So i am resolutely not a tennis fan. Not necessarily because I don’t like the sport but because realistically there are only so many sports that one can follow. I’m already devoting too much of my mental reserves to correctly differentiating between the various Jokinins,Sedins and Nicklas Backstroms, pondering what Rory McIlroy’s Z-score in the most recent U.S. Open means for his purported greatness and the future of the game, and of course identifying on sight which of the many football players have been on and/or won “Dancing with the Stars.” Forget about being a three-sport athlete - I have a hard enough time being three sport fan. I’ve never fully understood those men (because they are inevitably men - even women who “grew up with brothers” are, at best, faking it) who can cite every statistic about every athlete (again, invariably just the athletes who are men) in every sport. I suppose they make room for the endless litany of stats by avoiding things like learning the names of the contestants on the Bachelorette and, you know, reading books. But I know my limitations and my priorities and, as such, am simply not a fan of tennis.
That being said, I know we all heard about last year’s Wimbeldon match between Nicolas Mahut and John Isner - and no, not because either of those men were contestants on the Bachelorette, but because it lasted for 11 hours, took three day to play, and was eventually won by Isner with a score of 70-68 in the last set.
Well non-tennis fans, it’s Wimbeldon time again, and somehow the two men have been assigned to play each other in the first round. Again, I’m no tennis expert, but apparently the process is somewhat random and the odds of this happening were less than one percent.
Though it seems like a diverting coincidence on the surface, in actuality, the whole thing is rather tragic.
Not because after the last match, Mahut went into something of a downward spiral that lasted for several months and doesn't merit joking about.
Not because of the economic costs associated with innumerable tennis fans (or based on myself and the couple hundred people I know, 5 tennis fans) taking three days of work to witness history repeating itself in the most boring way every.
But because Isner’s response when he heard the news? A single text message to Nicolas Mahut reading simply:
“Insert Frowny Face Here”
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Thursday, May 12, 2011
Vegan baking = success!!
A friend of mine from New York had up the above away message, and it’s raised a couple questions for me and a whole lot of feelings. Firstly, what could she possibly mean? Did she succeed in not starting a grease fire in her kitchen? (Which I'm not minimizing - I have certainly made meals where that would have been an enviable feat) Did she succeed in keeping a straight face while saying carob chips are really just as god as regular chocolate? Did she succeed in creating a dish that can most positively be described as "interesting"? Certainly, she couldn't be trying to claim that she succeeded in making something just as delicious as that which allows for eggs and butter.
I used to work at a small non-profit that was riddled with unique dietary needs, and once, for a co-workers birthday, someone brought in vegan, gluten-free cupcakes. (Needless to say, the co-worker - one of just two males in the office who actually subscribed to the “fats and oils” capstone of the food pyramid - had a very happy birthday indeed). Now, I tried on of those cupcakes, and I am forced to admit that it certainly wasn’t horrible. In fact, far from being the worst thing I've ingested, it was actually kind of okay.
Given a choice between a vegan cupcake and no cupcake at all, I’d take the former every time. But what got me was that the women in my office insisted that you could not tell the difference between the vegan cupcake and the real thing. Granted, we’re probably talking about women who haven’t eaten a real cupcake since eating cabbage soup and smoking were on the cutting edge of dietary trends, but by no stretch of the imagination, are the two the same thing. We’re not talking about the subtle differences between say, regular and non-fat sour cream or even nuances only too obvious to connoisseurs like those found in Coke vs. Pepsi. We’re talking about a fluffy, sweet mouthful of deliciousness and something that is less so on all important metrics with a surprising and not necessarily pleasant texture to boot.
I have no problem with people who are vegans, pescetarians, raw, macrobiotic, or even armchair vegetarians. I don’t even have a problem changing my own eating habits for a night to accommodate them. But I do have an issue with people telling me - me, who eats butter, red meat, processed cheese, and pretty much every other objectionable food you think of - that they’re sure I can’t even tell the difference. I can tell you right now, that I can taste the difference, and it doesn't taste like success.
