Playing with my food

Here's an interesting experiment to try:

Take a small, airtight Tupperware-like container and fill it with pineapple slices. Put the lid on and make sure it's sealed well. And then wait. After awhile (about an hour, depending on the size of the container and the amount of pineapple), it will blow its top. And not like in an "oops, did I leave this container open because the top is slightly ajar" sort of way. It launches off of there in a "HOLY CRAP! Someone's gonna lose an eye!" sort of way. And with a very large "POP" to boot.

I discovered this tonight at work, and the first time, no one paid much attention and I'm not sure they believed me when I mentioned what happened. So I sealed it back up and put it more prominently on my desk. Sure enough, about an hour or so later, the pineapple went off, jolting half the copy desk. It was like a really cool party trick.

I'm guessing the pineapple releases some sort of gas or something that builds pressure in the container over time, but it makes me a little nervous about eating pineapple now. I mean, eat too much and who's to say my head doesn't just explode or something?

On the other hand, I could totally take this trick on the road.
"Come one, come all! See the amazing jumping pineapples! You won't believe your eyes!*"

Pineapples ... man, those are some feisty fruits.


*Not responsible for lost or damaged eyes.

Romantic comedy de la semaine

My thoughts on "Must Love Dogs" are up at GigMatrix.

Video game players only love you when they're playing

... I don't actually know what the title of this post means, but it struck me as funny. Weird funny or ha-ha funny -- I'm not sure.

At any rate, on GigMatrix, Rob references a great commentary piece about the controversy over video games and their effect on children. Give it a read. I think the point about games becoming more complicated and mentally stimulating is a valid one. Of course, so is the point about obesity, but hey, there are games for that, too. At any rate, there is a definite learning curve to video games and that must count for something.

In other entertainment news, I finally saw "Mr. and Mrs. Smith" last week and it totally rocked the house. If anyone knows of an opening for a totally cool, kick-butt assassin, I'd like to apply. And while I still don't quite understand all the fuss about Angelina Jolie, I can kind of see the appeal. And I have to admit, if I had a man-crush, it might very well be on Brad Pitt.

I'm secure enough to admit that.

I also saw "Fantastic Four" today for no particular reason than it beat doing anything outside because somehow the Earth and the sun seem to have gotten their temperatures mixed up. It was not particularly good. I actually agree with everything Reuben said -- the best part was the trailer for "Transporter 2."

They kept giving little science lessons during the movie but then their big climactic battle relies on The Human Torch going "supernova," which really just looks like a tornado of fire, while The Invisible Girl creates a force field around it to protect Earth from being destroyed. But the whole time I kept thinking: "What does science tell us happens to fire when it's put in an airtight container? Wouldn't Johnny eat up all the oxygen in the forcefield, thus extinguishing the flame and causing himself to suffocate? It seemed like there might have been an opening at the top of the forcefield, but then why didn't everyone burn up? And if Susan can only bend the light around her anyhow, how does that create forcefields? And why does going supernova only kind of melt the asphalt in the road? That thing whole area should be freakin' lava. Maybe when they said The Human Torch could go 'supernova,' what they meant was 'really hot oven.' "

Whoa. Sorry, I kind of geeked out there for a minute.

I also saw "Zoolander" for the first time today and didn't really get it. I mean, parts of it were funny, but for the most part -- eh. I don't see what all the fuss is about. (Oh ... snap.)

Also, is it overindulgent to buy a whole pie for one's self? I ... er, I mean, I have a friend who went to the grocery store today and bought himself an entire chocolate meringue pie on a whim. It's not to take to any sort of function and no one is coming over. It's just to snack on. He feels sort of gluttonous on the one hand. But on the other ...

Mmm ... chocolate pie.

The season of lint

Two unrelated things first:
1) I'm going to try to do news of note tomorrow sometime, I swear.
2) Check out GigMatrix for my thoughts on the movie "Wedding Crashers."

