Saturday, June 30, 2012

from the archives

This weekend, I opened a box of notes exchanged between me and my classmates during junior high school.  Most of them were too adolescent to bear re-reading, but overall it was a nostalgic experience.  I object to facebook's photo policy (i.e., I object to their "right" to steal my images), and so am posting a selection here.

Perhaps worth noting:
  • "silent bell" refers to the year the school decided to turn off the bells that indicated the start and finish of class/passing time
  • "W/B" abbreviates "write back," but is so often followed by its translation that one wonders how the texting culture ever managed to become established
I have fewer of my own notes (presumably having delivered the majority to their intended recipients), but here are a few examples:









And some from other folks, whose privacy I've tried to protect:
 
 
 The next one is from one of the valedictorians of our class (we had ten, for some reason).  I'm relatively certain she didn't actually think l'école était très stupide.

 The sad part about the next one is the sheer number of notes I have from this particular person, and I don't know who he is.  Even though I referenced him in the lavender flowers note above.  They almost all contain "I don't need you I don't want you" -- maybe a song lyric? -- and then ask for some commitment of attention or attendance at an event.  Hopefully I was nice to him.

 [From the same guy]  You don't like my little brother?  You mean, the kid who's going to blow his brains out next year at the tender age of 14?  On second thought, perhaps I don't care whether or not I was nice to you.  I certainly don't give a fuck what you think about my brother.


 From the guy I was dating, who was apparently having trouble fending off my competition?

Thursday, June 28, 2012

they know about the power of greyskull

Recently, my best friend (who was visiting from out of town) chided me about the amount of time I spend on facebook.  Given the amount of time she spends sending and receiving text messages, I'm not sure she's in a place to criticize, but neither can I really object.  There was one day last week when I checked my mobile facebook before I got out of bed.  At the time, it seemed a good excuse to remain sequestered within the coziness for just one more minute...but as it turns out, I may have an addiction.  So, how did this happen?

Far from being a social butterfly with numerous network connections requiring maintenance, I'm perhaps an eremetic tortoise, rarely sticking my nose outside the house unless it's required.  As a younger tortoise, I attempted to channel the butterfly, but I wasn't well-suited to all the flitting about and niceties and obligations.  While a carapace may seem fairly aerodynamic, it's awkward and limits mobility.  It's terribly convenient, however, when one is overstimulated and craves respite.  For the record, I have never gotten carried away with my own analogies.

Facebook is socialization at arm's length.  It enables wall-flowering, permits admiration from afar, and provides a socially acceptable medium for inserting comments at one's comfort level.  It provides a sense of social connection without overwhelming the hypersensitive natures of the un-social.  (I'm not antisocial, per se, just afflicted with a mild allergy for crowds.  Actually, I think it's growing in severity.)  I did not even consider attending my high school reunion last year, but I have enjoyed "friending" some classmates who I haven't seen since graduation.  It turns out they're mostly grown-ups now, too, and we can interact on more even ground than we did as teenagers.  Developmental psychology posits that there is an aspect of human nature that compels us to check in against our cohort group; it seems reasonable that the ideal cohort is the group with which one is locked up to gain one's education.  The most interesting part of facebook reunion-ing was posting a pile of old pictures I'd scanned and tagging former classmates, who then left comments ranging from protestations against adolescent awkwardness to nostalgia to condemnations of the insular environment.  One girl -- er, woman -- commented to the effect of, "if only we'd known the world was so much bigger outside of high school!"  Umm, sweetie?  Those of us who were aware of that fact were just waiting for our release.

 On facebook, a person can have at least a peripheral awareness of the events in the lives of many others, and participate in their updates at a self-selected level.  It's kind of amazing how it creates a common ground amongst people whose lives may have taken disparate paths many years ago.

Saturday, June 23, 2012

unexpected expenses



Driving home today, we came across a group of people hoisting hand-painted signs advertising a carwash, bakesale, and Mexican food for sale.  I thought it was a strange combination of goods and services, and an unlikely location (in a residential neighborhood).  Then one of the women said, "Help me bury my baby."  One of the banners said the event was a funeral fundraiser.