I used to work at a small non-profit that was riddled with unique dietary needs, and once, for a co-workers birthday, someone brought in vegan, gluten-free cupcakes. (Needless to say, the co-worker - one of just two males in the office who actually subscribed to the “fats and oils” capstone of the food pyramid - had a very happy birthday indeed). Now, I tried on of those cupcakes, and I am forced to admit that it certainly wasn’t horrible. In fact, far from being the worst thing I've ingested, it was actually kind of okay.
Given a choice between a vegan cupcake and no cupcake at all, I’d take the former every time. But what got me was that the women in my office insisted that you could not tell the difference between the vegan cupcake and the real thing. Granted, we’re probably talking about women who haven’t eaten a real cupcake since eating cabbage soup and smoking were on the cutting edge of dietary trends, but by no stretch of the imagination, are the two the same thing. We’re not talking about the subtle differences between say, regular and non-fat sour cream or even nuances only too obvious to connoisseurs like those found in Coke vs. Pepsi. We’re talking about a fluffy, sweet mouthful of deliciousness and something that is less so on all important metrics with a surprising and not necessarily pleasant texture to boot.
I have no problem with people who are vegans, pescetarians, raw, macrobiotic, or even armchair vegetarians. I don’t even have a problem changing my own eating habits for a night to accommodate them. But I do have an issue with people telling me - me, who eats butter, red meat, processed cheese, and pretty much every other objectionable food you think of - that they’re sure I can’t even tell the difference. I can tell you right now, that I can taste the difference, and it doesn't taste like success.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Yellow Gummi Bears are the Worst
Are they? Are they really, grad school friend with whom I have not spoken in a good number of months and with whom I am now regretting never getting into a gelatinous candy debate?
Rather than spending this post expostulating on why pineapple gummi bears are the worst (or are they coconut? Not being sure what flavor the clear ones are is just one of the many, many reasons I can think of why her statement is patently false), I think I’d rather take some time to sow harmony in the world of gchat status updates.
In fact, I think it very likely that my friend left her away message ambiguous so that I can do just that because, let’s face it. It’s been too long since we’ve hung out! She doesn’t want to fight.
Given her non-adversarial standpoint, I think it’s pretty clear that she couldn’t possibly be claiming that yellow gummi bears are the worst flavor of gummi bears. But what could she possibly mean?
Yellow gummi bears are the worst thing period? This seems extreme given the existence of things like paper cuts, and genocide and, of course, pineapple gummi bears.
Yellow gummi bears are the worst at being non-delicious? Well, they are pretty bad at it, but I think I’d have to give the edge to orange or maybe red.
Yellow gummi bears are the worst at emulating real bears? No because clearly that’s green ones (Also, one time I saw a yellow gummi bear eating honey and defending its cub, and it was actually pretty convincing).
Yellow gummi bears are the worst at not being confused with bear-shaped globules of rubber cement? This argument has legs, but to be truly convincing, my friend would need to better define its time frame. Because unless we’re talking about bear-shaped globules that have been given time to roam free, cull the rivers for trout, and oxidize over the course of a couple days, I think I’d have to say clear ones would win out.
Maybe what she really meant was that yellow gummi bears are the worst things on which to write a bog post. I think I’m beginning to see the merits of her arguments.
Rather than spending this post expostulating on why pineapple gummi bears are the worst (or are they coconut? Not being sure what flavor the clear ones are is just one of the many, many reasons I can think of why her statement is patently false), I think I’d rather take some time to sow harmony in the world of gchat status updates.
In fact, I think it very likely that my friend left her away message ambiguous so that I can do just that because, let’s face it. It’s been too long since we’ve hung out! She doesn’t want to fight.
Given her non-adversarial standpoint, I think it’s pretty clear that she couldn’t possibly be claiming that yellow gummi bears are the worst flavor of gummi bears. But what could she possibly mean?
