Something Everyone Should Try

February 6th, 2006 by sylvieandrews

I’d like to share a recent discovery with you. Some of the credit for this should go to the L.A. Times. Not long after I noticed that my iTunes music store was beta-testing customized recommendations on me, I read the Times’ article about personalized online radio.

Apparently Yahoo has its own such music service, and there are several others, but the one I tried was Pandora.com. It’s a really neat idea, and one somewhat less commercially-oriented than iTunes. Born of something called “the Music Genome Project”, Pandora lets you create your own streaming radio station(s) based on your own musical preferences. I’m not talking one station for one genre and another for another, I’m talking refinement down to the type of instruments used or harmonies favored. One of the stations I’ve created has narrowed to “charismatic female vocalists”, “subtle vocal harmonies”, and “an electric guitar solo”. I didn’t specifically pick out those descriptions: Pandora did it for me, based on songs I said I liked. The Music Genome Project seems to be some sort of huge database classifying individual songs and artists according to a great range of criteria. I can only guess at how the filtering/decisionmaking algorithms work, but Pandora’s given me some really neat selections. It plays a mix of artists I’ve already said I like, along with new artists it considers similar based on any combination of categories. This seems a great venue for new artists: the majority of the songs I’ve had suggested to me are by bands I’ve never heard of before.

I really like this idea. I wonder if they’ve thought to include things like stated musical influences, self-reported by band members in interviews. Or maybe individual band members who might have moved between groups.

Basically, Pandora is what I’ve always wished I could do to my radio stations. I get to approve or shoot down each and every song they throw at me. There are no audible ads (tasteful visual ones, though) and no deejays. In fact, the site will even stop playing a song I don’t like, the second I veto it, apologize(!), and move on to something else. It’s free, like all radio stations should be, and the artists benefit because Pandora provides quick and easy links to purchase the songs from Amazon or iTunes.

Give it a shot. I think you’ll like it.

The Closest I Ever Came…

October 21st, 2005 by sylvieandrews

The odds of winning the California Super Lotto Jackpot are 1 in 18 million. (1)

The odds of winning the lottery are 1 in 15 million. (2)

The odds of winning the Lotto Jackpot are about 1 in 14 million. (3)

If one person purchases 50 Lotto tickets each week, they will win the jackpot about once every 5,000 years. (4)

If a car gets 25 miles per gallon, and a gallon of gas is bought for every Lotto ticket bought, there will be enough gas for about 750 round trips to the moon before the jackpot is won. (5)

It is three times more likely for a person driving ten miles to buy a Lotto ticket to be killed in a car accident than to win the jackpot. (6)

The odds are greater to be:

Dealt a royal flush on the opening hand in a poker game (1 in 649,739) (7)
Killed by terrorists while traveling abroad (1 in 650,000) (8)

Die during an average life span from:

flesh-eating bacteria (1 in 1 million)
heart disease from eating a broiled steak a week (1 in 48,000)
a lightning strike (1 in 30,000)
cancer from eating a peanut butter sandwich a day (1 in 5,000) (9)

From:
http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/pages/frontline/shows/gamble/odds/california.html.

…In light of this, what are the odds of this?

Nearly_3

Am I right in thinking that the odds of this happening are the same as the odds of getting five winning numbers, in the right order?

It’s all over now. There’s no point in my buying another lottery ticket. The stars were aligned in my favor, and they were one digit off, five times in a row, and that’s as close as I’m ever going to get.

We’ll make great pets / Dog POGs

August 30th, 2005 by sylvieandrews

*SIGH*
You know what’s depressing?

Vanity dogs. Not the dogs themselves (they’re more repulsive than depressing, usually), but the trend that has them riding around in the Louis Vuitton purses of fashionistas everywhere. THEY’RE LIVING BEINGS YOU MORONS, NOT ACCESSORIES! Does anyone else just picture that dog shitting all over Paris Hilton’s Sidekick down in the depths of that fancy bag she carries, completely unbeknownst to the paparazzi who sell the aDORable pictures to magazines? She wasn’t smiling two minutes later, boy howdy!

Have you ever pictured what people would look like if some other life form had kept them as pets and selectively bred them for thousands of years? There would be people who looked, more or less, like the wild people of old, just maybe a little more childish and sweeter than usual (I hear people seem to have bred wolves/wild dog ancestors for neotenic, or childish, characteristics).

Those people would be like the huskies and german shepherds of the pet-people. They’d have particular traits and deficiencies bred in. Just as shepherds are prone to hip displasia, or huskies are prone to impacted anal glands, these people might be hemophiliacs or have extra toes. But they’d still look like their originators, somewhat. And they’d all look a lot more like each other than real people do.

