Cereal is a terrible breakfast food.
First off, have you ever been excited about cereal? At a breakfast buffet, are like, "Hmm, what will I- OH MAN CHEERIOS." No, it's something you have when you don't know what you want for breakfast. That already places it at a pretty mediocre level right off the bat.
You start off. You pour little tasteless flakes covered in sugaring glaze or whatnot, stuff that's barely passable as low-class trail mix, into a bowl. Then you soak them in milk, which isn't too bad since milk rocks, but have you ever tried to drink milk in the morning, just after you've woken up? It feels thick and tasteless and you can barely force the stuff down your throat, yet it's somehow passable if we put it on cereal.
So you start off eating it. It's okay. nothing really leaps out at you, but knowing cereal, all the dust and gribblets are going to be on top, sticking you with eating flavored sand while all the flakes and stuff worth eating drowns in milk. When you get to them, they are devoid of taste and completely soaked. And of course, there is the age old question of how much milk to put in a bowl? Too much, and it's just soggy goop. Too little, and you're basically eating crackers for breakfast.
And, when you're finally done, you look, disappointed, at the pool of bronwish milky remains, which is all that's left. Drinking it is the last thing you want to do, but you feel guilty leaving half of that crap still in there. Whenever I pour it into the disposal, it feels like I'm defiling my sink.
And after all this, it's still not enough! Have you ever tried to get through a morning on nothing but a bowl of cereal? It's the equivalent of crossing the Saharah desert with a bottle of water, or that's what it seems like when you're staring at the lock, willing lunchtime to come faster.
It's ridiculous. And yet, I still eat it every morning.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Stars
Stars are pretty awesome. I don't just mean 'awesome,' but AWE-some. Full of awe 'n' all that. Let's put that on the table where we both can see it. You lookin' at it? Good. Now get a blanket, some pillows, let's make a fort! While we do that, I'm going to talk about stars.
They're pretty much the pinnacle of an organized society. Every year, you can chart their locations. They move in a graceful, perpetual dance upon which our entire system of navigation is based. In a very real way, it was these objects of the future (In that we see them now as points to one day get to) that helped us spread ideas and get where we are. That is a beautiful irony.
Even the way they die is amazing. When a star collapses, its elements are actually absorbed into another star. Now you could chalk this up to stars being greedy bastards, but I think it's pretty cool. Even in death, their remains are gathered up and continue on through the great dance.
Stars are sort of used as a theme for one of my favorite characters in theater/literature: Inspector Javert. He has an incredibly rigid justice code and hounds the convict protagonist throughout the story even when he attempts to start a new, honest life. The stars are his inspiration. "Scarce to be counted, filling the darkness, with order and light, you are the sentinels, silent and sure, keeping watch in the night."
It is this view of absolute justice that brings him at odds with the protagonist, Jean Valjean. At one point, Valjean, undercover amongst a group of student revolutionaries, finds that Javert has been captured for spying, and Valjean volunteers to execute him. However, he refuses to vindicate Javert's view of "once a thief, forever a thief." And lets the inspector go, knowing full well they will meet again, which they do, in the sewers of Paris. Valjean is taking a wounded young man to safety when Javert catches up with him. Javert finds himself doubting his convictions and lets Valjean go.
He realizes that his uncompromising world view is at odds with what he has done. He cannot reconcile the image he had carried through the years of Valjean as a brutal ex-convict, with Valjean's acts of kindness. Javert can be justified neither in letting Valjean go nor in arresting him. He is faced with the choice of being either lawful or immoral. For him morality and the law have always been one. He cannot accept that Valjean is both a criminal and a good person, and, unwilling to live in such a world, throws himself into the river Seine. One of my favorite lines in the musical comes from him at this point: "I am reaching, but I falll, and the stars are black and cold."
Going back to stars themselves, this goes to show that, for all our romanticization, the stars are nothing more than masses of plasma and hydrogen, as is our own sun, which humanity once revered as a god. And there I go again. But, then again, I am, as I like to put it, a Hopeful Romantic. I think a lot of people mistake optimism and observance of such things as "hopeless" romanticism. But progress without insight is worth nothing. I mean, there are no great hymns to the wonder of wireless phones (Although that would be pretty ridiculous. We already have ringtones).
In any case, I just wanted to share some musings. Tonight, do me a favor and look up. See if there's something there that you haven't seen. Or something about the things up there that we take for granted.
Hopefully, our fort is done by now. I'd say it's pretty rad. That star thing at the top is pretty cool. Oh snap! Look out! Pirates! Everyone inside the fort! AAAGGHHH
They're pretty much the pinnacle of an organized society. Every year, you can chart their locations. They move in a graceful, perpetual dance upon which our entire system of navigation is based. In a very real way, it was these objects of the future (In that we see them now as points to one day get to) that helped us spread ideas and get where we are. That is a beautiful irony.
