Recently in Miscellany Category

I had a dentist appointment today, which, because of this experience, always causes me to get a little anxious. But I like my new dentist and she hasn't hurt me (yet) so my psyche wasn't in too bad of shape.

It was time for my annual X rays, so the hygienist began by dragging out the lead-lined smock and flopping it upon my torso. I realize the smock is supposed to protect me against stray X rays, but it occurred to me as I lay there clenching the sharp dental film with my teeth that, though my chest may be shielded from the dangerous radiation, there is a friggin' X ray gun aimed directly at my head!

After the hygienist was finished, I asked her about this seemingly twisted safety protocol. She laughed and said the apron was designed to protect "vital organs" but that "they" obviously don't think the head is that vital.

She then shared that a recent study by the always-awesome researchers at the University of Washington (Go Huskies!) determined that the amount of radiation leaking from dental X ray equipment is at an all-time low and that the smock was no longer technically necessary. But, she further pointed out, the dental profession is usually pretty slow to change so I should expect to keep donning the lead smock for a while.

Slow to change. Well, I, for one, am happy that they finally got around to using anesthetic.

Ray's school sometimes hosts "Parent Education Evenings" whereupon the mommies and daddies assemble to discuss topics or listen to lectures about some aspect of child education.

Last night's event was fascinating. It featured Dr. Patricia Kuhl who is the Co-Director of the Institute for Learning and Brain Sciences at the University of Washington, and who studies early language and brain development.

Dr. Kuhl discussed a recent experiment she conducted that was designed to determine how many distinct phonemes an infant can detect. Each language, she explained, uses only a small subset of all the possible sounds humans can utter. Infant brains use a sort of statistical analysis on all the speech data they take in and their brains start to develop structures to understand and differentiate only the most frequently-occurring sounds. By around 12 months of age, babies have largely become "language specialists" and begin to lose their ability to differentiate sounds from foreign languages.

The experiment itself involved placing an infant near a loudspeaker that was emitting a repetitive stream of syllables -- for example, "la, la, la, la." The baby was distracted by a researcher opposite the speaker. After a few minutes, the speaker changed to emit a different sound -- e.g. "ra, ra, ra, ra" -- and after a moment, lights illuminated the inside of the speaker and revealed a mechanical monkey playing cymbals (which, of course, I would find absolutely terrifying). This was repeated, and shortly the infant would learn to look behind her at the speaker whenever the sound changed so she could see the funny monkey.

The experiment demonstrated that infants can detect differences between virtually all sounds, but as they age they gradually lose the ability to differentiate sounds that are not common to their native language. Dr. Kuhl referred to the "She-She Test," which used two tonally-distinct phonemes from Mandarin that even she couldn't tell apart but which her Chinese research assistants insisted were as distinct as "ra" and "la" to their ears. Babies raised in English-speaking households can initially tell the difference between "shé" and "shè", but lose the ability over time. Babies raised in Mandarin-speaking households can initially tell the difference between "ra" and "la," but gradually lose that ability over time as well.

Interestingly, Dr. Kuhl went on to demonstrate that exposing a baby from an English-speaking household to just twelve 20-minute sessions of someone speaking to them in Mandarin improved the baby's ability to differentiate Mandarin phonemes almost to the level of infants raised in Mandarin-speaking households, and vice versa.

What I found most fascinating, however, was that she conducted the same experiment replacing the actual foreign-language-speaking human with a video or audio recording of the same person saying roughly the same things, and discovered that babies' abilities did not improve at all compared to a control group. In other words, kids acquire language from personal interaction and speech but cannot do so via technology-mediated means (i.e. television or audiotapes).

So much for Muzzy.

The family ventured downtown the other day to check out the Umi Sake House (happy hour every day!). I spotted a billboard for something like Bud Light, which proclaimed the beer's "drinkability."

Seriously, this is considered a good thing? I just don't get people.

Today I read that as part of general worldwide food shortages (thanks, ethanol!), hops are in short supply thus threatening to turn all beer into "more drinkable" liquids. Now, I loves me some hoppy brew, so this is bad news.

