lutrian dreams - Schnitzels

I like to think I would have stopped

nospam@example.com (Megan) — Sun, 08 Apr 2007 13:43:32 +0200

Pearls Before Breakfast, by Gene Weingarten, Washington Post

HE EMERGED FROM THE METRO AT THE L'ENFANT PLAZA STATION AND POSITIONED HIMSELF AGAINST A WALL BESIDE A TRASH BASKET. By most measures, he was nondescript: a youngish white man in jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt and a Washington Nationals baseball cap. From a small case, he removed a violin. Placing the open case at his feet, he shrewdly threw in a few dollars and pocket change as seed money, swiveled it to face pedestrian traffic, and began to play.

It was 7:51 a.m. on Friday, January 12, the middle of the morning rush hour. In the next 43 minutes, as the violinist performed six classical pieces, 1,097 people passed by. Almost all of them were on the way to work, which meant, for almost all of them, a government job. L'Enfant Plaza is at the nucleus of federal Washington, and these were mostly mid-level bureaucrats with those indeterminate, oddly fungible titles: policy analyst, project manager, budget officer, specialist, facilitator, consultant.

Each passerby had a quick choice to make, one familiar to commuters in any urban area where the occasional street performer is part of the cityscape: Do you stop and listen? Do you hurry past with a blend of guilt and irritation, aware of your cupidity but annoyed by the unbidden demand on your time and your wallet? Do you throw in a buck, just to be polite? Does your decision change if he's really bad? What if he's really good? Do you have time for beauty? Shouldn't you? What's the moral mathematics of the moment?

On that Friday in January, those private questions would be answered in an unusually public way. No one knew it, but the fiddler standing against a bare wall outside the Metro in an indoor arcade at the top of the escalators was one of the finest classical musicians in the world, playing some of the most elegant music ever written on one of the most valuable violins ever made. His performance was arranged by The Washington Post as an experiment in context, perception and priorities -- as well as an unblinking assessment of public taste: In a banal setting at an inconvenient time, would beauty transcend?

I like to think I would have stopped and listened. It's hard to be certain, though. I remember the feeling of walking out of the Metro- rush hour is so crowded, I always walked out of the train somewhat dazed. The stations are so dark and the fluorescent train lighting so dim and green, the sunlight can easily stun one's senses. And because the train and the city itself are so crowded and busy, people retreat into their own minds and create privacy with their own thoughts. It doesn't lend toward an appreciation of external stimuli.

And if I had noticed, would I have been able to get past the setting and the context? People get asked for money so often, they learn to, once again, create barriers. Block it out. They develop an attitude of non-approachability. People get asked for money so often, sometimes it is hard to admit to oneself that the people asking are people. If you start to feel for every one of them, you'll soon be giving beyond your means. So you do everything in your power not to notice.

Ken and I talked about how the reaction to Joshua Bell playing at L'Enfant Plaza, and this article itself, made us feel. Disappointed in our society, its prejudices, its priorities? Maybe somewhat. Relieved not to be in the D.C. environment anymore? Maybe somewhat. Sad not to have the opportunity to hear Joshua Bell play at L'Enfant Plaza? Yeah, maybe somewhat. Overall, it left me with a feeling of dissatisfaction. It makes me feel like something has to change. It's worth reading.

From now on, when I'm asked why I left Washington, D.C. to move to Fairbanks, Alaska, I will think of this article. It confirms my choice, but it also forces me to question my choice. Also, I am reminded what good journalism is. Maybe it's time to consider a subscription to the Washington Post.

Seriously.

nospam@example.com (Megan) — Tue, 20 Feb 2007 18:14:17 +0100

Go read Slate's article, "Pardon the interjection," by Ben Yagoda. Yagoda did a great job researching and spinning this story on grammar and parts of speech... an easily dry subject.

