Wednesday, 23 February 2011

Today marks the 10th anniversary of a very special occasion. It’s not a day that I set out to purposely remember, nor is it a day I logged into my list of events. But, as luck would have it, today is exactly one day shy of my sister-in-law Kara’s wedding and, therefore, it was on this day back in 2001 that I attended her and her fiance’s wedding rehearsal and subsequent dinner.

Why is that day so significant, you ask. Good question: ten years ago today was significant because it was on that day that I had the extreme misfortune of putting into my mouth the most disgusting food in my life. Ever.

Let me explain…

Although there are some foods I generally don’t choose, there’s precious little that I find absolutely disgusting. Actually, I’d be hard pressed to name any foods that completely repulse me. There are, however, a few foods that I can not and will not consume by themselves. Milk, for example, is a beverage I can’t stomach. But a bowl of cereal is just fine. Cheese and eggs, too – in a salad or on a sandwich I love them, but I avoid eating chunks of cheese and I never order scrambled eggs or hard-boiled eggs at restaurants. And I might also mention pasta: if it’s strung thin, a’la spaghetti, that’s cool, but those sheets of lasagna are unpalatable (even the texture makes my tongue shriek back).

Now let’s consider some things that can detract from a food’s savoriness: Did you ever eat or drink something while thinking it was something else? I did. I recall once, at the movies, my wife went to get a beverage. When she returned, I saw the beverage was dark and assumed it was iced tea. I took a big gulp. “Oh my God, what is this stuff?” I said in horror. “It’s root beer,” she responded, “what’s the problem?” Well, there was no problem, it’s just that my palate was expecting something else.

Second, do you ever go to a fancy-schmancy restaurant and thus expect to consume a really great meal, only to be left ambivalent? Yeah, that’s happened to me, too. It’s a classic case of having one’s expectations raised too high.

So there I was, sitting at the end of a table in a party room, enjoying the meal that was given to me and other members of the family and wedding party. My wife sat to my left, and her aunt JoAnne was to my right. A couple of times that evening, I had heard that the dessert awaiting was top-notch. After all, it was created by the groom’s mother – and she was known as a wonderful cook.

After dinner, I went up to get a piece of the dessert. Unbeknown to me, my wife had already tried a bite of the dessert and was quietly disappointed. As I carried it back to my chair, my mouth was watering at the looks of it: it appeared decadent in richness, with what appeared to be white chocolate in thin layers (such as you see on a French silk pie), held together with a creamy goodness that looked to be the same stuff bakers shove into donuts (though, I hoped, ten times better).

I sat back down and picked up my fork. Cleaving off a generous portion, I brought the attractive, rich dessert to my lip and gently set it on my tongue. HOLY CRAP! Did that ever taste worse than repulsive. Immediately feeling the dry heaves, I puked it out of my mouth onto the plate and said, “What IS this thing?!?” While JoAnne turned red with laughter and couldn’t stop giggling, my wife scolded me for throwing etiquette to the wind and verbalizing my enormous, sudden hatred for the groom’s mother’s confection.

“James!” she shouted at me, “Don’t be so loud! You’re embarrassing!”  JoAnne continued to laugh. “I’m sorry Jennifer,” I said (lying), “but that is the nastiest clump of whatever I have ever put in my mouth.” Again, Jennifer yelled at me for saying such things, and JoAnne continued to get a good laugh. When she saw me the next day, before the wedding, she again laughed at me, even before saying hello.

I’m trying to think of how to describe the taste without being too terribly crass…so…here goes:

Pour about two cups of milk into a blender. Then add two hard boiled eggs. Then add a block of cheese. No, not provolone or Monterrey jack, something that just barely qualifies as cheese…say…American. And don’t grate it, oh no, just place in a big half-pound block of it. Now, start the blender, but don’t set it to PUREE; CHOP would be a more appropriate setting.

After about 15 seconds, pour the gloop into a latex glove (or condom, depending on whichever is available). Tie off the open end. Now place in the refrigerator for 10-15 days.

Ready?

Now just bite into it.

If you think that it sounds like eating vomit, you’d be wrong. As a person who has vomited, and loathed at the taste it left in my mouth and the acidic revolting sensation of my own spit, I gotta say: vomit tastes better.

I think that experience, which haunts me even to this day and is causing my stomach to do cartwheels just reflecting on it, did have one positive side effect: it has meant that whatever I am served at anyone’s home or restaurant is sure to leave me satisfied by comparison, if for no other reason than because my taste buds live in fear that if they complain, they may be abused so maliciously a second time.

Monday, 21 February 2011

So, I was all set to laugh about how silly it is that my job gives me the day off today to “celebrate” Presidents’ Day – a day that, though it has the proper apostrophe in the proper place, is less consequential to me than Martin Luther King Day – but looks like the weather has made this the perfect day to have off work.

In fact, the snow came down so hard and heavy that my university even canceled classes all day for the first time this century. Not that it mattered to me, since I don’t have class on Monday, but, still, it demonstrates the amount of snow we received.

