doughnut holes

I’ve always wondered why the round, bite-sized  miniature morsels of carbohydrates (and all things fattening) are commonly referred to as doughnut holes. Obviously, they come from the center of the doughnut – their forced departure caused the hole in the center – but the hole is what was left behind.

So, simply put , the hole should be an absence of dough, right?

I suppose the doughnut hole was so named by the optimist.

 

“The optimist sees the donut, the pessimist sees the hole.”
— Oscar Wilde

hello, i love you

Not at all what I said when I woke up this morning, but definitely the song that’s been stuck in my head.

[Thank you Glee.]

It’s been raining off and on all day thanks to Hurricane Hermine, which, incidentally is not pronounced “her-MY-knee” as I originally thought. Fox 4 people say that it’s “Hur-meen.” Since they are news anchors you can trust, I believe them.

I’ve moved my comfy chair outside to the balcony in the West Village apartments, and as I type, I could close my eyes and smell a thousand things – clean tire rubber, wet grass…I do rather wish I could close my eyes and smell the ocean though. I think, in a past life, I might have been a sailor.

In the present life, though, I’m simply stalling.

There’s a small part of me that feels like going to play basketball in the dark. But the practical side of me says that I’ll be wet, cold, and worn out before I’ve been out there ten minutes. I don’t feel much like being too miserable at the moment.

[It is still coming down in a steady, soothing drizzle.]

I’ve rediscovered running in the mornings – I go with a dear friend who definitely talks me into trying my very hardest to jog the full mile instead of jogging the two-thirds and walking the last third. We haven’t run in about a week now, though, so I’m afraid I’ll have a set-back and really may not make it as far.

Still stalling – I want to do my logic homework, but not really.

I find that logic is like math for arguments. It’s enjoyable only when you know the shortcuts.

So I’ve been trying to recall my former life when I did things like daily Latin exercises, diagrammed sentences in Greek, and yes, actually practiced logic exercise shortcuts. I knew valid, true arguments on site, could label syllogisms in a slightly somnolent state, and loved Venn diagrams and enthemymes. I could also say that the more our prof says the book is designed specifically for Wesleyan, the more skeptical I become of its credibility. I already dislike the way it’s put together. I suppose, that might be unfair. Kind of like a guy saying that he might enjoy her company, but just can’t get passed the way she’s put together. It’s not like it’s her fault. But really, this bit of information is neither interesting nor is it even remote scintillating. Let’s move on to stalling a little bit longer. That’s infinitely more fun.

[Hello hello. I don't know why you say goodbye, I say hello.]

More ways to stall that I’ve come up with in the last fifteen minutes have included taking a walk, cleaning my room, watching Glee, doing some laundry, researching Panhellenic rules, and devising a way to conduct a cleanse with Dora’s as my only resource. Have I mentioned that I like challenges?

Being outside and out of possible immediate distraction options has also kind of awakened within me an actual desire to get this done. So I’ll leave you, dear reader, with this parting thought:

I have heard some beautiful notes in my life, but they were nothing without the rest of the music, too.

hands of love

it’s a given that everyone has full use of their five senses, yet i think we’ve all had that moment in life where we’ve pretended to be blind, deaf, or dumb. i remember trying to make it across a messy living room without peeking or stepping on one of my legos (yes, I was a lego child). blindness was a particular favorite possibly because it was the easiest. trying to keep me quiet for more than ten minutes at a time was apparently difficult, according to parental accounts, and though i’ve been accused of selective hearing on occasion, it’s harder than it…sounds.

so tonight in service, a young man came who needed a sign language interpreter. as we sang part of “at the cross,” i happened to look his way and realized…
our interpreter was telling him the words to the song, but he would never actually hear the melody. with that realization came a whole host of others. she could repeat preacher’s words to him, but he would never hear the compassion and sincerity in preacher’s voice.

