text:
Since last we danced, we've learned about enantiomers and quantum fluctuation. Double whammy. Science whammy. Double SCIENCE. Mind blown.)
In case anyone's noticed my absence here for the past couple of weeks -- and don't worry; no one has -- I've got what I consider a fairly reasonable excuse: I'm shooting a movie.
Well. That's not exactly true. Other people are actually shooting the movie. Like, competent people who definitely aren't me and who know how to work a boom mic and light a scene and which end of the camera to look through. All of which is terribly useful when you want to shoot a movie. Or so I understand.
I did co-write the script, though, with my good friend Jenn. She makes movies -- or watches other people make movies, though I suspect it's often both -- on a fairly regular basis, but this is my first real "shoot", from a vantage point somewhere behind the camera. Or in the next room. Or ordering lunch. As one does, when the competent adults are making movies nearby.
"It's gonna be a helluva weekend."
(In fairness, I did participate in another of Jenn's projects a couple of years ago, Viral Video. But I only acted in that. I can't take any credit for anything that happened beforehand leading to the production of that gem.
Nor can I be held legally responsible. I checked. So that's nice.)
I'm co-doing other things for this movie, besides writing -- but since I've never been involved in a shoot, I don't know what they are, exactly. One might be producing. Or directing. One is definitely lunch-ordering. And I'm holding out for co-head-gaffering. I'll have to ask Jenn.
Unless that would be co-depending. I'm pretty sure we have people for that already.
Anyway. I think this is going to be a really fantastic, funny film. But we're still shooting it, so there's a lot left to do. And several lunches to order. One guy is gluten-free, and we've got some vegetarians. So it's hard work, people.
In the meantime, the production has had it's fair share of surprises. Like the pumpkin log, which was never in the script, but has somehow become a crucial star of the show. Soon enough, it'll have its own trailer and probably a makeup artist for when its icing gets smushed.
Or the milk crate/hot seat of an apparently tiny mafia client-slash-victim. Tequila shot dessert rounds. Easily-exhausted attack kitties. Emergency window treatment repair. And the grim subtle joy at the thought of a Toledo Two-Hander.
And that's just the first half, give or take. In the morning, we're making magic -- or some magic-resembling facsimile -- happen again. It's gonna be a helluva weekend.]]>
This week, the topic is gravity. How does it work, what is it made of, why is it so weird? And what does it have to do with microwave burritos?
Probably nothing. But go see for yourself.)
Yesterday, I attended a baby shower. This was my first -- and, if the rest of life goes as planned, my last. I'm not sure I "enjoyed" the experience, exactly. But I did learn a lot.
First, it was a brunch. I don't do a lot of brunching, personally, but I gather the concept was dreamed up just as an excuse to eat eggs at two in the afternoon. I can get behind that -- and I did. Some of the ladies there ordered salads. Amateurs.
"I went in expecting Oshkosk B'Gosh, and instead found Willy Wonka."
Also, while "baby" is in the name, there wasn't a lot of talk about the actual baby itself. The event seemed, more than anything, to be a forum for discussions of breastfeeding. For three solid hours, at least half the conversations between the eight people present concerned women's boobs and what might come out of them. I haven't heard that much constant chatter about breasts since...
Well. I was in a fraternity. So it's not like it's never happened. But it's been a while. And it never involved spinach omelets.
I also learned that the brunchtime eggs -- or salad; I mean, who does that? -- are really just a prelude to the main baby shower consumable: sugar. This party had everything -- chocolates, cupcakes, regular cake, you name it. I went in expecting Oshkosk B'Gosh, and instead found Willy Wonka.
I think I figured out what all the sweets are for. If the social function of a baby shower is to roundtable all things boob milk, then maybe the practical goal is to dump enough sugar down the pregnant lady's throat to shoot the baby out the other end.
Unfortunately in this case, the lady had already had the baby a few weeks early. Happily, the baby is fine -- and we had a lot of leftover desserts. So everybody's happy. And full of energy. And possibly diabetic.
How did I wind up in the middle of this maelstrom of maternity? My wife is a longtime friend of the new mother, and we two couples often do things together. Sometimes those are fun and enjoyable things -- and sometimes, they're things that the ladies have picked out. Like ballets. Or recitals. Or holiday chorales.
I know, right? We love our wives, like, a lot. Obviously.
Given these occasional atrocities, the husband and I have made a pact: "no man left behind". If the wives are attending some artsy something-or-other, and one of us guys gets roped in, then the other will tag along, too. For moral support. And to sneak beer in. Possibly to help plan an escape. Whatever's necessary.
So when the new dad committed to attending the baby soiree, I got called in, too. And thank goodness. Even together, way at the end of the table, we were awash in a sea of estrogen, breast milk and cream cheese icing.
Some of that was figurative. And some of that was literal. I don't want to talk about it.
I can't imagine how one of us alone would have fared. So I'm glad I went -- and I did learn a lot about these mysterious and troubling events.
Also, I ate eggs after lunchtime. Which is nice.]]>
It's the almost-everywhere molecule you probably never knew you were pumping out all the time. Give it a gander.)
Back to the recent trip my wife and I took to Greece: we had two extremely harrowing experiences in the back of the same taxi cab. One psychological, the other social. And neither involved weaving through heavy traffic at insane rates of speed.
"If we'd been going to the Souvlaki Hotel in Tzatzikitown, we might have been able to understand each other properly."
(Which is odd. Because all of our other harrowing experiences in Greek cabs involved that. A lot.)
This was not that, though. This was a case on our last full day of vacation where we needed a place to sleep before the long flight home the next day. We were flying into the Athens airport that night after a short side trip, and flying out from the same airport in the morning. We had no more time for sightseeing, so we'd booked a room in a hotel advertised as being close to the airport. Easy in, easy out, with a few hours' shuteye in the middle. Perfect.
We collected our bags after the flight in and hopped a taxi outside. Our cabbie spoke very little English, and we spoke even less Greek. If we'd been going to the Souvlaki Hotel in Tzatzikitown, we might have been able to understand each other properly. But we weren't. And we didn't.
Instead, we called out our destination, the cabbie nodded, and we took off into the night.
A few minutes later, we approached a nice big hotel in the middle of nowhere, obviously built to support people coming and going to the airport.
We passed that hotel. We didn't even slow down.
Over the next fifteen minutes, we wound into and out of several neighborhoods. Many of these featured hotels, motels, hideaways, stopovers, lodges, sleeping huts or hostels.
We passed them all. And we began to worry. The hotel was supposed to be just a mile or two from the airport, and the cabbie showed no signs of slowing down any time soon. So we struck up a friendly conversation:
"Um... we're going to the Metro Hotel, right?"
"Yah, yah. Metro. Is little while."
That seemed wrong. We should have been there already; this was supposed to be a quick jaunt to the closest suitable room. Now it seemed like this guy was whisking us all over the Pelopennese. I decided to say something to this effect to my wife:
"It seems like this guy is whisking us all over the Pelopennese."
"Actually, I think it's a woman."
I spent another ten minutes trying to figure out whether she was right. To this day, I honestly don't know. Apparently, we were riding with the "Pat" of the Athenian taxicab crew.
Meanwhile, we'd cruised another ten miles from the airport, and all sorts of thoughts ran through our minds -- and got fiercely whispered back and forth across the back seat of the cab. Were we being run around the block for money? Was there a different Metro Hotel in Bulgaria we were speeding toward? Was this man/woman kidnapping us, for nefarious madman/madwoman purposes?
We tried again to exchange information with the driver, with limited success. He (or she) insisted we were heading for the Metro Hotel. We were firm that it should be only a couple of miles from the airport, while the cabbie estimated it at around six kilometers.
Wait. Six kilometers? We're way further than that already.
No. Sixty kilometers. Another fifteen minutes, maybe. Sit tight, tourists.
As ignorant Americans, my wife and I conferred for a bit and decided that no, sixty kilometers was not the same distance as one or two miles, probably. Neither of us are metricologists. But it seemed unlikely.
So we were pretty worried. At best, we were in for another half hour ride -- and who knows how many Euros -- to get back to the airport neighborhood and a warm bed. At worst... well, I don't know what they put in moussaka, exactly. But I was starting to wonder whether it could conceivably be us.
For another tense couple of minutes, we quibbled back and forth with the cabbie, who insisted we were heading where we'd said we wanted to go. Meanwhile, we worried that "Metro Hotel" was some local code word for gullible tourists, or maybe the nickname for some foreign slave trader's holding pen. Truly, we were fully harrowed.
Finally, we found a number and my wife called the hotel. She explained we were in a cab, and -- so far as we knew -- careening fast toward the border with Albania, destined for who knew what grisly fate. So we checked our facts. You're near the Athens airport, right?
"Yes, indeed. Very close."
Great. So how far should the cab ride be from the terminal?
"Oh, around sixty kilometers."
So the real issue here was the loose -- meaning loooooose -- interpretation of "close to the airport" provided by a hotel probably desperately looking for customers three weeks after high season. And the issue was not, in fact, the perfectly honest, helpful and reasonable cabbie who we'd basically accused of us-napping for the last fifteen minutes.
