I can totally feel your breathless curiosity even from here: well? What high-end frou-frou snacks did your coworkers eat over the last 2 weeks, and which did they shun?
As of Friday morning:
ALL the Blueberry (13th listed ingredient) Vanilla (16th) Kale (15th) LivBars done got et! As did ALL the seaweed snacks (I didn’t even get to try them! Boohoo!). So what are the 7 items above that fell, somehow, even below those ‘hand made’ ‘organic’ ‘GMO-free’ etc. goodies?
Three (3) Grab the Gold pucks. These really are pucks. I’ve even eaten a couple. Apart from being sugar calorie bombs (as granola-based items strongly tend to be), they were pretty good. Verdict: These are worse than seaweed and kale? My coworkers are sadly mistaken.
Two (2) Go Raw Sprouted Watermelon seeds. OK, this one I kind of understand. Have not tried them myself.
One (1) Beans. This, too does not passeth understanding.
One (1) Sweet & Salty Kettle Corn – huh? (yea, it’s sideway – so sue me.)
So, there you are. The LivBars and seaweed did last to near the end, then, somehow, were more appealing to my coworkers than kettle corn and collapsed-star level dense granola pucks.
I’ll get back to the Deep Thoughts and book reviews which are what I kid myself people come to this blog for, but first, adventures in – what, exactly? Snack food virtue signalling? Stress testing of gullibility levels? Subtle Pavlovian response thresholds? You be the judge!
Earlier, mentioned the baleful reality of blueberry vanilla kale snack skeet (I’m going with ‘skeet’ as the unit name for these things. ‘Wads’ and ‘pucks’ are good, too, but ‘skeet’ is a funnier word), the existence of which skeet I had until recently been blissfully unaware. A pile of these things appeared with the last shipment of hoity-toity ‘healthy’ snack food supplied to us workers by our little software company. Said pile is directly opposite the coffee machine, and so I see it several times a day.
Well, it’s Tuesday, and, as far as I can tell, that particular skeet-pile has not been diminished at all. While this does restoring to some small degree my faith in the tiny sample of humanity I work with, it also leaves unanswered the pure scientific question: Well? What are they like?
Therefore, with some trepidation but fortified by my holy love of science, I will now take one for the team, and crack into one of these things. First, photographic evidence:
In case the messaging isn’t clear, here’s some detail:
Don’t know how good I feel about this – it’s chock-full of ingredients!
OK, with the baseline set, let’s crack into this. Visual confirmation: there is evidence that at least *1* blueberry was harmed in the making of this skeet:
Did a little more investigating – Science! must march on! – broke it apart, and maybe up to 6 blueberries actualized their highest potentials in this thing. If there’s kale anywhere here, it is very well hidden, or they used some naturally invisible variety.
No, it looks like bird-feeder overflow that somebody stepped on. I suppose “Bird Feeder Overflow Skeet!” didn’t have as much cow bell as “LivBar Blueberry Vanilla Kale”.
It smells great. Didn’t see any fingerprints, so we’re not able to confirm the ‘hand made’ claim on the packaging. Here goes:
Kinda weird. You’re shocked, I’m sure. Upfront, you get a nose full of blueberries and vanilla, and it’s kind of crunchy and sweet, but the aftertaste reminds me of a North Coast tea shop frequented by aging hemp-clad hippies. The littler seed stick in my teeth.
Verdict: Not bad, exactly, but I’m not dying for another one. I think we’ll run the experiment: how long will the remaining skeet last, in their little heap on the counter upstairs? Being mostly guys and programmers here, my money’s on: until almost everything else is gone.
Now that I’ve eaten almost all of it, Bernie is starting to sound reasonable. What’s IN these things?!?
Briefly looked over the *97* draft blog posts in my backlog. But am I finishing or discarding any of them? Noooo! I’m drafting another one! Right here, right now!
I’ve previously mentioned the froo-froo snacks thing we have going at my place of employment. The company supplies all kinds of free goodies in each of two nice kitchenettes – one upstairs, one down. This bounty includes sodas, bottled waters, fruit nectars, greek yogurts, single-serving cheeses (3 kinds) along with nuts, party mix, granola bars, fresh fruit and on and on. For an office with around 20 people in it.
We’ve recently upped the ante from this already embarrassing bounty by adding ‘healthy’ snacks from a service that supplies them in a cute cardboard box/display every couple weeks. I am weak – I tried some: they range from pretty good (e.g., coconut something-something bars – yum!) to weird (e.g., ‘jerky’ that ended up being limp sticky maple flavored bacon – huh? Bacon = good; this = weird.), as you might expect.