Those life insurance commercials say the average funeral costs over $6000, and I started to wonder.  So I ran some numbers.  According to this local service, basic preparation of the body, a rental casket, a short service, and an urn will run $3195.  I included embalming in the figures because sometimes it's required, even if the family doesn't want it.  There'd be additional cost for a person to conduct a service, or to buy a casket and deliver it to an interment site -- which also carries a cost -- and to have flowers or other displays at the service.  Going even more basic ("minimal preparation" of the remains and cremation in a cardboard container) brings the cost under $500, and the venue even offers the use of its chapel for 1/2 hour.

Generally speaking, a person doesn't plan to hold a funeral for his or her children, so it's an unexpected expense.  And, also generally speaking, children don't have life insurance policies to cover their "final expenses."  In my neighborhood, I seriously doubt most people have $3195 sitting around to spend on a funeral.  But for those who are deeply religious or who just feel strongly about having a memorial service to remember a life lived, a bare minimum processing of remains simply adds insult to unimaginable injury.

Amazingly, this woman appeared to have a lot of moral support, as there were a dozen or so people at the roadside advertising the fundraising event, and more managing the sales and services.  People can be such good and altruistic creatures sometimes.

Sunday, June 3, 2012

to plate

Presentation of food is important to appetite.  Otherwise, there'd be much less parsley in the world, and "plating" would still refer to the coating of a surface with metal.  Don't read this post if you'd prefer your food not watch you eat it.

So, you're in an American grocery store, doing the shopping.  You pick up the produce, check its color, sniff it, squeeze it, heft it, knock on it and listen for hollowness or denseness or just a pleasing resonant frequency.  Sometimes there's even a paid employee giving out samples, so you can have quality assurance before committing.

And then you arrive at the deli or meat counter.  [Disclaimer: I've been a vegetarian for most of my life.  Qualifier: I have no objection to the responsible harvesting of animals for food.]  How do you select your meat products? -- by color, texture, fat content?  How do you judge their freshness?  There's been some hoopla about treating meat with carbon monoxide to keep its red color longer, and I assure you I have opinions about that, but it's a different topic.  My parents eat a lot of fish, a phenomenon which seems to be growing with concerns about "bad" cholesterol, obesity, and the popularity of the Mediterranean diet.  In selecting their fish, they're looking for freshness and the source of the animal, which are associated with healthfulness and sustainability.  Many medium-sized fish are sold "cleaned" (read: gutted) and with their heads and/or tails still attached.  Allegedly, fresh fish have clear eyes; cloudy eyes mean the fish was less healthy and/or spent more time on the shelf.

Americans, generally speaking, don't buy things to eat that (currently) have heads.  American delis and meat counters present meat in neatly anonymous butchered chunks, packaged securely in plastic wrap with its flaws cut off and sold separately for the family dog, whose tastes are, presumably, less discriminating.  American consumers are comfortably separated from the process by which the doe-eyed animals at the petting zoo become options in a refrigerated display case.  It's not even labeled for the animal it came from; rather an additional degree of separation is achieved through euphemisms like pork chops, filet mignon ("cute cut"), ham hock, bacon strips.  The renaming applies most to pigs -- perhaps because they're thought of as dirty animals -- and red meat, and less so to poultry, which is recognized as having breasts, thighs, and wings.  These last are discernable body parts, whereas the typical person can't point to a cow and identify the source of a skirt steak, although ribs and shoulders are more familiar.

And yet, fish are sold with heads on.  In some cases, they're cooked with heads on, and served as though they might watch you pick daintily away at what remains of their bodies.  I think Americans prefer meat acquired from a larger-than-single-serving-size animal.  There's less uncomfortable mental processing required to consume an anonymous cut of meat than there is when served a mostly intact body: shall I begin at the head or the tail?  It's rather like eating a chocolate bunny.  Additionally, being served an entire animal body requires acknowledgment of a life lost: one head per person per meal.  I think that's an uncomfortable realization for people who'd prefer to just enjoy their dinners, rather than reflect too deeply upon their arrival on the plate.  The sprig of parsley no doubt helps.