36 posts from 2007

I realize what a negligent little nerd I've been.  I didn't quite follow up on the riveting tale I so enthusiastically began that frigid, yet somehow toasty evening, many moons and half moons and slivers of moons ago.  November the 8th, until the 9th. 

How I tease you now!  You must be brimming with infantile anticipation! 

My friends, tonight I have not the integrity to continue this story, which never really stops. It never really started.  I'm reading it now.

Don't worry.  The skyscraper has been revealed.  The documentary, edited.  Picnics have been devoured.  Chinese fire drills, extinguished.  And soon my friends, you will be written into the tale.  An audience will be created.  A special nifty nook, all to you, an integrated element of the epic.

Expect, and I shall deliver. 

PS.  If you are curious as to how the event, the main even around which so much revolved and evolved...(skyscraper erection)...accurate depictions and intriguing evidence can be seen here:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/origamikid/sets/72157594238673818/

They're spectacular.  Mario is a pro.  In real life.

(what is that?)

 

so its 6:26:37am.  and since 2:39:56am i have been sitting on george's spiffy laptop, or rather next to it, taking photographs every 20 seconds of ian building a skyscraper right in the middle of elsewhere. the structure is 13.4 feet tall, and architecturally sound.  equipped with a ladder, the skyscraper is habitable.  and since the opening for this functional sculpture looming in our 48 degree home is to happen promptly at 8pm on saturday night, and since he is still installing glass pane number 8, with 59 to go....he has a lot of work to do. and i am documenting the process, time lapse manner. it's kind of fun.

jerry garcia is strumming. george is waltzing with an obsolete screen window. stephanie is rearranging the studio and eating a peanut butter sandwich. multi-tasker she is.  and i have been snapping away. and typing away, fondling all over my new gmail account: thesarahwitt@gmail.com. ian is biting his nails on the second story of his tower and wearing a snart.

the interns are sleeping.

in 5.4 hours we have a canadian university group coming in for a weekend workshop. and in the evening a poetry reading with some UNCG kids. and then a big game of city on saturday and the official ribbon cutting ceremony to take place during.

here are some pics, because i know that's all anyone really wants to see.

Good night! And good bye.

 

This is the wind. It is strong.  Last post from Iceland.

TRANSLATION: What? 

The common inquiry does not end in an up tone, as does the English "what?"  There is no inflection whatsoever, however the "ah" may be a little more stressed than the "hu."  Yes, indeed the end of end should be emphasized. "hA." Pretend there is not a question mark punctuating your inquiry, which is more of a statement. hA.

Because the weather is always an easy (though pathetic) way to start a conversation, and because it is generally what determines my daily schedule, which regulates the experiences I will undergo, which in a way, is what determines what I write to you, we will not start there.  Besides, this isn't really a conversation.  Even if I am addressing "you." 

But I concede that in this day and age, staring at our resplendent flat-faced friends, watching the ideas that we are conceiving in our heads visibley take form as we think them, not immune to instantaneous revision, a sort of response to ourselves, is operating in the spirit of a "conversation"...where was this sentence going?  Making a list with bigger and bolder fonts always seems to help catalogue a concept.

GENERAL TOPIC OF DISCUSSION: CONVERSATION

SPECIFIC SUBJECT OF DEBATE: COMPUTER(S) and dotCOM

A grand improvement already...I don't think I had clearly clarified that computers were the subject to be analyzed, in regards to the topic of conversation. 

HYPOTHESIS: COMPUTERS HAVE THE ABILITY TO TRANSFORM A PERSON SILENTLY BASKING IN THE LONELY GLOW OF THE SCREEN INTO A GARRULOUS DISILLUSIONED SOCIALITE.

Does this work so far?

(Pause for coffee and sunset break.)

Well, even if it is a functioning thesis, I am going to be really honest right now and admit that, after seeing the plain yet awe-inspiring evening sky, I don't have the integrity or the need to finish this thought. There are so many factors cutting the facets on this huge brilliant diamond of technology through which we stare out...caught inside like a prehistoric insect in amber. (And likewise a method of self-preservation...)  And being in this place (Iceland) of sparkling natural splendor, I can barely make a juxtaposition between the two, because they are so absurdly opposite.  While the sky is casually smattering a palette of panty pink and boxer blue, I hunch over a grid of letters, pretending to communicate, denouncing the weather, through a techonological mechanism I have been reported to also denounce.  It's all so self referential.

