It's not how old you are, it's how old you hear.

Created by Train Horn

My ears are leading the life of a much younger set of hairy fluid filled tubes. The Mosquito [above] is easy, and only buys me a couple of years at best. This nice little range of tones proved that I've got sensitivity up to at least 18 kHz. And thanks to this handy graphic from the NY Times, I figure that places me somewhere around a typical Miley Cyrus fan. Unfortunately, it does not allow me to compare myself to an average 25-29 year-old.

Maybe it's just a result of increased aldosterone production, but I like to think it's a reflex of a broader leitmotif running throughout my genetics. One thing I know for sure is that it relates to my evolved mandibular situation: no wisdom teeth, one 12 year-old molar. Take that tooth decay!

In conclusion:

Vision: perfect. 

Hearing: acute as a fennec fox.

Taste: refined.

Smell: untested.

Touch: no, thank you.

Teeth: 25

poll by twiigs.com

The Ying; The Yang.

Tonight while we were both drinking alone, Skoczen reminded me that Jersey occupies a place in my heart. A dark place, but still a place. Without it there, there would only be a hole. So, Jersey, I'm sorry. I hate you, but I still need you. And Trenton, you keep on making.

5 Minutes 'til Judgements

I was just reading Nicholas Kristof's latest column in the NYTimes. He's talking about the results of implicit association tests that look at how people judge things as American vs. foreign. Turns out they're not really very good at it (Tony Blair beats Barack Obama and Kate Winslet beats Lucy Lui). Remember when another one of these tests was being used during the primaries to claim that people weren't going to vote for Obama because he's black? The point of that one was that most Americans (both black and white) subconsciously have negative associations with black faces, even if they don't think they do:

Want to know how I did on it? After hitting some keys for 5 minutes while being shown 'positive' words, 'negative' words, pictures of white faces, and pictures of black faces, I fell into that top category: Strong automatic preference for White people compared to Black people. It wasn't exactly what I wanted or expected to be told. So I took another test, this one supposed to judge my positive and negative associations with McCain and Obama:

This made me feel better about myself, and at the same time much worse about the usefulness of these tests. I went back to try the Black vs. White one again and miraculously had become slightly less (unconsciously) racist over the course of 15 minutes:

This is not appropriate.

This is the 2nd floor men's room of Van Hise Hall. That is a empty bowl of what looks like apple sauce sitting on the urinal. This is not appropriate.

Even so, it was still worth it to stop in here and get to use the Xlerator instead of the shitty vintage 1966 dryer we have up in the Linguistics Department on the 11th floor. How do I justify the $440 cost of the Xlerator? Did you read about its features? 80% less energy‽ 95% cost savings‽ This thing pays for itself, and drys your hands.

German(s) is(are) Funny

I was just on the pooper catching up on my TIME reading (it's my preferred pooping reading material) when my normally staid browsing was interrupted by: 

I went to get my car washed. In Germany, you drive through a tunnel, and there's water coming from all sides. I was sitting in my car, and I said, "Yes! This is the idea! I will try this with a condom."

Of course it was a German exclaiming this. While explaining how he had come upon the idea for spray on condoms. This interview with Jan Krause would probably be amusing in English, but in German it's hilarious. So is his official title: Kondomberater, which I think comes out to something like Condom Advisor. 

Doesn't that spray job look fun? Just makes you feel like having some sex. Some drippy yellow sex.

A Public Service Announcement

Do you know who Amara Karan is? Why not?

Last week I watched The Darjeeling Limited for the first time. It was also the first time I came across Amara. She plays Rita, the train's stewardess. She wears glasses, and when no one's watching, smokes out the window.





A post-movie google turned up her one other acting credit, St. Trinian's (in theaters now! In the UK) and her Oxford University/investment banker background. In my mind she's sort of a British Sri Lankan version Natalie Portman*, which makes her really hot. I found a bootleg version of St. Trinian's and watched it all the way through. Don't do this, but do expect more Amara Karan in your life. Here's a little starter package:

*This might be due to Natalie Portman appearing in various states of undress in the little prologue thing, Hotel Chevalier. Now they're undressing is forever linked in my mind, which I'm pretty OK with.