Now for the main event:

Awhile back at work, somehow we got on the topic of people who make art out of lint. I think I must have scoffed at the idea, or at least expressed skepticism. But the A1 designer that night promised he would give me a piece of lint art if I slotted a story that would help him get his page proofs out before the local designer. I did, though not because of the lint bribe, and promptly forgot about it.

But now, a couple of months later, I get this from him:




And it's even framed. (It's abstract, in case you were wondering.)

And because of I doubted the power of lint to become art, one of the night metro editors decided she would create an homage to me in lint:




She apologized that the chin is weak -- she ran out of lint -- and said that she knows my eyes aren't blue, but that was the lint she had.

I choose to be flattered.

So let me admit publicly that dryer lint can indeed be made into art if you're crazy ... I mean, crafty.

No, I meant crazy.

The times, they are a-changin' ...

I've been thinking a lot about change lately because a lot of it seems to be going on around me -- friends ending relationships, a bunch of co-workers leaving, a dear friend moving away and the end of a very close friendship.

I used to love change. The best part of college and high school was that every semester, you would get new classes -- a chance to do new things, meet new people, learn things you didn't know before. It was one of the big things I missed after college. In the working world, you don't get to meet new people every several months. That seemed sad.

But now I find myself a little wary of change. I'll never want my life to be stagnant, but lately I've been feeling the desire to be a little less transient. Moving every year will do that to you after awhile, I suppose. But the desire to put down roots is a little surprising for someone who's been a bit of a jet-setting bachelor. I'm actually thinking of buying a house next year. That requires a level of commitment to your place of living that I haven't really shown yet, so the idea is a little intimidating. But I think it's about time.

I've also been thinking about goodbyes lately. I'm not always very good at them. In "High Fidelity" style, my top four memorable goodbyes (many are close, but these stick out), though these aren't in any order:

1) Third grade: SG was my first close female friend. We used to play one-on-one kickball during recess (which is just as difficult as it sounds). And we had crushes on each other. When it was time to say goodbye, though, she went to hug me. I think I threw up her arms and walked away. Looking back, I suppose I just didn't want to give that final hug -- the indication that this was it.
It was an awful thing to do, and I apologized in the first letter I wrote her after the move. She said she understood -- I was a boy after all. But still, I know it hurt her.
I don't regret much in my life, figuring I learn even from the mistakes, but that's a moment I would take back if I could.

2) Fifth grade: D and I hung out for the last time, and as her mom dropped me off back at my house, D asked if I wanted to go for ice cream. I said I couldn't because we would be leaving soon. I actually didn't know, and had I asked, I'm sure it would have been fine. But again, I think I just couldn't bear to draw it out any longer, even though it would have been nice to have those few extra moments.

3) Leaving Duluth: A great lunch with good friends. And then a bitter dessert of tears. When the guys all get choked up with each other, you know it's gonna be messy when it's time to say goodbye to the girls. And it was. I was teary the whole drive out of town.

4) Just the other day: There have been times when I've said goodbye to people knowing I would probably never see them again, but it was comforting to know that we could at least keep in touch via e-mail or phone calls. I recently said goodbye to someone I care a lot about knowing that those would probably be the last words we would ever speak to each other, and it's much harder. Most of the time we say goodbye, but don't really mean it; it's more of a "see you later" or "talk to you later." Goodbye as really goodbye ... well, it sucks. But everything in life happens for a reason, and my hope is that this decision was for the best.

But goodbyes still suck.

Brian and the Chocolate Fountain

I'm normally fairly in my element at wedding receptions. I usually know a fair amount of the people and make friends easily. I dance with as many of the single ladies as possible. And I can be charming for a night. Any longer than that, and I'm in trouble, but for a night? No problem.

