Tonight is the night when people wax sentimental, sometimes get weepy-eyed, raise a toast (if they are still awake at the stroke of midnight) and sing "Auld Lang Syne" to say good-bye to the auld year and usher in the new. Parties will be held, revelers will revel - hopefully safely for themselves and others, Times Square in New York City will be the location where clean-up will be a gargantuan task, champagne corks will pop, and party favors will be blown, squeezed, and shaken.
Yes, this is the day of New Year's Eve.
I became curious about "Auld Lang Syne, its origins and history, so I did what all curious people seem to do these days and Googled "Auld Lang Syne". (In "aulden" years, I would have turned to my World Book encyclopedia. My, how things have changed!) Somewhere, in my youth, I do remember learning about "Auld Lang Syne", probably for some high school fine arts class, but the details were long gone. Much to my memory-jogged surprise, "Auld Lang Syne" is attributed to the great Scottish bard and composer, Robert Burns. Purportedly taking the folk song from the Scottish Lowland tradition in the late 1700's, Burns would hopefully be pleased and delighted to know that it is a song-staple in many parts of the world on New Year's Eve.
It is a simple song, not too hard to vocally navigate, unlike our unsingable National Anthem. Perhaps that is why it is so easy to sing while half-baked with alcoholic beverages. The words are simplistic as well, and can be understood even when slurred and stumbled over. For those whose heads are clear, the melody rings true and the words somehow evoke deeply maudlin and kitschy memories, thoughts, and actions. I wonder what percentage of marriage proposals take place on New Year's Eve? Furthermore, I wonder what percent of marriages actually occur from a proposal on New Year's Eve?
Well, "Auld Lang Syne" to the readers of Ancora Imparo. I do hear from you and your thoughts, comments, questions, and suggestions are always welcome......although some of your "suggested" topics on which to blog are even more out there than mine!
Happy New Year! Enjoy your evening and remember that taxis are only a phone call away!
Ancora imparo
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Friday, December 30, 2011
The Physics Of Cold Prevention
It seems to me, in the tiny storage locker of my brain that houses scientific and mathematical information, that once upon a time I heard and read that for every action there is a reaction. Since I have gone on public record as not agreeing with Robert's Rules of The Order Of Operations, I reasoned that I could extrapolate my own definition of a physics law.
Here is my First Mutilated Physics Law: For every cold symptom that appears, there is a substance that will make it disappear. I'm not talking about over-the-counter products nor am I referring to the "spirit"-type liquids that Grandpa and Grandma only took "for medicinal purposes". Rather, I am determined to drown my cold symptoms.
So far, today, I've downed herbal red tea from Africa, probably at least sixty ounces of water, an entire can of chicken noodle soup (watered down to get as much broth as possible), a little coffee, and now I am working on a sixteen ounce mug of hot lemonade made with fresh lemon and Truvia as a sweetener. I have already announced to Capt. Cook that I will not be cooking tonight, but will, instead, be eating some split-pea soup that I had frozen. He can finish up the pork roast, red potato and horseradish sauce from our Christmas Day dinner. I am sticking with anything warm that diminishes the scratchy sensation in my throat. There is a can of tomato soup and about a dozen small cans of tomato juice on reserve in the event that I cannot find the liquid that makes these symptoms go away.
I do see a downside to the liquid-therapy regimen I have put myself on. That downside should be quite obvious. In fact, drinking all of these liquids simply reinforces the real physics law of "for every action there is a reaction and causes me to contemplate yet another Mutilated Physics Law, my second law: What goes in must come out.
I think it's gonna be a long night.
I will lick this.......I will lick this.......I will lick this......before going out tomorrow night.
Any wagers on my success?
Ancora imparo
Here is my First Mutilated Physics Law: For every cold symptom that appears, there is a substance that will make it disappear. I'm not talking about over-the-counter products nor am I referring to the "spirit"-type liquids that Grandpa and Grandma only took "for medicinal purposes". Rather, I am determined to drown my cold symptoms.
So far, today, I've downed herbal red tea from Africa, probably at least sixty ounces of water, an entire can of chicken noodle soup (watered down to get as much broth as possible), a little coffee, and now I am working on a sixteen ounce mug of hot lemonade made with fresh lemon and Truvia as a sweetener. I have already announced to Capt. Cook that I will not be cooking tonight, but will, instead, be eating some split-pea soup that I had frozen. He can finish up the pork roast, red potato and horseradish sauce from our Christmas Day dinner. I am sticking with anything warm that diminishes the scratchy sensation in my throat. There is a can of tomato soup and about a dozen small cans of tomato juice on reserve in the event that I cannot find the liquid that makes these symptoms go away.
I do see a downside to the liquid-therapy regimen I have put myself on. That downside should be quite obvious. In fact, drinking all of these liquids simply reinforces the real physics law of "for every action there is a reaction and causes me to contemplate yet another Mutilated Physics Law, my second law: What goes in must come out.
I think it's gonna be a long night.
I will lick this.......I will lick this.......I will lick this......before going out tomorrow night.
Any wagers on my success?
Ancora imparo
Thursday, December 29, 2011
Playing Ketchup and Stealing French Fries
What a wonderfully odd day! Cooperative weather made for a gorgeous day for a drive and then a walk around Wisconsin's capitol area. There were enough business people and students gone that driving and parking wasn't an issue, which is a rarity in Madison, Wisconsin. We ate lunch at a great Irish pub, had excellent food and lively conversation.
Our lunches varied with an order of a grilled tuna sandwich (Capt. Cook), a medium-rare hamburger without the bun that was grilled to perfection (Favorite Eldest Daughter), Shepherds Pie (F.E.D's beau), and moi - who ordered a cup of delicious tomato basil soup and a half-salad topped with a crab cake. Although the kitchen sent out the wrong salad and my crab cake was lukewarm, my food was otherwise tasty. As usually happens, everyone else's plates looked tastier than mine and the french fries on Capt. Cook's and F.E.D.'s plates looked so tempting. I was able to steal two french fries (also able to dip them in his ketchup) from Capt. Cook's plate until he caught on to what I was doing and he promptly forbade me to help myself to any more. (Sigh.) F.E.D. obligingly offered me a couple of bites of her semi-raw ground-round burger and it was to die for (perhaps literally and figurtively)........if you like your beef only a step away from mooing. Her beau tried foraging some french fries off her plate but was roundly rebuffed as well. He and I decided that this protective-food tendency was genetic.
Later, while on our way home from Wisconsin's capitol, Capt. Cook and moi stopped to purchase some groceries in a city about twenty miles north of us. As we were leaving the store who should stop us but a friend from our summer boating stomping grounds. More "ketchup". We arrived home and shortly after that I received a phone call from a friend of almost thirty years ago, in another time, place and - it seems - lifetime. We talked for over an hour. More "ketchup". Upon hanging up with her, I proceeded to check my email. I found wonderful pictures of Musketeer Number One and his classroom's Christmas party and then discovered an email from a high school friend. More "ketchup".
Yes, it was a french fry and ketchup day. A great day......a great day, indeed......even if I only did get to steal two french fries.
Ancora imparo
Our lunches varied with an order of a grilled tuna sandwich (Capt. Cook), a medium-rare hamburger without the bun that was grilled to perfection (Favorite Eldest Daughter), Shepherds Pie (F.E.D's beau), and moi - who ordered a cup of delicious tomato basil soup and a half-salad topped with a crab cake. Although the kitchen sent out the wrong salad and my crab cake was lukewarm, my food was otherwise tasty. As usually happens, everyone else's plates looked tastier than mine and the french fries on Capt. Cook's and F.E.D.'s plates looked so tempting. I was able to steal two french fries (also able to dip them in his ketchup) from Capt. Cook's plate until he caught on to what I was doing and he promptly forbade me to help myself to any more. (Sigh.) F.E.D. obligingly offered me a couple of bites of her semi-raw ground-round burger and it was to die for (perhaps literally and figurtively)........if you like your beef only a step away from mooing. Her beau tried foraging some french fries off her plate but was roundly rebuffed as well. He and I decided that this protective-food tendency was genetic.
Later, while on our way home from Wisconsin's capitol, Capt. Cook and moi stopped to purchase some groceries in a city about twenty miles north of us. As we were leaving the store who should stop us but a friend from our summer boating stomping grounds. More "ketchup". We arrived home and shortly after that I received a phone call from a friend of almost thirty years ago, in another time, place and - it seems - lifetime. We talked for over an hour. More "ketchup". Upon hanging up with her, I proceeded to check my email. I found wonderful pictures of Musketeer Number One and his classroom's Christmas party and then discovered an email from a high school friend. More "ketchup".
Yes, it was a french fry and ketchup day. A great day......a great day, indeed......even if I only did get to steal two french fries.
Ancora imparo
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
More Memory, Less Calories
I was just reading an article in today's paper about "trendy foods you'll crave in the New Year". How the Gatehouse News Service journalist, Kathryn Rem, ever thought bacon went out of favor is beyond me. Even the New World settlers knew the importance and highly prized flavor of bacon. I do not think I ever met a person who did not like bacon. Do I know people who cannot eat it any more, yes, but not like it........no!
After surveying chefs on both coasts, Rem goes on to list the next-big-trend-in-foods including (but not limited to) Greek yogurt, flatbreads, speciality salts, black garlic, flavored vinegars, agave, vegetable chips, non-traditional eggs (duck, quail, emu). I watch Iron Chef America and Chopped (both Food Network shows) and these foods are regularly used, so perhaps Rem's chefs are a bit behind the times.
While there are certain foods from my earlier years - like Shake-A-Puddin', that I really miss, one of the trends I would love to see return is the glass bottle. I realize that plastic is much safer, on one hand, because it does not shatter (even though, if dropped, some plastic bottles will most definitely crack), but I will always prefer glass over plastic or metal. The bottled-beverage industry can rid itself of metal cans any day. Milk in plastic containers - nah. The only plastic container that I can even remotely tolerate is the Dean Foods Chug bottle. It is a different type of plastic than most other milk containers, coming as close to glass as it can.