Also harrowing. The final ten minutes of that trip were spent in embarrassed silence in the back seat -- while the driver probably tried to come up with ways to crash just the back half of the cab, and leave us bleeding in the street. Awkward.
I don't remember what we tipped for that cab ride, exactly. But it was huge. I was just happy the guy/lady didn't punch me in the groin when we got out, soon after, outside the lobby of the very nice, but very much not "close to the airport" Metro Hotel.
So yeah. I can be an idiot in pretty much any country on the planet. I'm pretty sure I knew that already.]]>
And as of this week, it's also a Secondhand SCIENCE thing. So that's nice. Have a looksee.)
I'm not a good picture taker.
Usually, that means that I'm not good at remembering to take pictures. It just doesn't occur to me, in the face of some awe-inspiring spectacle, to yank out a camera and start snapping. In a lot of ways, this makes me a terrible tourist.
It makes me a tremendous candidate to be visited by a UFO, probably. Those things don't like any sort of photographic evidence. But as a tourist, I don't often bring back any slideshow-worthy pics.
Come to think of it, that probably makes me an excellent tourist. But my family does complain when I go somewhere interesting that they don't get to see any of it.
So when my wife and I left for Greece two weeks ago, I promised to come back with actual photographs of the places we was visiting. And indeed, I took nearly two hundred pictures -- more than a dozen per day, on average. Now that I've returned, I've uploaded them all to Google pictures. And I've discovered something:
"My pictures are worth approximately two words apiece. And one of them is 'meh'"
I'm not a good picture taker.
I mean, I'm not a terrible picture taker. I don't portrait when I ought to be landscaping. My thumb and other body parts are usually -- usually -- not hanging over the lens when I shoot. I don't own, use, or condone the existence of a selfie pole.
(Seriously. Your souvlaki belongs on a stick, people. Not your Sony Cyber-Shot. Get your shit together already.)
Anyway, I thought maybe I had taken some decent photos. Then I uploaded, and the sentient robot overlords at Google turned on some sort of "auto-edit" feature, and adjusted every single snapshot on the server. This digital doohickey fiddled with contrast and colors and all sorts of other photographical things I don't understand very well. It all felt sort of... violate-y, frankly. Like Google shoved its F-stop right up my aperture. Or something.
But worse? Every single picture it futzed with, which was every single one of them? Better.
Compared to the Googlified versions, all my pics are dull and flat and gray. Yawn, the Parthenon. Ancient Mycenean ruins, snore. Oh, the whitewashed rooftops of Santorini, ho hum. My pictures are worth approximately two words apiece. And one of them is "meh".
Meanwhile, the magic Google ones are postcard-perfect. They pop. They're cropped. I've been airbrushed out of most of them, somehow, and they're ridiculously attractive. It's infuriating.
Just don't tell my family. They don't need to know Google is the one taking all the good vacation pics.
For that matter, don't tell my wife. Or next time she'll take Google on vacation and leave me at home, sitting in my underpants on the couch for two weeks,
And nobody is taking pictures of that. Thank goodness.]]>
Or scarves. Or astronaut fashion. Or raining men. It gets a little weird. Check it out.)
I'm a week into a two-week trip to Greece, about which I'm sure I'll have more to say later. For the moment, though, there are six thousand years' worth of ruins that aren't going to trudge through themselves, and a spanakopita calling to me from a taverna down the street.
Of course, it's calling to me in Greek, which I don't understand, so maybe it's saying "Don't eat me! Don't eat me!". That would be truly unfortunate for it when I finally get over there. I hope its tears are delicious.
Anyway, in lieu of actual writing, here's an ecard -- just like the ones we used to know. Stin ygeia mas!
That's right! The Pauli exclusion principle. Read all about it, and other scientifical oddities, over at Secondhand SCIENCE. It's a pip.)
Working in a small company is kind of weird sometimes.
I've always avoided big companies, because it seems too easy to get lost in the shuffle. If you've got nine thousand people doing the same thing, then I figure you either end up redundant or way, way specialized. Neither of those seem good.
"I don't want to build some application fourteen other people already built, probably better. And cheaper. And with a coordinated color scheme more pleasing to the eye."
For instance, I'm a programmer. I don't want to build some application fourteen other people already built, probably better. And cheaper. And with a coordinated color scheme more pleasing to the eye. Also, I don't want to be stuck at my desk, only allowed to use the 'J' and 'Z' keys on the keyboard, because the good coders have all the other ones covered already.
I'm pretty sure that's how big companies work. Also, in my world, all the business travel is done on those old galley ships where the slaves row everyone back and forth. I'd be in the back. And probably only allowed to use the downstroke. Big companies suck.
Still, there are tradeoffs to small groups. I learned that in college. My school had less than a thousand people enrolled, and less people in my class than I graduated with in high school. On top of that, I picked a wildly unpopular major, so by senior year I was taking most classes with the same six people.
That's a recipe for disaster, right there. With six people, you can't hide. You can't skip a class and hope nobody notices. You can't sit in the back and nap through the boring crap. There's six people -- there is no back. We could've had class at a freaking booth at an Outback Steakhouse.
Given what they usually served in the school cafeteria, I almost wish we had. Lunch Lady Clara does not understand what a "blooming onion" entails. Trust me.
A small company is a little like those tiny classes. There's no fading into the background or napping the afternoon away in a stall in the mens' room. People would notice.
Also, there's only one stall in the mens' room. So people would also form a very long line. And possibly make an extremely unfortunate mess.
The point is, in a small place everybody knows pretty much what everyone else is doing -- and what they're about to do. I don't talk to a lot of people on a daily basis -- usually, I'm too busy banging on my 'J' and 'Z' keys and waiting in line for the bathroom stall. But I told a couple of people I'd be on vacation for the next couple of weeks. And today, everyone seemed to know about it.
That's not a bad thing. It's kind of nice to be told "bon voyage" by the boss. And the boss' boss. And the boss' boss' boss. And the HR lady and the CEO and the comptroller and the security guard. And maybe the lady who comes in to clean in the evenings. It's possible she said "barf in the garage", instead. We have a complicated relationship.
So anyway, I'll be out of the country for a couple of weeks. Hopefully, I'll be updating things around here, but either way I should return with plenty of stories about a remote and exotic foreign land. And maybe an island. Maybe some mens' rooms. Who knows?
In the meantime: bon voyage. And happy weekend. From me -- and everyone in my office. Probably.]]>
If there's a disadvantage to being a smartass -- and no one's saying there is; I'm just hypothesizing if -- it's that you can't really turn it off. Even when you're not being a smartass, you're being a smartass.
Or people assume you're being a smartass, which has more or less the same effect. Namely, you get punished for being a smartass. And that hurts -- on those rare and unexpected occasions when you're not, in fact, being an actual smartass.
(I'm reminded of a quote by wise man and donut connoisseur Homer J. Simpson:
"I don't mind being called a liar when I am lying, or when I'm about to lie, or just finished lying. But not. When I'm telling. The truth!"
I don't lie quite so often. But apply the sentiment to smartassery, and it fits.
Also, donuts are pretty great. Shut up.)
Recently, I suspect I was deemed to be a smartass, and now I'm being punished. But I didn't mean to be a smartass. I was only trying to improve my diet, and also help a lady with her omelets. I haven't been in this much trouble over food since I added tabasco to my grandpa's applesauce. Here's the background on what happened:
Last summer, I joined one of those "farm share" deals, where people who know which end of a hoe to use grow a bunch of vegetables, and sell them to us useless post-modern types whose survival skills extend about as far as using Javascript to flash "SOS" on a web page.
This particular "CSA" -- which I just learned stands for "Community Supported Agriculture", and not "Crate Stuffed with Asparagus", as I previously thought -- turned out to be very convenient. A few others in my company joined in, so every week the farm folks would deliver our boxes of veggies right to the office. No picking up at some farm stand out in the boonies, or tracking down Haystack Slim on the back forty to get my share. Show up at work, and boom -- box of greens. Easy.
It stayed that way through summer and fall, so I signed up for the winter share. And no one else did. The whole company is allergic to kohlrabi or some shit like that, I guess. But with just one box, the farm stopped delivering to our door. So I picked my veggies up at a site more or less on my commute home from work. Not as convenient, but still a long way from Haystack's back forty.
"I got 99 first-world problems, but a CSA ain't one."
(Although to be fair, he's now down to a "back thirty-two". They don't call him "Slim" for nothing, you know.)
I opted out of the late winter and spring sessions -- trudging through a foot of snow to pick up three pounds of celery root I don't want got a little old, but when summer rolled around this year, I hopped back in. I hoped I wasn't the only one, and happily my company got their culinary shit back together, a few employees signed up, and we got deliveries at the office again. And there was much rejoicing. I got 99 first-world problems, but a CSA ain't one.
At least, it wasn't. Or ain'tn't, I guess. For a while.
When signups rolled around, some people only wanted to dip a toe back in the farm pool. That meant buying an "egg share", for a dozen eggs every week. But you could only get an egg share with a veggie deal, for some reason. So I let a lady -- an executive lady, it turns out, a real VIP in our company -- piggyback on my greens to get her eggs. But we only came to this arrangement after I'd signed up. And that's where the fun started.
