brewing a fresh cup of coffee was the only action I could think that could sooth my troubled mind and calm the internal unrest.
Mission accomplished.
Lastly, as I was enjoying my early-afternoon cup-a-joe, I signed on to the internet and found an email from a department store that promised a $5.00-off coupon if I answered a few questions. I figured I could use five bucks any day so I answered the queries on the survey. When I had concluded the survey part of the email, there were a few questions to determine demographics, which I did not mind answering since none of them were personally intrusive.......but, it was seriously depressing yet funny-bone humorous that, when the last bit of information was posed and I had to input the year of birth, my sidebar cursor had to scroll almost all of the way down my screen to locate the year in which I was born.
Funny-bone tickling.........I guess.
Ancora imparo
Saturday, October 8, 2011
Another New Word
I have discovered yet another new word: "oxymoronicism", or, to state it another way, "This defies logical understanding."
The National Association of Home Builders has announced that, at their 2012 National Association of Home Builders International Builders' Show in Orlando, Florida, they will feature a home that will showcase home technologies, "green" building and energy efficiency, will be the greenest and smartest home to date - AND smaller than years past.
This last statement - "smaller than years past" - caught my eye. Much has been written about the gradual increase in size of the average American home over the past six decades. In the 1950's, the average home was 983 sq. feet. Steadily increasing, the twelve-hundred-square-foot, three-bedroom, one-and-one-half bath, two-stall garage home of the 1970's and 80's grew to 2,349 sq. feet in 2004. Now it is not unheard of, but certainly not "average", to have homes built in the 4,000 to 10,000 sq. foot range. Homes in this size range are sometimes referred to as "garage mahals", "Hummer houses" or "starter castles".
I thought "smaller than in years past" was great news.
Not.
The National Association of Home Builders featured "green" and energy efficient home, smaller than in years past, is 4,181 sq. feet, "the smallest in the New American Home Series in many years." I am certain that a "smaller" home of this size would come as a great surprise to the average American family, many of whom would be thrilled to be in a home half that size or smaller.
I stand by my title: "Oxymoronicism": the blending of an oxymoron with cynicism.
Ancora imparo
The National Association of Home Builders has announced that, at their 2012 National Association of Home Builders International Builders' Show in Orlando, Florida, they will feature a home that will showcase home technologies, "green" building and energy efficiency, will be the greenest and smartest home to date - AND smaller than years past.
This last statement - "smaller than years past" - caught my eye. Much has been written about the gradual increase in size of the average American home over the past six decades. In the 1950's, the average home was 983 sq. feet. Steadily increasing, the twelve-hundred-square-foot, three-bedroom, one-and-one-half bath, two-stall garage home of the 1970's and 80's grew to 2,349 sq. feet in 2004. Now it is not unheard of, but certainly not "average", to have homes built in the 4,000 to 10,000 sq. foot range. Homes in this size range are sometimes referred to as "garage mahals", "Hummer houses" or "starter castles".
I thought "smaller than in years past" was great news.
Not.
The National Association of Home Builders featured "green" and energy efficient home, smaller than in years past, is 4,181 sq. feet, "the smallest in the New American Home Series in many years." I am certain that a "smaller" home of this size would come as a great surprise to the average American family, many of whom would be thrilled to be in a home half that size or smaller.
I stand by my title: "Oxymoronicism": the blending of an oxymoron with cynicism.
Ancora imparo
World-Shaking
It is hard for me to become distraught, dismayed, or disconcerted about that which I never understood in the first place. I'm talkin' about physics.
Please do no misunderstand me. I mean no disrespect to the concept and science of physics, to physicists, or those who teach physics. One of my favorite people in the world, no - make that the universe - majored in physics. But I just cannot even fathom the potential upheaval in the physics world, no - make that the world - if the physicists from an underground "laborahtory" in Gran Sasso, Italy got it right that they discovered a particle that can travel faster than light.
I'm no Einstein, therefore I never understood Albert Einstein's theory of relativity. Let us just say that I was relatively ignorant on the subject. As long as I can keep my feet on the ground, apples fall from trees in a downward motion and attractions at Walt Disney World can defy gravity long enough for my ride to safely conclude, then I am content with my urdummheit, (German for primeval stupidity) on the subject.
