QotD: big words

" 'Fucking ineffable' sounds like someone remembering how to do self-censorship halfway through a phrase."

- XKCD: A Web Comic of Romance, Sarcasm, Math, and Language.

Mr. Beistle

I went to a Celebration of Life the other day for one of my teachers from high school: Mike Beistle, from here on out referred to as "Mr. Beistle" because that is how I knew him. Even though I hadn't seen Mr. Beistle in over a decade I went because think that funerals are important, in part because it is a kindness to the family but also because I think genuine remembrance is the most sincere and poignant gift a person can give.

Even before I went tonight I knew that more than remembering on my own, I'd be hearing about other people's memories.  Mr. Beistle was my teacher for one year and my memories are literally nothing in comparison to those of his friends.  I was glad that I went because while I will always remember Mr. Beistle with a smile, he wasn't necessarily the teacher that touched my life and changed it forever.  Sitting in the Hippedrome on Sunday I got to hear from the students whose lives both in high school and after were significantly warmer and safer because of him, students who chose to be involved in theater, art and performance rather than pursue more traditional paths because he told them that they could and that it really was okay.  We went to a private college prep school and while it was filled with amazing teachers and people of all kinds, Mr. Beistle was unique in that he encouraged student to following their passions and dreams even when doing so would take them down different, perhaps less affluent paths.

One of the best things that was said of Mr. Beistle at the celebration was said by his best friend: "He could always make me laugh.  In part because he was pretty quick but also because, well, Mike was just a really strange human being."  I hope that someone loves me enough to say that of me at my own funeral.

Thanksgiving 2010

Thanksgiving is one of my favorite holidays, I think maybe this is because its based around something that I absolutely adore: social eating.  Social eating reached a whole new fever pitch this year: Wes deep fried a turkey:

I'm so thankful that Wes does Turkey duty on Thanksgiving, I'm generally not sqeemish about meat but preparing a turkey just really doesn't ring my bell.   So while deep frying a turkey makes me feel a little bit back words, it was super tasty and with the added bonus of freeing up valuable realestate in the oven. 

We sampled some of the worlds strongest beer: the Sink the Bismark:

AT 42% alcohol its much more akin to a shot of whisky then beer AND I can say from personal experience, it can be lit on fire. Yet we drank this, though admittedly not much of it.  It tasted a lot like I imagine drowning in jet fuel would taste. 

And then we ate:

What's there not to be thankful for this year?

Stand back! I am about to do science!

In middle school they teach you about the scientific method.  In the drive to make learning authentic and pertinent they make you apply it to all sorts of non-sciency things, like the best locker location or whether candy bars improve student achievement on tests.  Perhaps I would have paid more attention had I known that the fruits of the scientific method would someday pay my bills.  Probably not, but I would definitely have paid more attention had I known how down right practical and useful it could be.  Thus...

A dual-arm trial comparing of Kleen King Copper Cleaner and Ketchup in the efficacious removal of CuO/CuS tarnish from T-Fal Copper Bottom, Stainless Steel Cookware

Observation: The copper bottoms of my pots and pans is tarnished and dirty.

Hypothesis: I hypothesize that ketchup will remove the tarnish from my pots and pans better than Kleen King Copper Cleaner (also known as: the stuff found underneath my kitchen sink.)

Predictions: Given the natural acidity in ketchup (and since I've been told that this works), I predict that it will remove the tarnish but be difficult to keep on the vertical surfaces of the pot, thus resulting in an inconsistent shine. 

The Experiment:

A poorly designed, two arm trial with, varying degree's of tarnish and no control arm. 

Then we applied the tarnish removers:

Applied some elbow grease to Exhibit A and let the ketchup rest on Exhibit B for...well...as long as it took to apply the elbow grease. :)

Scrub, scrub, scrub.  Rinse, rinse, rinse.  And voila!

Conclusions:

1. The ketchup worked!  Even factoring in the darker tarnish on the copper-polish one, I didn't have to scrub, scrub, scrub on the pot on the right.  The shiney-fication just happened on its own,which I do find to be kinda cool.  