Interjections are probably the most expressive part of speech. They are definitely the most disregarded and always have been... The main reason for the grammarians' neglect is that interjections operate outside of grammar—they are words that unilaterally express a sentence (or more) worth of meaning.... The Internet, where writing and talking sometimes seem to merge, is changing all of this.... It's not that e-mail, blogs, IM-ing, message boards, and texting have spawned a litter of brand-new interjections. (I don't count emoticons because you can't utter them, and I don't count acronyms like LOL and CU because they represent phrases with grammatical standing.) Rather, they have given lots of marginal ones, like awwa, a spelled-out form and thus a major shot in the arm.

I love his ending. Not at all cliché. Seriously.

Life in pictures

nospam@example.com (Megan) — Sat, 27 Jan 2007 12:08:39 +0100

Ken commented the other night that my blog has really been only pictures lately. I have a few explanations for it, but I'm not sure what the truth is. First, I have horrible writer's block regarding my Christmas 2006 letter. It has been started and not finished, so no holiday cards were mailed out. I still intend to send them. I've been using our move as an excuse (oh yeah, maybe I haven't said anything about that either. We moved, but we're still in Ester. Same phone number, same PO Box). Second, I hate being in front of the computer for any length of time these days. I think that is a product of too much office work, not enough field time. So blogging hasn't been my thing. And finally, I feel like I have to post something; so I've posted pictures, which at least lets family and friends sort of see what we're doing. I've asked Ken for a gallery, so I can post more pictures. And then maybe there'll be some content on the homepage again. We'll see...

Off to town. I have cat litter and knitting books to buy. And a package to mail. Of course, I've already missed the Ester Post Office hours.

Scientific equivalent of a "small penis truck"

nospam@example.com (Megan) — Wed, 13 Dec 2006 23:55:04 +0100

Do you think this study might have been mandated, funded, or carried out by a white man with a small penis and some feelings of inadequacy? Matt Drudge made it his headline.

Public fruit salad

nospam@example.com (Megan) — Mon, 09 Oct 2006 21:58:31 +0200

I work in a public building (read: building paid for with public funds). For some reason, those members of the public who are ~~more than slightly off~~ unique believe this means that the building, and everything in it, belongs to all. Once the doors open at 8:00 am, it is not unusual to find someone warming up in one of the public room chairs, washing up in our bathroom sink, or even showering in the employee shower. Usually I don't even bat an eye. But this afternoon, as I was getting ready to leave, I noticed a pineapple on the sill of the front window.

I did a double take. A pineapple on the sill of the front window. Inside.

Some of our employees are ~~more than slightly off~~ eccentric. Thinking perhaps there was a logical explanation for the pineapple in the window, or more likely a sentimental one, I queried one of the employees who works up front, near the window.

"M, did you know there is a pineapple in the window?"

"Oh, yeah. It's Bicycle Man's."

It turns out, one of our frequent visitors likes to use our building as his own personal hanging fruit basket. He buys nearly ripe fruit from the grocery store, rides his bike over to our building, and places the still green fruit in our window to ripen. He'll come back in a few days to pick it up. Theory has it that he has no home, no car... just his bike. Today he left a towel in the building. M very kindly placed it in the window, next to the pineapple. She figured we might as well consolidate his things for ease of pick-up.

I asked if M is ok with Bicycle Man leaving his fruit in the public room.

She said, "No, but..."

Accepted.

I know, I know... suspension of disbelief

nospam@example.com (Megan) — Fri, 15 Sep 2006 18:53:09 +0200

I watched Men in Trees on Friday night. I admit to a mild curiousity (can they really pull this off? and will she wear carhartt's?), but mostly I thought it might be fun to blog about it. Not that I want to perpetuate the number of visits to my site by people wondering where Elmo, AK is. I'll help you guys out: Elmo, much like Cicely, does not really exist. Actually I don't think a place like Elmo exists in all of Alaska.