Oh I can see that on this screen, this is going nowhere.

It's almost impossible to approach...because as soon as the word "internet" enters my vocabulary, and I cognizantly realize that I am energetically participating in something I have vehemently proclaimed as extraneous and forged, whilst something I have exaulted as glorious and fundamental is just humbling happening behind a sheet of glass, I immediately go into electroshoke ADHD mode* and start acting as if I am a flea trying to get a piggyback ride from a hummingbird.  It's beyond my simple grasp...the speed, the lights, the exchange of information, the infinite availability of facts, of myths, the false identities, the proliferation of exhibition, the cultural communication crutch...and somehow, SOMEHOW I am still sitting here writing.  A deflected deplorable attraction! 

What hypocracy...and I think a very repetitive 2 paragraphs.  I guess I am really trying to drive the point.  But I still haven't really been able to pinpoint this point.  So I guess all this was just pointless.

Except I have learned 3 things from this:

1. I like to feel connected, even if that feeling is entirely fabricated by my own actions using a machine I regularly condemn and criticize and pretty much, abhor. 

2. Sunsets are cheesy and romantic to a lot of people.  To me, they are not only cheesy and romantic, they are the antithesis to technology.   

3. I miss "Saturday night."

Is it really Saturday night?  I certainly hope it's not when you (if you accept this monologue as one-sided conversation) read this.  Because that would mean that Saturday night is no longer "Saturday night."  And that computers really are.  They just really are. 

*Readers' note: Led Zeppelin's "Communication Breakdown" randomly entered the play list on radioblogclub.com right about here. I love radioblogclub.com. 

(ap-el-see-na-oop-huf)

TRANSLATION: (Orange Origin)

A few days ago I compiled a list of questions that, at the time, were really urgent issues that required further discussion.  I lost approximately 3 minutes of sleep over the following:

1. What kind of cheese are cheese puffs and curls imitating?

2. Is carbonated water less hydrating than non-carbonated water?

3. What came first--orange as a color label, or orange as a fruit name?

I was not surprised to receive an overwhelming response to these inquiries.  They undertake prevelant universal themes, and having addressed them, we can now get closer to the truth. 

I would like to acknowledge one reader in particular who has done extensive research concerning topic #3.   We will be better informed of our position in the world as consumers and make knowledgable contributions when a conversation revolves around the O-word, whith which no other word in the English language can rhyme.

Here is his discovery:

Alex, having translated this verbose inflation of the origin of orange, concludes that orange the fruit first was first labeled as such.  He deduced from the text that it wasn't until 3 centuries later in the 1500s that the name orange was applied to the color.  My attention span was not wide enough to finish reading the excerpt, therefore I myself did not detect this pivotal point and cannot argue otherwise.

 

Thank you for this significant contribution, Alex. (Was that proper grammar?)

Having been motivated by Alex's dutiful deciphering, and because most of the "overwhelming response" from the readership was not informative, but more an encouraging fervent declaration that they too think these are important questions, I have resolved to put an end to the mystery.

#1.  After going to the official "Cheeto's" website, I was surprised to learn that:

-you can play interactive video games through the website, like "Cow-Mu-Flage." I think this is supposed to be a play on the word Camouflage.

-They have a daily fact section, today's being that the human eye blinks on average 4,200,000 times a year

-There is a "parents" section, where they offer tips on maintaining your child's health.  Which is where I may have found the answer to the initial question.  Looking at the nutritional fact popup, the 4th ingredient, after whey and all the other microingredients that comprise the main ingredients (corn meal, ferrous sulfate, niacin, thiamin mononitrate etc.), is in fact CHEDDAR CHEESE.  I should have guessed, as cheddar is a really popular cheese.  And has supreme alliteration when placed next to Cheetos.  So cheddar they are.

                                                                                   

I am now officially bored of topic #1.