Today's newspaper carries a column penned by Charles Krauthammer (This is my day for acknowledging German ingenuity, I guess.), a member of the Washington Post Writers Group. Krauthammer is usually waxing intellectual, sentimental or cynical about a politically or socially related topic so when I saw that today's column title was scientifically driven, I felt driven to read his article in its entirety. It was a heavy topic for this musician with little or no knowledge of science, let alone the weighty (pun intended) subject of physics. According to Krauthammer, if these physicists are correct, then their findings will upend the scientific world and, "It means that the 'standard model' of subatomic particles that stands at the center of all modern physics is wrong." As I wrote earlier, I am no Einstein, but even I can understand how this could create chaos in the chaos of the universe.
Just think.......you go to bed one night, totally unsuspecting and innocent, and you wake up the next morning to discover that somebodies discovered a particle (a neutrino) that can travel faster than light. This is world-shaking.
Ancora imparo
Now that is, indeed, world-shaking.
Please do no misunderstand me. I mean no disrespect to the concept and science of physics, to physicists, or those who teach physics. One of my favorite people in the world, no - make that the universe - majored in physics. But I just cannot even fathom the potential upheaval in the physics world, no - make that the world - if the physicists from an underground "laborahtory" in Gran Sasso, Italy got it right that they discovered a particle that can travel faster than light.
I'm no Einstein, therefore I never understood Albert Einstein's theory of relativity. Let us just say that I was relatively ignorant on the subject. As long as I can keep my feet on the ground, apples fall from trees in a downward motion and attractions at Walt Disney World can defy gravity long enough for my ride to safely conclude, then I am content with my urdummheit, (German for primeval stupidity) on the subject.
Today's newspaper carries a column penned by Charles Krauthammer (This is my day for acknowledging German ingenuity, I guess.), a member of the Washington Post Writers Group. Krauthammer is usually waxing intellectual, sentimental or cynical about a politically or socially related topic so when I saw that today's column title was scientifically driven, I felt driven to read his article in its entirety. It was a heavy topic for this musician with little or no knowledge of science, let alone the weighty (pun intended) subject of physics. According to Krauthammer, if these physicists are correct, then their findings will upend the scientific world and, "It means that the 'standard model' of subatomic particles that stands at the center of all modern physics is wrong." As I wrote earlier, I am no Einstein, but even I can understand how this could create chaos in the chaos of the universe.
Just think.......you go to bed one night, totally unsuspecting and innocent, and you wake up the next morning to discover that somebodies discovered a particle (a neutrino) that can travel faster than light. This is world-shaking.
Ancora imparo
Now that is, indeed, world-shaking.
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Those Boots Were Made For Walkin'
Good grief! It seems as though everything I do these days stirs up some ancient song and today is no different. I've been needing winter dress ankle-boots for several years now. About twelve years ago I purchased a pair of Liz Claiborne dress winter ankle-boots, stylish boot-cut with a side zipper, from my favorite-no-longer-in-existence store, Marshall Fields. As old and ratty as these boots became, they were boots that my very fussy feet really liked and with some black polish, I could get by with them as long as no one got down on the floor and gave them a close look. A few years ago I came to the realization that the boots were seeing their better day so I purchased a pair of boots that were comfortable, sort of in the same style, but had zero fashion to them. I always felt like I had gray hair, wore foam curlers at night and held my purse on my lap while clutching it fiercely. I was so self-conscious about my no-style boots that I wore my old boots most of the time. But......last year the lining finally gave out and every time I pulled my feet from the boots, bits of black liner came out with my socks.
It was time.
I informed Capt. SO at the end of this past winter season that I was due for new, stylish boots and it might take a ride into the Chicago burbs to find a pair of boots that were both stylish and comfortable.
Today was the day. Not to go into the Chicago burbs but to head to our local, larger mall and see what there was to see. I started at Macy's and the young man who waited on me tried desperately to sell me just about every pair of ankle-cut boots the store had to offer. I held to my knowledge that my feet (heels in particular) are very fussy. I knew I could not wear anything with higher heels - much as I would like to think that I was stylin' - but I know better. I regretfully had to decline each suggestion he came to me with. Note that I also looked ridiculous in my capri pants and mid-calf socks that I brought along because those are the kind of socks I would wear with winter ankle-cut boots. Still I persisted and eventually I had to tell him thank you very much but nothing is working. He looked crestfallen but was probably glad to see me go.