Then you’d have your pug-people and your chihuahua-people, who’d look so little like the people we know you might not even recognize them. What if our owners decided they liked small ones of us so much, they bred us down to where it was genetically impossible for our eyes to fit inside the eye sockets of our tiny skulls? What if they liked a certain type of stature so much, they bred for it even though it would mean the females couldn’t give birth without the aid of one of their veterinarians? What if it was more convenient (and attractive) to these beings to have people with no legs to speak of?

And then, after all that, what if they decided we were best kept strapped to their backs or on their arms, made to wear uncomfortable baubles that they considered precious, and forced to socialize with every other human being (or other one of themselves) that came along, whether we liked it or not?

What if some of them decided then that we were best allowed to be like our ancestors and live in caves and make fire and find fresh water to drink on our own, even though we had no idea anymore how to do those things? What if they got rid of us when we did something they didn’t understand, like laugh or get depressed?

Does anyone else remember the pot-bellied pig craze of the early 90’s? I just keep picturing what’s going to happen to these dogs when their cachet fades, or worse, when they beome _dated_ of all things. Many small breeds will live much longer than their impressionable, trendy purchaser anticipates when first she plunks down half a thou at the puppy mill. Dogs that are used to being carried everywhere will find themselves made to walk when they get old and can’t be trusted to keep bladder control in a fancy bag. (Or wait, what if the bag goes out of style before the dog does?). Either way, they’ll find themselves left at home when they used to be taken everywhere. Thousands of dogs bred for purchase towards the end of the trend will be left homeless, their value gone from hundreds of dollars to maybe twenty in the space of a few months. Remember what happened when you sat on your POG collection a little too long? Imagine if each and every one of those POGs was a living, breathing little life, and you’ll get a feel for what I’m saying.

Go buy yourself another clutch purse or chunky bracelet or something, for Pete’s sake. Leave animals out of it.

Internal Organ Fannypack! Massive Head Trauma!

August 5th, 2005 by sylvieandrews

As some of you may know, several months ago I began work at a highly-regarded prep school here in California. After three years of post-college scrabbling at clerical and retail jobs that locked me into what was essentially the same task, repeated over and over again, for hours at a time, I leaped at the chance to be someplace where thinking and variety of activity were valued.  Or where at least I have the chance to get up and STOP SITTING every once in a while. Here, I am surrounded by highly-educated thinkers, super-multitaskers and creative folks who really care about education.

Yes, it’s GREAT here. So much BRAIN power arcing around.

And what do we CARE about, here at Prep? What do we do with our massive craniums whilst working behind the scenes, preparing for our next class or project? What do we talk about at lunch?

ZOMBIES.

Ever so important. Yes, I walked into the lunchroom the other day, and ZOMBIES were THE topic of conversation.

How does one best get away from a zombie? What DRIVES the zombie? Why is it that our fear of them is so compelling? What is it, in particular, that makes the zombie so very terrifying?

I do not share this terror. I am greatly confused. Here I was, lunching with at least four of my elder co-workers, and THIS was what kept us talking until after the bell rang for the next period?

“They keep coming at you even if you blow their limbs off!”

“You can’t reason with them!”

“They’re just so PRIMAL and GROSS!”

“Yes, it’s the basic, unstoppable HUNGER that scares the crap out of me”

I am mystified! I am the most timid of the timid when it comes to burglars, rapists, road-ragers…yet I do NOT understand this zombie phobia.  People have really thought this stuff out! I’ve now had at least two people (one of them being my boyfriend) tell me that they survey potential workplaces and housing for zombie-proof-ness before entering.  Ground-level windows are a bad thing. So are glass doors. Concrete and sawed-off shotguns? Good things.

Things about which I simply don’t think in my off hours. “Off hours” being “when I’m not actively watching a zombie movie”.

Some people plan their dream homes around this!

Should I be worried? How many of you out there worry about zombies like these people?

Come on, I mean, zombies can’t climb or jump very well (“No, but when enough of them pile up against a wall…”), they can’t catch a speeding car (“No, but if enough of them pile up in the road…”), I don’t think they can swim (“…”), and they sure aren’t plotting a sneaky ambush, what with all that groaning and stinking.  What’s to fear?

I suppose, perhaps, that they’re after people like us. Because of our massive craniums and all the tasty brains to be had. Maybe it is appropriate for us to discuss this over lunch.

But if anyone asks, we were talking about Venn diagrams and Tangrams.