And you know how there's always that one guy at the reception who dances like a crazy man and clearly has no fear of embarrassment? I am often that guy (assuming no one else has beaten me to the role). At a wedding last summer, I was the one (OK, one of the two) doing crazy dances to a "Footloose" song and breaking out the dancing staples such as The Running Man, The Sprinkler, The Shopper, Starting the Lawn Mower, Slow Thriller and all the rest. And when the DJ declared an air guitar contest, I was the one who immediately hit my knees and slid out to the middle of the dance floor to make a spectacle of myself.

So it was a little weird to find myself as a bit of a wallflower at the wedding reception I attended this weekend. The guest list leaned heavily toward family, and the number of people about my age was probably only a dozen or so, only a few of whom I knew. And only a few of the women appeared to be single. And they all left rather early before I'd worked up the courage to ask them dance.

But I had also been distracted by the woman in charge of the chocolate fountain.

Yes, they had a chocolate fountain, where chocolate cascaded down for dipping all manner of delectable items. And next to it was a girl who seemed to be about my age -- cute; seemed friendly; knew the lyrics to most of the songs the DJ played and sang along; got teary-eyed during the father-bride dance and one of the toasts; had dark blond hair and brown eyes, a combination I've always found attractive; and had a killer smile, and I'm a sucker for a good smile.

I like chocolate. I like nice, cute girls. The whole setup seemed like a gift from God.

I bided my time, waiting for the initial crowds to pass to make my first impression. And I discussed with my two friends how I should play it. I wanted something boyishly charming -- something endearing, but not too suave. These were some of the ideas that were discarded:
1) Refined: Taste the chocolate and then say, "Mmm ... tastes like a Hershey's vintage. Maybe 2003? That was a good year for chocolate."
2) Classic: "You know, if I had made the alphabet, I would have put U and I together."
3) Contemporary: "If you were an item on a McDonald's menu, you'd be called McBeautiful."
4) Sympathetic: "So are you stuck sitting here all night just to make sure that there aren't any freak chocolate accidents or something?"

There were others, but they were even less memorable. I finally decided on an approach that would somehow involve being charmingly clueless about how the chocolate fountain worked. I had never actually seen one until that night, so it seemed easy to pull off. And I know women like a man who needs a little help every once and awhile. Then I could segue into more of a get-to-know-you conversation.

When I approached, she turned and smiled -- a good sign. I smiled back.

And then I sort of panicked.

I don't remember exactly what I said, but it was definitely not smooth. It may very well have been a series of grunts and pointing back and forth between the chocolate fountain and the strawberry I was holding. At any rate, she just said, "You're doing just fine," gave me a smile that said "Your idiocy would be cute if you were, oh, 5 years old" and turned her attention back to the dance floor.

I may have mumbled something and then made my way back to my table.

It's times like that that make me think of myself when I hear the John Mayer song "My Stupid Mouth."

I went back up there a couple of times during the night, but the vibe was clearly not there. So I merely pined from afar, as I'm wont to do anyhow.

I knew I should have gone with the McBeautiful line ...

Flights of fancy

Does anyone else who watches "Lost" view plane flights differently now? I'm not scared that I'm going to crash or anything, but now every time I get on the plane, I find myself scoping out the other passengers and wondering, if we should crash on a mysterious island where polar bears and invisible man-eating monsters run amok, who among these people will make up the core group of characters that I will have to depend on?

Most of the time, I think I'd be screwed.

The in-flight magazine on my last flight had an article about Iceland and how they still believe in elves, gnomes, trolls, fairies, mountain spirits and 13 evil Santas. They also believe in ghosts and hidden beings that live in a parallel world to us but occasionally help people and eat pancakes. Many people genuinely believe in these creatures and will take major pains to avoid disturbing them. Others are skeptical, but find it best to act as if they do exist, just in case.

In a world driven by science and logic, and being of such ilk myself, I find it strangely comforting that there's still a land where people believe in magic and fairy tales -- in things unseen. It strikes me as having an element of faith to it, but without the frequent subversion that religion has endured. After all, no one ever went to war or killed anyone else because of a gnome.