Yellow gummi bears are the worst thing period? This seems extreme given the existence of things like paper cuts, and genocide and, of course, pineapple gummi bears.
Yellow gummi bears are the worst at being non-delicious? Well, they are pretty bad at it, but I think I’d have to give the edge to orange or maybe red.
Yellow gummi bears are the worst at emulating real bears? No because clearly that’s green ones (Also, one time I saw a yellow gummi bear eating honey and defending its cub, and it was actually pretty convincing).
Yellow gummi bears are the worst at not being confused with bear-shaped globules of rubber cement? This argument has legs, but to be truly convincing, my friend would need to better define its time frame. Because unless we’re talking about bear-shaped globules that have been given time to roam free, cull the rivers for trout, and oxidize over the course of a couple days, I think I’d have to say clear ones would win out.
Maybe what she really meant was that yellow gummi bears are the worst things on which to write a bog post. I think I’m beginning to see the merits of her arguments.
Monday, April 18, 2011
Chocolate Matzoh Time!
A good friend of mine works as a candy technologist on behalf of the Food and Drug Administration here in DC. For those of you who aren’t aware of the inner workings of our Federal food agencies, the U. S. Department of Agriculture is responsible for ensuring the high quality of all U.S.-produced chocolate and chocolate-like substances, and the Department of Health and Human Services is responsible for spreading dangerous, anti-chocolate propaganda, but the FDA has full jurisdiction over any food or ingestible substance that has been dipped in another substance (also deemed ingestible. Food dipped in non-ingestible substances falls under the purview of the American Association of Poison Control Centers and also, the Discovery Channel). I’m sure most of you have already guessed this, given the FDA is naturally already supervising Advil with candy-coating. It’s really just logic.
In any case, my friend over at the FDA has been testing the theory that anything tastes good if it’s coated in chocolate (wouldn’t it be nice if we all could have jobs that gave so much back to the world?). She’s devoted hours to her work, hunched over a fondue pot, dipping insects, veggies, and just last week, halibut, to get the FDA to their ultimate test. The FDA wanted to test the age-old adage (or cardboard-age old adage), that you could dip cardboard in chocolate, and it would still taste good. Unfortunately, the EPA intervened (they have jurisdiction over dipping non-ingestible items into ingestible substances, but only if said non-ingestible item can be recycled). The FDA had no choice but to replace cardboard with matzoh, which is basically the same substance but comes with 100% more suffering for the Jews.
Okay, none of that is true (except for the fact that the job of candy technologist really exists - why do I not do that job?). It’s just Passover. That magical time of year when those of us who are Jewish give up eating muffins (and when those of us who are Jew-ish give up eating muffins within the sight lines of other judgemental co-workers whose parents gave them good Jewish names like Sarah and/or Rachel instead of names that scream “shiksah” like Megan). Passover is that magical time of year when we’re reminded of our chosen people status, of the miracles that God loosed on our behalf. So the Jews could escape from Egypt, blood, locusts, frogs and all manner of unpleasant things filled the sky and brought plague to the countryside. So that they could continue on their freedom seeking journey in light of the previous miracles’ failure, the Red Sea parted to let the Jews flee. And lest modern Jews think God has forgotten us, chocolate came to be made without any flour so that we can choke down tasteless unleavened bread (semi-ingestible) coated in the delicious, rich chocolate while taunting all of the catholics who gave it up for Lent.
In light of all this evidence of God’s love, it seems rude to point out that while chocolate-covered matzoh is an improvement, it’s still a step backward from chocolate-covered anything else. And now that I’ve done so, my Jewish guilt is demanding that I make amends. Too bad the only amends that come to mind, come in the form of sandwiches.