Manties Manties Manties

June 5th, 2005 by sylvieandrews

I hate the word “panties”. I find it patronizing and, in a way, perverse. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a prude, and this isn’t about people’s underwear being yucky. It seems like one of those personal, pointless hatreds until you realize there’s no male equivalent to the word. Why do we need two different words for men’s and women’s underwear? Why, when we’re talking about women’s knickers, do we even need a special word at all? In the end, they’re the same thing as men’s underwear, they serve the same function. Giving them the name “panties”, then, seems to have the aim of adding some other function to the garment. And, since we’re talking about women here, in my mind it’s a sexualizing function.

Think I’m being a knee-jerk feminist here and that “panties” exists only to make a necessary distinction between the male garment and the female garment? Then why do we accept “underwear” for both genders? In common speech both men and women refer to their boxers and bikinis as underwear. When I tell you that George is putting on his underwear I don’t think there’s any confusion that what we’re talking about is going to be men’s underwear of one kind or another and not women’s. If it _is_ women’s underwear he’s putting on, we usually say it’s “women’s”, “his wife’s”, or “his sister’s” that he’s wearing.

The “-ties” ending of the word especially calls to mind a recent article in Netscape’s cyber-fluff news that advised new parents against giving their daughters names ending in “ie” or “y”, as surveys found those names to curse their bearers with an easy, party-girl association. What reputation does it give our underwear? Kristi, Stephanie and Lindzy are happy to show you their panties. The real proof that the term serves a sexualizing function comes in the standard argument for its use: that `Underwear’ is just too clunky. Too utilitarian. Too boring. Not exciting (titillating, risque) enough. Not sexy. Which means we think that women’s underwear has to be sexy, and we call it “panties” to make it so.

The term is patronizing at best. “Panties” is a diminuitive of “pants”; it to me it seems best used in a sentence like “You just go put on your little panties, hon”. Anyone wearing panties is not to be taken seriously. How can you be taken seriously when what you’re wearing under your clothes sounds like the name of that girl who had a loose reputation in high school? None of the guys treated her with much respect. And think about the fact that panties sounds ridiculous when applied to what men wear. CEO George has on Calvin Klein panties under his Hugo Boss suit. Again, don’t get me wrong, this isn’t even about me wanting to deny that underwear can be sexy. It’s the next step away from naked, it can even be better-than-naked sometimes. Men and women can both be sexy in their underwear, but men don’t have to use a patronizing, diminuized term whether they’re talking about throwing theirs in the wash, lazing around the house in them, or gettin it on in them. Neither should women. And neither do women. I don’t get much of a thrill out of calling my underpants panties. I don’t hear women using it very often. So the word really does exist just for you, you man who really really wants there to be something naughty about my knickers, whether my approval is involved or not.

I’d like to give women’s underwear the right to not always be sexy, to just be underwear. Especially when I hear the little six-year-old girl in the toilet-training doll commercial proudly tell her dolly (and, by association, her toddler sister) that soon she’ll be able to wear “real big-girl panties”.

I propose the term “manties” to make things a little more even. These are what guys wear. Use it when needed, or just cut it out with the “panties” business.

SoyLentGreen is…not included.

May 25th, 2005 by sylvieandrews

The new USDA food pyramid sure has gotten its share of ridicule since its release a month or two ago. But that guy who writes Mallard Fillmore can bite my a$5 - I can’t believe he spent a week ridiculing the damn thing. Let me start by saying I’m all for the new guide. Now, I never really paid attention to the old one, and to be honest, I haven’t sat down and figured out how the new one works, visually. Something about color coding for the different food groups and a 1980’s-Olympics-style man-symbol running up the side to represent the role of exercise in it all. What I am enthusiastic about is the online journal option that’s available to anyone at the website. Sign up for “My Pyramid Tracker” and you can keep an ongoing record of what you’ve eaten and how much you’ve exercised on a given day. You start by entering basic information about yourself, like height, weight, and age. Then, each day, you make entries for how much you’ve eaten of which kinds of foods.

You can choose to analyze your food intake for specific nutritional content, relative to the recommended allowances. I like this option because it’s just fun to estimate how much selenium or folate I’ve taken in for the day, and whether it’s enough to meet my RDA. Or, you can do the typical, boring thing and worry your confused head over how many calories you’ve taken in on a given day, and simultaneously win my eternal annoyance. Then, you can choose one of two formats for entering your physical activity for the day and see how you rate relative to a physical activity score index. One format simplifies things by inferring a certain amount of activity and inactivity for the day and only having you enter the strenuous, notable stuff. The other wants you to note absolutely everything you’ve done, all day long, and for how long you’ve done it.