I emailed the farm to make the change, and received a response from a person -- we'll call that person "Patty" -- who told me to go to their website, log in and add the eggs.
So I went to their website. I logged into their website. There was nowhere to add an egg share. I emailed Patty back to get alternate instructions.
Patty replied, telling me precisely which page and section the link was under.
I went to the page and looked at the section. No link was under there, or anywhere, so I took a screenshot, emailed back and basically shrugged over the internet. Maybe Patty, farm goods administrator, sees a link there. But I, lowly vegetable monkey, do not.
Patty replied, telling me that Patty would take care of it. Patty would make sure the eggs were added before the first delivery, in about a month.
Three days short of a month later, I logged into the website, saw no egg share, and hadn't heard from Patty. Thinking maybe Patty was some sort of intern -- associate farmhand? cow milker spotter? -- who'd forgotten or gone rogue, I sent a note to the main farm email, saying Patty had been in touch, but she'd apparently dropped the ball.
I got a response, rather quickly. It was from Patty. Patty said that Patty would definitely take care of it (good). Patty further said that Patty was the owner of the farm, actually (oh... sorry). And further, that Patty was emphatically not a "she" (ouch).
It's possible I should have known some of that. They do send a newsletter every week with the produce. But I get about as far as the endive salad recipe in those things before I get bored and throw them away. So I didn't mean to upset Patty. But I can see where she might be a little sensitive at this point.
Sorry, he. He might be sensitive. Yikes.
Still, the farm (finally) added the eggs. My veggies were delivered every week -- probably spat on, but that's still "organic", right? -- and VIP lady got her eggs. Everything was great, all summer long, and I didn't have to worry about accidentally poking the Patty bear.
Until fall.
A few weeks ago, I signed up for the fall share, with the VIPs eggs on rider -- and no one else did. Down to one box again, the farm -- meaning, Patty -- emailed to ask if I would pick up my stuff at the other place again. I groused a little. I pouted. It's possible I called Patty "she" again -- completely unintentionally, of course -- but I agreed to make the drive.
And that's when Patty got
her his revenge.
Last week was the first for fall, so I schlepped over to the pickup spot, and found... no box. There were boxes for other people, and eggs, but nothing with my name on it. The delivery person had left a list, and I wasn't on that, either. So I called the farm -- and got Patty, naturally -- to ask, whassup?
"Oh! I'm sorry. It looks like we accidentally sent your box to Belmont. Is that somewhere you can get to?"
In fact, it was not. The pickup spot I was at is, give or take, on my way home. Belmont, on the other hand, is, give or take, on my way to Canada. Assuming I ever drove to Canada from work on a Tuesday evening in September, and why would I do that? It's not even maple syrup season, for crissakes.
Patty apologized, and promised to make up for it this week with a "full share" box this week, the size up from the one I usually get. Double the produce for double the trouble. That was a bit of a worry -- with just the wife and I at home, we struggle to get through a "small share" every week. But it seemed fair, so I emailed the VIP lady that her eggs were 86'ed and called it a night.
And Patty, evidently, set about plotting his next move.
This week, I showed up -- and indeed, there was a double-big box waiting with my name on it. And an extra-sized -- 18 rather than 12 -- carton of eggs. That was great.
Until I checked the other boxes, and also found my usual small share box, and another carton of eggs. I now had roughly twelve pounds of vegetables and enough eggs to choke Cool Hand Luke. The only bright side is that they weren't delivered to frigging Belmont, with three gallons of milk and a crate of fresh cow pies.
I lugged everything to my car, drove it home and stuffed the fridge top to bottom with veggies. Now I can't get to anything without a stalk of celery or some leafy-assed lettuce smacking me in the face. And when I dropped three dozen eggs off for the VIP, she looked at me like I had two heads -- and one of them was a Napa cabbage.
"How am I supposed to use all of these?"
I don't know, man. Omelets for dinner? Garbage can lid frittatas? Thirty pounds of custard?
I got my own problems over here. Like how to get rid of fourteen acorn squash in a week without inviting a local Wampanoag tribe over for an early Thanksgiving.
And also, picking out some sort of apology card for Patty. Because otherwise, who knows what in the hell I'm getting from the farm next week? No boxes? Six boxes? A pissed-off goat riding a tractor? Could be anything.
I guess it's what I get for being a smartass -- even when I'm not trying to be a smartass. If I could turn it off, maybe I wouldn't be overrun with organic free-range heirloom potatoes or whatever other shit is slowly starting to rot in the kitchen right now. Either that, or I should start reading the newsletters I get in email very, very carefully.
Nah, screw that. I'd rather deal with the veggie guy. Bring it on, Patty.]]>
If you like ice, champagne or beer -- that's separately, not all together at once, weirdo -- then nucleation should be on your radar. And maybe in your glass. Bottoms up, science-lover.)
Being overly literal -- like, literally literal -- is annoying as hell. Certain figures of speech or inconsistent usages make your cerebellum twitch, like a lab monkey with a forebrain electrode.
Or a lab monkey with mild OCD who takes things too literally. Probably that also works, if you're not into torturing primates for the sake of science. Or humor. So, good for you.
The thing about being literal and also an introvert is that you wind up mostly only annoying yourself. You twitch, and you want to complain -- but that involves interacting with other humans, and who wants that, really? Other humans are probably the ones who made you twitch in the first place with their un-literal illogical nonsense, so you tend to keep your twitching -- and your bitching -- to yourself.
It turns out you can be literal and an introvert and have a website. Which turns out to be a nice outlet for the weird non-literal things that no one else notices or cares about, but keep you awake at night twitching and muttering to no one in particular. Things, for instance, like these:
1. Pepsi made with "real sugar"
I like Pepsi. And I know what they're trying to do here. But it's wrong. Literally wrong.
Sugar is a carbohydrate, and there are many kinds. The three sugars we mostly shove in our foodholes are glucose, fructose and sucrose -- the last of which is made of one each of the first two chemically glommed together.
(Yeah, that's right, "chemically glommed". It's a technical term. I know sciency stuff. Shaddup.)
All of these things are sugars. "Real" sugars. Pepsi is trying to say -- without actually saying it, for some obtusely roundabout reason -- that they're not using high fructose corn syrup. But the main ingredients of corn syrup are glucose and fructose (i.e., sugars), while cane sugar is largely composed of sucrose (also sugar), which breaks down into glucose and fructose (still sugars).
I'm not going to touch the "cane sugar versus HFCS" health debate with a ten-foot cotton candy-covered pole. This is purely about semantics. Cane sugar is "real sugar". And corn syrup is "real sugar". They're not the same chemically, but they're both sugar. "Real" sugar.
If Pepsi wants to say they only use "cane sugar", then do it. "Real sugar" doesn't mean the thing they think it means. Twitch.
2. Most of Buzzfeed
We all know that click-bait headlines are click-baity. As an occasional article writer, there's some pressure to craft these monstrosities myself. But I don't. Because I twitch.
Which is probably the stuff I'm writing is nowhere near as popular as Buzzfeed. But I just can't do it. It's not about authorly "integrity", exactly. It's more about not having an epileptic fit at the keyboard, over writing (real, recent, Buzzfeed) headlines like these:
21 London Street Foods That Will Change Your Life
By... giving me diabetes? From London? I don't remotely understand.
Calvin Harris' Ice Bucket Challenge Will Make Your Ovaries Explode
I'm fairly certain it won't. I'm still contemplating personal growth by Hyde Street dosa. But my ovaries are safe as houses in the meantime.
"Also, I've seen the English Patient, and a mouth spider's got nothing on that."
This Woman Keeps a Spider in Her Mouth and It's the Worst Thing You'll Ever See
This is already untrue if the woman also keeps the spider in literally any other orifice she owns. And it's the internet, so: probably. Also, I've seen the English Patient, and a mouth spider's got nothing on that. Not to mention my ovaries may have just exploded, and that was no picnic to watch.
Basically, screw Buzzfeed. And the clickbait, misleading, twitch-inducing, wildly popular headlines they rode in on.
3. This sign in my wife's parking garage
"Which of these things is *twitch* like the other?"
Great, a checklist. I'll follow that.
Compensating for missing letters -- how do those come off, anyway; does somebody sandblast the door on the way to their Honda? -- steps 2-4 make perfect sense:
My doors are locked, check.
My windows are up. My sunroof is... uh, "up", sure. And my "convertible" -- which I assume is probably located near my recently-exploded ovaries -- is also "up", to the best of my knowledge. ("Closed" would be better. But I'll live with "up".)
I have removed my valuables. (It's possible I was asked to "re-love" my valuables. But come on -- I already call them valuables; what more do you want? I'm going with my interpretation.)
The point is, all of these items can be taken as instructions, (more or less) literally. Then there's the first item:
"Lights on"
I'm literal. It's a good thing I'm not the one parking in this garage, or I'd be buying a new battery every week. My wife, she's normal; she can handle it. Me, I'd be putting some AC Delco rep's kid through college.