Foods I'd like to see featured in grocery stores would be fresh venison, freshly caught perch and bluegill, my mom's raisin-filled cookies, and my sister's cinnamon rolls. Since I do realize that these foods are not likely to appear on my grocer's shelves any time soon, my tasting memory will have to suffice. I'll have to just remember the flavor of uber-rare venison roasted over an open fire at Abbey and Ira's house, the perch and bluegill caught from the morning and eaten that night during summer camping trips, my mom's rasin-filled cookies warm from the oven, and my sister's cinnamon rolls tantalizing the taste buds from the oven and satisfying the taste buds later from my hand.
While I would prefer eating trendy foods - past and present - my memory serves up many fewer calories!
Ancora imparo
After surveying chefs on both coasts, Rem goes on to list the next-big-trend-in-foods including (but not limited to) Greek yogurt, flatbreads, speciality salts, black garlic, flavored vinegars, agave, vegetable chips, non-traditional eggs (duck, quail, emu). I watch Iron Chef America and Chopped (both Food Network shows) and these foods are regularly used, so perhaps Rem's chefs are a bit behind the times.
While there are certain foods from my earlier years - like Shake-A-Puddin', that I really miss, one of the trends I would love to see return is the glass bottle. I realize that plastic is much safer, on one hand, because it does not shatter (even though, if dropped, some plastic bottles will most definitely crack), but I will always prefer glass over plastic or metal. The bottled-beverage industry can rid itself of metal cans any day. Milk in plastic containers - nah. The only plastic container that I can even remotely tolerate is the Dean Foods Chug bottle. It is a different type of plastic than most other milk containers, coming as close to glass as it can.
Foods I'd like to see featured in grocery stores would be fresh venison, freshly caught perch and bluegill, my mom's raisin-filled cookies, and my sister's cinnamon rolls. Since I do realize that these foods are not likely to appear on my grocer's shelves any time soon, my tasting memory will have to suffice. I'll have to just remember the flavor of uber-rare venison roasted over an open fire at Abbey and Ira's house, the perch and bluegill caught from the morning and eaten that night during summer camping trips, my mom's rasin-filled cookies warm from the oven, and my sister's cinnamon rolls tantalizing the taste buds from the oven and satisfying the taste buds later from my hand.
While I would prefer eating trendy foods - past and present - my memory serves up many fewer calories!
Ancora imparo
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
Non-Packaged Gifts
The "Big Events" are over for most families. Somewhere amidst the wrapping paper, tape, tissue and tinsel the Baby Jesus was celebrated and honored in some Christian homes as families gathered. Santa Claus made stops -either on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day - in homes with young children who eagerly awaited his arrival.......or "proof" that he had arrived. Cookies, milk, or hot chocolate left for Santa were eaten by either Santa or his "helpers", who probably set out the treats in the first place! Food by the pound was consumed during holiday meals, including massive amounts of butter, sugar, and, maybe even spirits. Cookies, pies, cakes and candies were lovingly baked and offered to those residing in the home or to lucky visitors. Who knows how many pounds of ham, turkey or other meats were baked, fried, grilled, braised or broiled to produce fork-tender and delectable protein-filled entrees?
Now the post-Christmas realities set in. For some, depression looms large during post-holiday days. For others, like me, the incessant over-indulging leads to over-working out, which leads to sore feet, muscles, and shin splints. This morning I decided to mix up my workout a bit and thought I'd do the equivalent of twenty flights of stairs, up and down. The first two "ups", where I practically jogged up the stairs, were almost deal busters until I figured out that I should hustle up the steps and then power walk through a short path in the condo, hustle back down the stairs and repeat the process.......eighteen more times. I even changed up my floor work and yoga routine, which felt good to escape from the same-old-same-old sequences, although the modified push-ups weren't all that much fun.
Decorations are disappearing faster than Houdini, cardboard boxes are being flattened for the weekly recycling pick-up, leftover foods are being secretly discarded - either via the kitchen waste basket or the garbage disposal, and the candy that was hoarded discreetly is being eaten one piece at a time.....also discreetly. Stale cookies are being tossed or gobbled up by Fido. Fluffy, the cat, is not typically a recipient of stale cookies but she may be on the receiving end of a plate of left-over smoked salmon that got dried out.
What primarily remains are memories - hopefully good ones if the family is lucky, as we are. Capt. Cook and I recognize that the opportunities to reunite with our two offspring and their children diminish as the years tick by. The constant tick-tock of the life clock is an oft overlooked reality of life. The years that cause the grandchildren to get taller, faces to become more angular, sentences to become more complex and be able to beat Granny and Gramps at most games multiple times in a row also cause Gramps and Granny to get shorter, faces to become more wrinkled, sentences to stop mid-way as a word is searched for, and game reaction time to slow to a mere thought.
Perhaps the most precious of gifts are those that were never in a box or bag to begin with. Smiles, laughs, hugs, time, giggles, walks, talks......all are valuable memories, but, the most precious of all is time.
Ancora imparo
Now the post-Christmas realities set in. For some, depression looms large during post-holiday days. For others, like me, the incessant over-indulging leads to over-working out, which leads to sore feet, muscles, and shin splints. This morning I decided to mix up my workout a bit and thought I'd do the equivalent of twenty flights of stairs, up and down. The first two "ups", where I practically jogged up the stairs, were almost deal busters until I figured out that I should hustle up the steps and then power walk through a short path in the condo, hustle back down the stairs and repeat the process.......eighteen more times. I even changed up my floor work and yoga routine, which felt good to escape from the same-old-same-old sequences, although the modified push-ups weren't all that much fun.
Decorations are disappearing faster than Houdini, cardboard boxes are being flattened for the weekly recycling pick-up, leftover foods are being secretly discarded - either via the kitchen waste basket or the garbage disposal, and the candy that was hoarded discreetly is being eaten one piece at a time.....also discreetly. Stale cookies are being tossed or gobbled up by Fido. Fluffy, the cat, is not typically a recipient of stale cookies but she may be on the receiving end of a plate of left-over smoked salmon that got dried out.
What primarily remains are memories - hopefully good ones if the family is lucky, as we are. Capt. Cook and I recognize that the opportunities to reunite with our two offspring and their children diminish as the years tick by. The constant tick-tock of the life clock is an oft overlooked reality of life. The years that cause the grandchildren to get taller, faces to become more angular, sentences to become more complex and be able to beat Granny and Gramps at most games multiple times in a row also cause Gramps and Granny to get shorter, faces to become more wrinkled, sentences to stop mid-way as a word is searched for, and game reaction time to slow to a mere thought.
Perhaps the most precious of gifts are those that were never in a box or bag to begin with. Smiles, laughs, hugs, time, giggles, walks, talks......all are valuable memories, but, the most precious of all is time.
Ancora imparo
Monday, December 26, 2011
Prim and Proper Need Not Read
This posting may be offensive to the prim and proper.
There is a television commercial currently running for a bathroom tissue (the brand escapes me now) where a woman says: "It's time to get real about what happens in the bathroom."
Mothers who read this posting may remember the days when their children were young and there was little or no privacy anywhere when the children were awake. (If young mothers read this posting, they will be able to identify with current-day experiences.) If you were out shopping with young children, male or female, you always took them into the bathroom stall with you because you feared that child-snatchers were lurking in every corner. Most bathroom stalls are quite small and I can remember "going potty" with both of my little kids crammed into the stall with me. To this day, I laugh hard - to myself - when I am next to a stall where the mother has a child or children with her. The conversations that take place are priceless.
These days, my bathroom privacy is quite constant unless my granddaughter is visiting. We are often doing things together and if I have to leave the room, I'll say to her, "Grandma has to go potty. I'll be right back." Inevitably, seconds into my "leave of absence", the bathroom door will open and Princess Leia will come in. She has told me that I "go just like April (her best friend - not her real name)" and she always pulls off toilet paper and hands it to me, saying "I help." I always tell her thank you, never wanting her to feel self-conscious about being helpful, when I can hardly keep a straight face, I'm laughing so hard inside.
Yes, bathroom "leaves of absence" with children are always memorable. Rest assured that my grandsons do not follow me into the bathroom. I guess, even at an early age, they recognize the need for Grandma's privacy and little girls must recognize that it is OK. I don't know how God accomplishes this but He does.
This now ends my lavatory lecture.
Merry Day-After Christmas.
I hope you were not offended.
Ancora impottyaro
There is a television commercial currently running for a bathroom tissue (the brand escapes me now) where a woman says: "It's time to get real about what happens in the bathroom."
Mothers who read this posting may remember the days when their children were young and there was little or no privacy anywhere when the children were awake. (If young mothers read this posting, they will be able to identify with current-day experiences.) If you were out shopping with young children, male or female, you always took them into the bathroom stall with you because you feared that child-snatchers were lurking in every corner. Most bathroom stalls are quite small and I can remember "going potty" with both of my little kids crammed into the stall with me. To this day, I laugh hard - to myself - when I am next to a stall where the mother has a child or children with her. The conversations that take place are priceless.
These days, my bathroom privacy is quite constant unless my granddaughter is visiting. We are often doing things together and if I have to leave the room, I'll say to her, "Grandma has to go potty. I'll be right back." Inevitably, seconds into my "leave of absence", the bathroom door will open and Princess Leia will come in. She has told me that I "go just like April (her best friend - not her real name)" and she always pulls off toilet paper and hands it to me, saying "I help." I always tell her thank you, never wanting her to feel self-conscious about being helpful, when I can hardly keep a straight face, I'm laughing so hard inside.
Yes, bathroom "leaves of absence" with children are always memorable. Rest assured that my grandsons do not follow me into the bathroom. I guess, even at an early age, they recognize the need for Grandma's privacy and little girls must recognize that it is OK. I don't know how God accomplishes this but He does.
This now ends my lavatory lecture.
Merry Day-After Christmas.
I hope you were not offended.
Ancora impottyaro
Saturday, December 24, 2011
Christmas Eve Questions
When is nine inches not nine inches?
Well, when the graham cracker crust maker (Keebler) measures its nine inches from the very inside edge, not the outer edges.
Why is this question of importance?
Because I followed the recipe from Kraft's cream cheese box and it says one recipe fills a nine-inch graham cracker crust. I had two crusts so I made two batches of cream cheese filling. Eight boxes of cream cheese, eight eggs, etc. etc. etc. I have enough cream cheese filling for four to five graham cracker crusts. So, I filled eight ramekins with the extra cream cheese filling. I have no idea who is going to eat all of this.
Is your over-abundance of filling related only to cream cheese filling?