Owen and I drove up to Midas today to get the oil changed on the Cavalier. It took us just as long to shovel out the car and clear the snow off the windows as it did for the oil change. But I’m glad – I’d rather clear all that snow off on a holiday than when I’m on my way to work or school.

Later, we all went outside and took pictures of Isla in the snow. She planted her face right in the snow at one point, and it was funny to see the delayed reaction between getting snow all over her face and realizing that is some cold stuff!

Also, my wife finished this blog post today. Go read it.

Tuesday, 22 February 2011

The professor warns us to use caution when describing something as a “myth.” He tried to explain why caution was needed, and he kind of tripped over his words when trying to say, “Don’t call other peoples’ beliefs myths, because your beliefs are also myth,” but instead he said something like: “Those stories were real to them. Let’s try to use the word ‘narrative’ instead.”

As a dictionary lover, I looked up the word Myth. Here’s what the fat book on my shelf has to say about it:

An old traditional story or legend, esp. one concerning fabulous or supernatural beings.

(loosely) Any fictitious story or account or unfounded belief.

Using this definition, even movies and TV shows could be considered myths. Although, if we take into account the “old traditional” part of it, then there seems to have to be some sort of time-elapse before something can rightly be called a myth. At any rate, it seems to me that all religious beliefs are thusly termed “myths” and it’s only in the company of those who believe such myths that we need to tread lightly, lest we make a mythstake. (Yep, it’s true, the whole paragraph was just a lead-up to that pun.)

Also, remember that chart I had to make for class? Well, it was worth three points, and guess how many points I received?

Saturday, 19 February 2011

Today I did something kind of unusual. I was invited to a discussion group featuring PZ Myers. If you don’t know, he’s the author of this ridiculously popular blog – a blog so popular that all he has to post is “I have a tummy ache” and he gets about 80 comments. Like most people in the world of science, I feel compelled to visit this blog once a week or so (though I’ve never commented there). What I enjoy most about the blog is not so much what Myers has to say, but the fact that, since he’s so popular, his site has become a sort of nexus for all things in the world of state/church issues, the stupidity of religion, and new findings in evolution and science in general. It seems that every day he posts something new that someone sent him and I click on it and find out something fascinating/humorous about the world.

Anyway, he is in town this weekend, and he agreed to a discussion group this evening. Members of Minnesota Atheists, CASH, Humanists of Minnesota, even some Jewish organization which strives to keep the hocus-pocus out while leaving in the traditions (I wish the Witnesses would do that: leave out the Jehovah shit, while still maintaining a 3-day festival every summer). I was invited because, well, I’m the editor of the Minnesota Atheists’ newsletter.

There were about 30 people there, and we went around the room giving our thoughts on Myers’ two recent blog posts: Why he hates dictionary atheists, and Why aren’t women more involved in freethought organizations.

When it came to be my turn, I introduced myself by saying that, as an English major, I LOVE the dictionary. I noted that Myers’ argument that citing the dictionary definition of “atheism” as a tautology is silly because really every definition in the dictionary forms a tautology. I said that a better topic instead of “Why I hate dictionary atheists” would be “Why dictionary atheism is not enough.” I also said that while a person can make many generalizations about me when I say I’m an atheist (e.g., I’m a Democrat, I am for same-sex marriage, I think religion is silly), I would rather that they assume nothing but the dictionary definition, and then get to know me from there. I compared it to calling myself a man: there are many assumptions a person can make when I say I’m a man (e.g., I have a deep voice, have facial hair, enjoy sex with women, enjoy sports, cars, am a father), but I would prefer people not assume these things and instead get to know me.

Anyway, I won’t bore you with the rest of what happened, which actually was quite stimulating (intellectually), but somehow won’t be as interesting if I talk about it here.

Instead, I will just say, first, that I had never heard of the Bechdel Test tonight. As a film buff, I am ashamed for not knowing this sooner. But now that I know it, I suspect it will ruin many films for me. And, second, I had a chance to meet anthropologist Greg Laden. We discussed the island nation of Kiribati, which, yes, I had heard of before tonight (since I pride myself in knowing every nation in the world), but gained new insights tonight. Anyway, he also has a blog – though it’s not up in the same stratosphere of fame as Myers’ – and I think I’m addicted to it now. GO HERE to read it.

Sunday, 20 February 2011

Today I hiked up to Roseville library to listen to PZ Myers’ presentation on Evolution. The bulk of his presentation was taken up by an extended comparison and contrasting of natural selection and poker.

He requested four volunteers from the audience, and I raised my hand figuring, hey, how often to I get to play poker with the 2009 Humanist of the Year? To my delight, he called on me, so I got to go up to the front. Myers dealt me, and three others (including my friend Syd, who also was selected) our five cards. As he did so, he explained this was akin to the shuffling of genes during the propagation of each successive generation. He then had us look at our hands and we compared hands to see who had the winning hand. With a pair of sevens, I turned out to be the winner. Myers explained that my hand was in no way that stellar, but it was better than the rest, and with poker, as in life, that is what matters.