And twitching, all the way.]]>
Wanna know how the fireflies fire? Then check out the words about biolumenescence over there. Plus something new tomorrow. New and sciency -- that'd light anyone up! Have a gander.)
People who don't know me well think I'm quiet. I don't say a lot in crowds or around people I don't know well -- and that's generally better for everyone involved, whether they know it or not. We'll get to that.
People who know me a little better often tell me I should talk more. They're surprised -- because I'm "quiet" -- to find that I have a knack for seeing relationships between things that others might not, and recognizing patterns, and (usually) making jokes out of these kinds of observations. Some people seem to enjoy them. And they tell me I should engage more often.
The people who know me best don't say any such things. Because they know the reason I don't talk to many people is that I'm not very good at it, probably because my brain is too busy thinking about patterns and relationships to worry about whoever it is I'm talking to. So I'm prone to blurt things out that might be interesting or funny because they're quirkily relevant somehow -- but not to the person I'm talking to.
I tend to forget that last bit, because my brain doesn't have the capacity to do its pattern-searching business and consider the context of the conversation and remember all the lyrics to R.E.M. albums from twenty-five years ago.
Something had to go. My brain made a choice.
And now I have to live with it. Like I did last week, when my wife and I were out at a perfectly lovely party thrown by a couple we know. It was a small affair -- just a handful of people eating, drinking and chatting. Most of us knew each other fairly well, but the missus and I at one point found ourselves talking with a woman we'd met just a couple of times before. Nice woman. Very pleasant woman. Also, very pregnant woman.
She was talking about her plans for the kid and the delivery, and mentioned the hospital she'd be using -- and that triggered a match. Somewhere deep in my head a box got checked -- I knew someone who'd used that very same hospital for her delivery a few years ago. I'd been a bit adrift in the conversation, as the women talked about baby rooms and maternity leave and motherly glows and all sorts of other things I know nothing about. But here -- finally -- was something I could contribute; an anecdote perfectly germane to the situation. And hey, come to think of it, it's kind of a funny story...
So I proceeded to tell this woman -- this very pregnant woman who I don't know very well -- about this other once-pregnant woman who showed up to her hospital one day for some sort of pregnant-lady mid-term tune-up, and was told: "yeah, you probably shouldn't leave or the baby might fall out."
The woman at the party looked a little shocked at this. That was great! I took it to mean I'd made the story intro sufficiently interesting -- you've got to hook 'em in the first three sentences, you know -- so I storytellered on:
"The docs at this hospital -- hey, and it's the same one you're using! -- put this lady on immediate bed rest, right there, after the appointment. So she went in for a checkup and spent nine-and-a-half weeks lying in a hospital bed, holding the baby in."
"It's like going to the nurse for a band-aid, and she takes out a kidney."
The party woman's eyes got wider.
"I know, right? Nine-and-a-half weeks, just like the movie! Bet they cut that scene from the film, eh? 'Just live here at the hospital on your back for two months. Trust us; we're doctors!' It's like going to the nurse for a band-aid, and she takes out a kidney."
The lady at the party looked fully aghast now. My wife wasn't far behind; she was at maybe eighty percent aghast, or eighty-five. Pretty aghast, sure -- but clearly not quite at the level of this other lady.
It dawned on me that perhaps what amounts to a hospital horror story starting with a pregnancy checkup for a woman late in her second trimester might not -- despite the clear similarities -- be the sort of thing an expectant mother using the same hospital would want to hear, especially if she had a pregnancy checkup looming in the near future.
"Oh. Monday morning, you say? Uh... I'm sure it'll be fine."
But at least you're not late in the second trimester. Right? You're probably in a different situation altogether. I mean, what are the odds?
"Twenty-six weeks? Oh, so that's... late in the second trimester. Right."
Well, on the plus side, that other lady's baby was just fine. And I'm sure your checkup will go smoothly. I bet it'll be done in an hour, hour and a half, tops. That hospital is, like, so good, and the doctors totally have medical degrees and this other thing was just a one-time deal, I'm sure, and good golly, look at the time -- honey, we should really go now so we can get home to do that thing... oh, you know, that reallyimportantthing, and hey, you, good luck with the baby, it'll be so great and you'll probably barely be in labor and just shoot him right out and god I'm still saying things, so bye -- and say bye to your husband, and maybe don't mention that we talked about nine-and-a-half weeks -- the story or the movie, I think, in this case, is best, and oh, now my wife is pulling me toward the front door so we should go, good to see everyone -- byeeeeeee.
And this is why I don't talk to people. Especially people I don't know well. And especially pregnant women I don't know well. And especially ESPECIALLY pregnant women I don't know well, when the topic is hospitals, childbirth or sexy Kim Basinger movies.
It sounds pretty specific, I know. But you'd be surprised how often it comes up.]]>
Well, actually, it probably is. But the parts I understand are pretty simple. So there's that.)
I like animals. Not just the delicious ones, but some of the other ones are good, too. Like bobcats. And rhinos. And the white-tailed ptarmigan.
Come to think of it, those might be delicious, too. I shouldn't knock what I've never tasted slow-roasted with barbecue sauce.
Anyway, animals are pretty cool, and I like taking care of the ones that I can bond with in some way.
Where now "bonding" doesn't mean "pan-searing with garlic". That joke's done. We're moving on.
Problem is, I can't always tell whether or not I'm bonding with an animal, or whether it thinks I'm just part of the furniture, or a tree or possibly a very odd-shaped hairy rock that sometimes eats Chee-tos in its underpants while watching reruns of Top Gear.
"There's nothing you can say to a banana slug, for instance, that's going to make a lick of difference in its behavior."
Maybe they have rocks like that in some forests. I don't know. I haven't had a chance to visit many forests, because -- as implied above -- I have a very busy schedule.
Now, some animals you're clearly not going to bond with. There's nothing you can say to a banana slug, for instance, that's going to make a lick of difference in its behavior. Likewise, training grasshoppers is a phenomenal waste of time. It doesn't matter if you use positive reinforcement, negative reinforcement, choke collars, clicker training or tiny little electric cattle prods. Grasshoppers gonna hop. And they don't give a damn what you think about it.
Clearly, for an animal to provide some sort of companionship, you've got to shimmy further up the evolutionary ladder. The question is, how far?
Some people keep lizards. I don't see that helping anyone, really. Having a conversation with any animal that sticks it tongue out so much would be like a never-ending interview with Miley Cyrus. Pass.
I had a snake once. It's pretty much the same. So, interviewing Miley Cyrus with no legs, I guess. That's not really an improvement.
Then there are birds. That's where things start to get blurry for me. I birdsat a parakeet a couple of weeks ago, and there were times -- mostly when it was sitting on my head, chirping at me like we were in some sort of avian Ratatouille movie -- when I thought we were actually communicating.
(Just for the record, the bird version of Ratatouille is Cockatouille. In case you were wondering.)
Other times, I wasn't so sure. The bird would come over and peep at me and peck at my finger. So I'd try to feed it a raisin, or one of those Chee-tos from between the couch cushions, and it would peep and peck at my finger. I gave it fresh water. Peep 'n' peck. I opened the front door and told it fly and be free. Peep peep, peck peck.
Finally, I thought we were getting somewhere when it hopped on my hand and shimmied up my arm, as if to tell me something important. Then it took a shit on my sleeve, flew back to its cage and peeped at me again. So either it doesn't like my choice in casual wear, or I don't know what the hell birds want.
I mean, I know what some of them want: to be delicious. But that's mostly just chickens, and the occasional Peking-style waterfowl. Other birds, I don't really "get", you know?
Then you get into the small mammals and rodents. Or as my wife calls them, "poop factories". She says all those furry little critters do is eat and poop it back out.
I talked to her about getting a gerbil once. "Poop factory." Okay, how about a guinea pig? "Poop factory." Hey, hon, my little old aunt Priscilla asked if she could spend the weekend with us. "Poop factory! Poop factory! Poop factory!"
To be fair, she's kind of right. If Priscilla's off her meds, you'd better hope she's in Depends.
Bigger animals are better, though I suppose it's still hard to communicate with some of them. Moose are pretty inscrutable, for instance. You never know when polar bears are hungry, or just pissed off and cold. And cats. Lord, don't get me started on those persnickety bastards.
So I guess what I'm saying is -- I like dogs. Dogs are pretty great. You pet them and they like it, and if you're patient enough you can make one sit for you, or lie down, or open the fridge and fetch you a Sierra Nevada. I don't see cats doing that. Or parakeets. Or banana slugs. How long would that even take? Days. Who wants that?
In conclusion, dogs are awesome. The rest of the animal kingdom, most of the time, if you're trying to relate or bond or have a heartfelt discussion about The Catcher in the Rye? Forget it. None of those other animals are any help at all.
Which is probably why some of them are delicious. I'm just saying.]]>
Things are a little hectic this week, with a current events sketch show tomorrow to prep for, and some writing deadlines looming on the horizon. Or in some cases, looming directly over my shoulder.
"Deadline breath smells like old garlic and fear, by the way."
Deadline breath smells like old garlic and fear, by the way. Not a good time.