Assuming the writers bothered to put much research into the show (it is evident they did not), Elmo would have to be on Prince of Wales Island. I say this because a raccoon makes an appearance on the first episode, and raccoons are an introduced species in Alaska. They only exist in a few select places, and POW Island is one of them. The candidates are narrowed down to POW Island when the radio show in Elmo receives calls from Ketchikan, a supposedly nearby town. Elmo could therefore conceivably be a town like Craig. Here we run into a problem: a bus runs daily between Elmo and Vancouver, B.C. There are no roads between this area of Southeast and the Outside. The only Southeast town with road access to the Outside is Skagway, and there are no buses that run to Vancouver daily from Skagway. I have to wonder where the writers are doing their fact checking.

Another pet peeve: casting John Boncore as George, a Tlingit character who gives Ann Heche a ride to buy cigarettes. I see that the writers had to check off their list of characters: token black man, token Native, token tough woman, token helpless woman, brooding hot white guy... I just wish they would have paid more attention to the appearance and accent of the actor they cast in this show. Tlingit people just don't have the same speech patterns as Lower 48 Natives.

OK, perhaps these things are me just being way too particular. Ken tells me that I have to learn to embrace suspension of disbelief. I do have trouble with this, and I can accept that a show might be halfway decent and really popular even when I refuse to watch it. I decided to give Men in Trees a chance. I thought I might even watch a second episode, just for kicks, until Anne Heche falls through the ice and is rescued by brooding hot white guy, James Tupper.

I can deal with the heroine in distress rescued by knight in shining armour aspect. Sort of. Then Anne has to take all of her frozen wet clothes off to get warm and subsequently falls asleep naked with James because there isn't any heat or fire, and this is the only way to get warm. Okaaayyy... I can deal. HOWEVER, when the camera pans to the outside of the cabin and Anne's clothes laid out on the roof to dry out, I swear I will never watch this show again if Anne can put her clothes back on in the morning. No heat source, including hardly any sun, and freezing temperatures mean Anne's clothes should be a solid block of ice and too stiff to slip into.

Suffice to say I'm never watching the show again.

Couple that with the following reviews:

The title, "Men in Trees," is seen on a warning sign meant to alert people below that pruning and trimming are going on above. "Beware 'Men in Trees' " would be even more appropriate. Please consider yourself warned.

and...

How nice to know there's nothing wrong with a woman that can't be cured by a week in the wilderness.

Unless that idea strikes you as anything other than total throwback nonsense, you may have a hard time hurdling past the setup of ABC's Northern Exposure wannabe, Men in Trees... you have to be willing to believe in an Alaska that is on another planet rather than a distant corner of the continent.

Is it really so hard to run plot lines, casting, and maybe one episode past a real Alaskan? I think this could have potentially saved the show. Of course we aren't the target audience. No wonder tourists love main street Skagway.

The arctic entry is only so big

nospam@example.com (Megan) — Wed, 13 Sep 2006 12:46:01 +0200

Last night I caught Ken looking at motorcycle boots online. I can only imagine what he's up to.

Life with Ken is hardly ever dull. He has his own way of looking at things, his own way of communicating. We all do, but I sometimes wonder if Ken grew up in even remotely the same world that most of the rest of us did. A friend of mine has suggested that the way he relates to the world is similar to the way one might expect a five-year-old alien to relate. For example, Ken claims to never have eaten a grapefruit until he met me. There are so many examples of this odd lack of "normal" experiences that I can't even think of any more right now. They usually don't even register these days...

A month ago Ken started dragging me around town to look at bicycle helmets. He wanted to try them on to see if helmets he had seen on ebay would fit. Ken doesn't have a bike. I left my bike in Virginia for my mom. There are consequently no bikes in our household, so I could only imagine that Ken was considering buying one. I asked Ken if he was planning on getting a bike, and he told me that he had no intention of doing so any time soon. Window shopping for bicycle helmets without plans to own a bike was therefore a bit strange, but it certainly wasn't outside the realm of normal things for Ken.