the sound of silence, empty silence is a despairing thought all on its own. i can’t begin to imagine what it’d be like when made a reality. i can’t study, think or sleep in absolute silence. yet this young man has lived for who knows how long without the ability to sense the feelings and emotions of others.

then again, he’s spent his lifetime studying non-verbal communication. gestures, a lip curled, eyebrow arched, and a shoulder shrugged. he picks up on this faster than most and responds accordingly.

most importantly, though, there are hands. hands that communicate words and all the emotional power they convey. plato called words signs and they are. signs that point to emotions and ideas in a way that really, no other form of communication can. to open a person who is deprived of sound to a small part of the way the rest of the world perceives and communicates…

in this light, communication is not just a mere means to an end – it is the conduit whereby things of the temporary world transcend into ideas that reverberate through all eternity.

found: almost heaven

i love lists. and quite by accident, i stumbled across a place that loves lists as much, if not more than i do!

http://listography.com/action/about

:happiness:

in the middle of things

I got distracted. mhmm.

So I started thinking about the movies I want to see eventually (when I have money again) and I have a list.

(yay for lists!)

Monsters v. Aliens
Fast and Furious
Knowing
Duplicity
State of Play
X-Men Origins:Wolverine
The Soloist

aaaaaaaaand fine. I’ll admit it. I really wouldn’t mind seeing the Watchmen again. there. I think it grows on you. Having time to think about it kind of helps with some of the bizarreishness of the whole thing.

I’m done being distracted now. Back to work.

rambling confessions

Yes, it’s true. I’m not a natural blogger. I don’t really like the world to know everything I’m thinking all the time. And too, I really don’t have the time for it. But I enjoy it anyway.
So I am not the natural fit for the blogosphere, and cannot admit to the smug aura others tend to take on when they mention their blog. Despite the public nature of all this, I’d be surprised if I had more than two readers. Ah well.

So blogging, for me, usually happens when plunged into the rhythm and blues of rain. There’s something about rain that makes me want to write. But now, I just find myself unable to sleep and thus, the urge to write has overtaken me. Not just any writing, however.

I have an unfinished paper, a stubbornly enigmatic website to decipher, a presentation that needs some polishing,  inexpensive grad schools to discover, and the knowledge that I must find 15 people to sign a piece of paper tomorrow. The writing that I apparently crave must be done right here. This strikes me as unnatural also.

If I may explain?

My day began much like a computer which runs a Windows operating system. I woke up at 3am, 5am, 6:40am, and finally 7:15am. As if the starts and restarts were not jarring enough, getting out the door for the somewhat unknown is always extremely difficult. I think if there were someone I could have asked to just give me a good swift kick, I likely would have been more eager to leave the comfort of my borrowed room. Thankfully, I didn’t have to make the walk alone and arrived in one piece.

It’s always so odd when I’m truly nervous about an event. I display no outward signs, no one really knows. I don’t shake like I used to (meaning my virbrato isn’t as good as it used to be), my voice doesn’t change pitch anymore, and I’m apparently quite composed. I alone am locked in with my inner-turmoil, and looking back, it seems quite silly to admit the extent to which I was nervous about this morning’s meeting. I think I just didn’t want to be remembered as the odd man out with the “great essay” and summarily dismissed. Belonging, I suppose, is quite important.

Next on the agenda? well, studying for one of the toughest professors on campus. There was an exam probably first written in 1972…no, no updates. Really, that’s all I should have to say. In fact, I could stop right here.

I did finally figure out the interconnectivity of the various functions on our brand new news website. Yes, I still have content to upload, but trying to design a start page and then four subpages and get auto content set up in a way that is easily editable…well, “easy” is not the word to use.

Anyway, everything else was just part of thursday behaving just like any other thursday. Meetings, work, homework, and bed. Yes, I think I’m finally starting to get a wee bit sleepy.