Unfortunately, no. I also had one small gluten-free pie crust that I wanted to use and, unfortunately, no other pie crusts on hand. I made the recipe on the can of pure-pumpkin pie filling and had lots of leftover pie filling. The extra pie filling went into three large ramekins, which baked very nicely. Now I have two cheesecakes, one gluten-free pie shell pumpkin pie and eleven ramekins.
What are you going to do with all of this extra dessert food?
The weather is quite mild where I live. I was thinking of setting up a table outside and selling my extra fillings for $.25 a piece. I could at least cover the cost of the four teaspoons of lemon juice that went into the cream cheese filling. It is that or else I go door-to-door looking for eleven people who would like a tasty treat on Christmas eve.
Will you be posting a blog tomorrow, Christmas Day?
No. I will be playing with the Three Musketeers, enjoying the company of their parents and my favorite oldest daughter, opening gifts - some silly and some serious, eating cinnamon rolls and drinking really good coffee, celebrating the birth of Jesus, and trying to figure out what to do with all the ramekins filled with extra filling.
Will you compose a post on Monday, December 26th?
If I can walk and if I am out of my food coma.
Any last words tonight?
Yes. Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night.
Ancora imparo
Well, when the graham cracker crust maker (Keebler) measures its nine inches from the very inside edge, not the outer edges.
Why is this question of importance?
Because I followed the recipe from Kraft's cream cheese box and it says one recipe fills a nine-inch graham cracker crust. I had two crusts so I made two batches of cream cheese filling. Eight boxes of cream cheese, eight eggs, etc. etc. etc. I have enough cream cheese filling for four to five graham cracker crusts. So, I filled eight ramekins with the extra cream cheese filling. I have no idea who is going to eat all of this.
Is your over-abundance of filling related only to cream cheese filling?
Unfortunately, no. I also had one small gluten-free pie crust that I wanted to use and, unfortunately, no other pie crusts on hand. I made the recipe on the can of pure-pumpkin pie filling and had lots of leftover pie filling. The extra pie filling went into three large ramekins, which baked very nicely. Now I have two cheesecakes, one gluten-free pie shell pumpkin pie and eleven ramekins.
What are you going to do with all of this extra dessert food?
The weather is quite mild where I live. I was thinking of setting up a table outside and selling my extra fillings for $.25 a piece. I could at least cover the cost of the four teaspoons of lemon juice that went into the cream cheese filling. It is that or else I go door-to-door looking for eleven people who would like a tasty treat on Christmas eve.
Will you be posting a blog tomorrow, Christmas Day?
No. I will be playing with the Three Musketeers, enjoying the company of their parents and my favorite oldest daughter, opening gifts - some silly and some serious, eating cinnamon rolls and drinking really good coffee, celebrating the birth of Jesus, and trying to figure out what to do with all the ramekins filled with extra filling.
Will you compose a post on Monday, December 26th?
If I can walk and if I am out of my food coma.
Any last words tonight?
Yes. Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night.
Ancora imparo
Friday, December 23, 2011
How Much Did You Say?
Our government never ceases to amaze me. Mostly, my government keeps me dazed and confused. A recent radio segment discussed various ways the U.S. government had spent money in 2011. Much like the wasteful government spending that former Wisconsin United States Senator, William Proxmire's Golden Fleece award uncovered, this report revealed that even though Proxmire left the Senate in 1989, not much has changed in how our elected politicians love to waste our precious and limited tax dollars. While none of what I will write about was an actual expenditure, my tongue-in-cheek examples will give an idea of the foolishness that pork spending accomplishes.
$150,000.00 to research new shades of nail polish on primates.
$75,000.00 for research on the New Zealand blue ant species, purportedly a species that can do simple math procedures.
$250,000.00 for surveying the number of shopping trips football widows make during the professional football season.
$99,000.00 to research whether people turn right or left at a "T" intersection.
$320,000.00 for observation of open stairways by college boys positioned under the stairs.
$119,000.00 to research whether gentlemen really do prefer blondes.
$89,000.00 to study high school "mean" girls twenty years later to see if they are still "mean".
$199,000.00 to research whether or not Bottle Bass really exist in Canada.
$42,000.00 to study whether or not rattlesnake meat really tastes like chicken.
As soon as I can find the radio broadcast that discussed the pork spending of 2011, I will compare my list to the actual list. While I would be disappointed, I would not be surprised to find at least one of my "tongue-in-cheek" examples on the list.
I think the next big government research project should be to investigate whether or not Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny are real. A big test will come in less than forty-eight hours. Care to place a wager?
Happy Holly Daze.
Ancora imparo
$150,000.00 to research new shades of nail polish on primates.
$75,000.00 for research on the New Zealand blue ant species, purportedly a species that can do simple math procedures.
$250,000.00 for surveying the number of shopping trips football widows make during the professional football season.
$99,000.00 to research whether people turn right or left at a "T" intersection.
$320,000.00 for observation of open stairways by college boys positioned under the stairs.
$119,000.00 to research whether gentlemen really do prefer blondes.
$89,000.00 to study high school "mean" girls twenty years later to see if they are still "mean".
$199,000.00 to research whether or not Bottle Bass really exist in Canada.
$42,000.00 to study whether or not rattlesnake meat really tastes like chicken.
As soon as I can find the radio broadcast that discussed the pork spending of 2011, I will compare my list to the actual list. While I would be disappointed, I would not be surprised to find at least one of my "tongue-in-cheek" examples on the list.
I think the next big government research project should be to investigate whether or not Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny are real. A big test will come in less than forty-eight hours. Care to place a wager?
Happy Holly Daze.
Ancora imparo
Going, Going, Gone
Identity thieves are becoming more bold and more creative. With a little - well, maybe a lot - help from technology, identity thieves can clean a person's identity clock in the swipe of a card, or the push of a key. Either technology is moving at ludicrous speed, thieves are bored with too much time on their hands, thieves are desperate to obtain ill-begotten means......or all of the aforementioned.
The media is all over this identity theft crisis, with article after article in the print media and segment after segment in the broadcast industry. While I am thankful for the warnings, caveats, and instructions on how to best protect my financial well-being, at times it seems as if all the media is accomplishing is giving thieves more ideas on how to abscond with my funds.
By now, we all know that sending any type of card, be it debit or credit, out of one's sight when paying for an item or service, is akin to a written invitation to the thief to help him or herself to someone else's dollars. Ankle-swipers, hand-held swipers that can be hidden in the palm of a hand, even tiny swipers that can be expertly held between fingers are being used by unscrupulous ne'er-do-wells intent on moving money from us to them.
Segue to a very recent news item from research that shows that almost fifty percent of all identity theft is perpetrated by family members! Teens who take a parent's credit card to adult children who take money from good old (literally) mom and dad without consent. It is almost safer to send your credit card with a waitstaff stranger than someone with whom you have a genetic connection.
This news is almost comic in its tragedy. This is the kind of scenario with which William Shakespeare could have built an entire play upon or the lyrics of a song could be based on.......and maybe it was.............
1970 - Badfinger's "Come and Get It".
"if you want it, here it is - come and get it but you'd better hurry 'cause it's goin' fast."
Ancora imparo
The media is all over this identity theft crisis, with article after article in the print media and segment after segment in the broadcast industry. While I am thankful for the warnings, caveats, and instructions on how to best protect my financial well-being, at times it seems as if all the media is accomplishing is giving thieves more ideas on how to abscond with my funds.
By now, we all know that sending any type of card, be it debit or credit, out of one's sight when paying for an item or service, is akin to a written invitation to the thief to help him or herself to someone else's dollars. Ankle-swipers, hand-held swipers that can be hidden in the palm of a hand, even tiny swipers that can be expertly held between fingers are being used by unscrupulous ne'er-do-wells intent on moving money from us to them.
Segue to a very recent news item from research that shows that almost fifty percent of all identity theft is perpetrated by family members! Teens who take a parent's credit card to adult children who take money from good old (literally) mom and dad without consent. It is almost safer to send your credit card with a waitstaff stranger than someone with whom you have a genetic connection.
This news is almost comic in its tragedy. This is the kind of scenario with which William Shakespeare could have built an entire play upon or the lyrics of a song could be based on.......and maybe it was.............
1970 - Badfinger's "Come and Get It".
"if you want it, here it is - come and get it but you'd better hurry 'cause it's goin' fast."
Ancora imparo
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Daylight, Please
People who love the dark were in their glory yesterday as the rest of us suffered through the winter solstice, the shortest day of the year........or, conversely, the day with the most darkness. Night-owls and Twilight devotees celebrated, along with another lesser known group of people known as druids.
Heretofore, my only knowledge of druids had come from mostly Walt Disney films, where short, little cartoon characters dressed in black robes, scurried to and fro, muttering and uttering nonsensical gibberish. Consequently, when I read an article today about yesterday's winter solstice being celebrated by hundreds of druids at Stonehenge, England, I became curious and did a little more reading about the event.
Apparently, druids gather every year at Stonehenge to mark the winter solstice, which means that the sun is closer to the horizon than any other time of year. Why this particular occurrence is meaningful to them I was not able to ascertain, but, looking at pictures of the druid gathering would indicate that it is a well-attended event. And, for the mystical druids, what more appropriate setting than the ancient Stonehenge setting? Being comfortable with mysticism is nothing new to a druid, which, according to internet sources (not Wikipedia, the source of all data true and accurate), was a priest, magician or soothsayer in the ancient Celtic religion OR a member of a present-day group claiming to represent or be derived from this religion.
As for me, I can take or leave the winter solstice, as can, I'm certain, most working stiffs who, at this time of year, leave for work in the morning enveloped in darkness and return home at the end of the day enveloped in same. The sun could drop from the sky during the day for these people and they would never know it. In fact, the sun could simply stop shining all together and they would never be the wiser. I am more of a fan of the summer solstice when the daylight goes on for ever and ever. I accomplish more during the longer daylight hours, I get up more easily, and have almost instant energy during the longer, summer-month days.
Since our government regularly toys with our clocks twice a year, why cannot the same government sages - druids, if you will - toy with our entire day, simply pronouncing that - Voila! - there should be longer daylight hours year 'round and - Voila! - it would be so.
Come on, Great Illusionist, use your illusionary powers to dazzle us rather than your disillusionary powers to depress us. Wave that magic wand.......utter those oratoric words......make something happen.