His example was carried further by altering the rules so that, suddenly, sixes were wild – but only if you stood on his right (i.e., “a different environment”) Syd, and the woman standing in between us, both went over to that side of the stage because that then gave them better hands. For example, Syd could now couple his six with his queen, giving him a pair of queens that now beat my hand.

Next, Myers had us exchange cards with each other. I looked at the cards the woman next to me was holding and she looked at mine. Myers quickly jumped on this and noted that in natural selection, all we can see it the back side of the cards: since that woman had five cards that looked like they were from the same deck as mine (same “species”), we could mate. But how our genes would shuffle would be up to chance. For instance, I couldn’t ‘select’ her eight in an effort to give my children three of a kind. Myers randomly grabbed two of her cards and two of mine and swapped them out. Then, suddenly, I didn’t have a pair. Does this mean my ‘kids’ are worse off than I was? Who knows…the environment has changed. For example, my kids might be less hairy than me and thus less suitable for the cold climate, but their hairlessness might make them more attractive to a mate one day.

Later, Myers pulled a royal flush out of his pocket and noted how he probably doesn’t want to “mate” (swap cards) with anyone, because all that can happen is that his genes will get “worse.” Indeed, he demonstrated this by swapping cards (“having sex”) with me. The audience roared with laughter when Myers noted having sex with himself would’ve been better for his hand than having sex with me.

When I sat back down, my friend Ryan leaned over and said, “Wow, you got to have sex with PZ Myers on stage.” I responded, “Yeah, but if he ever tries that again, I’m gonna make him buy me a drink first.”

Wednesday, 16 February 2011

Today, I received an email ‘reminding’ me of an upcoming short story contest at Hamline. I am not really a short story writer, though I have written a handful of them in the past 20 years. For some reason, I do much better in the world of non-fiction; it’s like I have a point to make and the quickest, most effective way to say it is to use non-fiction.

Anyway, I’m gonna try to submit a story for this contest. The thing is, the winner gets an iPad, and I pretty much enter every contest in which the winnings feature an iPad.

Now just to think of an idea…

Thursday, 17 February 2011

Do you know how I first became interested in making short films? Well, I’ll tell you anyway.

Back in early 1992, I was enrolled in a videography class at Rosemount High School. This was one of the easiest classes I ever took anywhere. For one thing, there were no assignments or tests. Most of the class was taken up watching videos, or just watching whatever was on TV. On the first day, our teacher, Mr. Smith, showed us how to use a video camera, and he briefly explained the film editing equipment that was in the back of the room. But there was no compulsion to ever use any of this stuff, and most students didn’t.

I, on the other hand, loved using the camera, because it gave me license to go wander the halls “looking for footage.” I showed the teacher what I filmed and he seemed to think this was worthy of an A. Later, when he said students were free to borrow the camera for the weekends, I signed up to bring the camera home over the Martin Luther King Day weekend, the Presidents’ Day weekend, and even the weekend at the end of the semester. In fact, I was the only student who took the camera home.

So, in January, I filmed a bunch of short clips and lin-sync videos and called it “Oddities and Ends.” In February, I did much the same thing, and called it “Mr. Zimmerman’s Neighborhood,” and in March I made the final installment of the trilogy and called it “The Importance of Being Weird.” I called the whole trilogy “Explorations in Videotaping.”

Anyway, that was 19 years ago. My friends Ryan and Rhett Sutter, Chad Astleford, and Andy and Tim Kimball helped with all of these, graciously contributing to all three installments. Also of great help was my sister, and here is a video that she and I (along with another friend, Joel Gabrielson) created 19 years ago today:

MY SCHOOL SCHEDULE

Friday, 18 February 2011

Have I mentioned how busy it’s been at work lately?

I was supposed to pick Owen up from school today. He asked me a few days ago if I would pick him up, and I said I would do so on Friday. Well, I had to call Jennifer this afternoon and tell her there was no way I’d be able to get out of work on time to pick him up. Too bad. I told him I’d make it up to him next week.

In other news: a brochure arrived in the mail today from the Science Museum, advertising their summer classes for kids. One class they’re gonna hold is an “Egypt” class in which students get to protest against Hosni Mubarak. Just kidding. Actually, they get to learn about when Egypt actually had a stable government under the Pharoahs. They get to explore some Egyptian artifacts (King Tut’s exhibit is at the museum now through the summer) and learn about how the pyramids were made and how Egypt managed to have such an advanced culture (hint: the same way America did it: slaves).

Anyway, I think Owen would really really love this class, but…it’s $95. Yikes! I wish education wasn’t so expensive. I keep telling Owen he can be whatever he wants to be and do whatever he wants to do as long as he has rich parents, but I don’t think he gets the joke.

I think I’ll just sell some of my ancient 1980s treasures for cold cash and try to pay for the class that way.