Perhaps this really does work.

tonight’s post brought to you by:

fair – remy zero

such great heights – iron and wine

come on get higher – matt nathanson

out of my hands – green river ordinance

lake eerie rainfall – jim brickman

mi mancherai – josh groban

dreamin’ – amos lee

oh no – andrew bird

i hope that i don’t fall in love with you – hootie and the blowfish

moon river – audrey hepburn

i’d go the whole wide world – wreckless eric

abandon

So apparently, cooking is a lot like love. It should be entered to with abandon, or not at all.

I have to hand it to Panera, they seem to have the recipe right. I also have to admit that there really is no other point to this particular entry other than the rainy weather.

In the last four hours, I’ve written an essay for the dreaded Humanities class, started two other essays, bookmarked articles to print and read for my English presentation, and developed a list of people to call for catering services.

Of course, all of my little beginnings are valuable. They all are items on my ever lengthening to do list of things that must be done. There never really seems to be enough time to get them done. Finishing them, however, seems to be beyond me at the moment. Rainy weather has a myriad of affects on me, but the two that happen the most often are an increase of scholasticism and a sudden urge to go to Europe. Oh. And sleeping.

So it’s been drizzling in true London fashion pretty much all day. It was quite drizzlish as I trotted from Elizabeth to the library for English. It became quite drizzly as I trudged, quite grudingly into Humanities.

As a siderant: Humanities is a field of study. NOT A SINGLE CLASS. Trying to squeeze an overview of Humanities into a single semester is not only ridiculous, but lends itself towards oversimplification and hasty generalizations.

For instance, ethnocentrism is apparently the cause of every evil thing that has ever happened in the world. And while at a very, VERY basic level that may be true, trying to make it alone the cause of genocide, world wars, extreme dictatorships, and human rights abuses is ridiculous. There are so many other factors that slide into those situations which could be blamed just as much as ethnocentrism.

Or take for example the description of Classical thought.

“IF something doesn’t measure up to classical standards, it must be lacking. (As an example that is not too threatening, consider the dominant point-of-view of nineteenth century Europeans, who basically saw the whole world outside of Europe as so inadequate that it needed to be transformed into European style culture.)”

Wow. Harsharama. Not to mention that it’s blatantly untrue. The Age of Empires [not the computer game] was coming to a close. Napoleon had just been defeated, the English felt on top of the world; and they were. They far outstripped the rest of the world in the magnitude of their trading capabilities, they eradicated slavery in the British Empire before Americans did, and their economy sky-rocketed right at about the same time. England was the largest naval power in the world. Yes, they were still into the colonisation thing, but only because they felt their economy demanded an expanded market. Not because they wanted to go force European culture on everyone. That might have been more of a side benefit.

Oh and my other favorite quote from today’s reading:

Although major universities still have departments of Classics, the general frame of reference that the Greco-Roman “classics” once provided no longer exists. What remains is a kind of subliminal odor of smug superiority among those who make their way successfully in this society, a superiority unfettered by any significant responsibility to the knowledge that made this society possible.

Honestly, if this goes on, I’m going to start thinking that the author has something against success on both individual and international levels.

Anyway. Where was I? Oh yes. Humanities.

After ducking out of Humanities, I discovered that the lazy, drizzlyish feeling of before had vanished.

Now, when I needed to trek across campus to get the shoes I had forgotten out of my car; now, when I had to actually look kind of respectable, it chose to unleash angry torrents of wetness in my general direction. The faculty descended on the Polytechnic church not unlike so many black crows just as I finished my 100 meter wet dash from parking lot to church. The paper towels in the bathroom were quite inadequate for the task of drying hair, but hey. Americans make do with what they’ve got, right?

Anyway, the short story is that despite slightly altering the recessional order, I survived convocation.

I headed to the Rambler office with the intention of being productive. I really truly got a lot done. I just can’t wait til it’s DONE. I need to get some good criticism of the site, though. I need to dig up a list of people to send it to and hopefully, things will be easier. Having the overall structure of the site down helps.

So yes. One essay, two half-essays, one list, and several bookmarks later, I think I’m ready for home. Thankfully, work cancelled on me, so I’m free.