Ancora imparo
Heretofore, my only knowledge of druids had come from mostly Walt Disney films, where short, little cartoon characters dressed in black robes, scurried to and fro, muttering and uttering nonsensical gibberish. Consequently, when I read an article today about yesterday's winter solstice being celebrated by hundreds of druids at Stonehenge, England, I became curious and did a little more reading about the event.
Apparently, druids gather every year at Stonehenge to mark the winter solstice, which means that the sun is closer to the horizon than any other time of year. Why this particular occurrence is meaningful to them I was not able to ascertain, but, looking at pictures of the druid gathering would indicate that it is a well-attended event. And, for the mystical druids, what more appropriate setting than the ancient Stonehenge setting? Being comfortable with mysticism is nothing new to a druid, which, according to internet sources (not Wikipedia, the source of all data true and accurate), was a priest, magician or soothsayer in the ancient Celtic religion OR a member of a present-day group claiming to represent or be derived from this religion.
As for me, I can take or leave the winter solstice, as can, I'm certain, most working stiffs who, at this time of year, leave for work in the morning enveloped in darkness and return home at the end of the day enveloped in same. The sun could drop from the sky during the day for these people and they would never know it. In fact, the sun could simply stop shining all together and they would never be the wiser. I am more of a fan of the summer solstice when the daylight goes on for ever and ever. I accomplish more during the longer daylight hours, I get up more easily, and have almost instant energy during the longer, summer-month days.
Since our government regularly toys with our clocks twice a year, why cannot the same government sages - druids, if you will - toy with our entire day, simply pronouncing that - Voila! - there should be longer daylight hours year 'round and - Voila! - it would be so.
Come on, Great Illusionist, use your illusionary powers to dazzle us rather than your disillusionary powers to depress us. Wave that magic wand.......utter those oratoric words......make something happen.
Ancora imparo
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Detritus - Right Here In River City
As I sat at my desk this morning and surveyed the Holly Daze clutter that I was surrounded by - greeting cards, Christmas letter, bubble wrap, recipe binder, recipe shoe box, magazine open to a cookie recipe, received Christmas cards, ink pens in differing colors, sales receipts dumped from wallet last night, and numerous scraps of paper - I was momentarily stuck in first gear trying to figure out just where in the world to start. I was about to begin making sense of nonsense when a scrap of paper caught my attention. On it, I had written,
You can't make me, but I can be persuaded.
Cynthia Tobias
As my mind is want to do, curiosity trumped common sense, and I went to Google, typed in Cynthia Tobias and discovered that she is (among other things) an educator and motivational speaker - both to educators and parents. She owns a business called Apple Street (Applied Learning Styles) and one of her seminars is entitled, "You Can't Make Me (But I Can Be Persuaded)" I do not know how long this scrap of paper has been buried among the detritus of my desk area or where I heard about her, but its appearance this morning seemed like a talisman (or maybe just another excuse not to deal with my messy desk!?).
As an aside, using the word detritus to describe my desk area seems appropriate. There are two main meanings of detritus, both seeming to be extraordinarily applicable since it all is beginning to resemble a compost pile.
a. disintegrated or eroded material (as in past civilizations)
b. accumulated material or debris
Tobias' seminar title really resonates with me. After working with adults and students for my entire life, and still working with both from time to time, I can say, without a doubt, that Tobias is on to something big here. My experience, both personal and professional, is that forcing another human to perform a task, make a statement, embrace a belief, or accept a rule at face value, is seldom, if not rarely, successful. I do not believe that this factoid of life is more applicable at one age than another, either. Even adults, with whom one might think reason could be effective (me included), are more apt to embrace persuasion over demand.
Ms. Tobias, I see that you have written books on this subject. I think I'll be buying myself an after-Christmas gift. After all, I could make myself clean up this clutter, but friendly persuasion on my part would work much better!
Coffee and chocolate could be a good start.....................
Ancora imparo
You can't make me, but I can be persuaded.
Cynthia Tobias
As my mind is want to do, curiosity trumped common sense, and I went to Google, typed in Cynthia Tobias and discovered that she is (among other things) an educator and motivational speaker - both to educators and parents. She owns a business called Apple Street (Applied Learning Styles) and one of her seminars is entitled, "You Can't Make Me (But I Can Be Persuaded)" I do not know how long this scrap of paper has been buried among the detritus of my desk area or where I heard about her, but its appearance this morning seemed like a talisman (or maybe just another excuse not to deal with my messy desk!?).
As an aside, using the word detritus to describe my desk area seems appropriate. There are two main meanings of detritus, both seeming to be extraordinarily applicable since it all is beginning to resemble a compost pile.
a. disintegrated or eroded material (as in past civilizations)
b. accumulated material or debris
Tobias' seminar title really resonates with me. After working with adults and students for my entire life, and still working with both from time to time, I can say, without a doubt, that Tobias is on to something big here. My experience, both personal and professional, is that forcing another human to perform a task, make a statement, embrace a belief, or accept a rule at face value, is seldom, if not rarely, successful. I do not believe that this factoid of life is more applicable at one age than another, either. Even adults, with whom one might think reason could be effective (me included), are more apt to embrace persuasion over demand.
Ms. Tobias, I see that you have written books on this subject. I think I'll be buying myself an after-Christmas gift. After all, I could make myself clean up this clutter, but friendly persuasion on my part would work much better!
Coffee and chocolate could be a good start.....................
Ancora imparo
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Confliction Personified
"OMG", I would tweet, if I tweeted, which I do not. Could the world just pick some lanes and stick with them? I feel as if I have situational whiplash. Consider the following dilemmas:
Is Kate Middleton pregnant or not? Besides the movie, "War Horse", the Brits are consumed with the Duchess of Cambridge's state of possible "Mommyhood". The tabloids and other, more (questionably) reputable media are having a bipolar experience with this topic. "Yes!" one minute and "No", the next.
Our national politicians are also adding to my confliction with their own bifurcation toward agreeing on ANYTHING. There is no "reaching" across the aisle, only accusatory pointing across the aisle. Let's give them all the boot in November of 2012 and start from scratch.
NPR gave food for fodder (pun intended) on two recent segments. One was regarding deception and fraud in the olive oil industry. Say it ain't so, please. Rachel Ray finally has convinced the American public that EVO is a must-have staple in the kitchen and now we learn that what you think is EVO, from the label, may be sub-standard at best.
NPR's second segment came from an interview with food expert and cook, Nigella Lawson, who says that we should keep Christmas food simple and that we should focus on experiences rather than complicated foods. She then proceeded to present savory and tasty-looking dishes that look pretty complicated to me. On the flip side, Emeril Lagasse is hard to miss during the Holly Daze. He is all over the airwaves, demonstrating his flawless and elegant techniques from the oven to the table. Simple, putzy....what's a cook to choose?
Lastly, I am still not certain which computer applications require one click or two. This conundrum will haunt me until I breathe my last breath, I'm certain. My hesitation with this choice is heightened when Capt. Cook is hovering over my left shoulder and I become rattled with my keystrokes and thumb clicks. As I told him last night, my solution is to always click twice. Even if only one click is necessary, two gets the job done, whereas if two were necessary and I only clicked once, then I have to re-do the entire operation.
Fortunately, the issue of whether or not Santa Claus exists is not a complicated, nor conflicting one. I like the way the parents of the Three Musketeers explain Santa Claus to their children. "We believe in the legend of Santa Claus."
I do, too. Believing in the legend of Santa Claus makes all of my other conflictions irrelevant and meaningless.
Happy Holly Daze
Ancora imparo
Is Kate Middleton pregnant or not? Besides the movie, "War Horse", the Brits are consumed with the Duchess of Cambridge's state of possible "Mommyhood". The tabloids and other, more (questionably) reputable media are having a bipolar experience with this topic. "Yes!" one minute and "No", the next.
Our national politicians are also adding to my confliction with their own bifurcation toward agreeing on ANYTHING. There is no "reaching" across the aisle, only accusatory pointing across the aisle. Let's give them all the boot in November of 2012 and start from scratch.
NPR gave food for fodder (pun intended) on two recent segments. One was regarding deception and fraud in the olive oil industry. Say it ain't so, please. Rachel Ray finally has convinced the American public that EVO is a must-have staple in the kitchen and now we learn that what you think is EVO, from the label, may be sub-standard at best.
NPR's second segment came from an interview with food expert and cook, Nigella Lawson, who says that we should keep Christmas food simple and that we should focus on experiences rather than complicated foods. She then proceeded to present savory and tasty-looking dishes that look pretty complicated to me. On the flip side, Emeril Lagasse is hard to miss during the Holly Daze. He is all over the airwaves, demonstrating his flawless and elegant techniques from the oven to the table. Simple, putzy....what's a cook to choose?
Lastly, I am still not certain which computer applications require one click or two. This conundrum will haunt me until I breathe my last breath, I'm certain. My hesitation with this choice is heightened when Capt. Cook is hovering over my left shoulder and I become rattled with my keystrokes and thumb clicks. As I told him last night, my solution is to always click twice. Even if only one click is necessary, two gets the job done, whereas if two were necessary and I only clicked once, then I have to re-do the entire operation.
Fortunately, the issue of whether or not Santa Claus exists is not a complicated, nor conflicting one. I like the way the parents of the Three Musketeers explain Santa Claus to their children. "We believe in the legend of Santa Claus."
I do, too. Believing in the legend of Santa Claus makes all of my other conflictions irrelevant and meaningless.
Happy Holly Daze
Ancora imparo
Monday, December 19, 2011
Our Tax Dollars Funded This?
A recent NPR article came to my attention through my Google Reader feed. Basically it said:
Army food scientists have figured out how to control pH, moisture, and oxygen inside the packaging of a pocket sandwich so that it can last for up to two years.
I do see pluses to this type of research. If underground shelters needed to be built for the masses, not just the existing ones for important people, then this type of food would be of paramount importance for human preservation purposes. Foods with extended shelf-lives would need to be stocked in plentiful supplies to help keep the human race alive. Pocket-sized sandwiches, Twinkies (the original landfill food), high sugar-content candies, Post Toastems, and kippered herring would be critical foods to have on hand. Perhaps we humans would take a page from "Squirrel Weekly" and store nuts-in-the-shell as our bushy-tailed rodent-friends do for winter meals.
I think it is great that our government pays Army food scientists for the research they do. Our nation's military needs support and funding in order for our nation to remain at the top of the globe's food-chain of countries. Go Army!