The Postman; Who Knows How Many Times He'll Knock

Ye Olde United States Postal Service and I have always had a somewhat hot and cold relationship. Luckily for them I'm a sucker for stamps and really like to mail things. I mean the actual mailing action, like putting envelopes or postcards(!) into mailboxes. I like it. Also, the little socialist in me likes a diktatorial national institution. The downside is that sometimes they deliberately try to keep you from getting your mail. For instance:

The Bait and Switch:
This episode began about 3 weeks ago when Il Postino tried to deliver a package to me while I wasn't home that needed a signature. Then he tried again 3 days later and left me a final notice. Which usually only comes after 3 attempts. The ingenious part of this plan though was switching the postal station were holding my package at for no apparent reason and no significant notification. This package was being hid at Madison's West side station, instead of the South side station which is both closer to my apartment and where I have always picked up my undelivered packages. Touché USPS, touché. You succeeded in returning my package to the sender before I could get to it, 1 point to you.

The Scavenger Hunt:
Today brought a new and exciting game to the mail delivery system. My mail (for apartment A) was delivered to Apt. C's mailbox. I got Apt. B's in my box, and I can only assume that Apt. B got C's mail (although I couldn't verify this due to a locked mailbox). I'm dying to know what ended up in Apt. AA! My postal game wasn't over yet though. I had been forewarned that I may be receiving an important package from Iowa City today, so I was on the lookout for it. Which is lucky because it was hiding on the 2nd floor landing, 2 stories above my apartment. Nice try Postman but I win this round.

Wisconsin News

MSN may have the 3rd highest average ticket price but I bet it has at least the 3rd most convienient bike rack also. Madison isn't exactly an airline hub of sorts, so it's not surprising that its flights aren't cheap. But how is Cincinnati #1? Doesn't a Delta hub do anything for you? Also, Atlantic City's average is only $100. But you can only fly to Florida (and possibly beautiful central Delaware), which isn't really that useful.

Milwaukee is revealed as the most coupon clipping-est city in the country (40% of adults say they do it). Followed closely by Rochester, NY (38%). The article correlates this to unusually high readership of Sunday newspapers in these cities. Which makes sense, but why is Sunday paper readership in these cities so high to start with? That's what I want to know.

I've been spending some time with Calvin & Hobbes recently. Get Fuzzy has become a regular read for me, but it won't ever top the old C&H strips. There's a great compilation of all of Calvin's exploits with snowmen here.

Light of My Life

Lightning has been a consistent part of my life recently. Last week Julia and I were having dinner at a place right on the Sound when it started to drizzle. This didn't seem so unreasonable, being that we were in Seattle. We had an umbrella over our table, so we stayed outside; we were the only ones to chose this course of action. The weather situation quickly deteriorated from this bucolic scene into a full fledged storm. At one point we're pretty sure a bolt of lightning hit the top of our umbrella. Here is a picture I found of the storm on Flikr:

The waitstaff assured us that lightning is really very rare in Seattle, which I guess I believed, but was still a little surprised by this map of lightning flash densities:

That's dramatic, and something I had never really considered before. How do you feel about kids growing up on the West Coast who don't see lightning?

On our flight back from MSP to MSN there were some storm delays. Once we finally got up into the sky it was like a fireworks display off our starboard bow (Do airplanes have port and starboard sides? Do they have bows and sterns?). I can remember see lightning while flying before, but this was sort of ridiculous. Also ridiculous was the pilot, who continued to turn into the storm until we were bouncing along on top(?) of it. And while we're on the topic, it has become clear that Northwest Airlines pilots are the worst landers in all of commercial aviation. Seriously. Unfortunately, I do not have a picture of this storm.

My third and final lightning story. Last night Madison had a doozy of a storm. It woke me up around 4:15 AM. This was confusing because my clock said 3:01 (power outage?) and annoying because I was supposed to wake up at 5:05 anyway. Here is a picture taken last night, again from Flickr:

That's it. I don't have any other point.

Madisonians divorce their cars
Divorce can sometimes be cost-effective, especially when you are divorcing your car. Four drivers, including (pictured from left) Mike Weber, Erin Carlman, Amy Groshek and David Zaks, all of Madison, signed divorce papers Thursday, getting rid of their vehicles and signing up instead to use shared cars through Community Car, a Madison organization that's been growing by leaps and bounds during this day of high-priced gasoline. Subscribers to Community Car reserve time to use one of 17 cars located around the city, without having the expense of gasoline, insurance or car payments.

Although this little blurb in The Capital Times today may seem innocuous, the message board rants that follow it prove otherwise. Read for a good time.

Karma Konversions?