So, in lieu of anything substantive word-wise, please to be enjoying this clip of our Always on Deck sketch group, shaking our collective thang at the Best of Boston Sketch Festival at ImprovBoston a few nights ago. It's ten minutes of paradise.
Okay, maybe not "paradise", exactly. Poughkeepsie? Plattsburgh? Peoria?
Yeah. Peoria sounds about right. We're ten minutes of Peoria. Come and get it, sunshine.]]>
This week's Secondhand SCIENCE rap is all about DNA methylation. It's got bunny suits. A tenuous tie-in to the Simpsons, in honor of the episode marathon running this week. And no actual rapping. It's all there. Check it out.
Also! If you're Boston-based -- or just a Massophile -- you might enjoy some of my recent spew over on Apartments.com. Pick a topic. You got books and museums and Fenway and beer and "Ahts" and more beer. Because always beer.
Finally! Friday night is sketch night. Come see our sketch team Always on Deck in the Best of Boston Fest at ImprovBoston. Ten pm. Be there, polar bear.
Okay, that's it. Back to the regularly-scheduled idiocy.)
Some questions can be answered with a simple thought experiment. Questions like, "Would habanero ice cream be totally delicious?" (yes) and "Should you tell Ronda Rousey she throws like a girl?" (no, no you should not)
Other questions, though seemingly simple, require careful experimentation to adequately answer. Here's one of them now:
"How many stupid pairs of sunglasses do I need to own to prevent myself from having to walk around in the glaring sunlight squinting like an idiot?"
"You've thought-experimented the shit out of this thing, and you've got a solution."
For many people, the answer to this question would be "one". I am not one of those people.
For other people, maybe the answer is "two". As in, one pair and a backup pair in case of emergency. I'm not one of these people, either. My entire life is a case of emergency.
"Aha," you might say, you dogged genius, you. You've thought-experimented the shit out of this thing, and you've got a solution. Maybe it's this:
One pair of sunglasses for every place where you spend a lot of time, so you'll always have one handy.
That's a great answer. Very well thought-out. And flexible for any situation. Examine your life, and solve for 'n'.
It's also wrong. At least for me.
I spend significant time in three places: my home, my car and my office. I own four pairs of sunglasses -- cheap, shittily-made ugly-ass sunglasses, sure, but sunglasses, nonetheless. And I never seem to have a stupid pair in the right place when the sun comes out.
Which is, like, every single goddamned day. Seriously, sun. Take a nap some afternoon. Earth can survive without you for ten minutes. Little breathing room, is all I'm asking.
The point is, the sun is bright. And I, evidently, am not. I drove home tonight with the white-hot wrath of the sun's radiation searing holes in my retinas because none of my idiot sunglasses was at my desk. Or in the car. Or in my pocket.
Once I got home, sure. I practically tripped over all the stupid sunglasses lying around here. With a bottle of aspirin and a half dozen condoms, I could run a frigging CVS out of my bedroom with the rack's worth of flimsy sunglasses in there. But they weren't where I needed them. And now I probably have eyeball cancer.
So I still don't know the answer to my question. But I know two things I'm doing tomorrow: shoving three pairs of shades into my pants when I leave, so I can leave a trail of the things behind me wherever I go. And?
I'm buying more shitty sunglasses. Maybe when I have a pair for every deliciously-charred nerve ending on my retinas, I'll be able to find one when I need it.
But probably not. Like I said, I'm not all that bright.]]>
Not really. Plus if you live upstairs, Roomba goons are sort of useless as enforcers.
Meanwhile, if you dig East Coast sketch comedy, you can catch me with:
My wife's boss is on vacation. For some people, this might be a chance to slack off a bit. "When the cat's away", and so on.
But that's not how it worked out. Not by a long shot. With her boss out of town, not only is my wife doing more work -- but so am I. This is because when the boss left, she also left something with us: her pet parakeet.
That means we're birdsitting. My wife and I are sitting. A bird.
Now, I said it was work -- and it is, but not in the way I expected. I've never sat a bird before, so I had no idea. There's almost nothing to do. It doesn't eat much; it only needs water once a day or so. And it's got a bunch of toys and mirrors and swings in its cage to peck at. So there's nothing physical to do, really.
No. With birdsitting -- with this bird, at least -- all the work is emotional. Because I want the damned bird to be happy. And I have no idea what the hell it wants.
I'm not entirely dumb when it comes to animals. We had a dog for years, and I feel like I was pretty tuned in to her constant wild-assed whims. I could tell when she wanted to go for a walk (all the time). I could detect when she wanted to nap on the couch (all the time). And I clued in right away when she wanted a treat (all the goddamned time, and twice on Tuesdays).
"I also know when cats are pissy, when spiders are feeling hairy and disgusting, and when hamsters are in the mood to snurfle their noses and poop on newspaper."
And it's not just dogs. I also know when cats are pissy, when spiders are feeling hairy and disgusting, and when hamsters are in the mood to snurfle their noses and poop on newspaper. You could say I'm something of an animal whisperer.
But not when it comes to this freaking bird.
It's a nice bird; don't get me wrong. It chirps sometimes when I walk past its cage. If I stick my finger between the bars of the cage, it often hops over and bites it.
Lovingly, it bites it. Not viciously. When my wife's boss and her daughters brought the parakeet over, they told us that this "beaking" is a sign of affection -- and not, say, anger or hunger. Or rabies.
Then they showed us how it works. Because we didn't especially believe them.
But it does work, and the bird hasn't drawn blood yet, so I'd say we're marginally accepted into its flock. But that doesn't change my initial issue, namely: I don't know what the damned thing wants.
I'd like to be nice to the bird. It's been nice -- in its own way, apparently -- to me, so I want to return the favor. But short of pecking at its toes or regurgitating a nice worm into its beak, I'm stumped as to how that gets accomplished.
Sometimes the bird chirps when I'm not in the room, which I take as an invitation to investigate. When I do, it sometimes pecks -- lovingly! -- at my finger, and it sometimes shimmies across its perch to the very far side of the cage, as if I have the budgie cooties. I don't know what any of this means.
Other times, it'll peep when I'm in the room, and I'll peep back. Purely to be polite, mind you. Nobody likes to be ignored. And the bird's response is to keep peeping. Or to shut up. Or to climb to the swing at the top of its cage and turn its back in what I take to be a meaningful and less-than-pleased way. Maybe my peeps are incompatible. I don't know. None of this makes sense.
Whenever I can, I try letting the bird out of the cage. And once or twice, it's hopped onto my hand, up my arm through the open cage door and sat on my shoulder. And, probably, pooped on my shoulder, just to be confusing. But it's come out.
Mostly, though, it doesn't even acknowledge an open cage. I swing the door wide, exclaiming "be free!" But it just sits there, becaged. Or pecks at my hand. Or pokes savagely at a toy mirror in a way that's both highly meaningful and impossible for me to interpret.
Fine. I don't know bird behavior. Outside Tweety and Big Bird, I've never really had any experience with avian preferences, so it's to be expected. But all animals like treats, I figured. The dog did. I do. Probably Snuffleupagus does. It's unanimous. So I tried bonding with the bird through food.
That meant finding something it especially likes. Which so far, appears to be nothing.
Raisins? No. Lettuce? Nope. Sunflower seeds? Pshaw. Blueberries? As if. Cool Ranch Doritos?
(Okay, I didn't actually offer the bird Cool Ranch Doritos. Those can't possibly be good for it.
Also, I ate them all on the way out of the kitchen. Carting all that other food back and forth made me hungry. What, am I made of stone?)
So we've got the bird for another ten days or so. I hope it's happy, but how the hell can you tell? It's got birdseed and water and it pecks randomly at various appendages it can reach -- lovingly, always lovingly! -- but I still don't know what it wants. Or where it wants it. Or whether it's secretly planning to peck out my eyes at the earliest opportunity.
My conclusion? Birds are hard, man. The dog was a slobbery little need-hog, but at least you knew where you stood. Cats hate everybody, and most other little critters are dumb-as-rocks little furry food-pellet-to-shit-pellet converters.
This bird is different. It doesn't love. It doesn't hate. It doesn't seem to do anything for more than twelve seconds at a time, and then its mood has changed to something else entirely. It's like watching a teeny little feathered schizophrenic, and wondering if your soft tissues are safe and what the hell you're going to do with that big-ass box of raisins you bought for it.
So yeah. Work. This bird had better open up soon, or I'm gonna resort to Snausages and chew toys to make the damned thing love us. It's worked before, you know. Get with the program, birdbrain.]]>
Okay, technically there's always time to see it, assuming the internet continues to exist and the checks to my bandwidth provider don't bounce. Still.
Also, if such things interest you, my contributions for Apartments.com are in full swing. If you love renting, or Boston, or both, or neither, you should totally check it out.)
"Like how everyone finishes New Years' resolutions before the calendar rolls again, or how we always poop between grande burritos."
This week's check-in is a little on the late side, because I wanted to include a link to the video of our sketch comedy group Always on Deck's performance at the Magnet Theater in New York last month.
That's because we have another show coming up next weekend, and it seemed like a good idea to wrap up everything to do with the last set before making another trip. Like how everyone finishes New Years' resolutions before the calendar rolls again, or how we always poop between grande burritos.