But I do draw the line somewhere. I have nothing against kale, per se, even if I have occasionally and with some
justification referred to it as ‘a weed with a marketing department’. But
I’m not even going to try a snack leading with ‘Blueberry-Vanilla-Kale’ in big print. I have some principles.
Also, the Gucci snack industry’s crack delivery system mutation division can’t seem to settle on terminology: are these oh-so-hip snack units bars? cookies? skeet? pucks? I’d go with ‘wads’ – ‘a delicious wad of vanilla- infused blueberries enveloped in a healthful duvet of the finest kale’ – I might try THAT, once, anyway, out of sheer cussedness.
My daughter and I sometimes kid about efforts to be holy, in what I hope is a light and not-asking-to-get-struck-down-by-lightening way. We once came up with ‘redemptive mockery’ in response to the use of the term redemptive suffering for every little inconvenience: one might piously help out a fellow sinner by mocking them relentlessly, for their own good! Look at all the humility and patience to be gained! In a similar vein, living out here in California, we get pretty touchy-feely at Mass. People tend to hold hands at the Our Father, sometimes forming circles of people so joined. I refered to this as ‘redemptive kindergarten’ to said daughter, and had the satisfaction of watching her spend the next few moments fighting off a giggle fit. At Mass. Bad Daddy! Bad!
This may have to be my default GIF from here on out:
Politics? Education? Religion? Hey, the dumpster fires have to burn themselves out eventually, right? Right? PLEASE?!?
If you want to die at home, my advice would be, don’t go to a hospital. Perhaps this will strike gentle reader as a remark overweighted on the side of the obvious; but there is some method in some of my madness. So I will begin with a careful qualification: my advice holds for Canada, and the United Kingdom, but not for all of those Natted States. (I realize there are other jurisdictions.) And even there, the impossibility of fixing “Obamacare,” without further extending its “entitlement” provisions, shows the end is coming, soon. But in Canada and UK, the future has been here for some time.
The reason, of course, is that at these higher latitudes we have so-called “single-payer” “healthcare” systems in which, as we have been reminded lately, all decision-making is concentrated in the caring-sharing State, or as I prefer to call her, Twisted Nanny. Once the paperwork is complete, and the customer has progressed from the outer to the inner waiting rooms, he is entirely in her power. He may, after reviewing her apparatus (both surgical and managerial), want to go home and die there. But she is unlikely to release him, and it will require the assistance of loyal friends and family to effect the equivalent of a prison break. (Tip: staff tend to be at their least attentive during the conventional sleeping hours.)
You see, Twisted Nanny likes to watch people die. She can become quite annoyed when others appropriate this privilege. She also likes to kill people, and has gone to considerable trouble to establish a monopoly in this regard. And given her latest powers, under legislation for “euthanasia,” she prefers to do it in her own facilities. She doesn’t make house calls, the way they do in Red China.
I’ve said that I’d never let my kids try a 10-day (unsupervised European trip – ed) in college, because what if what could have been for me comes true for them? What if they get lost, or mugged? What if they make a poor decision, choose the wrong stop, and get stranded outside an airport in a blizzard? What if they need help and can’t find it?
That one major snafu on our 10-day happened at the end, when we missed our flight back to Rome because we got off the train at the wrong stop. The airport in Brussels wouldn’t let us spend the night inside, so we huddled against the building instead, trying to stay out of the snow. The only thing we had to eat was a backpack full of Cadbury chocolates that my roommate had gotten in London.
As a parent, this story is terrifying. But it’s one of my favorite memories. We made it back to Rome cold, tired, sick of Cadbury, but alive and newly aware of our own resilience (and of the importance of navigational skills).
Ironically, protecting our kids from the pain of failure is itself a failure. It’s failing to let them experience the life we know is coming at them, the life we can’t protect them from forever.
Real choices matter to the kid, are supported by the family, and have real consequences. Leave out any of those three things, and the choosing is an illusion.
One final thing to add: kids also need to see adults sticking with the results of their own decisions. If mommy and daddy are running away – from their responsibilities, their spouses, their own kids – it becomes pretty much a given that the kids will grow up into bitter, whiny irresponsible brats. We wouldn’t want that to happen.
B. Another chart showing something or other:
It’s from Pew, whose methodology is both widely respected and, to give them the benefit of the doubt, hopelessly flawed. In general, unverified self reporting by the sort of people willing to take polls, with no concern wasted considering if the responder is at all motivated to tell the truth. (1) The questions tacitly assume that the world really does fall into convenient polar positions on virtually every subject. Which would be really, really convenient – for pollsters. So don’t give Pew polls much weight, in general.