What I do not understand is why this sandwich was designed to be carried in the pocket? Assuming that some of these sandwiches would be carried in pants' pockets, not just shirt pockets, how could a sandwich survive the process of repeated sitting or lying down? If the bread used was dry and healthy, such as whole wheat, then repeated movements would reduce it to crumbs among whatever was used as the filler. If the bread used had a higher moisture content like Wonder Bread (an oxymoron), then the sandwich would be flattened to credit-card thickness and would be of little use.
I can imagine that there would be some people who might attempt to actually carry this pocket sandwich in their pockets for up to twenty-four months, either out of an attempt to do their own research or out of forgetfulness. Either way, I predict that the outcome would be the same: An unrecognizable, flattened form that might very well be technically edible but aesthetically disgusting. A food-form that I am not even sure my beloved dog, Max, would eat.
So, U.S. Army, try instead to develop foods that Americans would like to eat during their two years in an underground shelter: Godiva chocolate, guacamole, ice cream, Butterfingers, Babe Ruths, Cheese-its, or coffee beans. We already know that cheeses and wines do well during the aging process. Maybe those two items are all we would need anyway?!
Ancora imparo
Sunday, December 18, 2011
I Am No Meterologist...... Nevertheless
I have been thinking about going "back to school". No, not in the classroom as a teacher (although I must admit that thought crosses my mind, from time to time) but in the classroom as a student.
In my "perfect" world, I would live in a university town that was one hour away from The Three Musketeers and their parents, one hour away from my favorite eldest child, one hour away from the waters of Lake Michigan and the Bay of Green Bay and I would have a dog......or two. As a resident of this mythic university town, centrally located to everything I hold near and dear, I would live in an area that gave me quick access to the university's campus, hence being able to matriculate, study, stretch my brain, and widen my horizons. Many universities offer what they refer to as "grandparents' university" where you and your grandchild can live in a dorm setting, for a few days, and "take" classes together. (Another dream in my perfect world.)
It is becoming clearer and clearer that my next degree needs to be in meteorology. Not the weather kind but the "cloud" kind that would enable me to understand and grasp the nature of and conquer the mysteries of "the cloud".
I am ready to embrace "the cloud". I see its benefits and I see the necessity of its existence in this uber-connected world we live in. Yes, I see all that but my starship has not quite arrived at the cloud - yet. Instead of being on the Starship, Enterprise, with the good Captain Kirk, it is as if I am stuck on the "Good Ship Lollipop" with Shirley Temple.
My current electronic set-up, pre-iPhone 4S (hint, hint) is that I am a resident of the Bermuda Triangle of the internet, with some weird triangular connection between my laptop (Outlook), my kind-of smart phone and my internet provider. For the life of me, I cannot remember when I delete an email once place, what is supposed to happen to it in another place, or what I am supposed to do with two of the three "legs" of my triangle. I feel for my personal Captain "Kirk", aka Captain Cook, because I am quite certain he is growing tired of my continual questions regarding my Bermuda Triangle. So certain am I of this that I am considering my next degree to be in Meteorology.
It is either meteorology or dog training, neither of which is my strong suit.
Ancora imparo
In my "perfect" world, I would live in a university town that was one hour away from The Three Musketeers and their parents, one hour away from my favorite eldest child, one hour away from the waters of Lake Michigan and the Bay of Green Bay and I would have a dog......or two. As a resident of this mythic university town, centrally located to everything I hold near and dear, I would live in an area that gave me quick access to the university's campus, hence being able to matriculate, study, stretch my brain, and widen my horizons. Many universities offer what they refer to as "grandparents' university" where you and your grandchild can live in a dorm setting, for a few days, and "take" classes together. (Another dream in my perfect world.)
It is becoming clearer and clearer that my next degree needs to be in meteorology. Not the weather kind but the "cloud" kind that would enable me to understand and grasp the nature of and conquer the mysteries of "the cloud".
I am ready to embrace "the cloud". I see its benefits and I see the necessity of its existence in this uber-connected world we live in. Yes, I see all that but my starship has not quite arrived at the cloud - yet. Instead of being on the Starship, Enterprise, with the good Captain Kirk, it is as if I am stuck on the "Good Ship Lollipop" with Shirley Temple.
My current electronic set-up, pre-iPhone 4S (hint, hint) is that I am a resident of the Bermuda Triangle of the internet, with some weird triangular connection between my laptop (Outlook), my kind-of smart phone and my internet provider. For the life of me, I cannot remember when I delete an email once place, what is supposed to happen to it in another place, or what I am supposed to do with two of the three "legs" of my triangle. I feel for my personal Captain "Kirk", aka Captain Cook, because I am quite certain he is growing tired of my continual questions regarding my Bermuda Triangle. So certain am I of this that I am considering my next degree to be in Meteorology.
It is either meteorology or dog training, neither of which is my strong suit.
Ancora imparo
Saturday, December 17, 2011
Dressed To Kill
They are dressed to kill, those male North American Cardinals. Now that the foliage is ninety-five percent off from the trees, Mr. and Mrs. N.A. Cardinal are highly visible, for almost as far as my eyes can see. If you look out at the woods behind our condo, you will spot bright splashes of red spread here and there, much like you can see planes in the sky as they drop down, in every direction, approaching Chicago's O'Hare International Airport. In my case, the birds are awaiting their turn for a landing at my neighbor's various bird feeders. Their vibrant red has stood out in stark contrast with the defoliated trees but now that there is some snow on the tree branches, the visual effect of red against white is dazzling.
I rarely see my favorite bird in the late spring and summer months. I know they are in close proximity because I can hear their familiar, trademark "speech patterns" when I am outside. Their nearness gives me great pleasure and comfort, but now, to be able to see them and appreciate their spectacular beauty is so gratifying. After opening the blinds this morning and seeing eight to ten males sporting their beautiful feathers, I became curious about other shades of red that might apply to the color of the North American Cardinal. Discovering a color-spectrum guide in Wikipedia - which must make it so - besides the color "red", the only other colors I could ascertain that might come close to what I see in my woods, would be scarlett or vermillion.
Whatever the color, their presence evokes the aural image of the 1976 song, "The Boys Are Back In Town", by the Irish rock band, Thin Lizzy:
(First stanza)
Guess who just got back today?
Those wild-eyed boys that had been away
Haven't changed, haven't much to say
But man, I still think those cats are great.
For the beauty of the earth.........
Ancora imparo
I rarely see my favorite bird in the late spring and summer months. I know they are in close proximity because I can hear their familiar, trademark "speech patterns" when I am outside. Their nearness gives me great pleasure and comfort, but now, to be able to see them and appreciate their spectacular beauty is so gratifying. After opening the blinds this morning and seeing eight to ten males sporting their beautiful feathers, I became curious about other shades of red that might apply to the color of the North American Cardinal. Discovering a color-spectrum guide in Wikipedia - which must make it so - besides the color "red", the only other colors I could ascertain that might come close to what I see in my woods, would be scarlett or vermillion.
Whatever the color, their presence evokes the aural image of the 1976 song, "The Boys Are Back In Town", by the Irish rock band, Thin Lizzy:
(First stanza)
Guess who just got back today?
Those wild-eyed boys that had been away
Haven't changed, haven't much to say
But man, I still think those cats are great.
For the beauty of the earth.........
Ancora imparo
Friday, December 16, 2011
It's A Wrap
'Tis the time of year for covering those special gifts selected just for those special people in our lives. Some gifts come in their own box, ready for wrapping, other gifts are squishy and need a box of their own, while other gifts come in containers that have no shape known to mankind and must be placed in a box that does not resemble the gift's odd shape. Wrapping can be like a Rube Goldberg project, the idea of an over-engineered or overdone machine that takes a very simple task, accomplished through a highly complicated system.
We wrap gifts differently depending on who the recipient is, don't we? Take, for instance, the recipient who can sense, from twelve feet away, just what is in the package placed in front of him or her. Try as one might, this type of person is not easy to fool. You might as well put the pony in the horse trailer rather than hiding the pony in the SmartCar. I remember one year when I gave my brother-in-law a flashlight for Christmas. He was one of those individuals who could feel a package and correctly pronounce what it contained. He figured out it was a flashlight when his fingers found, through the paper, the on/off switch.
Then there is the blessedly naive recipient who is so gullible and innocent that it does not occur to him or her that the giver might actually try to disguise what is inside the package. This type of person sports a permanent smile and would never consider trying to ascertain ahead of time what a gift box contains.
Lastly, there is the category of my favorite recipient: Children. A child's joy at seeing a package is unadulterated and the exuberance displayed is contagious. Children simply do not care if the package is wrapped in newspaper, the finest of linen paper, cloth, or butcher paper. They just want to get at the contents - as quickly as possible. They do not feign propriety and carefully undo each section of tape from the paper. They rip enthusiastically and rejoice in just about anything that is inside......with the possible exception of socks and underwear - unless, of course, there are super hero or American Girl doll likenesses imprinted on the cloth.
As for mine, please print the days of the week on my undergarments. At my age and stage, I need all the help I can get. I don't care what they are wrapped in. I'm one of those enthusiastic rippers.
Ancora imparo
Thursday, December 15, 2011
Laurels Do Not Work As A Chair
"Don't rest on your laurels." How many times have I, or you, heard that? My parents were fond of saying that to me for as long as I have memory and could figure out just what the word "laurel" meant. Once I realized that the basic meaning of "laurel" is "accomplishment" then I moved on to trying to understand what it meant to "rest" on them. After I figured out that, the rest was easy. Well, understanding it was easy, not resting on accomplishments is a bit more difficult, perhaps.
Which brings me to the umbrella thought in my head today: Just because someone does something "good" in recent days past, does that give that person a bye for multiple days to come?
This rationale for not doing the job was given to me recently. When I heard the individual say that she/he had not followed through on normal job-related tasks because of a recent accomplishment I thought to myself, "Poppycock!" What kind of reason is that for not doing your job?
Let's take, for instance, a surgeon who successfully completes a procedure on Monday (for argument's sake) at 9 a.m. but has a full surgical calendar the rest of the day and subsequent days thereafter. Does the surgeon's one successful operation give him or her license to cancel the other procedures that follow? I think not!