I just took a trip to the DMV. Not unexpectedly I saw one of the most amazing perm mullets of my life. Short and curly up top, with a wavy mane of party down to the small of the back. It may well be the most extreme business:party ratio I've ever seen in a mullet. I was excited, and went for the camera phone. Before I snapped the picture he turned around though; this was actually a handimullet! Instead of forearms and hands he had 1 hook and 1 stub. I hesitated. Is it OK to take a picture of a mulleteer if they don't have hands? It's not like I was trying to take a picture of his hook, I wanted his mullet. Also, after interacting with him for 10 seconds I decided he may have a slight touch of the mulletard in him as well. That sealed the deal and I left without a picture. But what if he wasn't retarded? Is there a karmatic conversion rate for handicaps vis-à-vis mullets? How would a highly functional aspergermullet rate against a pegleg-mullet? What if it was Oscar Pistorious? These are serious question to which I do not have answers.

Randomized

1. I can play, to one degree or another, the following instruments: bassoon, violin, tuba, flute, harp, recorder, saxophone, bass guitar, clarinet, and oboe. Also, I was in a band in high school. We called ourselves Emanon

2. My first bike was a dark purple Huffy, known around the neighborhood as the Purple Piss Pot.

3. I own 46 pairs of pants (2 are in a pile of clothes to get rid of, so soon it will be 44).

4. Earwigs are the only animal that really freak me out. I just did an image search for them. I wish I hadn't. OK, snakes that can swim freak me out also. Land snakes are fine.

5. I've had a thing for subway systems ever since I started taking SEPTA to school in the 5th grade. In 6th grade I decided I wanted to see every station on the line I took to and from school. So one day I got on the local, rode to one end of the line, then rode to the other end of the line, then back to my normal stop. And then still had to wait for a bus to get me home. I didn't get there until close to 9:00. My parents were upset with me.

6. I'm unsure whether I love my watch-tan so much because I can't stand not wearing a watch, or I always have to wear a watch because I love my watch-tan so much.

Vomit in the Morning

Last night I was talking to Jobonga about her toothpaste selection when I heard someone puking outside my apartment. It sounded close, like right outside my window. That's disgusting, but also sort of funny. I wanted a picture, but couldn't see anything out the window. So I went outside with my flashlight and my camera to find me some regurgitate. Always risk adverse, Jobonga worried it was a ruse to lure me outside so someone could hit me over the head. That didn't happen, but I couldn't find my prize either. Until this morning:


Turns out it wasn't nearly as close to my window as I thought. I guess I was (mistakenly) assuming it was happening behind a bush, or in a corner, or somewhere not right on the sidewalk. Also, it happened twice. Classy.

In the midst of documenting this I noticed we have gotten a new "Flags Over Dane County" flag pot. I'm not sure how long it's actually been there, but there was already only 1 flag left. And that was on the other side of the street. I generally think this is a stupid idea, but I do look forward to watching people cross Monroe Street carrying a flag aloft while sitting at my desk. There will probably be pictures as I'm fairly certain that the intersection of the set of people who use flags to cross streets and the set of people who should be featured on You Shouldn't Wear That is pretty inclusive. Also, they probably find the following advice from the Dane County Safe Communities website helpful:

Tips for assertive but safe pedestrians

1. Point to the other side of the street with the flag high, while standing with at least one foot in the street (the legal trigger for drivers to yield). Look assertive!! If there's an empty parked car that can protect you, cross the parking lane in front of it so you are more visible to drivers.

2. Gauge the traffic in the lane nearest you, and make and maintain eye contact with the first driver who has time make a gradual stop (Cars take a long time to stop; at 25 mph allow 75 feet or about five car lengths, up to double that if you're doing this for the first time, if you're a slow walker, for speeders, or for bad weather conditions). Let cars who are too close to stop go on by.

3. Maintain eye contact with your selected driver; step out into his lane only when you are sure the driver is going to stop.

4. Safely cross the lane in front of the stopped car while looking for the first car in the next lane whose driver can easily stop. Then maintain eye contact with that driver. Move carefully in front of the new car across the lane as it stops. Repeat lane by lane until you have crossed all traffic lanes.

5. IMPORTANT: Whenever you can (without being distracted) give drivers a smile, a wave, or "Thanks!" to demonstrate to drivers that pedestrians appreciate their courtesy!

Remember that the flag is a helpful tool, but you still have to use normal caution. Don't ever step into the path of a car when you are not sure the driver will stop.

I'm sorry, but if you don't know how to cross a street without reading the instructions, you really shouldn't be doing it. Also, I'm not really sorry.