The analogies, they can be uncomfortably appropriate.
At any rate, I managed to find some software to finagle the original video file. And then I spent a bunch of brain cells learning how to perform said finagling. And a bit of time uploading copies in various formats to six different places before remembering that YouTube is a thing that exists to make interwebbing easier for vidiots like me.
But most importantly, I resisted the urge to add transition effects with star wipes. It was close. But you're welcome.
Anyway, here's the video. A few of us went and got rather silly in Manhattan on July 6th, and we're looking forward to doing it again -- where "it" is still silly, but entirely new material -- on August 24th. Come see. I promise I won't star wipe you.
Unless you really ask me nicely.
The Secondhand SCIENCE topic this week is telomeres.
Those are little dangly bits hanging off the ends of your chromosomes. There's no need to be embarrassed -- everyone's got 'em, and you can't get rid of them. Until you do, and then you're probably dead. Check 'em out.
Also, for Boston-area types, I wrote some stuff about local comedy and whackadoodle pizza. One is delicious and the other is hilarious -- but I'm not saying which is which.)
Speaking (parenthetically, above) of Secondhand SCIENCE, writing over there for the past few months has really taught me something.
Not about science. Obviously. The whole point of that train wreck is that I don't understand anything I'm talking about, but I'm happy to pass that muddled confusion on to you. Because science.
Also, I clearly haven't learned anything about writing. Even with a serious, adult-face thing like science for a topic, I still mostly wind up talking about Star Wars and Food Network idiots and the existential conundrum of Frosted Mini-Wheats.
(I should note here that I'm available to deliver commencement speeches and eulogies. Because who wouldn't want that, amirite?)
Instead, what I've learned is that I'm terrible at Photoshop. Or more accurately, at "GIMP", which is a free piece of software that does some of the things that the terribly expensive Photoshop does, but is made for people who are terrible at Photoshop.
Which is me. So I GIMP -- terribly.
The thing is, I thought it would be nice to have images illustrating the nonsense I write over there tangentially about science. And sometimes, what I'm writing isn't exactly covered, quite, by an image already existing on the interwebs. So I make up a new one.
Still, I've accumulated a fair number of these nightmares now. And with the theory that dragging them out into the light of day will make them less agonizing, I've decided to share them with you here. With essentially no context whatsoever. Because what fun would that be?
So without further ado, here are my favorite dozen of the poorly-manipulated images I've Frankensteined together since spring. Because SCIENCE!:
From Hydrogen Bonding:
Jabba the Deen
From Punctuated Equilibrium:
The Orphanses of Species
From Neutrinos:
The Batabomber
From Absolute Zero:
MIndyjuice! Mindyjuice! Mindyjuice!
From Quantum Entanglement:
Julia Labcoat-Dreyfuss
From Transactinides:
Atomic Decay of PB&J
From Synthetic Genomics:
Porky and the Voice
From Australopithecus:
Rachael Ape
From Mycoplasma:
Itsy Bitsy Schneiders
From Electric Bacteria:
Napalm Cooties
From Heliosphere:
Interstellar Fieri


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About the Author
Pam's Plate
Pamela Olson
Pamela Olson is the Ski Utah Food Blogger. Pamela Martinson Olson is a freelance writer and former executive editor of Utah Homes & Garden magazine. A native Utahn, she grew up drawn to the natural world, camping in and hiking the state's deserts and high mountain peaks. A birdwatcher and fly fisher, she's become a passionate skier over the last few years, seeing mountains and snowstorms in an entirely different light. Pam will be writing about food, restaurants, and aprés.
by Pam's Plate
November 21 2014 0 Comments
Maybe your oven is broken or your family is stuck in Buffalo. Maybe you need a break from drunken uncles fighting over the wishbone. How about Thanksgiving dinner with all the fixings prepared just for you, served fireside while snow falls, piling up on your favorite run? Sound good? Here are a few of this year's options for turkey day dining, mountain style. Feast and give thanks for your blessings…especially snow days, of course.
by Pam's Plate
September 16 2014 0 Comments
Early-morning energy-booster. Mid-day warmer. Après-ski soother. Coffee is a fix, a conversation, an ever-present elixir in the American lifestyle. It's also ever-evolving, today experiencing a renaissance as it finds a place among aficionados, being sipped and compared like Cabernet. In the '90s, the old cuppa Joe was primped up to become the frappuccino. Today, lighter, small batch roasts are the trend, as well as single cup and "pour-over" brewing methods. Whatever your jive, here are a few spots to get your java.
by Pam's Plate
July 17 2014 1 Comment
Cool your heels, heat up your appetite in the high country.
by Pam's Plate
April 10 2014 0 Comments
Cooler? Check. Grill, check. Wonder Woman costume? Got it! Spring skiing has arrived and it's time to prep for the parking lot parties that will be happening until the resorts' last days—greatly postponed thanks to some awesome March storms.
by Pam's Plate
March 31 2014 1 Comment
They've been seen across America, taking over street corners and wooing people with their flavor-packed, portable creations. Food trucks today are not the lunch wagons of an earlier age, but roving battalions of haute bites, captained by innovative chefs handing out gourmet goodness to go.

subset: commoncrawl


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May We Suggest
This blog provides customized book recommendations to our patrons. To get your own, just fill out the May We Suggest form and you can expect results within 10 days. You can also like May We Suggest on facebook.
Animal Friendships
Two Bobbies: a true story of Hurricane Katrina, friendship, and survival by Kirby Larson and Mary Nethery ; illustrated by Jean Cassels
Mama: a true story in which a baby hippo loses his mama during the tsunami, but finds a new home and a new mama by Jeanette Winter
A mama for Owen by Marion Dane Bauer ; illustrated by John Butler
Looking for Miza: the true story of the mountain gorilla family who rescued one of their own by Juliana Hatkoff, Isabella Hatkoff, Craig Hatkoff, and Paula Kahumbu ; photographs by Peter Greste
Easy Fiction Soccer Books
Arthur and the best coach ever by text by Stephen Krensky
The ball hogs by Rich Wallace ; illustrated by Jimmy Holder
Captain Awesome, soccer star by Stan Kirby ; illustrated by George O'Connor
Ellie McDoodle: most valuable player by written and illustrated by Ruth McNally Barshaw
Emma dilemma and the soccer nanny by Patricia Hermes
Goalkeeper in charge by Matt Christopher ; text by Robert Hirschfeld
The Crafty Parent (Projects to do with Kids)
Project kid 100 Crafts to make with and for your kids by / Amanda Kingloff ; photographs by Alexandra Grablewski
Dad's book of awesome projects: from stilts and superhero capes to tinker boards and seesaws: 25+ fun do- it-yourself projects for families by Mike Adamick
Made by Dad: 67 blueprints for making cool stuff by Scott Bedford
Martha Stewart's favorite crafts for kids: 175 projects for kids of all ages to create, build, design, explore, and share by the editors of Martha Stewart Living ; photographs by Anne Schlechter and others
Playtime: Games and Sports Stories for Beginning Readers
Bruno & Lulu's playground adventures by Patricia Lakin ; illustrated by Kirstie Edmunds
Boris for the win by Andrew Joyner
Go, Jade, go! by written by Tony and Lauren Dungy with Nathan Whitaker ; illustrated by Vanessa Brantley Newton
Olivia plays soccer by adapted by Tina Gallo ; illustrated by Jared Osterhold
Monster games by Melissa Lagonegro ; illustrated by the Disney Storybook Artists
Goofy at bat by Susan Amerikaner ; illustrated by the Disney Storybook Artists and Loter, Inc
Artists in the Real World
Into art? Here are some of our newest true stories of famous artists from around the world. Looking for more? Find other artists in our JBIO section by looking under their last name.
The scraps book: notes from a colorful life by Lois Ehlert
Leaving China: an artist paints his World War II childhood by James McMullan
The noisy paint box: the colors and sounds of Kandinsky's abstract art by Barb Rosenstock ; illustrated by Mary GrandPre
Mo Willems by Abby Colich
Francisco Goya by Alix Wood
Wellness Fiction for Beginning Readers
Big Bad Wolf by Dosh Archer
Itsy bitsy spider by Dosh Archer
Sick day by David McPhail
Monkey and Elephant get better by Carole Lexa Schaefer ; illustrated by Galia Bernstein
Katie Woo has the flu by Fran Manushkin ; illustrated by Tammie Lyon
Clifford goes to the doctor by Norman Bridwell
Calling Doctor Amelia Bedelia by Herman Parish ; pictures by Lynn Sweat
True Stories of Athletes
Find your favorite sports stars by looking for their last names in our JBIO section. Here are some of our newest athlete biographies.