I trekked on down to Bergners where I thought I'd just peruse the shoe section to see what there was to see and, low and behold, I spied a pair of Scandinavian-made boots, whose label I am familiar with and know that my feet like. I was alone, with no sales clerk there to "assist" me so I could check and dismiss at will. This floor-sample boot passed my heel-cushion push test and so I headed for the first available clerk. This was his lucky day. I donned my socks, caring not that I looked frumpy at best, put both boots on, and.....voila! They fit and felt good. Sale made even though they were pricey little suckers. It took him all of three minutes, maybe, and he got a commission.
He's happy and so are my feet and, most importantly, my boots are stylin'. I will no longer feel like I am Queen Elizabeth in her sensible brown oxfords and I will no longer have to clutch my purse in my lap. This only took about thirteen years to accomplish.
Do you think I rushed things?
Ancora imparo
It was time.
I informed Capt. SO at the end of this past winter season that I was due for new, stylish boots and it might take a ride into the Chicago burbs to find a pair of boots that were both stylish and comfortable.
Today was the day. Not to go into the Chicago burbs but to head to our local, larger mall and see what there was to see. I started at Macy's and the young man who waited on me tried desperately to sell me just about every pair of ankle-cut boots the store had to offer. I held to my knowledge that my feet (heels in particular) are very fussy. I knew I could not wear anything with higher heels - much as I would like to think that I was stylin' - but I know better. I regretfully had to decline each suggestion he came to me with. Note that I also looked ridiculous in my capri pants and mid-calf socks that I brought along because those are the kind of socks I would wear with winter ankle-cut boots. Still I persisted and eventually I had to tell him thank you very much but nothing is working. He looked crestfallen but was probably glad to see me go.
I trekked on down to Bergners where I thought I'd just peruse the shoe section to see what there was to see and, low and behold, I spied a pair of Scandinavian-made boots, whose label I am familiar with and know that my feet like. I was alone, with no sales clerk there to "assist" me so I could check and dismiss at will. This floor-sample boot passed my heel-cushion push test and so I headed for the first available clerk. This was his lucky day. I donned my socks, caring not that I looked frumpy at best, put both boots on, and.....voila! They fit and felt good. Sale made even though they were pricey little suckers. It took him all of three minutes, maybe, and he got a commission.
He's happy and so are my feet and, most importantly, my boots are stylin'. I will no longer feel like I am Queen Elizabeth in her sensible brown oxfords and I will no longer have to clutch my purse in my lap. This only took about thirteen years to accomplish.
Do you think I rushed things?
Ancora imparo
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
That Old Devil Moon
"Old Devil Moon" was a popular song in the late 1940's from the 1947 musical, "Finian's Rainbow". The song title came to mind tonight as I was walking home from a meeting that was held nearby. The sky is clear enough tonight to have a clear and unobstructed view of the moon, stars, satellites, and constellations. Granted, there is so much ambient light in the sky surrounding my area that a person can see only a minute portion of all the celestial orbs. If you travel north to remote areas of the Northern Hemisphere you are bedazzled by stars on a clear night. While this is not the far north, it was still a treat to walk under the light provided by a half moon. On my way over to the meeting, when there was still daylight, I could enjoy the vivid colors that are a hallmark of the fall season. Maple trees are especially splendid-looking this fall, as are the chrysanthemums that dot the flowerbeds in my neighborhood. Even the air still smells fresh as the "smolderers", as I call the people who do not know how to properly burn leaves, have not yet begun their "smoldering". Once this misguided process begins there is often a rancid smell that permeates large areas, making enjoying the outdoors a challenge at any time of day or night.
One of my favorite fall experiences is the aroma that comes from apple orchard apple-cider doughnuts. Who can resist the flavor and texture of a freshly fried (unfortunately) apple-cider doughnut? Soon it will be time for me to make my annual trek out to my favorite apple orchard and eat my once-a-year doughnut. The doughnuts may be artery-clogging but I reason that one per year shouldn't be too injurious to my health.
Wild turkeys are still lurking about in large numbers this fall. Their flocks traipse through yards and across highways - often slowing or stopping traffic as vehicles wait for the clumsy-looking birds to cross multiple lanes of busy roadways. They are even comfortable roosting on residential roofs at night and resting on people's patios and decks, soaking up the sun during the day.