2. Should you find yourself with any residual ketchup on your hands during the rinsing process, don't lick it off.  The tarnish dissolution process seriously messes with the flavor.  It took at least half a beer to rinse the taste to stupidity from my mouth.

almost....there

Sometimes I feel like my cat maybe understands me better than most people.  I also strongly suspect that this week is never actually going to end.

Danger Mouse v. Gargamel

While we're on the topic of things that never actually change, add to that list the entertainment value inherent in bodily functions.  The Gator game last night was so disappointing that I'll skip right over it and move on the boxing match: Manny Pacquiao v. Antonio Margarito.  You know the game had to be bad when I'd rather talking about boxing.

So, Pacquiao vs. Margarito can best be likened to Danger Mouse fighting Gargamel:

Clearly, given my penchant for underdogs and those who resemble cartoons I was in the Pacquiao corner, especially after finding out that Margarito has a history of being a cheater.  Anyone who packs plaster into his hand wrappings not only defames the spirit of Rocky Balboa (who lets face it, is the standard by which I judge all fighters) but more importantly, earns my personal disdain.  I'm sure he lays awake at night mourning of the loss of my regards. Then...

THEN

I found out that Manny Pacquiao, the pride of the Philippines, drinks his own pee.   Yes, Danger Mouse drinks his own urine because it 'returns the nutrients' to his body.  That. Is. Disgusting.  I have serious qualms about rooting for someone who drinks their own pee.  This man also hold public office in the Philippine Government, how does one get elected when your pee drinking penchant is publically known?  Obviously this became a much mulled over topic and given how people rose to the occasion,  potentially the hightlight.  Only rivaled by the measuring of foot vs. forearm lengths, it was just another night in pants-dropping Gainesville, you know you're jealous.

Ultimately despite a significant weight and height disadvantage Danger Mouse triumphed over Gargamel in a decisive way. One thing I will give Margarita is that despite his mullet, that man is tough.  His face took a beating that makes me queasy and ultimately required surgery on his face to repair the damage done to his eye sockets.  That's one tough maniac, though I suppose if we compared his face to that of the guy who took a beating from his plastered hands...it might have been deserved.

Quote of the Day

"It's hard not to think of the 4 other guys who have slept in this bed.  All are dead.  Or POW's. I'm caught up in someting damn big, bigger than I can fathom.  Much bigger than my own little dreams and preoccupations."

-- Bert Stiles, 23 yo from CO. 

 Served as a Co-Pilot of a B17 bomber out of England in WWII.

lift your own suitcase dammit!

It seriously bothers me when women bring carry-on luggage onto planes that they can't lift into the overhead bins.  It's ridiculous that the airlines are charging for bags and I understand that in the current economy, spending an additional $25 or $35 for your luggage just isn't necessarily within reach but seriously...lift some weights or pack less. 

This isn't to say that there's anything wrong when men are being polite or gentlemanly and they offer to help, it's when that help is expected or solicited.  Your vagina is not a disability, if you can't lift the bag above your head, take out the stuff you don't need or shell out the extra bucks.

A Night with the Cool Kids

It's crazy how the minute you think that everything in life has changed, you realize that actually nothing has changed.  Walking into a work reception/dinner where I don't know anyone feels strikingly similar to walking into the cafeteria the first day at a new middle school.  Thankfully, I did the new kid walk enough growing up that as an adult it isn't that bad.  A glass of wine or two helps too.

Now I assume that the zing you get when you realize you're at the 'cool kids table' is also one of those things that doesn't really change.  I can't tell you for sure because it never actually happened to me when I was in school, but last night I found myself as part of the 'cool kids' and the zing was unmistakable though not as purely pleasant as I would have thought.

Now I know that its a little late in life to be talking about the 'cool kids' but don't judge because you know damn well what I'm talking about.  At every large gathering there's usually the table that you maybe just momentarily wish you got to sit at because they seem like they're having way more fun than the rest; that's the cool kids table.   For those of us who have never been at said table...inclusion is an invigorating thrill even if it's a decade late.

One thing about the adult cool kids?  They can drink.  Holy shots of tequila can they drink.  There were pre-dinner cocktails, during dinner cocktails and after dinner dwinks too.  The peer pressure to join in on these dwinks was definitely there and I have to admit...I caved.  After a long day of conferencing on myelofibrosis, a stiff vodka drink is called for.  Perhaps not 8, but I was with the cool kids dammit!