Lewis Tewanima: born to run by Sharon K. Solomon ; illustrated by Lisa Fields
Becoming Babe Ruth by Matt Tavares
Silent star: the story of deaf major leaguer William Hoy by Bill Wise ; pictures by Adam Gustavson
You never heard of Willie Mays?! by written by Jonah Winter ; illustrated by Terry Widener
Miguel Cabrera by Joanne Mattern
Creative Inspiration
How I discovered poetry by Marilyn Nelson ; illustrations by Hadley Hooper
The bird king: an artist's notebook by Shaun Tan
The Seuss, the whole Seuss, and nothing but the Seuss: a visual biography of Theodor Seuss Geisel by Charles D. Cohen
Jim Henson's designs and doodles: a muppet sketchbook by Alison Inches
1000 incredible costume & cosplay ideas: a showcase of creative characters from anime, manga, video games, movies, comics and more! by Yaya Han, Allison DeBlasio & Joey Marsocci a.k.a. Dr. Grymm
Bird Books for the Young at Heart
Parrots over Puerto Rico by Susan L. Roth and Cindy Trumbore ; collages by Susan L. Roth
Do you really want a bird? by Bridget Heos ; illustrated by Katya Longhi
Have you heard the nesting bird? by words by Rita Gray ; pictures by Kenard Pak
Mama built a little nest by Jennifer Ward ; illustrated by Steve Jenkins
For the birds: the life of Roger Tory Peterson by Peggy Thomas ; illustrated by Laura Jacques
Owls by Valerie Bodden
Fiction Books about Games
The challengers by Greg R. Fishbone ; illustrations by Ethen Beavers
The city of gold and lead by John Christopher
The Egypt game by Zilpha Keatley Snyder ; drawings by Alton Raible
Escape from Mr. Lemoncello's library by Chris Grabenstein
The game of sunken places by M.T. Anderson
Game on! by adapted by Tracey West
Games by Carol Gorman


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Honokowai Condo Rental Photos and Description
Maui Kai Beach Resort, Condo 301 1BR 1BA, Sleeps 4
"E komo mai" (welcome) to our spectacular Maui Kai 301!
Top rated, direct oceanfront, spacious and gorgeously remodeled CORNER third floor unit. Hovering directly over the ocean on the white sandy shores of Ka'anapali Beach, famous for its gorgeous turquoise protected waters and winner of "Best Beach in America". Protected by two islands, making epic views for lazy sunsets on your private lanai.
Maui Kai resort is tucked away in a serenely quiet corner of Maui's vibrant "west side", just a couple miles north of the historic whaling village town of Lahaina, the ancient seat of the Hawaiian Royalty government.
Lahaina's famous "Front Street" offers spectacular world class restaurants with stunning dining room views, with a long stretch of unique quaint shops and many wonderful art galleries.
Jason Colyar personally cares for his second home over the ocean. Meticulous management has been recognized three years in a row on the trusted travel site.
• Ka'anapali Beachfront Location
• Closest Resort to Ocean in Ka'anapali
• Large Sandy Beach Adjacent to Resort
• Free On-Site Parking
• Resort Pool & Jacuzzi
• On-site Laundry & BBQs
• Snorkeling & Surfing on Ka'anapali Beach
• Walk to Restaurants & Stores
• Oceanfront Lounging Area
• World famous Kaanapali Beach
- Suitability:
- children welcome
- non smoking only
- pets not allowed
Guestbook comments from the owner
Spent our honeymoon in Maui at Maui Kai 301. It was amazing! The condo is immaculate, the beach is awesome, and Shayla does an amazing job preparing the condo. Everything we needed besides food was already in the condo and ready to go when we arrived. The DVR and HD TV were appreciated while we weathered the tropical depression on our first 2 days. About half a mile walk down the beach towards the black rock is the best beach we've ever been to! Can't wait to go back!


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The best prices, the best promotions and the best service I have found. And it got even better once I became a return customer.Read More ->
I've been buying magic from MJM for about 10 months now and I have to admit that this is one of the better places to purchase any magic. MJM is very...Read More ->


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Curbing urban runoff in Gold Hill
Mail Tribune
This so-called "non-point source" pollution is a focus of a state Department of Environmental Quality program that is trying to help cities such as Gold Hill grapple with the kind of surface-water problems more associated with urban areas. Having people such ...
and more »
AWWA to Congress: Nutrient pollution reduction key to preventing cyanotoxins
"The fairest and best strategy for reducing the scope and severity of this problem in the future is bringing nonpoint sources of nutrient pollution under more effective management," said Donahue, who is also CEO of North Park Public Water District in ...
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Nonpoint band on point with its new lineup
Nonpoint vocalist Elias Soriano and drummer Robb Rivera hoped they had put together a stable band lineup when in 2011 they replaced two band members – guitarist Zach Broadrick and bassist Ken "KB" MacMillan – with three new recruits, lead guitarist ...
AWWA President To Congress: Pollution Reduction Key To Cyanotoxins ...
Water Online (press release)
The contamination was the result of an algal bloom in Lake Erie. "The fairest and best strategy for reducing the scope and severity of this problem in the future is bringing nonpoint sources of nutrient pollution under more effective management," said Donahue, ...
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Nonpoint vs. Pop Evil - Cage Match
On one side of the Cage Match, we have Nonpoint and their song 'Breaking Skin.' Elias Soriano and company have come back rocking with the first single off 'The Return' album. This driving track will likely be a favorite in their live sets and you can catch them ...
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Entry Level Assistant Manager Needed * New Office Expansion *
Entry Level - Assistant Manager , Manager and Marketing Reps Needed for New Office Expansion!
Degree... No Experience? Experience... No Degree?
We just expanded to a new location in the AREA!
We are ...
Nov 27 -
Business Development Manager
NW Recruiters is seeking a Business Development Manager. This role will be responsible for developing customer relationships and partnership with corporate and local clients. This level of BDM must identify value-added engineering opportunities, position our client's ...
Nov 20 -
Entry Level - Marketing Executive
Entry Level Marketing - Account Executive Needed
PTM Concepts is a top marketing and advertising firm in the Columbus area, we use direct, personal, and exciting techniques to create awareness and excitement for our client. Our marketing strategies increase new customer ...
Shipping Clerk
Now hiring a Shipping Clerk in the Columbus, OH area! Trillium Staffing, a leader in the staffing industry is currently seeking a Shipping Clerk in the Columbus, OH area! Candidates are needed to ship out orders for a local client.
If you are interested in this position and ...
Nov 17 -
Vice President of Brand Strategy
About the Job
This position is an important member of the leadership team for several accounts. In the role the candidate would be working closely with Account Lead, Creative Lead and Medical Strategist to offer both the work and the client more robust customer insight. ...
Nov 15 -
GM Green Sand Iron Foundry
Our client Wabtec seeks a Foundry General Manager.
"Hands On" General Manager of P&L; Production; Safety; Quality; Labor; & Sales throughout this 2 shift, non-union, Iron (green sand) Foundry.
Drive the Performance System (WPS) to establish a fully ...
Nov 14 -
Assistant Manager Needed ASAP!! - ENTRY LEVEL
Assistant Manager Needed ASAP!! - ENTRY LEVEL
We are an innovative company that is transforming the marketing & advertising industry. While we provide advertising at a fraction of the price, compared to others, our success and rapid growth has set new industry standards.
Nov 13 -
Retail Business Development Manager
NW Recruiters is seeking a Retail Business Development Manager. This role will be responsible for defining key prospective business partners to target, establishing business and technical relationships and managing the day to day interaction in order to build long-term ...
VP of Marketing & Sales
VP of Marketing & Sales
Hi-Vac Corporation in Marietta Ohio is seeking an experienced VP of Marketing and Sales to help grow and expand business in Municipal sales, Latin America, International, and China. Hi-Vac offers a great benefits package and opportunities for career ...
Nov 10 -
Hospitality Supervisor
Responsible for managing the food and environmental services departments. Provides direction, training, motivation and guidance to FNS and EVS Assocites to accomplish established standards to meet or exceed customer satisfaction. Position represents ABM Healthcare Support ...
Oct 30 -
Executive Sales Broker- Lucrative Lifetime Residual Income
Hiring Immediately! Executive Sales Broker with a book of business or lots of client connections. No experience is required in this industry.
Who We Are
We are a national and international credit card merchant services, marketing and payment solution firm specializing in ...
Oct 25 -
Vice President of Business Development
We are seeking qualified candidates for a Vice President of Business Development. This role is responsible for selling, maintaining and growing access to our subscription based research service to institutional money managers at leading hedge funds, mutual funds, asset ...
Oct 23 -
Director of Accounting
NW Recruiters is seeking a Director of Accounting. This role will be responsible for overseeing the General Accounting and Financial Reporting functions. He or she is responsible for implementing and maintaining a system of internal controls that will ensure that company ...
Oct 21 -
Logistics District Manager
The Columbus Dispatch has immediate openings for Logistics District Managers to lead our efforts as we distribute daily, weekly and monthly publications to customers throughout central Ohio. Are you looking for a challenging position where you can have a positive impact on ...
Oct 20 -
IMMEDIATE HIRE: National Sales | Paid Travel | No Cap - CL214
NOW HIRING | Sales Agent Wanted for Travel
EPG is currently looking for strong outside sales representatives with "one-sit-close" mentality and a passion for traveling.
We provide:
The qualified pre-set appointments
The technology and the training
Prepaid air and ...