Even the way they die is amazing. When a star collapses, its elements are actually absorbed into another star. Now you could chalk this up to stars being greedy bastards, but I think it's pretty cool. Even in death, their remains are gathered up and continue on through the great dance.
Stars are sort of used as a theme for one of my favorite characters in theater/literature: Inspector Javert. He has an incredibly rigid justice code and hounds the convict protagonist throughout the story even when he attempts to start a new, honest life. The stars are his inspiration. "Scarce to be counted, filling the darkness, with order and light, you are the sentinels, silent and sure, keeping watch in the night."
It is this view of absolute justice that brings him at odds with the protagonist, Jean Valjean. At one point, Valjean, undercover amongst a group of student revolutionaries, finds that Javert has been captured for spying, and Valjean volunteers to execute him. However, he refuses to vindicate Javert's view of "once a thief, forever a thief." And lets the inspector go, knowing full well they will meet again, which they do, in the sewers of Paris. Valjean is taking a wounded young man to safety when Javert catches up with him. Javert finds himself doubting his convictions and lets Valjean go.
He realizes that his uncompromising world view is at odds with what he has done. He cannot reconcile the image he had carried through the years of Valjean as a brutal ex-convict, with Valjean's acts of kindness. Javert can be justified neither in letting Valjean go nor in arresting him. He is faced with the choice of being either lawful or immoral. For him morality and the law have always been one. He cannot accept that Valjean is both a criminal and a good person, and, unwilling to live in such a world, throws himself into the river Seine. One of my favorite lines in the musical comes from him at this point: "I am reaching, but I falll, and the stars are black and cold."
Going back to stars themselves, this goes to show that, for all our romanticization, the stars are nothing more than masses of plasma and hydrogen, as is our own sun, which humanity once revered as a god. And there I go again. But, then again, I am, as I like to put it, a Hopeful Romantic. I think a lot of people mistake optimism and observance of such things as "hopeless" romanticism. But progress without insight is worth nothing. I mean, there are no great hymns to the wonder of wireless phones (Although that would be pretty ridiculous. We already have ringtones).
In any case, I just wanted to share some musings. Tonight, do me a favor and look up. See if there's something there that you haven't seen. Or something about the things up there that we take for granted.
Hopefully, our fort is done by now. I'd say it's pretty rad. That star thing at the top is pretty cool. Oh snap! Look out! Pirates! Everyone inside the fort! AAAGGHHH
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
When Life Gives You Lemons
When life gives you lemons, you make lemonade. But, in order to make a legitimate glass of lemonade (any amount, really), lemons alone are wholly insufficient. What, are you just going to squeeze out the juice? You may as well just suck it, gettin' all Stonewall Jackson up in here. General S.J. was a bro. He was like Robert E. Lee-class genius. Such a bro. A secessionist bro, but you get him, his best bud Lee, Alexander the Great, and Sun Tzu in a room and watch world domination happen in a matter of hours. What was I talking about, again? Oh yeah, lemons.
No, you're gonna need, like, sugar and water at least. And have you ever tried mixing sugar, water, and lemons together? That is NOT lemonade. The last you probably made lemonade, it was probably with some strange magical powder from the grocery story (And I'm telling you, that pink is not natural.) So in addition to life giving you lemons, water, sugar, the necessary preservatives to make a typical glass of lemonade, you'd also need the necessary mixing implements. A blender, or at the very least, a toothpick to swirl it around with. And then, of course, you need a cup to put it in. Where else are you going to make it, in your mouth?
No way, life's not going to give any of that. Life's a jerk; a cruel, heartless controller who gives you citrus for no other purpose than to laugh at your inability to transcribe it into a more presentable, palette-friendly state.
When life gives you lemons, you have no other choice but to suck 'em. Like Stonewall Jackson. And then you can take over the world!
Or at least the Union. Damn Yanks!
No, you're gonna need, like, sugar and water at least. And have you ever tried mixing sugar, water, and lemons together? That is NOT lemonade. The last you probably made lemonade, it was probably with some strange magical powder from the grocery story (And I'm telling you, that pink is not natural.) So in addition to life giving you lemons, water, sugar, the necessary preservatives to make a typical glass of lemonade, you'd also need the necessary mixing implements. A blender, or at the very least, a toothpick to swirl it around with. And then, of course, you need a cup to put it in. Where else are you going to make it, in your mouth?
No way, life's not going to give any of that. Life's a jerk; a cruel, heartless controller who gives you citrus for no other purpose than to laugh at your inability to transcribe it into a more presentable, palette-friendly state.
When life gives you lemons, you have no other choice but to suck 'em. Like Stonewall Jackson. And then you can take over the world!
Or at least the Union. Damn Yanks!
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