About two weeks later I came home, and Ken met me excitedly at the door. "Look at my new bicycle shoes!" he exclaimed, holding a box that had arrived in the mail. "Oh, those are nice," I replied. And went about my usual evening activities. I didn't even ask.

The next day a helmet was sitting on the kitchen table. "Look! They match!" Ken remarked. "That's nice, honey." And I went about my usual evening activities.

The next week I went out of town for field work; and when I came back, a pair of spandex bicycle shorts had been added to the pile. I draw the line at spandex shorts with padding. "Honey? Are these your new shorts?" I asked. "Yes! Do you like them?" was the reply. And then Ken informed me that he was going to ride to work the next day.

I had a quick flash of the following image in my head: Ken in padded, shiny black spandex, wearing his black and red helmet and black and red shoes, riding to work in his Toyota Tacoma. There had to be a better explanation than this, or the winter was bound to be a long one. Soon Ken retrieved a bicycle from the arctic entry. It was our friend "Skookum's" bike, and I breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, you're going to ride Skookum's bike." Ken looked at me like I was crazy. "What did you think I was going to do with all of this stuff?" Silly me.

Never mind that it was mid-August by the time the bicycle stash was purchased and the borrowed bike was ready to ride. Snow will likely fall by the end of this month, but I won't be surprised to see Ken riding at 10F above. He's odd like that.

The bike is stashed in our arctic entry/laundry room/tool shed/plant storage area for the winter. It's getting pretty crowded in there. I thought I was safe, but then I saw this:

Like I said, life is hardly ever dull.

Chocolate Bliss

nospam@example.com (Megan) — Sun, 10 Sep 2006 16:13:19 +0200

I had a bite of decadence this weekend, when a generous friend brought some Dolfin chocolate to a women's weekend getaway. Theme: good food, good friends, lots of lowbush cranberry picking! More on the weekend soon, but the delicious chocolate must be shared now! For those who enjoy slightly off-beat flavors, try Chocolat Noir Au Poivre Rose (Pink Peppercorn Chocolate!). And don't throw away your wrappers! If you don't have your own project for them, send them to me!

Isn't she lovely?

nospam@example.com (Megan) — Wed, 05 Jul 2006 16:58:18 +0200

A mutant yes but also lovely.

We're getting a goat!

nospam@example.com (Megan) — Wed, 17 May 2006 14:09:36 +0200

"If the fires get bad this year, we can get one.
...In California, thousands of goats are helping prevent wildfires... "

So you said on June 27 of last year. And last year was the second worst fire year in quite a long while. That's my definition of bad. So, goat, here I come...

Which Barbie Are You?

nospam@example.com (Megan) — Sat, 29 Apr 2006 23:11:55 +0200

Anchorage Barbie: This fit Barbie has a graduate degree in science, resources management, and/or is an environmental lawyer. New Subaru kit comes with skate skis and kayak roof rack. Accessories include running tights, cross-trainer shoes, a husky named Kobuk, and a cell phone. Boyfriend Ken comes in seasonally employed climbing guide, fishing guide, or Girdwood bartender models. Sold at New Sagaya.

Fairbanks Barbie: This graduate school Barbie kit includes a tiny cabin with detached outhouse. This Barbie has hairy legs, hat head, and a fleece jacket covered with dog fur. Accessories include extra long johns; shower bag, head lamp, case of Ramen noodles, and bug dope. Also available is a beater 80 model Subaru complete with plug-in, ice scraper, shovel, and set of studded tires. Ken is either at the Marlin, the Howling Dog, the Loon, out hunting, doing field work, or is long gone. Available at Beaver Sports.