In the same vein, just because I presented a successful lesson plan, in my classroom, on Wednesday, does not mean that I can serve cake and candy while watching movies for every rehearsal time after that for a week or even a day. Nay, nay. Work must go on and momentum must be channeled. Just because I feel that I need or deserve "a break today" does not make it necessarily so.
No, laurels do not work as a chair or any other piece of furniture on which to recline, recuse, repose or re-charge. Laurels are there as a navigation tool alone and should be referenced only in terms of past accomplishments, not tickets for future accolades.
Ancora imaro
Which brings me to the umbrella thought in my head today: Just because someone does something "good" in recent days past, does that give that person a bye for multiple days to come?
This rationale for not doing the job was given to me recently. When I heard the individual say that she/he had not followed through on normal job-related tasks because of a recent accomplishment I thought to myself, "Poppycock!" What kind of reason is that for not doing your job?
Let's take, for instance, a surgeon who successfully completes a procedure on Monday (for argument's sake) at 9 a.m. but has a full surgical calendar the rest of the day and subsequent days thereafter. Does the surgeon's one successful operation give him or her license to cancel the other procedures that follow? I think not!
In the same vein, just because I presented a successful lesson plan, in my classroom, on Wednesday, does not mean that I can serve cake and candy while watching movies for every rehearsal time after that for a week or even a day. Nay, nay. Work must go on and momentum must be channeled. Just because I feel that I need or deserve "a break today" does not make it necessarily so.
No, laurels do not work as a chair or any other piece of furniture on which to recline, recuse, repose or re-charge. Laurels are there as a navigation tool alone and should be referenced only in terms of past accomplishments, not tickets for future accolades.
Ancora imaro
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
This Is No Butter Blarney
Our world is no stranger to shortages. Over the course of history, many substances and products have been in short supply, notably nylon during the war and oil/gasoline in the latter twentieth century. Now, perhaps one of the most serious shortages to ever occur, especially at this time of year, is affecting the tiny country of Norway: A butter shortage.
How this could possibly happen around the Holly Daze, when cooks and bakers of all ages, stages, sizes and skill-levels are pulling out all of their best stops to create their families' and friends' favorite recipes is unfathomable. As far as I am concerned, the shortages of nylon, gas and oil pale in comparison to the possibility of not having butter available in my refrigerator. Tine, which is Norway's major dairy co-operative lays the shortage blame at the feet of the popularity of the high-fat Atkins' diet and poor weather. I say it is an economical strategy to drive up prices by driving down supply.
The good citizenry of Norway are even being bamboozled by their own. Norwegian teenagers in the southern part of the country hawked two kilos of butter online, earmarking their proceeds to go towards paying for their spring graduation party. In the west, a newspaper offered half of a kilo with each, new ten-month subscription sold.
I hereby encourage all Norwegian cooks to rise up with their spatulas, scrapers, Kitchen-Aid mixers, blenders and utensils and descend upon the Norwegian capital of Oslo and do what petulant Europeans Americans do when they are unhappy about just about everything: Picket and protest. Establish tent cities near the capital. Disrupt traffic and the normal government business in order to accomplish what every Norwegian citizen desires:
Butter on their breads, butter in their cookies and butter slathered over baked potatoes. Nothing less will do.
Ancora imparo
How this could possibly happen around the Holly Daze, when cooks and bakers of all ages, stages, sizes and skill-levels are pulling out all of their best stops to create their families' and friends' favorite recipes is unfathomable. As far as I am concerned, the shortages of nylon, gas and oil pale in comparison to the possibility of not having butter available in my refrigerator. Tine, which is Norway's major dairy co-operative lays the shortage blame at the feet of the popularity of the high-fat Atkins' diet and poor weather. I say it is an economical strategy to drive up prices by driving down supply.
The good citizenry of Norway are even being bamboozled by their own. Norwegian teenagers in the southern part of the country hawked two kilos of butter online, earmarking their proceeds to go towards paying for their spring graduation party. In the west, a newspaper offered half of a kilo with each, new ten-month subscription sold.
I hereby encourage all Norwegian cooks to rise up with their spatulas, scrapers, Kitchen-Aid mixers, blenders and utensils and descend upon the Norwegian capital of Oslo and do what petulant Europeans Americans do when they are unhappy about just about everything: Picket and protest. Establish tent cities near the capital. Disrupt traffic and the normal government business in order to accomplish what every Norwegian citizen desires:
Butter on their breads, butter in their cookies and butter slathered over baked potatoes. Nothing less will do.
Ancora imparo
Not Just For Kindling
If you are a regular reader of Ancora Imparo, you will know that I am very fond of my newspaper. I know that there are those who consider newspapers good for only lining the cages of puppies, kittens and baby chicks or only good for packing materials, or to be crumpled up and used to start fires in fireplaces or campground fire pits. I also appreciate my newspaper because it carries information regarding sales (remember those one-day sales?) and coupons to be used in conjunction with sales. Another important attribute of my newspaper is the daily comics section. Just today, the Zits strip hit home for me with its reference to eating just two oyster crackers and getting heartburn. Occasionally I find local news of import (to me), national and international news that I find useful and, mostly, I find irritating political news. But, all in all, I love my newspaper.
Especially today.
In the GO section, Today: GO Food, some brilliant editor decided to post special culinary calendar days. This is a practice that has been going on for several years now. I always appreciate the calendar as it acts as a welcome diversion to whatever else is swirling around the airwaves at this time of year. While the published calendar takes the reader through May, for purposes of this posting, I'll focus only on the dates for the remainder of December.
Dec. 14 National Bouillabaisse Day (A very tasty soup that I would highly recommend.)
Dec. 15 National Cupcake Day (Who doesn't love cupcakes?)
Dec. 16 National Chocolate-Covered Anything Day (I can see why this is a national holiday. I
never met a chocolate-covered anything I did not like.)
Dec. 17 National Maple Syrup Day
Dec. 18 National Roast Suckling Pig Day
Dec. 19 National Hard Candy Day (Ho, hum)
Dec. 20 National Fried Shrimp Day (Tasty!)
Dec. 20 National Sangria Day (Hallelujah, I like this one!)
Dec. 21 National Hamburger Day (Perhaps this one is sponsored by McDucks)
Dec. 21 Kiwi Fruit Day
Dec. 22 National Date-Nut Bread Day
Dec. 23 National Pfeffernuesse Day (I make a point to not eat that which I cannot pronounce.)
Dec. 24 National Egg Nog Day (Good timing on this one.)
Dec. 25 National Pumpkin Pie Day (An excellent complement to a Christmas Day meal.)
Dec. 26 National Candy Cane Day (A nice story but overrated taste.)
Dec. 27 National Fruit Cake Day (An excellent day for re-gifting.)
Dec. 28 National Chocolate Candy Day (Godiva must like this!)
Dec. 29 Pepper Pot Day (I have no idea why this is on the list.)
Dec. 30 National Bicarbonate of Soda Day (After the Holly Daze, this is timely, is it not?)
Dec. 31 National Champagne Day (Perhaps twelve hours too late?)
Bon apetite!
Ancora imparo
Especially today.
In the GO section, Today: GO Food, some brilliant editor decided to post special culinary calendar days. This is a practice that has been going on for several years now. I always appreciate the calendar as it acts as a welcome diversion to whatever else is swirling around the airwaves at this time of year. While the published calendar takes the reader through May, for purposes of this posting, I'll focus only on the dates for the remainder of December.
Dec. 14 National Bouillabaisse Day (A very tasty soup that I would highly recommend.)
Dec. 15 National Cupcake Day (Who doesn't love cupcakes?)
Dec. 16 National Chocolate-Covered Anything Day (I can see why this is a national holiday. I
never met a chocolate-covered anything I did not like.)
Dec. 17 National Maple Syrup Day
Dec. 18 National Roast Suckling Pig Day
Dec. 19 National Hard Candy Day (Ho, hum)
Dec. 20 National Fried Shrimp Day (Tasty!)
Dec. 20 National Sangria Day (Hallelujah, I like this one!)
Dec. 21 National Hamburger Day (Perhaps this one is sponsored by McDucks)
Dec. 21 Kiwi Fruit Day
Dec. 22 National Date-Nut Bread Day
Dec. 23 National Pfeffernuesse Day (I make a point to not eat that which I cannot pronounce.)
Dec. 24 National Egg Nog Day (Good timing on this one.)
Dec. 25 National Pumpkin Pie Day (An excellent complement to a Christmas Day meal.)
Dec. 26 National Candy Cane Day (A nice story but overrated taste.)
Dec. 27 National Fruit Cake Day (An excellent day for re-gifting.)
Dec. 28 National Chocolate Candy Day (Godiva must like this!)
Dec. 29 Pepper Pot Day (I have no idea why this is on the list.)
Dec. 30 National Bicarbonate of Soda Day (After the Holly Daze, this is timely, is it not?)
Dec. 31 National Champagne Day (Perhaps twelve hours too late?)
Bon apetite!
Ancora imparo
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
The Difference Of An E
Route. Rout. Only one letter difference, but definite difference in pronunciation. Route (root). Rout (rowt - as in ow, that hurt)
Why am I blogging about this? Well, if you live in my part of the country, there are at least two professional football teams, not doing well this season, that frequently have the word "rout" used when describing what the opposing teams did to them. Occasionally the descriptor is "romp" but more often than not, it is "rout".
I looked up "rout" in my trusty Merriam-Webster's Collegiate Dictionary - 11th Edition, just out of curiousity and found two meanings. One meaning of "rout" is the disorderly retreat of defeated troops, hence the application of "rout" to the sound defeat of one team from another. The other widely accepted definition of "rout" is to make grooves in a surface. Then I realized that if I added the letters "er" to rout, I had a word that has interesting and vital implications for different reasons.
One meaning for "router" could be one that routs; i.e. a member of the Green Bay Packers who routed the Oakland Raiders this past weekend. But the prevailing, modern definition for "router" is that which decided to die in my household - also this past weekend - a device that forwards data packets to part of a computer network. One day before the Green Bay Packers routed the Oakland Raiders, Capt. Cook and I were becoming de-routed, and not by choice. When your router dies, so does your online work, or so Capt. Cook and I discovered. Yes, his new and trusty iPhone 4S can act as a router but a network router is a vital part of our computer security.