Needless to say, keeping track of both the food and the activity is actually kind of hard. There are some days I can’t even remember what I ate for breakfast in the morning by the time I sit down to make my entry at night. A saving grace has been the fact that I eat almost exactly the same thing, every day, for breakfast. Yes, I am THAT boring. But what makes things harder is the fact that there’s something seriously funny going on with how you have to make the food entries. In order to have an exact nutritional analysis of each food item, the USDA obviously had to collect data on certain foods in certain portions. When you make an entry, you have to pick from amongst those pre-set foods. I have no idea how they collected their food items, but it looks like a combination of self-reporting by average Americans in a scientific study, and shameless collusion with brand-name food manufacturers. Throw in the occasional clerical error by whoever had to enter all that data and the fact that the search engine uses a Soundex filter to get you results close to what you’ve typed, and you get quite an interesting mess. For instance, there are three different options for “chocolate cake made with mayonnaise”, and not one for just plain chocolate cake. There’s “french bread, whole wheat, homemade”, but not store-bought white french bread. There’s the inscrutable, like “cold cut” (they don’t specify the kind of meat), “watergate salad” and “sushi, no vegetable, no fish” (…and hence, “no sushi”?). There’s little logic to it, but there are certainly a lot of options.

I can’t decide how I feel about the branded entries. You can be more sure you’re getting a definite nutritional analysis when you can pick a definite branded item out of the list. But it can be obnoxious to have to cobble together Trader Joe’s artichoke dip out of “artichoke, globe (french), cooked” - 3 leaves, “parmesan or romano cheese” - 1 Tbsp, and “cream cheese dip” - 1 Tbsp, because it’s sure not in the directory. Brand names like Powerbar and Gatorade are easy to find, but their competitors, like Powerade, are not included. There are Lean Cuisine and Jenny Craig frozen entrees, but only certain ones. Typos sometimes trump the reliance on name branding, like when Campbells becomes CaNpbell’s. Everything’s in capitals, so it’s sometimes hard to determine a brand name, like the items “green goddess dressing” or “team cereal”, which to my mind could be cereal someone brought to team practice, cereal made from a team, or Team cereal, which I’ve never seen before. And sometimes, as is the case with plain Tropicana orange juice, you’ll find every single product by a certain company EXCEPT for the one you drank with breakfast. I just can’t tell whether some of the absences are due to the fact that no one in the study ate those particular brands, or whether certain companies paid to have their foods in the list.

I’ll venture into delicate cultural territory and say that there are some foods here I can’t really picture eating, like “cake, peanut butter, with icing”, “clam cake or patty, deviled”, or “beef salad” (mmm…beef salad). Some, like “yogurt, vanilla, lemon, coffee” sound gross as a single entry but if you take a second you can figure out what they mean. But that’s perhaps the wonderful thing about the data here; that it was obviously drawn from quite a wide range of diets. You can choose “moose”, you can choose “squirrel”, you can mark down your “manapua, filled w/bean paste, meatless”, “ray, baked or broiled” (hope that’s a fish they’re talking about), or “fish cake (kamaboko) tempura”. It’s just frustrating that with such ridiculously specific items as “beans, lima, imature, canned, low sodium”, you sometimes will still eat something for which they don’t have an analysis.

And whoever filled in “carmelized sugar” better watch their mispronouncing heinie ‘cause I’m coming after them. Even the Soundex doesn’t agree with you!

The physical activities entries are where the fun really begins. Think it’s hard to remember what you ate for breakfast? Try remembering EVERYTHING you did today, down to brushing your teeth and walking to the trash can. These are all obviously self-reported, with entries like “bookbinding”, “fishing in stream, in waders” (why do the waders matter?), and “retreat/family reunion activities, sitting, eating” sorted into categories like “self care”, “occupational” and “miscellaneous”. The “religious activities” category is a real hoot. Do “eating in church”, “standing, talking in church”, and “walk/stand combination, religious purposes, usher” really burn more calories than plain ‘ol secular walking, talking, and eating? Some of them make me wonder as to why the participants thought they needed to provide such specific information. They were in a government study, after all.

The activities database hasn’t escaped typos, either, so I can now dance “ballet or modeM, twist, jazz, tap, jitterbug” all in the same entry. Ah, yes, the modem. I dance it all the time. There’s no entry for sprinting or really fast running, but there is one for “running, on a track, team practice” which I guess I can’t use ‘cause I’m not on a team. But I do just love that if ever I’ve been “butchering animals”, “cooking Indian bread on an outside stove” (no, not challah in an indoor oven), or “canoeing, harvesting, knocking rice off stalks” (all at once), I’ll be able to analyze it.