The rain, I think, has ended for now. Norah Jones, Gavin Degraw, and Coldplay have been cozy companions, but thanks to Apple, the monkey song is totally stuck in my head.

You can’t imagine so many monkeys in the daily mail
And all of them coming anonymously so they leave no trail
I never thought I’d have an admirer from overseas
But someone is sending me stationary filled with chimpanzees.

come away with me

I am a brown paper bag.

Today was one of those Norah Jones days. Over-cast, scattered showers, and the refreshing smell of damp earth gave an atmosphere which specifically required a large mug of hot chocolate and a good book. If there were any day that I would “come away” with you on, it would be a day like this one.

All illusions of serenity aside, however, I wound up studying for my last final and then heading out into the mist, boldly armed with my notes and a grocery list for Central Market.

More than likely, I’ll end up under your kitchen sink with a few of my friends.

The test went well – life is good.
[I must say that I shall miss rhetoric and Dr. Neeley. Style & Structure spring '09, bring it on!]

I also managed to turn in my last photo-assignment. [Late, but better late than never?] I always love spending time in the darkroom and I think I’ll miss that as well.

Watching an image appear on blank paper as it floats and bobs in the developer tub is a bit like magic, and I always find myself anticipating that moment the way I would rub a pencil over the pencil rub pads as a child. [please, someone say that they remember those?]

Of course it also reminds me of the song from Sound of Music [your life, little girl, is an empty page/that men will want to write on] and then I find myself humming while counting the seconds for the development time of my print.

At any rate, I happily trotted all over campus [from psych to library, back to the art building, and then to the village] and was grateful for my choice of flip-flops for all of the puddle-hopping [and puddle-landing] I wound up performing. The best part of the day was yet to come.

I might get cut up and wrapped around an old textbook, or just stuck under something messy.

At best, grocery trips are, well, somewhere between detestable and a necessary evil. They typically involve a million calls between HQ and Field Operative Little Who 1, and entirely too many choices which then translates into more phone calls.

Do we get the organic lettuce with the slightly bruised exterior?or do we get the perfect head that has been infected with noxious toxic chemicals? Paper towels – three pack or six pack? Bread – whole grain, multi-grain, whole-wheat, or nutty? Oh and while you’re in the frozen food section, would you mind picking up strawberries from the produce section?

In short, grocery shopping is not far up there on the list of things to do do on a Norah Jones day.

Somehow, though, a visit to Central Market transforms the ordinary grocery trip into something inspirational, charming and oddly calming.

It would be nice if someone made me into a kite. I’d like to be a kite.

We were having fajitas tonight, so bell peppers and guacamole ingredients were first on the list. Looking at the red, green, yellow and orange peppers in wooden crates, open market style was enough to bring me into the marvelous world that is the culinary arts.

I am amateur at best, but I relished the feeling of picking peppers like a pro, and there’s something about shuffling through loose herbs to find the right sprigs that lends an air of sophistication to the errand.

Winding ’round the maze into the bakery usually reminds me of the open markets we visited in Italy many years ago, and those are all good memories. [remember to close your eyes and breathe: CM is not for those in a hurry] Wandering into the cheese section tends to sharpen travel memories into San Gimignano, Reggio Emilia, and Siena.

Yes, all of this fit beautifully with my Norah Jones day. Come away with me…if we don’t make it to the Caribbean or Europe, I’ll be content with Central Market.

But whatever happens, I will never forget the day I carried groceries home from Central Market.

the coffee date

Usually, I love nothing better than to walk into Panera, find a corner with access to a plug, and settle in for intense work or study. This morning, however, finds me without my headphones, and better yet, with no pressing homework to be done. So this morning, I fearlessly picked a window table (with a plug), ordered a panini (bless those Italians!) and proceeded to catch up on my current events to the tune of Bach’s Brandenburg Concerto no. 3. (one that I’ve played one too many times!) A few minutes after I’d settled in, an elderly couple – at least in their upper-sixties – casually strolled in sweat-suits and walking shoes.