Hence.......along with a new laptop, new phones, new this and that, we are now the proud owners of a new router. It probably was not a bad thing that our old, antiquated router decided to instantly bite the dust. After all, it was big and had these two funny antennae sticking up on both back corners. Captain Grandpa removed the antennae and they are now part of the arsenal of interesting things our grandchildren can make with cardboard, staples, pipe cleaners and duct tape.
For now, I say we have had enough electronic change for a while.......that is until my new iPhone 4S and iPad arrive. Maybe I could make an iPhone 4S out of cardboard, those antennae, and duct tape?
Ya think?
Ancora im"probably-not"paro
Why am I blogging about this? Well, if you live in my part of the country, there are at least two professional football teams, not doing well this season, that frequently have the word "rout" used when describing what the opposing teams did to them. Occasionally the descriptor is "romp" but more often than not, it is "rout".
I looked up "rout" in my trusty Merriam-Webster's Collegiate Dictionary - 11th Edition, just out of curiousity and found two meanings. One meaning of "rout" is the disorderly retreat of defeated troops, hence the application of "rout" to the sound defeat of one team from another. The other widely accepted definition of "rout" is to make grooves in a surface. Then I realized that if I added the letters "er" to rout, I had a word that has interesting and vital implications for different reasons.
One meaning for "router" could be one that routs; i.e. a member of the Green Bay Packers who routed the Oakland Raiders this past weekend. But the prevailing, modern definition for "router" is that which decided to die in my household - also this past weekend - a device that forwards data packets to part of a computer network. One day before the Green Bay Packers routed the Oakland Raiders, Capt. Cook and I were becoming de-routed, and not by choice. When your router dies, so does your online work, or so Capt. Cook and I discovered. Yes, his new and trusty iPhone 4S can act as a router but a network router is a vital part of our computer security.
Hence.......along with a new laptop, new phones, new this and that, we are now the proud owners of a new router. It probably was not a bad thing that our old, antiquated router decided to instantly bite the dust. After all, it was big and had these two funny antennae sticking up on both back corners. Captain Grandpa removed the antennae and they are now part of the arsenal of interesting things our grandchildren can make with cardboard, staples, pipe cleaners and duct tape.
For now, I say we have had enough electronic change for a while.......that is until my new iPhone 4S and iPad arrive. Maybe I could make an iPhone 4S out of cardboard, those antennae, and duct tape?
Ya think?
Ancora im"probably-not"paro
Monday, December 12, 2011
It's All About The Name
Do you like your name? Have you ever wished your first or last name was different?
Have you ever dreamed that your last name was Vanderbilt, Rothchild, Carnegie or Rockefeller?
Wealthy families have existed since mankind was created. A quick Google search revealed a fascinating list of wealthy family names that begin before Christ. Croesus was a purportedly wealthy individual who lived in the 6th Century, B.C. Nikolai Alexandrovich Romanov, aka Tsar Nickolas II of Russia - Emperor of the Russian Empire in the late 1800's and early 1900's - is proof that wealth does not buy happiness. His family's brutal end by the hands of the Bolsheviks in 1918 underscores my point. Although he is seen by historians as the wealthiest monarch and head of state in history, with a current-day wealth level of US 29 billion dollars, it was not enough to spare his life and that of his family. More modern-day tycoons would include Mir Osman Ali Khan (India), who is regarded as the wealthiest man on earth - although Warren Buffett might disagree - edging out, by a surprising wide margin, Bill Gates.
The Smiths, Jones, Martins, Andersons, and Johnsons all share a commonality - common last names. Whether or not it is easier for a Smith, Jones, Martin, Anderson or Johnson to get lost in the great shuffle of life is known. I suspect much depends on each individual and his or her drive for success.
First names are another matter. Quirky or "weird" first names can be a definite detractor......even when accompanied by a famous (NOT infamous) last name. The penchant by today's parents for "individualized" spellings of first names, or giving strange first names like Apple, Pear, Blanket, Bear will only work against their poor children as they move into and through their school-aged years, when their names will be routinely misspelled and constantly corrected by the children, or defended by same said children.
Some names carry with them the weight of the world.....or may feel like the weight of world is upon those whose last name is either Gates or Buffett. A recent news clip about Warren Buffett passing the reigns of control (i.e. power) to his son, Howard (Howie) is what precipitated this whole thought process on my part. Part of me would love to be Howie Buffett........
But the other part of me is happy to be Ancora Imparo.
In another time and another place..............
Ancora imparo
Enough Already!
I think one-day sales are out of control. Every store, everywhere has every thing on sale, or so it seems. Do you have a special Christmas gift, perhaps a hard-to-find item, that you need to purchase? Just wait. It will eventually be included in a one-day sale, somewhere.
The trouble with these one-day sales is that the advertising seldom gets to all of the target audience, due to either no newspaper subscription, no cell phone with internet capability, computers with dial-up speed, or late U.S. mail deliveries. Unless you drive to your favorite store daily during the thirty-or-so days between Thanksgiving and Christmas, you may very well miss the one-day sale for what you would like to buy on sale instead of full-price.
Perhaps the American consumer is becoming immune to the wiles of retailing. Consider the conversation I was part of recently where the over-riding opinion was that retail stores may have one-day sales with seemingly deep discounts.......only after they raised their prices to compensate for the anticipated loss of revenue.
My wish-list for one-day sales changes depending on where I live, my age/stage in life, and my current interests and hobbies. There was a time when my radar would have been screening for toys, children's clothing, men's dress clothes and briefcases. Then I went through my aerobic dancing phase (which actually lasted for years) and I would look for matching leotards, tights, and leg-warmers.....some of which I still have although now they are only for memory-sake. A more recent phase would have been anything dog-related like chew toys, kongs, doggie treats, leashes, pet beds, etc. As expected, with age, when we regress, I am now once again looking for one-day sales on children's clothing and toys, with an occasional peek at i-Phones, i-Pads, emeralds, and BMWs.
Sadly, what I could really use a one-day sale on would be septic-pumping services, window washing, heating-vent and gutter cleaning, weed-pulling, and indoor vacuuming. If you see sales on any of the aforementioned, please let me know A.S.A.P.
Happy Holly Daze from Ancora Imparo
The trouble with these one-day sales is that the advertising seldom gets to all of the target audience, due to either no newspaper subscription, no cell phone with internet capability, computers with dial-up speed, or late U.S. mail deliveries. Unless you drive to your favorite store daily during the thirty-or-so days between Thanksgiving and Christmas, you may very well miss the one-day sale for what you would like to buy on sale instead of full-price.
Perhaps the American consumer is becoming immune to the wiles of retailing. Consider the conversation I was part of recently where the over-riding opinion was that retail stores may have one-day sales with seemingly deep discounts.......only after they raised their prices to compensate for the anticipated loss of revenue.
My wish-list for one-day sales changes depending on where I live, my age/stage in life, and my current interests and hobbies. There was a time when my radar would have been screening for toys, children's clothing, men's dress clothes and briefcases. Then I went through my aerobic dancing phase (which actually lasted for years) and I would look for matching leotards, tights, and leg-warmers.....some of which I still have although now they are only for memory-sake. A more recent phase would have been anything dog-related like chew toys, kongs, doggie treats, leashes, pet beds, etc. As expected, with age, when we regress, I am now once again looking for one-day sales on children's clothing and toys, with an occasional peek at i-Phones, i-Pads, emeralds, and BMWs.
Sadly, what I could really use a one-day sale on would be septic-pumping services, window washing, heating-vent and gutter cleaning, weed-pulling, and indoor vacuuming. If you see sales on any of the aforementioned, please let me know A.S.A.P.
Happy Holly Daze from Ancora Imparo
Friday, December 9, 2011
So Relieved
I was crushed when I first saw the headline from the NPR news feed that said eating raw cookie dough once again is identified as a contributing factor to contracting the e coli bacteria. We raw-cookie-dough eaters have been living with this threat for as long as I can remember and still we consume raw cookie dough. If I die prematurely (or not prematurely), going from eating a tasty spoonful of cookie dough or rare beef or venison will be a first-class ticket out of my earthly constraints. Of course, if my demise is preceded by a painful bout of e coli-induced food poisoning then I shall retract my statement.
The NPR piece did, however, go on to reassure me that I have nothing to fear. The danger of eating raw cookie dough lies in eating prepared, store-bought Nestle Toll House cookie dough......NOT cookie dough that is made from scratch at home......which is the only Toll House dough ever used in my household. The NPR piece further explained that the raw- egg ingredient is less a suspected culprit than the flour. So now, for all of you who like to crack a raw egg into your daily smoothie, you have less to fear, perhaps, than before, e coli not withstanding.
Who knew that the largest consumer group for prepared cookie dough is teenage and college-aged girls? Here I thought that it was mothers across the world who thought it was their reward for making cookies? I cannot imagine taking a spoonful of prepared cookie dough that must be filled with all sorts of preservatives. Just give me the fresh product any day. I do not think I ever met a "scratch" cookie dough that I did not like.......nor a freshly baked cookie that I did not like.
How about you?
Just call me "Relieved".
Ancora imparo
The NPR piece did, however, go on to reassure me that I have nothing to fear. The danger of eating raw cookie dough lies in eating prepared, store-bought Nestle Toll House cookie dough......NOT cookie dough that is made from scratch at home......which is the only Toll House dough ever used in my household. The NPR piece further explained that the raw- egg ingredient is less a suspected culprit than the flour. So now, for all of you who like to crack a raw egg into your daily smoothie, you have less to fear, perhaps, than before, e coli not withstanding.
Who knew that the largest consumer group for prepared cookie dough is teenage and college-aged girls? Here I thought that it was mothers across the world who thought it was their reward for making cookies? I cannot imagine taking a spoonful of prepared cookie dough that must be filled with all sorts of preservatives. Just give me the fresh product any day. I do not think I ever met a "scratch" cookie dough that I did not like.......nor a freshly baked cookie that I did not like.
How about you?
Just call me "Relieved".
Ancora imparo
What Was That You Said?
My vocabulary is revealing my age, or at least the era I was born in. Many of the words, terms, and phrases that were common in my younger years have either disappeared or taken on totally different meanings - meanings that today will get you, at the very least, a sideways glance, snicker or outright guffaw.