Won't you be my Googlegänger?

Oh NY Times how I love thee. Today we learn that there are people running around out there with our names, and we sort of like to know about them. Of course by 'we' I mean not me. Because I don't have any Googlegängers, male or female. There aren't even any Whitney Barnebys or Barnabys as far as I can tell. But here's the thing I found really interesting:

In studies involving Internet telephone directories, Social Security death index records and clinical experiments, Brett Pelham, a social psychologist, and colleagues have found in the past six years that Johnsons are more likely to wed Johnsons, women named Virginia are more likely to live in (and move to) Virginia, and people whose surname is Lane tend to have addresses that include the word “lane,” not “street.”

During the 2000 presidential campaign, people whose surnames began with B were more likely to contribute to George Bush, while those whose surnames began with G were more likely to contribute to Al Gore.

WHAT‽ People named Lane are actually more likely to live on a lane? And the letter of your last name is somehow intertwined with your political donations? The Times doesn't deign to give us the source of these data, or the actual numbers, or tell us who this Brett Pelham is who conducted these studies, but we do get this:

For each of the studies Dr. Pelham and colleagues conducted showing a connection between names and behavior, they compared their results with random chance. The number of Virginias who move to Virginia, for example, is 36 percent higher than could be expected by chance.

36% higher!

And even freakier is this:

Of the 40 Angela Sheltons that Ms. Shelton, the writer, met with in researching her book, many of them were nurses. Only one voted for George W. Bush. Seventy percent, she said, reported they had been raped, sexually assaulted or abused. (Ms. Shelton’s book, subtitled “The True Story of One Woman’s Triumph Over Sexual Abuse,” was based on a documentary she made in 2001.)

I don't know what the combined rate of rape, sexual assault, and abuse is in the general female population but I assume it's significantly less that 70%. So sexual offenders are out there just looking for Angela Sheltons to attack. Scary.

O.C.D.

Jobonga's outdated latest sent me scurrying off to the O.E.D. to see what I could learn about sny. Turns out that the only thing of note is that all of our definitions are more interesting than the lexicographers'.

Fortunately I also noticed the entry directly preceding 'sny'.

What a nice little word. Of particular interest I suspect will be meaning #2. I personally wouldn't mind a little cat-snuzzling right about now. WARNING: while included in SOWPODS, 'snuzzle' is not valid in a TWL game of Scrabble or Scabulous. Even if you do have a blank to make that extra Z.

Interestingly (to me), the O.E.D. doesn't come out and say that 'snuzzle' is a portmanteau of 'snout' and 'nuzzle', which seems fairly possible. Instead, etymologically speaking, they give it as a (possible) variant of 'nuzzle' and suggest comparing it to 'snoozle'. Okay, I will.

Not very useful really since we're just sent off to compare something else, but at least I know I'll be dreaming of "... pigs snoozling in the straw" next time I'm back in snoozledom. I can't wait. And since 'snoozle' is in the TWL, you should be expecting it to appear on my Scrabulous Bingo list in the near future. Beware.

There's something I feel I should tell you...

I've recently reached a major milestone in my iMusical life. And I'm not talking about crossing into the land of 13,000 songs either. I did that a few weeks ago, thanks for asking. No, today I would like to talk about my Play Count. I knew this day was coming, but I didn't realize I had actually entered into this new frontier until this morning when I decided to take a gander at my Top 50 Most Played playlist. And there it was staring back at me, the number 202. "No One" by Alicia Keys* had officially become my first song to hit the 200 plays mark. (WHYY, with 275 plays, isn't a song, it's a stream of the Philadelphia NPR station that I listen to pretty much every morning. So that doesn't count. Plus, its Play Count got reset in December when I accidently deleted it from my library. Otherwise it would probably be getting towards the 1,000 mark.)

So, without further ado, here are all of my songs (33 in all) which have attained the distinction of 40 or more plays:


Some of these are obvious. Of course Bon Jovi was going to be on there (twice actually), Rihanna happily sneaks in with the rising star "Breakin' Dishes" which I've had for less than 4 months, and there's certainly been a lot of MIKA played in the last year (or 11 months, exactly). Other's, well, I'm less sure about. There's no reason "Okayalright" should have been played 107 times, and while I like Gillian Welch I'm always a little taken aback how far up this list she has managed to get. The Play Count never lies though, and I refuse to hide my music listening habits any longer. In short I've decided that the 14.16 hours of my life I've spent listening to Alicia Keys so far is nothing to be embarrassed about.