#2. Carbonated water is no less hydrating than non-carbonated water, as the liquid element is still identical chemically.  Assuming there are no additives in the bubbly drink, there is no reason not to drink gas water when intending to hydrate.  There is some speculation however, that the carbon dioxide that is infused into water may cause oesophageal cancer.  If you are a regular soda drinker and are concerned about this, you might want to check out experthydration.com

I am not really bored of topic #2, but I think it's possible other people are.

I can in no way validify any of these answers.  My sources are not credited institutions, and my research was probably not as thorough as it could be.  But I feel satisfied.  I feel that this is an accomplishment, preparation to tackle the next crucial controversy to arise.  Which is probably what to eat for lunch today.

TRANSLATION: Don't forget your cod liver oil! 

To my right is "The Anti-Aesthetic," a collection of essays critiquing, observing and mostly dissing postmodern culture.  But I don't really know what the main arguments are, because the authors are people like Jurgen Habermas and Jean Baudrillard. 

To my left is "Herra Sæll." Or in English "Mr. Happy," who is a big smiling yellow circle with legs.  An Icelandic childrens' book that I am attempting to translate.  He lives in a happy forest in happy Iceland and has happy friends.

Neither selection is tempting right now.  And since Ingþór and I have already played 4 hours of chess today, cleaned each room twice, done all the laundry, fried blueberry pancakes, removed all the freezer burn from the freezer, organized the family photo albums, dusted the ceiling and picked our noses...I don't have many remaining options.  He is currently eating a green popsicle and talking to his girlfriend on the phone for the 9th time today. I am feeling too feebleminded and dense to read, so I'll do just the opposite.

I hate to always mention the weather. But it is rather unbelievable.  Everyday I am more and more impressed by nature's ability to disappoint.  I came inside the main building at 8:30am. I haven't been outside since, because the door won't open.  It's not even raining.  It's just a big perpetual chaotic tornado without any sort of conical formation.  You would think because this is a common circumstance I would be immune, resisiting shock and disheartenment.  Wrong.  Maybe I just have a really dull memory.

 

I am going to talk in 1st person plural now.

How is it that we can elide expectations, forget the previous day's condition...and approach the world with fresh  enthusiasm and a childlike embrace, which inevitably leads to let down. That may be a foggy question, and I don't think 1st person plural is appropriate.

Back to 1st person singular.

I guess what I mean to say is...when there is something that is certain to happen, a prevailing arrangement, (as in, I know the weather will be crappy), how can I wake up each morning and not be prepared for calamitous conditions...how can it always be a surprise which eventually puts me in a sour mood? 

I think my method at tackling each day is not optimal.  It is not disimiliar from a child who asks their parents if they can eat icecream for every meal every day and stay up until 4 am every night jumping on their bed.  The subject here is obviously creating a lose-lose situation.  (Either they don't get their way or they are extremely obese and tired.) I can think of 2 other tactives that may be more beneficial and heart healthy:

1.  Forget about hope.  Know and accept and welcome the disasters of nature.  Recognize the pattern and assimilate.  Wake up each morning, look out the window and breath a sigh of relief, because unexpected drastic occurrances are ordinary.  Just as anticipated.  Have a deck of cards handy for a game of solitaire. Invite Fredric Jameson over for a game of rummy in case of extreme boredom.

2.  Ignore. Callow and unpretensious, pretend that everything is great!  The weather is perfect!  What wind?  No, the roof of my house didn't just blow off.  No, I didn't see the dog flying this afternoon.  Why is everyone complaining about a little breeze?  My name is Herra Sæll and I am yellow and bright and chipper as a canary! I have 4 chirping baby birds in the nest, and oops, one fell out! Tee hee! That's ok because I still have 3 more! 

 

Alright, I have to admit. It doesn't drive me to a level of despair.  It's kind of fun to sit inside and peer through the condensation at the sheep that are soaring their way to the ocean.  It's fascinating to watch the potted plants endure the pressure on their tiny skeletons, and still they remain rooted.  It's cozy to sip coffee and listen to vivaldi and feel serenity radiating within, simultaneously witnessing extreme anarchy from the window sill.  It makes me grateful and humble.  I wonder if the couple camping outside feels the same.