If they'd had GPS's back when I lived in Detroit, I would have been known as, er ... the Human GPS. Or something more clever, maybe. Anyway, the point is, I had an awesome sense of direction, and could get from any point in the metropolis to any other in record time. East Grand Blvd. and Gratiot? No problem; take Warren Ave. as a shortcut. Need to get downtown at rush hour? Skip the Lodge and take Fort St. -- it's faster.

When I moved to Iowa City for graduate school, I ditched my car and became a full-time pedestrian. The IC (as I like to call it) was only about 10 square blocks, so walking everywhere presented few challenges, and I made sure to become well acquainted with Persons of Car (hi, Holly!).

I'd always believed that that little interlude forever destroyed my once formidable powers of navigation. After moving to Madison and splitting from She Who Shall Not Be Blogged About, I again assumed my role amongst our nation's motorized majority ... and proceeded to incompetently stumble around the city's streets. For the life of me, I just couldn't figure things out -- the one way streets, the diagonals, the lakes, the frustrating presence of the state capitol building right in the middle of the narrow isthmus ... I approached them with all the grace and command of Owl Eyes from The Great Gatsby (obscure enough for you?)

Recently, I was reading Malcolm Gladwell's The Tipping Point when it suddenly dawned on me that the decline of my navigational skills was never my fault.

It's Amy's fault.

Yesterday, I discovered a kindred spirit on Craigslist. No, it wasn't in the "Dating" or "Casual Encounters" section. It was under "Best of Craigslist" (who knew Craigslist has a "Best of" section?!). The author of this post describes his/her method of eating M&M's:

This is exactly how I eat M&M's! Now, I've never gone as far as this person has ("When I ... am left with one M&M, the strongest of the herd ... I pack it neatly in an envelope and send it to M&M Mars ... along with a 3x5 card reading, 'Please use this M&M for breeding purposes.'") but I do enjoy the candy-shell testing process.

When I shared this story with Amy, she revealed that her method of M&M-eating involves carefully removing the candy shell with her back teeth and then eating the remaining chocolate core separately.

We also learned that we have different techniques for consuming Twix bars. Amy removes the ends and edges and then carefully eats away the cookie part so she's left with just chocolate and caramel "for dessert." I approach the Twix in the opposite way and eat off the chocolate and caramel on top, leaving the plain cookie (with a thin residue of chocolate) as a palate cleanser.

Amy dissects the "100 Grand" bar in a similar manner, carefully removing the chocolate and crisp-rice sheathe before savoring the gooey caramel inside.

All of this is fine, and I am tolerant of alternative candy-eating lifestyles. Amy, however, has declared my method of downing a Kit Kat bar to be "wrong." I don't break the 4 individual "Kit Kat-lets" apart from each other; I approach the Kit Kat as any other candy bar and chomp right into it, pre-defined breakaway perforations be damned. To me, the skinny bars of chocolate and wafer are too insubstantial on their own; I prefer more girth (or at least more width) to my candy bar. And if that's so wrong, well then, I don't want to be right.

Even after seven years together, we still learn new stuff about each other every day!

How about you, loyal readers? Care to admit to any deviant candy-eating practices?

What do the following people have in common?

Carmen Miranda

Brazilian samba singer and motion picture star from the 1940's.


Bill Veeck

Flamboyant owner of the Cleveland Indians, St. Louis Browns, and Chicago White Sox.


William Henry Harrison

Ninth president of the United States. Died after 31 days in office.


Jim L.

Author of this blog and cosmopolitan man-about-town.


Comment it up! Answer tomorrow.

Of all the things my AT&T 8525 is good at -- email, text messaging, task management, game playing, photo taking (well, it kinda sucks at photo taking) -- it's really not very good at actually being a phone.

It's not just the silly on-screen dialpad, which is less than responsive and consists of tiny ovular buttons that my meaty man-hands always seem to mis-press. And the voice quality is actually pretty good, so it's not that either.

It's the device itself, which is designed like a brick. Actually, it's designed more lick a pack of cigarettes, only heavier. The other day, I spent the better part of an hour on the phone, and at the end of the conversation my fingers were so cramped I could barely pick up a pencil, and my elbow felt like I had played a couple sets of tennis.