Vice President of Operations
NW Recruiters is currently searching for a Vice President of Operations for a progressive wireless company reporting to the Acting President/CEO. This professional will oversee the day-to-day duties of the business. Once successful, this executive will have the ...
Oct 17 -
Division Vice President of Operations
NW Recruiters is seeking a Division Vice President of Operations to manage 10-15 supervisors who supervise a total of 150 - 250 employees. This person directs and coordinates the branch and FM sites including sales, marketing, operations, and production of all locations. ...
Oct 14 -
Operations Management
About us:
Leaders Moving and Storage started in the mid 1990's and is headquartered in Columbus, Ohio We are growing and expanding our business. Treating our customers' possessions like they are our very own is the foundation of our business philosophy. At Leaders Moving ...
Director of Business Development
NW Recruiters is seeking a Director of Business Development. This role will be responsible for building and maintaining client relationships while identifying, pursuing and closing sales for our client's entire suite of services. The individual should have experience in ...
Oct 13 -
Vice President of Client Accounting
Our client, a leading third-party multifamily property management company, is growing and now has a unique opportunity for a dynamic leader to join our organization.
We are seeking a strategic Vice President of Client Accounting, whose primary responsibility is for ...
Oct 11 -
Management Trainee
Management Trainee
ENTRY LEVEL sales, marketing, and event marketing positions available!!!
We are looking for team-oriented people with the ambition and self motivation to grow within a company. Buckeye Promotions Group is looking for entry level Account Managers to help ...
Oct 7 -
Management Developement Program
Position Summary:
Management opportunities with growing, successful regional family owned and professionally managed company, serving customers since 1934. Join a company with a history of integrity and stability, who provide exceptional services to the hospitality, ...
Oct 2 -
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Upon arriving at the hotel it didn't look too impressive but when I went in my opinion changed. A very warm reception area of "old style". I was greeted by a very friendly receptionist who offered me complimentary tea/coffee and home made cake which was brought to the room for me. It was a very nice touch. The room was... More
- Reservation Options:
- TripAdvisor is proud to partner with Booking.com, TripOnline SA, Odigeo and Despegar.com so you can book your Hotel Minella reservations with confidence. We help millions of travelers each month to find the perfect hotel for both vacation and business trips, always with the best discounts and special offers.
- Also Known As:
- Minella Hotel Clonmel


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Boggess, Jennifer 2002
Professor of Art
B.A., M.A., M.F.A. West Virginia University
Office: Wallman Hall, Room 414
E-mail: firstname.lastname@example.com
Phone: (304) 367-4250
Greenham, Jeff 2006
Coordinator, Department of Art, Associate Professor of Art
B.F.A. Rochester Institute of Technology, M.F.A. West Virginia University
Office: Wallman Hall, Room 402a
E-mail: firstname.lastname@example.com
Phone: (304) 367-4181, Ceramics Studio (304) 367-4222
Lejeune, Nick 2010
Instructor of Art
B.A. McNeese State University, M.F.A. West Virginia University
Office: Wallman Hall
Phone: (304) 367-4203
Yerdon Lejeune, Jennifer 2007
Associate Professor of Art
B.F.A. The College of Saint Rose, M.F.A. West Virginia University
Office: Wallman Hall, Room 411
E-mail: email@example.com
Phone: (304) 367-4756
FSUNow Stories
The Fairmont State University School of Fine Arts and Masquers theatre group join the lineup of worldwide organizations that will present readings of Caridad Svich's new play "Upon the Fragile Shore" on Monday, Nov. 17, as part of an "artivist" play reading and digital film action that explores human rights and environmental issues.
The Instructor Exchange Ad-Hoc Committee of the Fairmont State University Faculty Senate will host a Panel Discussion on the "Role of Humanities in Contemporary Education" from 6 to 8 p.m. Monday, Nov. 17, in Multi-media Room A of the Ruth Ann Musick Library.
Moderated by Dr. Tad Kato, Chair of the Instructor Exchange Ad-Hoc Committee, the Panel Discussion is sponsored by the Office of the Provost and the College of Liberal Arts. The panelists will discuss positive roles of humanities and their interaction with science, based on the perspectives in each discipline.
Fairmont State University and West Virginia University students will participate in the second annual Fall 2014 Iron Pour, hosted by the WVU School of Art and Design.
Fairmont State sculpture students, technology students and faculty members, as well as students and faculty from regional universities, will collaborate for the event and utilize molten metal to create custom-made metal artworks.


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Security Guard Jobs in Bryan, Texas
1 Bryan, TX Security Guard jobs found on Monster.Jobs 1 to 1 of 1
G4S Security Solutions USA Haslet, TX, 76052
The world's leading private security organization, G4S, has an immediate job opportunity for an Upscale Security Officer. G4S is a security provider for the United States government, fortune 500 companies, nuclear power plants, oil and gas companies, airport, ports, banks, hospitals, factories, warehouses, commercial facilities, residential communities and much more. G4S offers job security, exce...
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Security Career Tools
Security Officer
$16,640.00 - $38,563.00
Typical Salary for Security Officer in Bryan
(848 Respondents)
Source: Monster.com Careerbenchmarking Tool
Education / Training
Some College Coursework Completed
High School
(727 Respondents)
Source: Monster.com Careerbenchmarking Tool
Security Officer
Maintains safe and secure environment for customers and employees by patrolling and monitoring premises and personnel.
Rate of Growth
12.10 %
Size of Industry in 2006:
Source: Bureau of Labor Statistics, May 2006
Related Skills
Emotional Control
Informing Others
Internal Communications
Related Duties
Ensures operation of equipment by completing preventive maintenance requirements; following manufacturer's instructions; troubleshooting malfunctions; calling for repairs; evaluating new equipment and techniques.
Secures premises and personnel by patrolling property; monitoring surveillance equipment; inspecting buildings, equipment, and access points; permitting entry.
Popular Security Guard Articles
Law Enforcement and Protective Services Jobs
Billions of stimulus dollars will help keep police on the streets and shore up the country's security. Learn about jobs in law enforcement and protective services.
How Sales Pros Take Control
A sales seminar can happen anywhere. See how an airport security guard displayed brilliant salesmanship.
Eight High-Paying Jobs for Veterans
Veterans can put their skills to good use in civilian jobs -- and earn top dollar to boot. Here are eight jobs for vets that pay at least $70,000 a year.
Eight Highest-Paying Skills for Veterans
Skills learned in the military can pay off big in a civilian career. Check out eight skills that could earn you $70,000 or more in a private-sector job.
Lawrence 'Lucky' Leprechaun's Resume
Will The Resume Expert's take on a wee Irish sprite's resume bring you closer to your own career pot of gold this St. Patrick's Day?...


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"Music You Know" Draws Inspiration from the Familiar
By Allison Babka
Pokey LaFarge Signs to Rounder Records
By Daniel Hill
Miami Dolphins Is Not a Football Team
By Drew Ailes
Combating a Rash of Tour Van Break-Ins
By Brian Heffernan
Grammophone to Close, Reopen As Restaurant
By Joseph Hess
Playing for the Cause Helps Out Those in Need
By Joseph Hess
Nots Works Hard to Keep Punk Weird
By Mike Appelstein
Local Bands Getting TV, Film Exposure
By Alison Babka
It's hard to feel sorry for a man who's sold tens of millions of records, but you still can't help but empathize with Peter Frampton. After spending years proving himself a hotshot guitarist with Humble Pie and others, he scored a monster hit with 1976's eternal Frampton Comes Alive!, only to lose his entire new following with the double whammy of I'm In You and the Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band movie. His entire subsequent career has been a quest to return to his journeyman musician roots, and he's weathered it well; he even won his first Grammy this year. However, his live show is still heavy on the '70s hits and yeah, he still breaks out the talkbox for "Do You Feel Like I Do."


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Stay on top of the football coach search with the Insider Authority on Gator Sports with a special discount!
Gator Country Black Friday special!
Now's a great time to join or renew and get up to $20 off your annual subscription! LIMITED QUANTITIES -- for details click here.
Questions of the day: Norm Sloan, Brad Stevens, recruits
Discussion in 'Nuttin' but Net' started by ufla5220, Aug 31, 2013.


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It took weeks, police chases, and a discovery at an Arby's, but on Friday, Lyle "Ty" Hoffman was finally in court. Hoffman -- the Lush Food Bar co-founder who allegedly murdered his former business and romantic partner Kelly Phillips before disappearing for over a month -- would face a judge. The e ... More >>
During a foot chase with a suspect around 4 a.m. Sunday morning, a St. Paul cop named Jeremy Ryan may have accidentally shot a St. Thomas student as he watched TV in his Merriam Park residence and left another nearby home riddled with bullets.THE BACKSTORY: St. Paul cop may have accidentally shot St ... More >>
In the mid-'90s, Semisonic Shopped Their Single to Top 40 Stations, Answered Idiotic Interview Questions, Played Countless On-Air Jams, and Ended Up Feeling Like They Got Played--Even When Their Album Didn't. In Jacob Slichter's New Book, the Drummer Expl
The Living Dead of the Night
Being a collection of notes on the art and science of sleeplessness, with a helpful sidebar on the commercial attractions of the night.