In any case, my friend over at the FDA has been testing the theory that anything tastes good if it’s coated in chocolate (wouldn’t it be nice if we all could have jobs that gave so much back to the world?). She’s devoted hours to her work, hunched over a fondue pot, dipping insects, veggies, and just last week, halibut, to get the FDA to their ultimate test. The FDA wanted to test the age-old adage (or cardboard-age old adage), that you could dip cardboard in chocolate, and it would still taste good. Unfortunately, the EPA intervened (they have jurisdiction over dipping non-ingestible items into ingestible substances, but only if said non-ingestible item can be recycled). The FDA had no choice but to replace cardboard with matzoh, which is basically the same substance but comes with 100% more suffering for the Jews.
Okay, none of that is true (except for the fact that the job of candy technologist really exists - why do I not do that job?). It’s just Passover. That magical time of year when those of us who are Jewish give up eating muffins (and when those of us who are Jew-ish give up eating muffins within the sight lines of other judgemental co-workers whose parents gave them good Jewish names like Sarah and/or Rachel instead of names that scream “shiksah” like Megan). Passover is that magical time of year when we’re reminded of our chosen people status, of the miracles that God loosed on our behalf. So the Jews could escape from Egypt, blood, locusts, frogs and all manner of unpleasant things filled the sky and brought plague to the countryside. So that they could continue on their freedom seeking journey in light of the previous miracles’ failure, the Red Sea parted to let the Jews flee. And lest modern Jews think God has forgotten us, chocolate came to be made without any flour so that we can choke down tasteless unleavened bread (semi-ingestible) coated in the delicious, rich chocolate while taunting all of the catholics who gave it up for Lent.
In light of all this evidence of God’s love, it seems rude to point out that while chocolate-covered matzoh is an improvement, it’s still a step backward from chocolate-covered anything else. And now that I’ve done so, my Jewish guilt is demanding that I make amends. Too bad the only amends that come to mind, come in the form of sandwiches.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Woman Seeks Beardless Imbecile: Must be Member of a Mime Troupe
A grad school acquaintance recently had the following link up as her away message, courtesy of the dcist:
http://dcist.com/attachments/Aaron%20Morrissey/2011_0405_datingmapbig.jpg
Although DC Public Schools are terrible, and its high schools are the worst, this is not a DC student’s misguided attempt to diagram a sentence. It’s a map of DC, overlaid with words that are more frequently used on the online dating profiles of people living in those areas than any other area in the nation.
Many of the words are predictably DC. “Staffer,” “Speechwriter,” “Politico,” and “Partisan,” all made the list, as did, regrettably, “ascot.”
Some of the words are more classic characteristics, traits that I’m sure everyone wants in a significant other. Looking for an ethnomusicologist who’s prone to jaywalking, but bakes delicious gingerbread? Ladies of DC, get in line!
And some of the words are just downright concerning. “Terrifyingly,” “Ultimatum,” and “Influenza" somehow all made the list, as did “Infidel” and “Infuriate.”
In any case, the map is well-worth a browse.
I learned a lot about myself, (for example, I used to live just north of “Responsible” and “Tryst,” and I currently work on the corner of “Gin” and “Irony,” which is either a hilariously funny joke or a matter of some concern - luckily there’s someone looking for a “Recovering Former...” just a few blocks away.), I exercised my brain with some reverse Mad Libs (Seriously, try making a dating profile sentence using the words “Bedrock,” “Wanderlust” and “Nonproliferation.” It’s not easy!), and I was finally able to give some dating advice to my malarial, Camembert-loving friend whose hobbies include law review and collecting toenails (Donna, the men of Pleasant Hill cannot wait to meet you).
http://dcist.com/attachments/Aaron%20Morrissey/2011_0405_datingmapbig.jpg
Although DC Public Schools are terrible, and its high schools are the worst, this is not a DC student’s misguided attempt to diagram a sentence. It’s a map of DC, overlaid with words that are more frequently used on the online dating profiles of people living in those areas than any other area in the nation.