   

 

HVAÐ SEGIR ÞÚ?
(kvath-say-ur-thoo)

This is by far the most popular statement uttered by Icelanders.  It has multiple uses:

 1. What did you say? (literal translation)
 2. Whaz up bro?!
 3. What's happenin' man?
 4. No freaking way, I don't believe you.
 5. How are you?
 6. I don't know you and I don't know what to say to you, so "hvað segir þú?"

Aberrant sleeping patterns spiked with apocalyptic dreams have most recently annihilated lullaby land.  I think mostly the aggressive nights have been generated by this:

 

The video isn't quite accurate, as it is lacking a realistic portrayal of sound: deafening wind, trees scratching the house like fingernails on a chalkboard, and of course, sky sweat. But I have to admit, I am proud of the majestic shrub grinding on my house.  It's the tallest tree I've seen in Iceland.

Sometime around 5:12 am, I spilled a bucket of soup on the floor of a McDonald's that was supposedly filled with invisible pockets of anthrax.  As I was trying to clean up the spill, all 3 customers in the venue turned to me, outfitted in dustmasks, and screeched through their mouthcoverings ( not discernably so) to "WREYEWD CEURBBUL!" (BE CAREFUL!)  An employee pulled me aside, informing me of the toxic waste that was infiltrating the city at a rapid rate, and that I should just leave the puddle on the ground. But you see, I needed to bring the soup back to a camp site to pour onto a group of rowdy kids.  They destroyed my cousin's art show he was having at the campsite, ripping the pieces off the walls (I don't know where these walls were situated, since this was an outdoor campsite) and were currently in the process of siphoning turpentine into his bellybutton.  Don't worry, I called his father, who should be on his way to Iceland to pick him up.  But I just had to get the soup back into the bucket, lest my cousin perish under the influence of mineral spirits!  As I demonstrated my disregard for authority, a group of punky teenagers entered the McDonald's.  They were wearing glitter makeup and the reflection was so brilliant that I was unable to locate the pond of clam chowder.  I began to panic and then a holy figure of sorts entered the scene.  Everyone shifted focus to him, unable to speak or move in his presence.  Whoever he was, he was an adult wearing a diaper and nothing else, and he reeked terribly.  But we were all so captivated by his resplendent aura and magnificent poise, despite everything else.

 

 

I woke up at this point, and wrapped in a remarkably warm comforter, toes throbbing with coziness, looked out the window.  Damn it.  At least I took advantage of yes

terday's good fortune of daunting but dry ambiance.   I strayed from the beach front and went on a berry gathering excursion.

 

It's not that I'm suddenly disenchanted with this:

Because every time I go here, no matter what, the scenery has a different appeal.  The light, the seaweed, amoeba-like blobs of clear jelly, the birds diving for your head, the sea vessel detritus that litters the shore, spying on lovers who came to sunbathe and were sorely disappointed...Not once have I been bored by my surroundings. I can honestly say that this beach is not yet stale. And I don't really like beaches. Confession: if this same beach were perched on the Southern tip of Florida, flanked by 2 retirement homes for ancient people instead of ancient cliffs formed by glaciers, I don't think it would maintain my interest. 

 

I especially like this picture because it reminds me of a 1980s coloring book:

 

 

Cheerful. And really simple.

I attempted to preserve this cheerfulness as I hunted the little succulent orbs of blue, but my fingers inevitably froze and then I found it hard to be joyful.  I didn't even eat the berries as I picked them, if that's an indicator of the severity of the condition.  But it's quite possible yesterday was the last day for berry picking. Floods had swelled in their tiny shells, slashing the tender skins that could no longer battle the elements, juices pouring out, beckoning birds and flies to take them out of their misery of being a thoughtless little berry, just like the gazillions of other dumb little berries sitting in the grass.  Recent torrents have rendered them overripe and undertexturized; they aren't really the idyllic example of wild berry picking treasures.  Oh well.

 

 

This picture kind of reminds me of a 1980s coloring book too.  As in, before all the radical superfluous crayons were added to the traditional 8-pack.  Who needs "earwax yellow, infused with brown fibers to simulate real earhair!" ???