I love to people-watch, and this couple had my attention from minute one. They were more than “grandpa and grandma;” had they been quite a bit younger, I would have said they were honey-mooning. Who knows, perhaps they were? Something tells me though, that this was just who they are. At any rate, they slowly walked up to the counter, holding hands, and he ordered the coffee for both of them after she whispered in his ear what she wanted.

Coincidentally, they took the table opposite mine, and the Wall Street Journal suddenly failed to hold my full attention, despite the stories on the PA primary. Most older couples I’ve seen are pretty quiet when it’s just the two of them; not these two! They sipped their coffee, smiled and chatted with each other – at one point they held hands across the table. Eventually they got ready to leave, and he stood first to pull her chair out for her and help her stand. After she deposited their coffee cups in the dish bin, they exited with his arm securely around her waist and drove off into another adventure.

Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle’s compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

Political demonstration or Sporting event?

The “Journey of Harmony” Olympic Torch relay could not have been more ironically named. The travels of the Olympic Torch are traditionally marked with parades and acclamations – the carrier of the torch treated with great respect and admiration. However this year’s controversial location of the Summer Olympic Games in Beijing, China has sparked mass protests in many of the countries it has visited.

According to the Olympic Charter, the goal of the Olympic Movement is “to contribute to building a peaceful and better world by educating youth through sport practiced without discrimination of any kind and in the Olympic spirit, which requires mutual understanding with a spirit of friendship, solidarity and fair play.” Unfortunately, many have observed that China’s human rights record, its strained relationship with Tibet and its friendly ties with Sudan stand in direct contradiction to the purpose of the Olympic spirit. Consequently, activists see the “Journey of Harmony” with its international coverage as an excellent opportunity to express protest over China’s policies.

The International Herald Tribune reported that roughly 3,000 police officers – on foot, horseback, rollerblades, motorbikes and boats in the Seine – were deployed in an attempt to prevent a repeat of the scenes played out in London. Not easily discouraged, protesters determinedly trailed the torch as it made its way through France. The crowds could nearly be described as riotous as the eternal flame was intentionally snuffed repeatedly before being whisked by French police onto a bus for the rest of the route. In San Francisco, the Torch route was kept hidden as demonstrators played a frustrating version of “where’s Waldo?” via internet postings and text messaging. Dogged by protestors from London to New Delhi, the torch’s “Journey of Harmony” has become am increasingly delicate issue for diplomats world-wide.

When all is said and done, the “Journey of Harmony” relay will have crossed five continents and stopped in over 100 places before finally reaching Beijing in August.

Many pro-democratic countries strongly disagree with China’s human rights policies and its actions in Tibet. On the one hand, lawmakers from each of the countries on the Torch route have actually participated in protest demonstrations while some leaders are abstaining from attendance at the Opening Ceremonies. A handful of countries including France, Belgium and Norway, as well as the president of the European Union’s parliament, have discussed the consideration of a boycott as a symbol of displeasure over China’s handling of the Tibet protests.

Yet the Olympic Games are part of a world-wide tradition and despite the controversial policies endorsed by the government of the host country, the Olympic Games are not typically considered a political forum. Hence, the leaders of many countries, including Germany, Denmark, the United Kingdom, and Cyprus have clearly stated their determination to attend.

China has responded to the situation with a mixture of conciliatory remarks and mild offense at the insinuations proffered by the rest of the world. While vehemently defending their sovereignty over their policies and honor as the host country, Chinese officials have issued a regulation which guarantees reporters the right to travel to all parts of the country, including Tibet, and pledged to honor their commitment to improvement of human rights within their country.

Should the Olympic Games be treated as a political forum? China’s human rights track record and her macabre treatment of Tibetans should not be permitted to slip by without notice. Yet the very fact that China is willing to undertake the arduous task of playing host to hundreds of representatives from countries who oppose Chinese policies is clearly a diplomatic step in the right direction.