Many of the words are predictably DC. “Staffer,” “Speechwriter,” “Politico,” and “Partisan,” all made the list, as did, regrettably, “ascot.”
Some of the words are more classic characteristics, traits that I’m sure everyone wants in a significant other. Looking for an ethnomusicologist who’s prone to jaywalking, but bakes delicious gingerbread? Ladies of DC, get in line!
And some of the words are just downright concerning. “Terrifyingly,” “Ultimatum,” and “Influenza" somehow all made the list, as did “Infidel” and “Infuriate.”
In any case, the map is well-worth a browse.
I learned a lot about myself, (for example, I used to live just north of “Responsible” and “Tryst,” and I currently work on the corner of “Gin” and “Irony,” which is either a hilariously funny joke or a matter of some concern - luckily there’s someone looking for a “Recovering Former...” just a few blocks away.), I exercised my brain with some reverse Mad Libs (Seriously, try making a dating profile sentence using the words “Bedrock,” “Wanderlust” and “Nonproliferation.” It’s not easy!), and I was finally able to give some dating advice to my malarial, Camembert-loving friend whose hobbies include law review and collecting toenails (Donna, the men of Pleasant Hill cannot wait to meet you).
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Venison for Charity
A college friend recently had an away message up about the Venison for Charity Tax Credit. Now, I’m no hunter, but I still had hopes that this applied to me because I:
a) Currently have a freezer full of deer meat,
b) Don’t intend to eat it any time soon, and
c) Am set to inherit an antique venison chafing dish from my grandparents (as long as my cousins know what’s good for them, and keep their grubby paws off).
Some quick research taught me that I sadly don’t qualify for this credit. Though it’s pretty much what it sounds like, to qualify for the Venison for Charity Tax credit, you need to be a licensed butcher or meat packer and need to have a contract with a nonprofit. (Although I don’t think the IRS really thought through what a powerful contribution I could make to society by handing out deer meat to random passersby, while simultaneously keeping said meat warm in mid-century baroque style).
My hope is that this is just the beginning for the IRS as they attempt to re-integrate members of society whose favorite pursuits are met with some political or moral resistance by incentivizing custom-made charity. I’m hoping that next year’s tax forms include a credit for Lite Brite Construction for Charity (and if you think lite brite construction isn’t at the cutting edge of moral or political controversy, just try telling someone of any political persuasion that you’re a twenty-six year old woman who enjoys using pegs to construct clowns, zoo animals and other cheerful, light-up-able scenes. I guarantee you the response you get isn’t going to be delight).
To be fair, I do understand that in some ways, deer hunting and Lite Brite construction aren’t quite equivalent hobbies. For one thing, Lite Brite construction surprisingly doesn’t have an edible yield - my six-year old self can confirm that being brightly colored, translucent and of a size to be swallowed, does not make something candy - but who’s to say it can’t prove just as useful to those in need? After all, I have a freezer full of deer meat and a closet full of lite brite (well, full of one lite brite and assorted clothes), and even though I eat every day and only feel the need to bask in the warmth of an illuminated tableau on very special occasions (like Tuesdays), the edible denizen of my freezer is still much less likely to see the light of day.
a) Currently have a freezer full of deer meat,
b) Don’t intend to eat it any time soon, and
c) Am set to inherit an antique venison chafing dish from my grandparents (as long as my cousins know what’s good for them, and keep their grubby paws off).
Some quick research taught me that I sadly don’t qualify for this credit. Though it’s pretty much what it sounds like, to qualify for the Venison for Charity Tax credit, you need to be a licensed butcher or meat packer and need to have a contract with a nonprofit. (Although I don’t think the IRS really thought through what a powerful contribution I could make to society by handing out deer meat to random passersby, while simultaneously keeping said meat warm in mid-century baroque style).