I gathered enough of the sparse spheres to make this:

 

Which I am very proud of, because it looks so nice.  Never have I baked such a diving, stunning, tempting, paradisical, flawless looking thing. So below you will find every photograph taken of the blueberry tart that was baked and enjoyed on September 9th, 2007.

 

 

 

Oh man.

 

It tasted pretty good.  A lot better than the flatulence-inducing rye bread that failed to bake after 7 hours.

 

  

That's seven hours of energy wasted.  At least I didn't waste those 7 hours.  I was "sleeping."

There is such a thing.  And I am feeling the smug satisfaction of having experienced this paradox.

Note: This is a long one and without pictures for the children...if you choose to read, please bring with you the necessary provisions and a porto-potty.

Ingþor gave me a wilderness-emergency-safety lesson last night, while I was peeing in the hot tub.  We began by discussing heart rate in response to temperature change, and why sometimes I feel like I am running a marathon in the hot tub, and sometimes am not effected in any way by cooking myself slowly.  I don't remember the answer, probably because it isn't that important, and also because I was drinking a beer, which is a much more potent potion when combined with heat exhaustion.  But I do remember a relevent tangent of the temperature topic, and that is how not to react if your foot begins to turn blue because it is caught in between 2 rocks when you are hiking alone and the thermometer reads -14°C.  Never rub the ankle.  This will create heat in your foot, which in turn will bring your heart rate up, creating better circulation.  Sounds good so far.  Well, if the foot is in such a severe condition that it is blue or purple, (how you would recognize this if you sensibly wore boots that day, I don't know) the newly rushing circulatory system will shoot the frozen blood from your foot straight to your heart.  This will instantly kill you.  The reason Ingþor knows this is because he is currently training to be part of the Icelandic rescue squad.  The reason I asked about what to do with freezerburned extremeties is because I went swimming in the Arctic 2 days ago. 

Having acquired such detailed wilderness-emergency-safety advice, I woke up eager this morning to test my knowledge.  Predictably the sky was gloomy.  But it was ambiguous enough that rain wasn't a given.  And so what if it did sprinkle?  Could I not defy the forces of nature and contest with my rigorous pomp?  Can I not use my fully functional limbs in fear that they may rust?  Am I really that clean that another shower could somehow have a reverse effect and make me filthy?  I will not be controlled by my surroudings!  I don't care if a blizzard blows through and brings with it the yetti and he gnaws on my thighs and licks my eyeballs.  (Ingþor told me what to do if this happens anyway.) So, perserverence of the stubbornist kind it is.

Keran gave me a topographical map of the area, pointed me in the general direction and gave me a look I would equate with the finality of "saying goodbye."  My destination was Keflavík, a viewpoint along the southern edge of the peninsula, about 3 hours walk over moss carpeted lava fields.  Because there was a faint dashed line running between Breiðavík and Keflavík, it was safe to assume there would be markers of some kind, or at least a worn impression of a poorly maintained footpath.  I walked for about 45 minutes towards the horizon to which Keran nodded, and reached my first "landmark," a glorified puddle, by accident.  Somehow I had approached this miniscule collection of water molecules almost 130°W from where the map suggests the trail intersects.  It was at this time I abandoned all hope of matching a trail to the map's; and at this time I also looked at the printing date of the laminated coffee stained sheet: 1953.

Luckily I have experience hiking alone and with unmarked trails and with being in the cold for extremely long periods of time. These reinforcing reminders brightened my spirits, despite very damp clothing, as the sky had inevitably begun to leak.  And knowing there lies an official  "emergency hut" at my destination brightened my spirits so greatly that I had audibly begun to sing the themesong to Ghostbusters.  Each squish on the foot thick moss warmed me, reminding me that sleeping outdoors can be comfortable.  Oh yes!  I was out in no-man's land, roughing it like an explorer...a real pioneer I was!  Navigational skills on, common sense off. Just me and a map and the mountains and lines that indicate where those mountains supposedly elevate and de-elevate.  Serious trailblazing.