And if it means you're a little more considerate of nature and have an active imagination, well, maybe we should all be so lucky as to believe in elves.

And now for a break in your regularly scheduled programming

I didn't do news in a nutshell this week. Just didn't get around to it. Sorry. I may not next week either cuz I'm going home for a few days.

But I'm posting tonight because I promised my friend Southern Belle* I would when I got home. (* Name may change at a later date. This is the fourth one I've decided on, but I think there might be something better. But I'm not thinking too clearly right now. I'm too sleepy. So it'll have to do for now. Sorry.)

Anywhooo. We went to the bar to shoot some pool after work but it was crowded and the table was taken. So instead I drank half a glass of hard cider and got a little tipsy. This should come as absolutely no surprise to those of you familiar with my alcohol intolerance. In my defense, I forgot to eat dinner at work except for some chicken noodle soup. But really, that's no defense and I'm prepared for the onslaught of snide remarks.

Anyhow, we saw embarrasingly dressed girls, including one with shorts that revealed things I'm pretty sure I should have only seen if I were married to her. Then we left, and Southern Belle was kind enough to drive me home even though I live on the other side of town from her just because I'd rather be safe than stupid.

Mostly, I oohed and aahed at the lightning and we listened to a very good CD by this guy. His name isn't Joshua Jackson, because that's Pacey from Dawson's Creek, and it was definitely not Pacey singing, but the name is something like that. It has a Joshua in it. Or a Jackson. Or something like that.
I also realized I have a hard time carrying a tune when I'm tipsy. Which is a good mental note for the next time I sing karaoke.

Anyhow, not-Pacey is cool. You should check him out.

There's really nothing more exciting to report. Hmmm ... sorry about that. I got tipsy and all you got was this lousy posting.

Not such a small state when you're biking

When I decided to go up to Providence, RI, to visit a friend of mine for the Fourth of July, she suggested we could bike to the nearby town of Bristol to see the nation's oldest July Fourth parade. She figured it was about 12 miles one way. I figured I could handle that, although I warned her that I wasn't in very good shape and would probably be pretty slow, seeing as how I hadn't been to the gym in several months.
She said it wasn't a problem, she wouldn't be going that fast either.

She teaches aerobics, though, so I probably should have known better.

As it ends up, the bike ride was 35 miles roundtrip. I can honestly say that my rear end has never hurt so badly as it began to while I was on that bike ride. (And I once accidentally stabbed myself in the butt with a pencil.)

At a certain point in the trip, I began to spend a lot of time talking to God. Partially, I was asking for strength.

Mostly, I was seeing if there was any way God could turn my bike into a winged Pegasus.

Or a regular horse. It didn't have to have wings.
I wasn't being picky.

Sadly, it did not happen.

Eventually, small children began to pass me on their bikes. Then elderly people on bikes. Then elderly people with walkers.

I got into town half an hour after my friend and her boyfriend who, thankfully, was accompanying us and could keep her company while I panted behind. We saw the nation's oldest Fourth of July parade, which, at almost three hours long, should also be billed as the nation's longest parade.

But it gave me a nice break and there were guys dressed up like revolutionaries that fired muskets that frightened little children, and that's not something you normally see at a parade.

Strangely, the ride back didn't seem as bad. Maybe it was because I didn't feel in such a hurry. Or perhaps by that time, pain had simply become a familiar mistress.

But I survived and was not nearly as debilitated as I thought I might be the next day. And the trip was a fun one. But next time someone suggests biking somewhere that's not next door ...

I'm holding out for that Pegasus.

News of note: June 26-July 2

News of note is on hiatus this week, although the big story is Supreme Court Justice Sandra Day O'Connor's unexpected resignation. And because she's a moderate, you can expect quite a battle in the nation's capital over her replacement.
Sounds like fun.
Until then, have a happy Fourth, everyone!