People who are fond of outdoor decorating begin hitting their stride around this time of year, moving from bales of hay, scarecrows, goblins, witches and pumpkins to Thanksgiving-themed decorations, finally climaxing in blow-up reindeer, Santas, and the occasional creche.
Meanwhile that old devil moon keeps making its monthly appearance on a predictable schedule as it morphs from a teasing sliver to a bright and beaming circle of light that brightens an evening sky like nothing else can.
Ancora imparo
One of my favorite fall experiences is the aroma that comes from apple orchard apple-cider doughnuts. Who can resist the flavor and texture of a freshly fried (unfortunately) apple-cider doughnut? Soon it will be time for me to make my annual trek out to my favorite apple orchard and eat my once-a-year doughnut. The doughnuts may be artery-clogging but I reason that one per year shouldn't be too injurious to my health.
Wild turkeys are still lurking about in large numbers this fall. Their flocks traipse through yards and across highways - often slowing or stopping traffic as vehicles wait for the clumsy-looking birds to cross multiple lanes of busy roadways. They are even comfortable roosting on residential roofs at night and resting on people's patios and decks, soaking up the sun during the day.
People who are fond of outdoor decorating begin hitting their stride around this time of year, moving from bales of hay, scarecrows, goblins, witches and pumpkins to Thanksgiving-themed decorations, finally climaxing in blow-up reindeer, Santas, and the occasional creche.
Meanwhile that old devil moon keeps making its monthly appearance on a predictable schedule as it morphs from a teasing sliver to a bright and beaming circle of light that brightens an evening sky like nothing else can.
Ancora imparo
The PP Disorder
We all know what the "Peter Principle" is. (My apologies to those people named Peter.) In general, the "Peter Principle" is when a person reaches his or her highest level of incompetency. In one way, or another, we have probably all reached our individual "Peter Principles" along the path of life. I do not believe that even young adults can escape attaining multiple "Peter Principles". This distinction can come at any point or in any occupation. Even tasks, hobbies and interests are not immune from some form of incompetency. For me, the litmus test is whether or not I can sense that I may be approaching my highest level of incompetency before I reach the pinnacle of embarrassment - both to me and others.
Today's comic strips for "Dilbert" and "Get Fuzzy" showcase impending or attained "Peter Principle" grand prizes. In "Dilbert", the boss announces to ASOK that he has been named "Employee of the Month", which according to the text, was in October of 1929. In other words, the distinction is meaningless and farcical and may imply that ASOK has already reached his "Peter Principle" pinnacle. In "Get Fuzzy", the cat, Bucky, who is always dissing the dog, Satchel, has declared that he can be "Batcat" because he found a dead bat and can use the wings to empower him to become "Batcat". Poor Satchel, the dog, who is often portrayed as seemingly dim-witted, -informls Bucky that the wings are too small and, besides, "Batman had a tool belt with cool tools." The next frame shows Bucky, the cat, donning a tool belt that may weigh two or three times the cat's weight. He puts on the belt and promptly falls over backward, telling the dog, as he lays prone, "I forgot scissors. Go get me some scissors."
Isn't Bucky, the cat, like many of us? We know the bat wings are too small and that our belt is too heavy but we continue to ask for, invite, or allow more tools to be put on our belt and suddenly we discover that we can no longer remain upright. Is this not a form of personal-Peter Principle? How is it that we cannot recognize the signs of impending "Peter-Principle Disorder"?
I am hoping that "Get Fuzzy" will show us how to escape this age-old disorder and am hopeful that the solution does not involve a live bat.
Ancora imparo
Today's comic strips for "Dilbert" and "Get Fuzzy" showcase impending or attained "Peter Principle" grand prizes. In "Dilbert", the boss announces to ASOK that he has been named "Employee of the Month", which according to the text, was in October of 1929. In other words, the distinction is meaningless and farcical and may imply that ASOK has already reached his "Peter Principle" pinnacle. In "Get Fuzzy", the cat, Bucky, who is always dissing the dog, Satchel, has declared that he can be "Batcat" because he found a dead bat and can use the wings to empower him to become "Batcat". Poor Satchel, the dog, who is often portrayed as seemingly dim-witted, -informls Bucky that the wings are too small and, besides, "Batman had a tool belt with cool tools." The next frame shows Bucky, the cat, donning a tool belt that may weigh two or three times the cat's weight. He puts on the belt and promptly falls over backward, telling the dog, as he lays prone, "I forgot scissors. Go get me some scissors."