About 2 hours later I was feeling what I imagine a fish to feel like when he is laying in an ice bucket, in the bottom of a boat. Slimy and cold and defeated.  I looked at my hand, which I couldn't really feel.  My thumb and first 2 fingerstips were BLUE.  "Panic, panic!" I thought.  Then I remembered that I had just crossed a patch of wild blueberries and had graciously saved them from oversaturation and decay.  I took one perceptive look at the environs, a 360°circle (I just love using the ° button on Icelandic keyboards.  They need to make this a common installment for American computers.)  Until this moment where I stopped, I had been obsessively comparing where I thought I was on the map to where I thought I was on this planet.  The entire time feigning to myself confidence in myself.  (I know, it doesn't really make sense.)  And when I looked behind me, and saw a white beach fuzzily fading into the fog (which also spawned spontaneously), I could barely believe how far I had strayed, both from my intended path and from Breiðavík.  I took about .7 seconds to debate the options: Press on and persist as a soggy soldier until I happen upon my ultimate destination, accomplishing the goal I had so vivaciously engraved into my heart.  Or walk back to Breiðavík and drink a milky steamy coffee. 

Without scolding shame, without disappointment, without any hesitation in my heart, I let the reflection of the brilliant sand guide me home.  In fact, I was proud of myself for choosing to quit, for conciously not following through on a plan.  Well, that's not a good attitude, I'm sure you're thinking.  But you know what? It is.  It is, because:

1.  I was freezing.  And had I continued and forged on into the unknown, I probably would have ended up with lower self esteem at the end of the day for doing something stupid and probably a lower limb count as well.

2.  I was wet.  And one thing I hate is being wet.*

3.  It didn't matter whether or not I made it to Keflavik.  Who was I trying to impress...the sheep?  Do I need to prove to myself that I can walk for 6 hours through inclimate conditions?  No, because I have done this many times.  And I wasn't going to challenge myself to a dual today.

4. I felt that I had seen some spectacular things already.  Walking another 3 or 8 kilometers and briefly "seeing Keflavík" and then turning around would have been redundant...this is always the case.  You reach the end of the trail, the top of the mountain, the apex!  Then what?  You peer around, take a few photos, pat yourself on the back, eat a peanut butter sandwich, take a piss, and go home. 

5. I really wanted a cup of coffee.

So I am content with my decision today.  Brave enough to decline.  And the walk back was actually really great.  Because I didn't have to distract my attention from the exotic landscape by incessantly checking the map.  I let my feet and intuition guide me, not really certain of how or when I would arrive, only knowing that I would.  Just heading in the right direction.  Sometimes that is enough.

 

 - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

 

*Being wet sucks.  I don't even like taking showers sometimes. (Only if I'm really dirty.)  But my time in Iceland finds me, on average, getting wet 4 times a day:

1. Cold rain

2. Hot shower to erase the effects of cold rain.

3. Hot tub.

4. Hot shower to rinse off all the dead skin that accumulates in the hot tub.

And still I claim to hate getting wet.

 

(TRANSLATION: I am going to pee in the hot tub!)

There's nothing more romantic than taking in the sunset* on a white sand beach.  By yourself.  When there really isn't even going to be a true sunset, as a bunch of oversized and overglorified cotton balls greedily soak up the remainder of the day's light.  Thanks a lot, clouds. 

Actually, clouds play a very important role in the sunset.  Without them, our sky would be a drab canvas without depth or texture.  It would be a big boring pale sheet, not unlike a 12 year olds first attempts at sophisticated watercolor.  And I suppose sometimes it is this, void of emotion.  But the disruptions are far more stimulating on the cornea and can really make a heart bleed.

 

Then again, a balance is appreciated.  It is nice if the entire horizon isn't wrapped up in a big blue blanket, with only a few rays beaming out of the top, their last projection begging you to crane your neck backwards just to see the final curtain call.   'Sweet dreams' the light wimpers!

Someone flicked the lightswitch aggressively and I could hear the sun squealing.  But all I could see was a lumpy navy blue.  Kind of like the climax of a Rainbow Bright episode, when the entire world is suddenly desaturated and the entire landscape withers.  Well, no plants shriveled last night and the ocean didn't bring any fish corpses to my feet immediately, so I guess I can't claim to battle the deadly devestation that Rainbow Bright does.  But as the light shrunk, I did ponder the life of a superhero, and am certain that every superhero must at some point disconnect from their career identity.  They must be average by some standards.   Not everything is about saving the world.