Last, but not least, there is no USDA Physical Activity entry for sex. Because, as we all know:
healthy, good, USDA-approved Americans do not have sex.

Bummer. I know THAT would boost my fitness score. : )

All right, who convinced me to put Nads on my forehead?

May 12th, 2005 by sylvieandrews

I just Nadded my eyebrows! What an experience. Somewhat akin to peeling off a BandAid, but with better cosmetic results. Actually, this is my second go with Nad’s. I can’t quite say what brings me to do this. I get the impulse to remove my facial hair about as often as I get the urge to go shopping. That is to say, maybe once every four months, with anything actually coming of the urge on the average of about once every six months. Maybe I have a low tolerance for pain. Usually I just wander around Express and PacSun (the stores of my youth- the grown-up stores take themselves more seriously than I can) until I get disgusted with myself. And usually I don’t have any particular need to rip out my eyebrows from their follicles. But boredom is a powerful motivator.

As you might have guessed because no one here can say the name without giggling, Nad’s does not come from America. It comes from a smiley woman named Sal in Australia. Originally it was sold only through infomercials, but maybe two years ago it showed up on the shelves of my local Rite-Aid. It’s bright green and comes either as a twenty dollar pot in a box, or as a small tube (with applicator wand!) designed for facial use. Why did Nad’s appeal to me when none of the other fruity-death scented Nair-type products did? Namely, the ingredients. Where products like Nair list things like castor oil (pop quiz: what other fun thing can you make with the castor bean? Ricin!) and ammonia(?) as ingredients, Nad’s is made of nothing but fructose, glucose, molasses, vinegar, lemon juice, and food coloring. MMMM. So hard not to eat it. I held my nose, pointed my dignity in the other direction, and plunked down twenty dollars for the pot.

But it’s not so much the healthy appeal that got to me, it was more an urge of indeterminate origin. My eyebrows had been looking…heavy lately. I didn’t seem to have my normal ability simply not to care. To put this in perspective, let me say that it’s unusual for me to even be looking that closely in the mirror. Inspection is a luxury - a frivolity. I just don’t need to do it most of the time. I think I let myself experience the nagging self-doubt and attention to detail that some people call femininity only occasionally. But this past week I’d been looking at them more and more. And I started wondering what other people thought about me, without knowing it was my eyebrows that shaped their impression– what impression of surliness came from my browline. I don’t know what caused this low point, but apparently the beauty industry survives on it. And likely creates it, too. The beauty industry’s not about looking beautiful- it’s about not looking ugly. There is a difference.

Who came up with this kind of ritual? She must have really pissed off the other tribespeople, who were busy doing important things like scraping rabbit hides and poison-testing berries. Who was it that first said, “I’m going to smear sticky goo on my vestigial (albeit expressive) brow-fur, smooth a little cloth over it, then rip it off in the hopes of getting a positive reaction out of people”? And who the hell at the ad agency takes herself seriously thinking, “I wonder what insecurities I can artfully exploit (or create!) today?” I know it’s a question that’s been asked before, and gone over by sociologists and anthropologists. My question is more why women on both ends of the marketing scheme don’t take a step back and look at the ridiculousness of it all more often.

I mean, come on ladies, what does it really mean that you’re putting Nads on your face?

AniMe

May 4th, 2005 by sylvieandrews

From time to time people tell me I look like an anime character. Usually they don’t mean one character in particular, but I have in fact just found one character who bears a striking resemblance to skinny old me. I give you Haruko Haruhara, from the FLCL series (which I’ll admit I haven’t really seen).

She’s got the bad posture, the sticky-out elbows, and the weird yellow eyes. And she stole my velvet pants!Harukopic_2

The Connection Between Movies and -WHOA! HEY! Slow down!!!

April 27th, 2005 by sylvieandrews

This is short, but it just occurred to me:

Anyone who claims that movies don’t inspire the behavior of children and teenagers has never been a passenger in a car driven by a 16- to 24-year-old boy on the way home from seeing The Bourne Identity. Or The Italian Job. Or 2 Fast 2 Furious. Granted, I think that in order to observe this behavior, you have to be a 16-to 24-year-old girl.

pet peeve #2

April 9th, 2005 by sylvieandrews

It’s sherbet. SHERR-BET. Not “sherbert”. It comes from (I believe) an Arabic word that denotes a similar refreshment and is pronounced SHAR-BAHT.

I don’t like having to worry that I’ve just ordered someone’s nerdy (rainbow!) cousin at the ice cream parlor simply because you can’t pronounce it right.