By happenstance, about the same time I saw this I read a quip somewhere, to the effect that ‘Sir,’ Ma’am,’ and ‘Thank you’ will get you farther than a bachelor’s degree. Had to wonder: what’s the overlap between those red bars above and people who would nod at the folk wisdom of that quip? I’d quibble that a bachelor’s in something real PLUS the proper use of sir, ma’am and thank you is the real winning strategy. Nevertheless, with Pew, is often not difficult to see which of the two either/or points of view they’re hammering the world into they want us to consider enlightened.
I’ve wondered since the election about the reported 8% of blacks who voted for Trump. I believe the number was based on exit polls. Now, imagine, in the general atmosphere of the last election, if a black person would feel completely comfortable telling a stranger with a clipboard that he’d just voted for Trump. Not saying one way or the other about what the results show – just that the method used is ignoring a pretty big potential issue when it fails to account for social pressures, or just assumes they cancel out.
C. Something stupid for your possible amusement:
Something about rabbits and chickens, creatures with largely unearned reputations as pacifists, going all Wild West there’s-a-new-sheriff-in-town that cracks me up a little. One struggles a little coming up with the proper Darwinian just-so story that explains such odd behavior away. Why are the chickens not content to let the rabbits kill each other if they want to? Have they adopted them, somehow?
D. Apologies. This is plain stupid. This is what an adolescent sense of humor, + <45 seconds of web searching + <10 minutes of MS Paint will get you:
Been watching a lot of short sci-fi videos (Dust is good, especially this one as posted before) because, I dunno, some of them are pretty good and you can skip ahead when it gets dull.
One feature of many such films is the Post Apocalyptic Prelude, the little placards at the beginning that give you text with enough back story so that the action can be fit into a 10 – 15 minute film. The better the film, the less likely a Post Apocalyptic Prelude will be needed, or at least it will be shorter. But that’s not the real issue I have: every one of these assumes the same brand of DOOM. The apocalypse is always brought about by this week’s looming evil – global warming, right wing or religious totalitarians, tech run amok, aerosol spray propellant, whatever, you get the drift. The post apocalyptic world is likewise dominated by similar evils, or, for those with slightly better imaginations, mere chaos.
I will never make a film like these, which show as often as not some seriously cool film making chops. But I am sure I could come up with a better, or at least less boring and more thought-provoking Post Apocalyptic Prelude. For example:
The world’s major cities lie in ruins, their infrastructure destroyed in the Cleansing. Sociology professors, convinced any sufficiently woke person could run society’s complex machinery, seized power and brought about destruction.
Flyover, a mysterious land of near-legendary wealth and evil, stretches from the People’s Republic of Canada to the Rio Grande Marches, and from Stockton, California, to the Appalachian Mountains. Gripped with fear yet desperate to escape the chaos and hunger, a band of city dwellers use the last remaining charge in their Tesla to cross the Altamont Pass….
Back from the wilds of Livermore, after making the arduous 50 minute drive from the badlands of Del Valle Regional Park. Annual school camping trip, maybe 50 people involved. We were packed into the Dodge minivan like, well, like 5 people with more gear and supplies per person for a 2-night camp over than Amundsen’s expedition needed to reach the South Pole. Maybe I exaggerate slightly. We had no sled dogs.
We had to make do with a water spigot that was one hundred feet from the primitive wooden picnic tables – at least! – and uphill to boot! The nearest store was a 5 minute drive away, and the flush toilets were, um, primitive. We had to haul our gear and supplies 75 or more yards from the paved parking. The built-in charcoal grills could have used a good scrubbing. Our party was limited to merely 2 choices of salsa, both medium. No cell reception at all!!
So we were roughing it.
Then, Saturday evening, I was called upon to slice tomatoes for hamburgers, using only primitive tools – the kind of cheap knives one throws into the camping gear to get them out of the knife drawer. I tested the sharpest-looking knife – an orange-coated, orange-handled kitchen knife with its own orange plastic cover – on an innocent store-bought tomato to no effect besides indenting the skin a little. Push any harder, and it’s impromptu puree.
What, in a proper roughing it state of mind, to do? In a moment that woulda made Jim Bowie proud, I scanned the landscape, and found a small rock with one flat side. Washed it off (OK, Jim Bowie might not have been proud of that – he’da probably just spit on it) and used it to sharpen that orange abomination until I was slicing some (heavy duty construction) paper-thin tomato slices.
Flush with success, I considered the next obvious step: living off the land, or perhaps, water: the reservoir has trout, bass, catfish, striped bass and, it is rumored, a sturgeon or two. With a mere plus or minus $150 investment in gear, bait, licenses and permits, I could, like an old time old-timer, catch and slay one or more of the piscine creatures, use my freshly sharpened knife to clean it, and throw it on a fire of store-bought insta-lighting charcoal and voila! Moving into Lewis and Clark territory!