The following is a short list of 3 questions that have recently driven me to madness.  (Not really madness, otherwise I would probably have already scoured wikipedia and googled them and made very expensive calls to scientists and philosophers in the United States.  And probably would have the answers by now.)  But I think my 3 favorite superheroes have also asked themselves the same questions.  And if they haven't, then they should just keep saving the world and forget about ever having a normal proletarian life.

*I realize that as a collection, the photographic portion of this essay is rather kitsch and corny sentimental.  This is intentional.  Think 1993 Florida beach giftshop memorabilia.


Bernard and Bianca (2 mice from 'The Rescuers Down Under')...cheese connoisseurs.

1.  When food engineers invented 'cheese curls,' 'cheese puffs' and other fluffy fried 'cheese' creations (the ones that are found in log formation; packaged similar to a 'chip,' but not classified as one), what flavor cheese were they mimicking?  For a long time I was positive that these crunchy 'cheese' creations had no relation to cheese, not able to place their flavoring in the rotting dairy category.  It certainly doesn't look that way on the ingredients list.  And I figured that it didn't matter whether or not they tasted like what they claimed to be because they're imitations anyway, and people like them.  Besides, they give the muncher an attractive orange ring around the lips.

Last night, as I sniffed my upper lip as I always do when contemplating, I had a staunch whiff of what I had just eaten...blue cheese.  And surprisingly, I nostalgically drifted back to an era when 'Cheetos' regularly adorned my paper lunch plate.  Is it possible that such a rank, repulsive, corrupt, animosity invoking cheese is actually the foundation for such a simple overly farmed junk food?  I mean, most people who include 'Cheetos' as one of the food groups probabl would rather eat their own vomit than come within 10 feet of a stilton wheel.   I snorted a few more times, and sure enough, I was there at the picnic table, sitting across from my sister, dirtying our fingertips in orange ecstasy.

So is the flavoring of 'crispy cheese curls and friends' derived from BLUE cheese?  And if so, why aren't they blue...why are they always neon orange?

493

Pippi Longstocking (The freckle faced redhaired girl, from Astrid Lindgren)

2.  Pippi's hair is orange.  And her curly braids sort of resemble cheese curls.  Therefore I am sure she once contemplated the origin of the citrus orange's moniker.  Fashioned after the chicken and the egg question, which came first...the fruit orange, or the color orange?  Not the actual object, but the labels for each.

If the orange was called this first, and the color was then named after the fruit, that says a lot about the fruit.  Definitely an honoring of the succulent citrus in the highest format.  However, if the color was orange first, and the fruit was then named after the color, that tells me that someone was really feeling uninspired and dull the day they decided they were tired of called an orange 'orange globe.'

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The Little Mermaid (No, not Hans Christian Anderson's character...Disney's character)

3.  Although she probably didn't need to drink a lot of water because her skin was loathesomely soaking and absorbing it all day (with no visual bloating evidence...a miracle!), The Little Mermaid must have been curious about the element she hated the most. 

When it comes to nutritional implications, is plain carbonated water any less hydrating than regular flat water?  I have been really bugged about this lately.  Because I have found bubbling holey water terribly refreshing in the afternoons, especially with the zest of lime adding some zing.  I don't know, since it is only the exact same element, how those tiny stinging bubbles could make much of a difference in replenishing my system...but I do recall various sports coaches in high school scolding us for drinking anything carbonated, as something about carbonation reduces the amount of oxygen available in your muscles.  But the question is this...does carbonated water hydrate you the same as non-carbonated water?

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No more questions.

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So if you know the answers to these 3 inquiries, I invite your response.  If you don't know the answers to the above questions, I still invite your response.  I'll probably end up 'googling' it, because now that I've committed these thoughts on a platform, I am not going to be able to stop thinking about them, and also because I predict a lot of inside time today.  It looks like it's going to rain. Again.

Disgruntledelf