I don't like wearing "earbuds" -- they are uncomfortable and activate my cord phobia (see TiedUp). And I refuse to sport a bluetooth earpiece; I have worked too hard to maintain my sanity just so I can wander the streets seeming to talk to myself.

And yet, at work, my trusty "smartphone" is my only telephone; I don't have a landline given that most of time is spent out and about. But today, I was up in my "north office" (an empty cubicle in another building that I have decided to take over until someone kicks me out) and had a chance to use an actual POTS device. While I was on hold (with tech support for my AT&T 8525, appropriately enough) it occurred to me that there are several significant advantages to the traditional telephone handset that we are in danger of losing as we move toward a more mobile-centric society.

First, the handset is easy to grab with your whole hand, whereas even the chunkiest of cell phones requires one to use a more delicate pincer-like grip, which has got to be murder on the metacarpals. Second, it's far easier to balance a traditional phone between one's shoulder and ear. You end up looking like Picasso's "The Old Guitarist" trying to do it with a 1/2"x4" piece of plastic.

So, while I was on hold, it occurred to me that someone somewhere has had to have addressed this and developed a nice, big, old-school telephone handset for mobile devices. And since I had my hands free by nesting the phone comfortably between my ear and shoulder, I was able to do some Googling.

I present to you, my new mobile handset: "The Penelope," by Hulger. It should arrive is a few days.

Designed by Nicholas Roope, whom the New York Times says "was inspired by ... disdain for the trends in cellphones, which seem to have reached a dead end with metallic and miniature becoming moronic and minuscule," the Penelope (and her siblings) "brings humanity back into the equation, with functionality no longer playing the lead role".

Now when I'm on the phone, I won't get hand cramps or look like an idiot walking around!

Well, maybe only the first part.

Over the years of working in IT, I have developed a phobia about cords. USB cables, power cords, headphones ... whatever. My heart starts racing and my breathing becomes labored whenever I have to deal with them. Why? Because they always end up tangled in ways that seem to defy common sense.

Once, at a former job, the power cord of my computer knotted itself (completely on its own) around the leg of my desk. When I pulled the desk out to retrieve a fallen object, the cord yanked the outlet out of the cubicle wall, which caused a short that, in turn, killed power to the first two floors of the library. As if that wasn't bad enough, the same thing happened two months later.

How can two cables lying peacefully under my desk one day end up in some sort of triple-bowline figure-eight double-hitch knot the next day? I have long suspected that evil little gnomes are responsible.

But I am pleased to learn that it doesn't just irritate me. An article from Science News Online reports scientists, prompted by similar frustrations, have conducted experiments that demonstrate surprisingly complex knots can arise in strings and cords after subjecting them to very little agitation.

This was not the first such experiment. The article explains:

Once again, science disproves superstition. But I'm still blaming the gnomes for stealing all my underpants.

Every now and then, Amy's not paying attention and I'm able to jimmy the lock she keeps on the basement door, get a hold of some tools, and start working on a "simple" home improvement project.

Sometimes everything works out OK, like the other day's wall sconce project. But more often than not I end up irritated or injured (or both), and the "simple" task I set out to do ends up taking eight hours and costing $300 more than I had planned. Maybe one day I'll post about the time I tried to drill a hole in the side of our house for a "quick" Ethernet wiring project and ended up somehow permanently embedding a drill bit, a socket wrench, and part of screwdriver handle in the wall (OK, I guess that was the story).

Today's simple project was to replace the water filter system under our kitchen sink. It is difficult to get filters for our existing system, and Fred Meyer had new complete systems on sale, so in a moment of optimistic spontaneity, I purchased one. I should add that I consulted with my resident home improvement project assistant before doing so. Ray assured me that we could handle this project.

And why should we have thought any differently? It says right there on the box: "Hassle Free Installation."

This afternoon, helper Ray and I cleared out the area under the kitchen sink and went to work. There were only four pieces in the box, which was heartening. Any idiot can figure out what to do with four things, I thought.

In a clear demonstration of genetic personality inheritance, Ray threw the instructions aside and wanted to know where he could start to drill.