Bravo, KirkMcQuest, carnivore with a low IQ

nospam@example.com (Megan) — Wed, 12 Apr 2006 10:43:00 +0200

Quotes from KirkMcquest on White Blaze

Did you know that children brought up without meat are smaller, and less mentally developed? Herbivors ( those naturally designed to eat only veg) ALL have a working appentix which helps them process the nutrients they need from vegies. Humans do not have a working appendix ( though the fact that we have one suggests some earlier herbivorous ancestry), which is pretty clear evidence that humans are now meant to eat meat. Our teeth, are clearly those of the omnivor, which is further proof... I there is a name for the condtion of underdeveloped children. Sorry to burst your bubble, sarbar, but its not an opinion, its a scientific FACT. There is a name for this syndrome, if only I could think of it.

The above was KirkMcQuest's response to someone's request for easy to prepare, nutritious vegetarian meals to supplement their diet.

A. Your name is Kirk McQuest.
B. This response has nothing to do with the subject at hand.
C. You're an idiot.

So, of course, this vegetarian of thirteen years went on her own rant.

Sorry to burst your bubble, sarbar, but its not an opinion, its a scientific FACT.

Have you ever noticed that people who feel the need to emphasize words that should be able to stand on their own do so because there is no substance behind their statements?

There is a name for this syndrome, if only I could think of it.

I think the word you are looking for is "malnutrition". A healthy vegetarian, one who works at preparing diverse foods and carefully watches his or her nutritional intake, is far from malnourished. Meat eaters are more likely to suffer from dietary imbalances than a practiced vegetarian. Meat eaters are simply lazier about what they eat.

To imply that vegetarians are mentally underdeveloped, with a low IQ, is perhaps indicative of the people with whom you associate. A lazy vegetarian that doesn't do his or her homework won't eat properly. Eliminating meat and replacing those calories with carbs just doesn't cut it, but it sure is the easiest route. It's also the quickest route to slow and erratic brain functions and fatigue. If these are the type of vegetarians to whom you have been exposed, I can see why you would believe it is a less than intelligent choice.

Vegetarians, as a segment of the population, actually have a high IQ range. I'm not claiming that a high IQ is a result of not eating meat, although a balanced diet helps on the intelligence points scale. Rather, those with high IQs tend to have more acute senses, and as a result are "enlightened". Ever heard of Ghandi? How about Sir Isaac Newton? Charles Darwin? Or maybe Socrates rings a bell?

Still not convinced that children can be healthy, intelligent, and vegetarian? Maybe you need to do a review of the available literature. Start with:

Messina VK, Burke KI. Position of the American Dietetic Association: vegetarian diets. J Am Diet Assoc 1997;97:1317-1321

Dwyer JT, Miller LG, Arduino NL, et al. Mental age and I.Q. of predominately vegetarian children. J Am Dietetic Assoc 1980;76:142-7

As for claiming that people were only designed to eat meat, I'd like to know what your qualifications are for making such a statement. The zoologist Desmond Morris, author of The Naked Ape has this to say: "It could be argued that, since our primate ancestors had to make do without a major meat component in their diets we should be able to do the same. We were driven to become flesh eaters only by environmental circumstances, and now that we have the environment under control, with elaborately cultivated crops at our disposal, we might be expected to return to our ancient primate feeding patterns."

Please perform a cursory examination of those around you. As a species, the morphology of our teeth varies greatly. Some of us have much pointier teeth than others. Just for fun, find some vegetarians who have successfully lived without meat for many years. Compare them to vegetarians who have reverted to eating meat. The differences in teeth structure might surprise you.

Just some good, vegetarian food for thought.

NotUgly

nospam@example.com (Megan) — Mon, 10 Apr 2006 21:38:00 +0200

Someone told me the other day that I was "not ugly". It was meant to be a compliment. The logic path that this individual took was that not ugly was the opposite of ugly, just as needy was the opposite of not needy. I was therefore to understand that I was pretty.

What I heard was that I was NotUgly, something in the vast wasteland between hideous and attractive. NotUgly.

I informed this individual that there are many words that could describe the opposite of ugly... pretty, beautiful, sexy, attractive, gorgeous, etc, etc. They all have positive connotations. It would be best to use one of these in the future, rather than leaving me in the purgatory of NotUgly.