*This may not be the most exciting music video but shit does Alicia look good. Possibly her best ever. But maybe that's just the hair influencing me. God that mane is hot.

Today in Pennsylvania...

Well, not Today today, but today as in March 20th, when I started this post. And the day that there were 2 interesting news bits out of the Keystone state. The first was from the Fair unfair city of Philadelphia, specifically from Geno's Steaks. Geno's, along with Pat's King of Steaks directly across the street, forms the nexus of the cheesesteak universe at 9th and Passyunk. To be clear, it's not that either Pat's or Geno's actually makes the best cheesesteak in the city, but they do serve the most cheesesteaks in the city. By far. Also, their almost identical steaks, on identical Amoroso rolls, with identical topping options (provolone, american, or whiz, fried or raw onions), engender surprisingly strong loyalties. Personally, I'm a Pat's guy. They chop their steak a little bit more, which I like, and don't have all the glitz and glamor of the Geno's storefront, which comes off a little too Wildwood, NJ for my taste. Also, their name is "Pat's King of Steaks", so they must be the best.

Anyway, a couple of years ago Geno's posted in their window a sign that read: 'This is America when ordering "Speak English"'.
Right above their long time pledge of customer satisfaction: "Management Reserves The Right To Refuse Service". When charges of racism and discrimination inevitably arose, Mr. Geno claimed he had never actually refused service to anyone because of the language they were speaking. That's probably true, I suspect any non-English speakers just got a stronger dose of the general assholery always being thrown about by the staffs of both Pat's and Geno's to all of their customers. Regardless, the sign quickly became the center of a debate over free speech/signage vs. immigrant rights, and resulted in a formal complaint to the Philadelphia Commission on Human Relations. On March 20th, after 21 months, they finally decided that no, the sign is not discriminatory. Just sort of douchy. To the best of my knowledge, as of yet there has not been a lawsuit demanding that the unnecessary quotation marks around "Speak English" be removed. But there probably should be.

Story #2 was a NY Times dispatch from Johnstown, PA, deep in the heart of the 'tucky portion of Pennsyltucky. As part of their continuing series proving how in touch they are with the common folk, the Times reported on the general apathy among the small town Pennsylvanian electorate towards the upcoming primary vote. In a proud moment for all Pennsylvanians, they conclude with a quote from a local business leader:

Peter Contacos, 42, the fourth generation of his family to own and operate Coney Island Lunch, [...] will not vote for Senator Barack Obama, “because his name is Barack Hussein Obama — case closed.” Mr. Contacos, an avid hunter who proudly displays pictures of himself with a magnificently maned lion he killed in Botswana, said he considered Mr. Obama “a terrorist.”

Overall, not a good day for Pennsylvanian in general.

Tommy, Your Pants are Ready.

Early on in our relationship Tommy saw me sew a button back onto a shirt of mine. This was during the hallowed days of 420 W. Gorham, so there was probably a Kings of Leon album playing in the background. Also, there's roughly a 45% chance that Rishi was cooking fish in the kitchen and Alex was either on the phone with his crazy ex-girlfriend or on the phone talking about his crazy ex-girlfriend. Anyway, this seems to have turned me into the guy who knows how to sew. Or, alternatively, Tommy's personal seamstress seamster. Over the years I've worked on a number of projects for him, including a jacket of which I'm particularly proud. The latest being these jeans, which had worn out in the "sensitive area".


As you can see I am no master sewer [watch your pronunciation here], but more of a utilitarian one. Besides, I'm better known for my dog covers.

On a related note, is the fact that I mend another man's clothes something I shouldn't share with the world?

Maps! Coloring! Voting!

Today I present to you a map. One might be tempted to call it a mash-up, but that would imply that there was something technological about. Or maybe that Google was somehow involved. Neither of those is true. What it is is a map of the election wards in Madison (plus Monona, Shorewood Hills, and Maple Bluff), color coded by the percent of the Democratic vote Obama got yesterday, according to the Dane Country Clerk's Office. There's nothing really surprising about this map, except maybe that Obama actually won every single ward in the metro area, and that Maple Bluff was so heavily Obama-ian. I expected more establishment out of them.

I wish I could have cross-referenced this data with voter turn out percentages for Tuesday. Especially since Tommy claims to live in the most civically active ward in the city [state], and I'd like proof of that before I believe him. Unfortunately, that information proved impossible to obtain.