My hope is that this is just the beginning for the IRS as they attempt to re-integrate members of society whose favorite pursuits are met with some political or moral resistance by incentivizing custom-made charity. I’m hoping that next year’s tax forms include a credit for Lite Brite Construction for Charity (and if you think lite brite construction isn’t at the cutting edge of moral or political controversy, just try telling someone of any political persuasion that you’re a twenty-six year old woman who enjoys using pegs to construct clowns, zoo animals and other cheerful, light-up-able scenes. I guarantee you the response you get isn’t going to be delight).
To be fair, I do understand that in some ways, deer hunting and Lite Brite construction aren’t quite equivalent hobbies. For one thing, Lite Brite construction surprisingly doesn’t have an edible yield - my six-year old self can confirm that being brightly colored, translucent and of a size to be swallowed, does not make something candy - but who’s to say it can’t prove just as useful to those in need? After all, I have a freezer full of deer meat and a closet full of lite brite (well, full of one lite brite and assorted clothes), and even though I eat every day and only feel the need to bask in the warmth of an illuminated tableau on very special occasions (like Tuesdays), the edible denizen of my freezer is still much less likely to see the light of day.
Insert Angry Eyebrows Frowny Face Here
The grand total of zero of you who don’t know me and read my blog may be surprised to learn that I am seldom characterized as generous of spirit. I have a number of hang-ups, pet peeves or what might be charitably called quirks that set me off on snarky rants at the merest provocation.
But in this pantheon of irritants, nothing is quite as persistent in prompting my displeasure as emoticons. To be sure, I scorn all types of internet shorthand. I abhor the use of @, brb, gr8 and other similar abbreviations (Because really, how hard is it to just type the e-a-t? By my count, it’s only two more key stroke and calls for a considerably more ergonomically friendly typing position than reaching for that 8).
I acknowledge, however, that this same foolproof rationalization doesn’t really apply to emoticons. Conveying emotion and tone in online conversations is often tricky, and it is much quicker to insert a little man with his tongue out than to type out “By the way, the tone with which I intended to convey that last sentiment was playful, if slightly mean.” And yet for some reason, I simply cannot stand them. Who knows. Maybe I just really hate faces.
And so, having acknowledged the irrationality of my emoticon disdain, I feel I can stand strongly by my unjustified opinion. And though the lack of emoticons here and elsewhere in my life may invite smiley face champions to bombard me with negative emotions, mostly in the form of colons, parentheses and periods, for those of you who, like me, find emoticons awful, this blog will be a safe space. It will be a space where I spell out my emotions (mostly derivatives of “annoyed”) rather than repurposing punctuation.
And for those of you who count yourself among the ranks of frequent emoticon users, well, all I can say is that I monkey wearing headphones you.
But in this pantheon of irritants, nothing is quite as persistent in prompting my displeasure as emoticons. To be sure, I scorn all types of internet shorthand. I abhor the use of @, brb, gr8 and other similar abbreviations (Because really, how hard is it to just type the e-a-t? By my count, it’s only two more key stroke and calls for a considerably more ergonomically friendly typing position than reaching for that 8).
I acknowledge, however, that this same foolproof rationalization doesn’t really apply to emoticons. Conveying emotion and tone in online conversations is often tricky, and it is much quicker to insert a little man with his tongue out than to type out “By the way, the tone with which I intended to convey that last sentiment was playful, if slightly mean.” And yet for some reason, I simply cannot stand them. Who knows. Maybe I just really hate faces.
And so, having acknowledged the irrationality of my emoticon disdain, I feel I can stand strongly by my unjustified opinion. And though the lack of emoticons here and elsewhere in my life may invite smiley face champions to bombard me with negative emotions, mostly in the form of colons, parentheses and periods, for those of you who, like me, find emoticons awful, this blog will be a safe space. It will be a space where I spell out my emotions (mostly derivatives of “annoyed”) rather than repurposing punctuation.
And for those of you who count yourself among the ranks of frequent emoticon users, well, all I can say is that I monkey wearing headphones you.
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