Isn't Bucky, the cat, like many of us? We know the bat wings are too small and that our belt is too heavy but we continue to ask for, invite, or allow more tools to be put on our belt and suddenly we discover that we can no longer remain upright. Is this not a form of personal-Peter Principle? How is it that we cannot recognize the signs of impending "Peter-Principle Disorder"?
I am hoping that "Get Fuzzy" will show us how to escape this age-old disorder and am hopeful that the solution does not involve a live bat.
Ancora imparo
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Reminiscent of Peter, Paul and Mary
"Where have all the flowers gone, long time passing? Where have all the flowers gone, long time ago?"
A shrinking number of people will recognize these lyrics from a tune by the American folk-singing group, "Peter, Paul and Mary". The trio, made up of Mary Travers, Peter Yarrow and Paul Stookey, had an active career spanning about fifty years, and produced a prolific body of work. Their song, "Where Have All The Flowers Gone?", was an example of their signature sound and oft thought-provoking lyrics. This group seemed to never sing a word that was not part of a conscious stream of earnest angst - or so it seemed.
For instance, in the song "Where Have All The Flowers Gone?", the lyrics evoke a certain sadness, fatality and finality as the verses lead from the innocence of youth through a labyrinth of life and grief back to innocence. The lyrics begin with "where have all the flowers gone - young girls picked them everyone" to "where have all the young girls gone - gone to husbands everyone" to "where have all the husbands gone - gone to soldiers everyone" to "where have all the soldiers gone - gone to graveyards everyone" - to "where have all the graveyards gone - gone to flowers everyone" back full circle to "where have all the flowers gone".
For some reason of logic, unknown to me, this song popped into my head today when I learned of yet another restaurant's closing in my area. A restaurant that I had frequented on occasion (obviously not enough occasions) and that I ate at last Saturday night - the restaurant's final night of business. The other two women I dined with - and myself - had no inkling that within hours after we left, the doors would close for good. The crowd was reasonable in size, the food excellent, and the waitstaff attentive. Zero clues were evident that the establishment was in its final hours of business. I think the only clue as to the real state of the restaurant's financial health was the condition of the once trendy and upscale women's bathroom, which over the past year, had been allowed to become seedy in appearance. This always surprised and perplexed me but, since the food was good, I overlooked this perhaps important detail.
And so I ask, "Where have all the flowers gone?" "Olive", you will be missed.
Ancora imparo
A shrinking number of people will recognize these lyrics from a tune by the American folk-singing group, "Peter, Paul and Mary". The trio, made up of Mary Travers, Peter Yarrow and Paul Stookey, had an active career spanning about fifty years, and produced a prolific body of work. Their song, "Where Have All The Flowers Gone?", was an example of their signature sound and oft thought-provoking lyrics. This group seemed to never sing a word that was not part of a conscious stream of earnest angst - or so it seemed.
For instance, in the song "Where Have All The Flowers Gone?", the lyrics evoke a certain sadness, fatality and finality as the verses lead from the innocence of youth through a labyrinth of life and grief back to innocence. The lyrics begin with "where have all the flowers gone - young girls picked them everyone" to "where have all the young girls gone - gone to husbands everyone" to "where have all the husbands gone - gone to soldiers everyone" to "where have all the soldiers gone - gone to graveyards everyone" - to "where have all the graveyards gone - gone to flowers everyone" back full circle to "where have all the flowers gone".
For some reason of logic, unknown to me, this song popped into my head today when I learned of yet another restaurant's closing in my area. A restaurant that I had frequented on occasion (obviously not enough occasions) and that I ate at last Saturday night - the restaurant's final night of business. The other two women I dined with - and myself - had no inkling that within hours after we left, the doors would close for good. The crowd was reasonable in size, the food excellent, and the waitstaff attentive. Zero clues were evident that the establishment was in its final hours of business. I think the only clue as to the real state of the restaurant's financial health was the condition of the once trendy and upscale women's bathroom, which over the past year, had been allowed to become seedy in appearance. This always surprised and perplexed me but, since the food was good, I overlooked this perhaps important detail.
And so I ask, "Where have all the flowers gone?" "Olive", you will be missed.