For instance, no one - and I mean no one - uses the word "guffaw" any more. Other words that I just do not hear are fiddlesticks, humdinger (that one is even "old" for me), fussbudget, whippersnapper, folderol, just to name a few. I miss hearing and comfortably saying "guffaw" because I think it appropriately describes the sound that people make when they spontaneously laugh aloud. Depending on where you live, your age, and the circle you run in, "fiddlesticks" is most definitely a more polite and socially acceptable "f" word than the current, mostly socially abhorrent "f" word that some use like the words "the, and, it, that, an, a". At times, I feel the inspiration to purchase a case of thesauruses to carry around for dispersal to people who need to find alternative words for the "f-bomb".
However, I digress.
Another term that I use, but the current meaning of gets me into difficulty is "hooking up". Not all that many years ago, "hooking up" meant simply getting together - perhaps two women having coffee or a man and a woman making arrangements to sit down at some agreed location to discuss a business matter, NOT the twenty-first century "hooking up" connotation of a sexual liaison. Talk about provoking snickers (another seldom heard word), just try saying to another individual - in front of younger persons, "Let's hook up later."
Today's newspaper carried an article about "fracking" - an energy-related term or process that means extracting oil and natural gas from shale by fracturing underground rock formation with a high-pressure jolt of water, sand and chemicals. Depending on which side of the Environmental Fence you are seated, "fracking" can be a highly volatile subject. In my world of instrumental music, "fracking" is often associated with the awful, cracking sound one makes when either learning how to play the trombone or that one purposefully makes when attempting to "frack" into the ear of another - mostly an annoying tactic that never fails to garner the attention of either the band director, the "fracked-upon's" parent, or the "fracked-upon" him or herself, who will most definitely quickly tattle about the instrumental affrontal to whatever adult is available......unless it is a maneuver designed to get the attention of the opposite sex - something akin to pulling on the pigtails of the cute girl who sits in front of you in the classroom.
I note that since my last sentence was a run-on sentence of the first degree, it should be time for me to sign off Ancora Imparo.
In keeping with today's topic, I guess I should say, "Gotta go, Daddy-e-o".
Ancora imparo
For instance, no one - and I mean no one - uses the word "guffaw" any more. Other words that I just do not hear are fiddlesticks, humdinger (that one is even "old" for me), fussbudget, whippersnapper, folderol, just to name a few. I miss hearing and comfortably saying "guffaw" because I think it appropriately describes the sound that people make when they spontaneously laugh aloud. Depending on where you live, your age, and the circle you run in, "fiddlesticks" is most definitely a more polite and socially acceptable "f" word than the current, mostly socially abhorrent "f" word that some use like the words "the, and, it, that, an, a". At times, I feel the inspiration to purchase a case of thesauruses to carry around for dispersal to people who need to find alternative words for the "f-bomb".
However, I digress.
Another term that I use, but the current meaning of gets me into difficulty is "hooking up". Not all that many years ago, "hooking up" meant simply getting together - perhaps two women having coffee or a man and a woman making arrangements to sit down at some agreed location to discuss a business matter, NOT the twenty-first century "hooking up" connotation of a sexual liaison. Talk about provoking snickers (another seldom heard word), just try saying to another individual - in front of younger persons, "Let's hook up later."
Today's newspaper carried an article about "fracking" - an energy-related term or process that means extracting oil and natural gas from shale by fracturing underground rock formation with a high-pressure jolt of water, sand and chemicals. Depending on which side of the Environmental Fence you are seated, "fracking" can be a highly volatile subject. In my world of instrumental music, "fracking" is often associated with the awful, cracking sound one makes when either learning how to play the trombone or that one purposefully makes when attempting to "frack" into the ear of another - mostly an annoying tactic that never fails to garner the attention of either the band director, the "fracked-upon's" parent, or the "fracked-upon" him or herself, who will most definitely quickly tattle about the instrumental affrontal to whatever adult is available......unless it is a maneuver designed to get the attention of the opposite sex - something akin to pulling on the pigtails of the cute girl who sits in front of you in the classroom.
I note that since my last sentence was a run-on sentence of the first degree, it should be time for me to sign off Ancora Imparo.
In keeping with today's topic, I guess I should say, "Gotta go, Daddy-e-o".
Ancora imparo
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
More Change
More change is a-comin, right on down the ro-oad. Right on down, right on down, right on down the ro-oad. I can feel the tracks a rumblin', I can hear the whistle blowin' and the big ol' headlight is blinding me as the change locomotive roars at me.
What am I talking about?
Electronics. They are a part of my life, I accept that, I welcome that and I embrace my electronic "friends". While electronics can enhance life with ease of some tasks, simplify life with the elimination of other tasks, and enrich life with easy accessibility of information and friends, electronics can also create conditions of great frustration and stress - however fleeting.
My laptop had a tiny change made to it yesterday and I have a new learning curve - albeit a small one - but never-the-less a vexing one. While I am not certain exactly how to describe the change, I think it involves my thumb-key pad, like the "mouse" area of my laptop. Unlike my old laptop, where I was accustomed to "clicking" on icons with my thumb pad, my new laptop is very sensitive to touch and my uber-sensitive thumb-key pad was getting me into trouble constantly. Now my thumb-key pad is turned off for clicking and I have to use the bar below the pad, just like the left and right parts on my mouse. Yesterday was a giant learning curve and I am still automatically using the thumb-pad to "click" but not quite as often as twelve hours ago. Just like "the little train that could", I think I can, I think I can, I think I can.
Then my "new" old phone was finally freed for my use yesterday. Gone is the borrowed Blackberry that I was just becoming comfortable with. Here to stay, at least for the near future, is an older "smart phone", internet capable but without the bells and whistles of Capt. SO's new iPhone 4S. (Lucky man!) I have new horizons to conquer, unfamiliar finger patterns to become accustomed to and the most annoying factory-reset ring tone ever. The obnoxious ring tone will be the first to go this afternoon when I "play" with my new phone.
I will repeat my self: I think I can, I think I can, I think I can.
An"can"a imparo
What am I talking about?
Electronics. They are a part of my life, I accept that, I welcome that and I embrace my electronic "friends". While electronics can enhance life with ease of some tasks, simplify life with the elimination of other tasks, and enrich life with easy accessibility of information and friends, electronics can also create conditions of great frustration and stress - however fleeting.
My laptop had a tiny change made to it yesterday and I have a new learning curve - albeit a small one - but never-the-less a vexing one. While I am not certain exactly how to describe the change, I think it involves my thumb-key pad, like the "mouse" area of my laptop. Unlike my old laptop, where I was accustomed to "clicking" on icons with my thumb pad, my new laptop is very sensitive to touch and my uber-sensitive thumb-key pad was getting me into trouble constantly. Now my thumb-key pad is turned off for clicking and I have to use the bar below the pad, just like the left and right parts on my mouse. Yesterday was a giant learning curve and I am still automatically using the thumb-pad to "click" but not quite as often as twelve hours ago. Just like "the little train that could", I think I can, I think I can, I think I can.
Then my "new" old phone was finally freed for my use yesterday. Gone is the borrowed Blackberry that I was just becoming comfortable with. Here to stay, at least for the near future, is an older "smart phone", internet capable but without the bells and whistles of Capt. SO's new iPhone 4S. (Lucky man!) I have new horizons to conquer, unfamiliar finger patterns to become accustomed to and the most annoying factory-reset ring tone ever. The obnoxious ring tone will be the first to go this afternoon when I "play" with my new phone.
I will repeat my self: I think I can, I think I can, I think I can.
An"can"a imparo
Monday, December 5, 2011
Great Mysteries of the World
There are mysteries of the world that will always be with mankind - some will be answered and some will (and should) remain a mystery until the end of civilization as we know it. Questions like "What was Stonehenge used for?", "What really happened to the Mayan and Inca civilizations?", "What really precipitated the extinction of the dinosaurs?", "Is Elvis still alive?", "Is Barry Manilow still performing?", "Where is Jimmy Hoffa buried?", "Where do socks disappear to?", "Who is buried in Grant's tomb?", "Does this computer application require one click or two?", "Is it really possible to get out yellow mustard stains?", "Is Donald Trump's hair real?" and, "Will the Republicans ever find an electable representative?"
It is this last question-for-the-ages that intrigues me. Watching the news clips and reading news articles about the quest for who will be the Republican presidential nominee makes me think of two things: Department store revolving doors and the television game show, "Let's Make A Deal".
The revolving door image is fairly self-explanatory. The cast of characters (and I DO mean characters) who are vying for the nomination is like watching a department store revolving door and never knowing who (or what) will step out onto the sidewalk. Friend or foe, animal/vegetable/mineral, strong or weak, informed or uninformed, credible or incredible, moral or immoral, male or female, literate or illiterate, A-positive or B-negative.
The "Let's Make A Deal" imagery is an accurate depiction because the average American has many choices but none of them are as they seem. Just like the note on a vehicle's side mirror states, "objects in mirror are closer than they appear", the Republican-wannabe-presidential-nominee cast of characters is ever evolving - morphing continually into something unrecognizable to the Republican party's base of voters. Monty Hall would have a field day with asking audience members to choose what is behind Door No. 1, 2, or 3 because each door would have a different "reveal" every few minutes.
I saved my last "question for the ages" for now. "What drove the Republican party to extinction?"
Foot-in-mouth disease.
Ancora imparo
It is this last question-for-the-ages that intrigues me. Watching the news clips and reading news articles about the quest for who will be the Republican presidential nominee makes me think of two things: Department store revolving doors and the television game show, "Let's Make A Deal".
The revolving door image is fairly self-explanatory. The cast of characters (and I DO mean characters) who are vying for the nomination is like watching a department store revolving door and never knowing who (or what) will step out onto the sidewalk. Friend or foe, animal/vegetable/mineral, strong or weak, informed or uninformed, credible or incredible, moral or immoral, male or female, literate or illiterate, A-positive or B-negative.
The "Let's Make A Deal" imagery is an accurate depiction because the average American has many choices but none of them are as they seem. Just like the note on a vehicle's side mirror states, "objects in mirror are closer than they appear", the Republican-wannabe-presidential-nominee cast of characters is ever evolving - morphing continually into something unrecognizable to the Republican party's base of voters. Monty Hall would have a field day with asking audience members to choose what is behind Door No. 1, 2, or 3 because each door would have a different "reveal" every few minutes.
I saved my last "question for the ages" for now. "What drove the Republican party to extinction?"
Foot-in-mouth disease.
Ancora imparo
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