"Hold on there, little whipper," I cautioned him in my best parental voice. "Maybe we should read the instructions first." I could hardly believe my own ears.

The instructions were pretty clear and non-threatening (measure this, mark that, etc.) until I got to the part that read:

Using a pipe cutter or hacksaw, remove a 3-inch (76 mm) section of pipe (A) from the 3/8 inch (10 mm) cold water line. Deburr ends of remaining pipe with a file.

Maybe it's just me, but as soon as "pipe cutters" and removing sections of my home's plumbing system come into play, the project ceases to be "hassle free." For me, needing to use any tool whatsoever is a hassle, but I think that there's a huge span on the hassle spectrum between a screwdriver and a pipe cutter. (And the only file I have is a nail file, but I know that's probably my issue.)

Showing my newfound ability to "learn from my prior mistakes," I dutifully packed up the four pieces, put them back in the box, and have the whole "system" ready to go back to the Fred for a refund.

And I hope it's a "hassle free" refund.

Today, Ray and I made some hors d'oeuvre for an auction happening at his school tonight. We mixed up mayonnaise and buttermilk, added chopped up sun-dried tomatoes and grated smoked gouda cheese, threw in some paprika and spread the mixture into some celery sticks. Yum.

It occurred to me afterward that the remaining stuff would nicely mix into tuna fish for the makings of a fine tuna melt sandwich. And I was right! Yummy!!

Here's the full recipe:

We were lucky in that we avoided most packaged "baby food" with Ray. He seemed to like actual people food pretty early on, so apart from the occasional jar of Earth's Best mushed-up lentils, we dealt mostly with avocados, fruit, beans, and fish.

Therefore, I had absolutely no context for this. Nay, there is no appropriate context for this. It flies in the face of all that is right and good.

The UW (where I work) recently acquired the Safeco Tower, a 14-story building on the outskirts of campus. Along with the purchase came a number of auxiliary building and parking lots surrounding the Tower. Plans are afoot for my organization to move into one of those outbuildings.

I recently learned that this little architectural gem was included in the purchase.

That's right; it's an abandoned International House of Pancakes!

I am lobbying now for my office to be in the old IHOP. I can imagine my desk being a corner booth. My computer would share space on the formica table with the caddy of colorful syrups! There'd be a never-ending supply of pancakes at every meeting!!

Rumor has it they're planning to tear the building down, but I'll chain myself to the door if I have to!

The other day, in [DebtFree], I reported that I had finally paid off my student loans. In our debt-ridden, spend-happy, bankruptcy-erupting world, the act of achieving a zero balance on a debit sheet is, in my opinion, an event to be celebrated.

It was with this mindset that I excitedly opened a letter I received yesterday from the Federal Direct Loans program. What sort of praise awaited me behind the frosted pane of the windowed envelope? Did the modest parcel contain a certificate, suitable for framing? Would it be personally signed by Margaret Spellings herself? In fact, is that a hint of perfume I detect on the flap??

Electronic Debit Account Suspended

Electronic debiting of your Direct Loan payment is being halted temporarily because we granted a deferment, forbearance, or other type of suspension of payments on your Direct Loan(s).

We will send you a Notice when electronic debiting is to resume for your monthly payment.

We require no action from you at this time.

I guess I didn't so much pay off my loan as I was granted some "other type of suspension."

I feel so ... left behind.

Apart from a crushing mortgage, I am now debt free after paying off my student loans this past week.

I was lucky enough to get through college without taking out loans, but graduate school was another story. After having been told that my program didn't admit students they didn't have funding for, I signed up only to then find out that my particular year was "exceptional" in that two of us were out of luck money-wise. I didn't have a job lined up and I had already signed a lease, so my only option was to suck at the teet of the federal government.

Student loans were remarkably easy to obtain, and so I did ... often. They enabled my relatively extravagant (for a student) lifestyle, and the convenient payback deferral meant I didn't have to worry about it so long as I remained enrolled in courses. I ended up finding a decent-paying graduate assistantship after a while, so I gradually became less dependent on aid, but by that time I had already dug myself into the hole.

But now, just over eleven years after bidding adieu to my life as an academic, I am officially "Paid in Full."