Ancora imparo
Monday, October 3, 2011
Leave Well Enough Alone
Why, oh why, do social media sites feel the constant urge to "improve" things? First Facebook got its users in a twitterpated state when their corporate "tinkerers" tinkered with the appearance, functions and screen-arrangement of Facebook. While I wasn't fond of the changes, I did not voice my displeasure because I thought "What's the use?" Now, Blogger.com is in the process of "tinkering" with the appearance and functions of its site and I do not like it one bit.
For some time now, there has been a prompt, in the upper right hand corner, that says something to the effect, "try our new Blogger interface". Now that I am home, away from the Aqua RV and my internet speed is now just slightly faster than prehistoric, I saw the prompt again today and thought I would click on it. What I found was appalling, not visually appealing, and much more difficult to navigate. Why some backroom hack thought it was a better mousetrap is beyond me. To make matters worse, I did "agree" to give feedback on my negative review of the "new and improved" Blogger.com site but when I tried to send my comments, I received yet another prompt that said "something bad has happened........" Just what every internet visitor wants to see. When I clicked on the back button I received another message that said I would be able to "stay with the old format a bit longer" - which says to me it is just a matter of time before all Blogger.com users are switched over to the new format arbitrarily and without user acquiescence.
Can't we just be left alone, in our own little ruts and familiar patterns? Why do functions and paths have to change? All I can think of is that new design teams must be hired and "old" design teams either retire, resign, or become involuntarily removed and, heaven forbid that new designers should keep what the "old" designers designed.
I am resigned to design resignation.
Ancora imparo
For some time now, there has been a prompt, in the upper right hand corner, that says something to the effect, "try our new Blogger interface". Now that I am home, away from the Aqua RV and my internet speed is now just slightly faster than prehistoric, I saw the prompt again today and thought I would click on it. What I found was appalling, not visually appealing, and much more difficult to navigate. Why some backroom hack thought it was a better mousetrap is beyond me. To make matters worse, I did "agree" to give feedback on my negative review of the "new and improved" Blogger.com site but when I tried to send my comments, I received yet another prompt that said "something bad has happened........" Just what every internet visitor wants to see. When I clicked on the back button I received another message that said I would be able to "stay with the old format a bit longer" - which says to me it is just a matter of time before all Blogger.com users are switched over to the new format arbitrarily and without user acquiescence.
Can't we just be left alone, in our own little ruts and familiar patterns? Why do functions and paths have to change? All I can think of is that new design teams must be hired and "old" design teams either retire, resign, or become involuntarily removed and, heaven forbid that new designers should keep what the "old" designers designed.
I am resigned to design resignation.
Ancora imparo
Sunday, October 2, 2011
Out Of The Mist
This morning was a picturesque one. Gorgeous, gorgeous sunlight, huge and white fluffy clouds, solid white frosty coating in low-lying areas, and a dense foggy mist arising from the river and surrounding land. Add to this picture, acre after acre of golden corn, ripe and ready for harvesting. It was a scene worthy of the greatest painter ever known and I had the good fortune to drive right through it. Even our neighborhood's giant turkey brood was out in full force, walking about with their awkward gait, elongated necks bobbing in unsynchronized rhythm. The frost was thick enough to appear as though a white blanket had been placed over the ground, seamless in its coverage and dense enough to give the illusion of ice crystals and sequins.
Driving along the suburban country road - an oxymoron, I realize - I could see in the distance a heavy, filmy mist that I surely thought must be fog, yet as I neared the river, I noted that the mist was rising from the water's surface, not descending from the sky as fog would. There were no hanging tendrils of cloud formations hovering above the ground, rather the misty, watery tulle was roiling off the water, as if a witch's cauldron had reached the boiling point over a hot fire. Ethereal in appearance, driving through the mist was quite like making one's way through the artificial cobweb material that is hung during the month of October in preparation for Halloween. Once through the mist and away from the river, the sun was out in full regalia, beaming down on the landscape like a proud papa. The veil had parted, only to reveal homes, trees, horses, fields, and fences. I wasn't going to come face to face with Bela Lugosi or a serial killer in the bogs of Scotland after all!