The drinks they multiplied and as the night went on I discovered other things about the cool kids: inclusion is based on utility.  My usefulness apparently stems from a decades worth of work in restaurants combined with two decades worth of living in a college town: my knowledge of shot recipes is extensive.  One must earn their position in the cool kids corner and Washington Apples, Redheaded Sluts and Royal Flushes were my contribution. 

I also learned that my super sneaky shot hand-off maneuver can in fact be successfully executed alone with minimal adjustment.  While I know how to make all these shots, that doesn't mean I'll actually take them.  I have no desire to spend my evening worshiping the porcelain god and shots like these will pretty well guarantee that as an inevitability.  The shot hand-off maneuver is very useful when in groups of people who will shamelessly pressure alcohol upon the reluctant, you could fight them or you could just circumvent the whole deal, hand-off the shot and enjoy the show!  Success rates improve proportionate to the level of intoxication of your companions but when executed properly has a 90% success rate in the form of not vomiting up your own saliva the next morning.  I was very successful on Saturday night.

So as bar closed down around us and I prepared to make my way back to my hotel room, I discovered that my cool kids were not done but making plans for continued shenanigans.  It this point the inevitable made itself known.  I know exactly why I have never been nor will ever be anything but a guest at the cool kids table: screw that.  Eight hours of drinking and ridiculousness is waaay more than enough for me and as my friends know and my new cool friends discovered, ridicule all you'd like but when I say I'm going home, you'd best get the hell out of my way.

As I walked off on my own (in a well lit, safe area) and listened to the shouts from behind me I realized that the evening had boiled down to A LOT of work.  My night with the cool kids was fun but at the end of it all I realized, I don't really like the cool kids.  I'd rather make drunken cupcakes with Matthew and build a pillow fort with Club Fun on a cold rainy day.  Plus, I made it to breakfast the next morning and I'm pretty sure none of my cool friends did.  :)

Drat you Airport, drat you

Friday, November 5, 2010

When I was a teenager I used to dream about being an adult and traveling alone.  I'm not sure where I got the fabulous vision of traveling alone, probably a hybrid effect of teen magazines, Britney Spears' "Crossroads" and the driving desire to be anyone but myself.  Life on the other side of the dream isn't quite as idyllic and as I sit in this airport all I can think about is home.

I'm pretty okay with being on my own, which I think contributes significantly to the enjoyment of traveling alone.  At the outset there was also the additional liberation of walking where and however fast I want.  As the youngest in my family, I've spent most of my traveling life by default following either my parents or my sister and a little traveling autonomy was welcome.  Additional highlights included reading massive amounts of trash magazines without shame, drinking a beer with my breakfast and only having to contend with the stares of strangers instead of people who actually know me.  The novelty has since worn off however, along with the assumption that I'll actually follow you if we end up traveling together.  Now traveling alone also means that there's nobody to watch your luggage while you pee and there's also nobody to people watch with or exchange magazines with. 

I do like that my job includes traveling sometimes.  I've gotten to go to really fun places and I've stayed in fancy hotels that routinely out-fancy me but I have to admit that today, I'd really rather not

You see the weather is actually getting cold in the 'Ville this weekend and I am missing it.  I love for these random cool weekends in October and November in Florida that remind me "yes, it is indeed Fall" and I am missing it! There is a whooooole box of crackle fire logs sitting next to the fire place just waiting, waiting for the weather to descend to anywhere remotely resembling cool.  Wes, thoughtful as always purchased these logs about three weeks ago and I've been gazing longingly and wistfully at them ever since.  While gazing wistfully we've also been wondering if lighting a fire will cure Murry of his penchant for playing in the fireplace.  In theory sooty kitty footprints are helpful in figuring out what exactly the kittehs do during the day but in practice I'd be okay with not cleaning them off the mantle, bookcases, tables, bathroom floors and kitchen counters.  So much for training them to stay off the counters.  I digress but I just KNOW that while I'm gone Wes is going to light a fire, pull up the papsan and snuggle down with a book and the kittehs and I'M GOING TO MISS IT!!

I guess I didn't factor turning into a Hobbit into my fantastic traveling fantasy.