Every once in awhile I get blindsided by some incredibly obvious piece of information that was at arms length for my life but was never grasped. Typically it’s because of an assumption made on my part either relating to words or designs.
One such case popped up for me just this past weekend relating to the clothes pin.
The two holes in the clamping part of the clothes pin? THOSE ARE DESIGNED TO GO AROUND THE CLOTHESLINE! That way the pin will pinch the clothes and not the line!!!
I never started using clothes pins until now because we’re hanging up J.Atlas’ clothes to dry. And despite being Extremely familiar with the design of a clothes pin (ever since making clothes pin reindeer in 2nd grade) I never thought to question its design.
I love revelations like this.
Akrasia – the state of mind in which someone acts against their better judgment through weakness of will.
THIS IS SUCH A GOOD WORD.
Whether it’s going back for the second doughnut or hitting snooze, we all suffer through Akrasia. Except maybe Dad D. One of the things I admire most of my father is his seeming immunity to akrasia. He is visiting us this weekend and I expect nothing but massively productive, adventurous times driven by the will of a force of nature!
Is there ANYTHING more adult than using all the potatoes in a bag of potatoes before they sprout? I’m not talking about a single event sort of thing like buying a small bag of potatoes before a giant Mashed Potato fest. I’m not talking about purposefully doing everything you can to not waste the last potato. I’m talking about slowly, naturally emptying a bag over the course of a few weeks through normal meal planning.
Quick non-scientific comparisons:
- Successfully completing your own taxes – Easier than meal planning a bag of potatoes
- Having children – more common than not throwing out old potatoes
- Onset of joint aches and back spasms – Likely to occur while there are half grown potato plants in your pantry
I think the reason for this challenge is because eating a potato is not a spur of the moment thing. It means that you are planning real full meals each night of each week. As soon as a hasty order of Chinese food ends up on the meal-plan you’re about 900x more likely to ruin a potato.
This week, for I the first time in my life, we accidentally ate all our potatoes.
We’re back from our extended February vacation. Let’s jump right into something that’s been itching at me for awhile: Star Trek space birds.
There are two classic Star Trek enemy space vessels that make reference to our feathered friends:
1. The Romulan Warbird
2. The Klingon Bird of Prey
Warbird and Bird of Prey – Both are fairly ominous and dangerous sounding nicknames.
Here’s the thing, I think the Romulan Warbird most closely resembles a Goose and the Klingon Bird of Prey most closely resembles a duck. That’s not intimidating at all.
We’ve been listening to a lot of Pandora at the house and I think we’re going to bite the bullet and buy the ad-free Pandora one. I’m AMAZED that I would consider doing this because the subscription cost is $5/month. PER MONTH. But oh man. Those ads are so annoying. That this subscription is almost as much as Netflix bewilders me.
Does anyone else pay for a music subscription service that’s comparable? and is yours cheaper?
Did you know there was a contemporary art museum in Connecticut?! I DID NOT. The Aldrich Contemporary Art Museum is in Ridgefield, CT. also known as the “practically New York” part of Connecticut. For such a small state, I’m surprised things hide so well here.
The one thing I don’t like about the titles “contemporary art” and “modern art” is that the titles seems so selfish. Modern and Contemporary are adjectives that describe the current time period. Yet, in the art world these terms lose their adjectival purposes and instead seem to encompass very specific types of art. As an uneducated buffoon of the art world, this is all very confusing to me.
Either way, I’m excited to visit Ridgefield for the first time this February. I thought I had mostly exhausted the major museums of my state.
One of the executives at my company has a deep appreciation for fine watches. And just as a car aficionado loves flipping through auto-magazines crushing on the latest and greatest vehicles and technologies, so does my colleague enjoy flipping through watch publications to learn about the newest precision mechanisms.
Recently, perhaps in an effort to spread his passion or maybe to encourage me to purchase a well engineered time-piece of my own, he passed me the December edition of Watch Journal.
Watch Journal is hilariously refined. It’s as polished and clean as you’d expect it to be – even the advertisements are classy. I feel as though I should be wearing white gloves to turn its pages. And I must say, the Journal highlights some beautiful watches with fabulously complex mechanisms. There’s one, for example, that keeps track of the movement of the planets – IN REAL TIME. Watch with bated breath as Saturn takes TWENTY NINE YEARS to circle its way around the watch face. HA! Amazing.
So that’s how it happened that I was lounging in an arm-chair on a Sunday afternoon, casually perusing wrist adornments and saw a watch that was STUNNING: The Gruebel Forsey with a 24 second tourbillon. Its simple face, accented with a window to its mechanical workings, beautifully bridges the broad gap between classiness and geekery.
THIS IS A WATCH THAT I WOULD PROUDLY WEAR.
Let’s check the price!
300k USED?!?!? USED?!??!??! HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA
Last night the waxing gibbous moon, close to full, eerily lit the street. Profiles of the trees were black silhouettes against the whitish fog. I had gone outside to grab something from my car and was shocked to stillness by the deep hooting calls of owls.
There were at least two. One was a lower hu-hu-hu-hu-hoo! hoo!, the other a higher pitched version with fewer hus. They were close, but I couldn’t tell where.
I ran inside and called for Jen. We grabbed the binoculars and returned to the garage. The owls were unperturbed by the commotion.
I started walking down the street towards the sound and a great winged profile took off from the woods. It flew down the street a few hundred yards and perched atop the post for a power line. It had two tall ears and an impressive form: a great horned owl. His mate was a few trees away.
They were lit by the moon only enough that I could make out their form and the triangle of whiteness under their necks. I mistakenly startled them again, but they conveniently flew back to the house, sitting in a dead tree across the street. They sat there for as long as we watched. Hooting every few moments to fill the quiet.
I love that at age 34 I’m able to witness something so new and unexpected from nature. And I’m confident that the only reason I haven’t noticed a night owl yet, is I never stopped to look. How many more exciting discoveries await!