Ancora imparo
Driving along the suburban country road - an oxymoron, I realize - I could see in the distance a heavy, filmy mist that I surely thought must be fog, yet as I neared the river, I noted that the mist was rising from the water's surface, not descending from the sky as fog would. There were no hanging tendrils of cloud formations hovering above the ground, rather the misty, watery tulle was roiling off the water, as if a witch's cauldron had reached the boiling point over a hot fire. Ethereal in appearance, driving through the mist was quite like making one's way through the artificial cobweb material that is hung during the month of October in preparation for Halloween. Once through the mist and away from the river, the sun was out in full regalia, beaming down on the landscape like a proud papa. The veil had parted, only to reveal homes, trees, horses, fields, and fences. I wasn't going to come face to face with Bela Lugosi or a serial killer in the bogs of Scotland after all!
Ancora imparo
Saturday, October 1, 2011
Countering the Movement
Did you know that it is assumed that when we walk into a supermarket the psychology of shopping takes over and our brains leave the building? You knew that, right? Well, that is what the designers of supermarkets want us to believe.
If we are to believe the psychologists who study supermarket designs, we humans are a pretty gullible lot, incapable of making decisions on our own and incapable of resisting shopping cues designed to make us do something that we would not ordinarily do on our own. It is as if we become puppets on a string or rodents in a laboratory.....according to those who study supermarket psychology.
According to these experts, supermarkets are designed to send us on a walk-a-bout through the store on a calculated counter-clockwise path because we humans are largely right-handed and we grab with our right arms and hands. Produce is displayed with the concept that if it appears to be in cardboard-type boxes, we might be fooled into thinking it just came out of the field and off from Farmer Fred's Fresh Produce truck. Even the color of lighting and plastic comes into play as our eyes try to fool our brains into thinking that certain colors reflect a higher level of freshness - which is aided by color imbued into the plastic bag or container or directly onto the produce via the aid of coloration in the lighting.
I am appalled at how easy it seemingly is to manipulate the average shopper, such as myself. Truly, these supermarket psychologists should cease their urges to impart knowledge to the world, because in doing so they simply make us smarter and harder to fool when shopping. Just think how food retailers' profits might plunge if all of us starting shopping in a clockwise pattern throughout the store OR if we began selecting brands that were higher or lower than eye-level OR if we picked items off shelves with our left hands instead of the predominant tendency to do so with our right paws.
I propose that we shoppers upend the food retail business and stop being so predictable. The next time I shop I shall begin in the middle of the store, use my left hand, find brands that are higher than my left arm can comfortably reach, buy green bananas and ignore all the produce in cardboard boxes. I will be a one-person "counter-shopper" by changing their rules of shopping to my rules.
But, we still all have to obey the rules of the road with our shopping carts. This cardinal rule of supermarket shopping shall not change, regardless of the hand I use with which to make my selections.
Ancountercora imparo
If we are to believe the psychologists who study supermarket designs, we humans are a pretty gullible lot, incapable of making decisions on our own and incapable of resisting shopping cues designed to make us do something that we would not ordinarily do on our own. It is as if we become puppets on a string or rodents in a laboratory.....according to those who study supermarket psychology.
According to these experts, supermarkets are designed to send us on a walk-a-bout through the store on a calculated counter-clockwise path because we humans are largely right-handed and we grab with our right arms and hands. Produce is displayed with the concept that if it appears to be in cardboard-type boxes, we might be fooled into thinking it just came out of the field and off from Farmer Fred's Fresh Produce truck. Even the color of lighting and plastic comes into play as our eyes try to fool our brains into thinking that certain colors reflect a higher level of freshness - which is aided by color imbued into the plastic bag or container or directly onto the produce via the aid of coloration in the lighting.
I am appalled at how easy it seemingly is to manipulate the average shopper, such as myself. Truly, these supermarket psychologists should cease their urges to impart knowledge to the world, because in doing so they simply make us smarter and harder to fool when shopping. Just think how food retailers' profits might plunge if all of us starting shopping in a clockwise pattern throughout the store OR if we began selecting brands that were higher or lower than eye-level OR if we picked items off shelves with our left hands instead of the predominant tendency to do so with our right paws.
I propose that we shoppers upend the food retail business and stop being so predictable. The next time I shop I shall begin in the middle of the store, use my left hand, find brands that are higher than my left arm can comfortably reach, buy green bananas and ignore all the produce in cardboard boxes. I will be a one-person "counter-shopper" by changing their rules of shopping to my rules.
But, we still all have to obey the rules of the road with our shopping carts. This cardinal rule of supermarket shopping shall not change, regardless of the hand I use with which to make my selections.
Ancountercora imparo
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