Archive for July, 2009
Dough!
Today I would like to thank God for coming up with the idea of the cocoa bean and sugar cane. I am also thankful to the folks who figured out how to combine these basic natural phenomena with other elements to create chocolate.
I want to thank the person with the foresight to not simply use chocolate as an ingredient in a cookie, but to maintain the integrity of the chocolate within the cookie by including it as individual autonomous chips.
I especially want to thank the person who first eschewed the baking of chocolate chip cookie dough into a conventional cookie, and instead added the dough to ice cream, which is an otherwise competent stand-alone dessert. This brilliant advancement not only resulted in a dessert greater than the sum of its parts, but I believe also greatly reduced any unfortunate enduring social stigma associated with eating cookie dough.
I had assumed that with advent of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream, mankind had reached the point of diminishing returns on dessert. We created chocolate, added chips of the chocolate to cookies, and then added blobs of the cookie dough to ice cream. To that staggering achievement could there possibly be added yet another layer of goodness, and if theoretically possible, would we even have the wherewithal to try? I was skeptical.
And then I saw footage of the first moon landing. If we could put a man on the moon…
Wienermobile Revisited
Having written about my love of the Wienermobile here, I should not be surprised that some of you have made sure that I heard the news about a Wienermobile crashing into a house.
My first thought (after learning that nobody was injured) was whether the following appeared on the official police incident report:
Vehicle Type: Wiener
Model: Oscar Mayer
If I were the officer writing up such a report, I’m thinking a copy would be going in a frame.
Memoirs
Some of you reading this blog may be unaware that I used to do some similarly amateur writing that was not in a blog format. There should be a link to the old website somewhere on the side of this page or somebody on my staff is going to be fired. There are links to old entries dating way back to 2003.
When I started this blog earlier this year I intended to eventually migrate some of my favorite things from the old site over to here. So today I would like to present something I wrote in 2005 that generated lots of feedback. And when I say “lots” I mean by my standards and not, say, J.K. Rowling’s.
I’m of course pleased that some of you remember this fondly, but do wish the subject matter had been more profound. Then again, the fact that this is a “fan favorite” implicates you every bit as much as me. I edited this just a little from the original, which probably matters to nobody, but I feel compelled to mention it because other bloggers make a big deal out of noting specific changes to previous posts. I have yet to understand why. Maybe it’s just part of blog protocol, or some remnant of actual journalistic practices to which I don’t even pretend to adhere.
***From August, 2005***
WELCOME to The Ark of Mark, which takes pride that it rarely descends to “bathroom humor.” This month we are making an exception. As part of an extensive bathroom renovation, we are getting a new toilet. Did you know that, like automobile and running shoe companies, toilet manufacturers give names to different models? For example, you can buy a Kohler “Cimarron” or American Standard “Champion” toilet. I don’t have a problem with this in principle. However, I do strongly object to a particular model name in the Kohler line. With all due respect to Dave Barry, I am not making this up.
They have a toilet called “Memoirs.”
I realize that somebody in Marketing may have chosen the name “Memoirs” just because it is a nice sounding word without even considering it sounds like a euphemism in this context, but don’t you agree they should have given this more thought? They have ruined the word “Memoirs” for me forever. I just went to Google and searched on “memoirs.” Below is a brief sampling of phrases using the word. Try to read them yourself with a straight face in light of what Kohler has done:
“Memoirs of a Geisha: A Novel”
“The Darth Side: Memoirs of a Monster”
“Turning Memories into Memoirs”
“Personal Memoirs of Ulysses S. Grant” (now that’s a museum exhibit I never want to see)
For the skeptical, the link to the “Memoirs” toilet is here. As a responsible amateur Christian humor columnist, I did e-mail Kohler and ask if there was some nuance I was missing about this name. As of this writing they have not responded. For the curious, we went with a Toto “Drake” toilet. (I mention this in case I ever want to brag that I’m the only amateur Christian humor columnist to make toilet recommendations).
***From September, 2005***
WELCOME to the Ark of Mark. In our last visit we discussed the troubling decision by the Kohler Company to choose the curious and potentially disgusting name “Memoirs” for one of its toilets. In a sincere spirit of understanding, I emailed Kohler to ask if maybe I was just missing something. I have reproduced our actual exchange below. This really happened:
Mark’s email to Kohler:
I’m sorry to take up your time with a question like this, but maybe you can email me the answer. I hate to even bring this up, but do you really think Memoirs is an appropriate name for a toilet? Was this chosen just because it sounds nice without really considering what sorts of memoirs are actually associated with toilets? Or is there some other connotation I’m missing? Again, sorry to take up your time, but I’m sincerely curious. Thanks.
Here is Kohler’s actual reply:
Thank you for contacting Kohler. I do understand that Memoirs is an “odd” name for a toilet, however the name was chosen for the entire suite of products, including faucets, baths, whirlpools, sinks and accessories. I am not sure how the designer came up with the name, however we describe the suite as follows; “The sophistication of traditional design serves as the inspiration for the Memoirs Suite. With its rich detailing, this suite of products echo the stylized lines of historically renowned furniture and architectural design. Two styles offer different dignified interpretations – the clean, crisp lines of the Stately design, and the added rounded detail of the Classic style, which resembles crown molding. With fixtures and faucets available, the extensive Memoirs Suite can accommodate both large and small bath and powder rooms.” I am unsure if this response has fully answered your question, and if it has not, feel free to contact me again. Thank you for your interest in Kohler products. Lisa W
Frankly, I was impressed by Lisa’s earnest reply. It makes more sense that this name was given to a suite of products (although I still think they should give special consideration to the harsh reality of including toilets when naming a product suite). It almost makes me regret having chosen another brand of toilet. I will just have to come to terms with missing out on the dignified interpretations of historically renowned furniture and architectural design that served as the inspiration for the sophisticated traditional design of the Memoirs suite. Alas.
The Good, the Bad, and the Squeaky
Posted by Mark in Entertainment, Random on July 9th, 2009
I have never been much of a fan of Western movies. I know enough about them to know that I can capitalize “Western” in this context because it is used as a genre and not a geographic adjective. I just never wanted to watch Westerns. They just looked depressing and dirty (in the literal sense) to me.
All that changed when my beloved DVR came into my life. I started to get a little greedy when perusing the TV schedule for movies. If it was rated three or four stars and I’d heard of it, I’d record it even if it was a Western.
At first I had to make myself watch. I felt obligated to at least sample this piece of American culture. Turns out that the Western grew on me.
My disdain for Westerns probably began when I was a teenager, when I ironically considered most grown-ups to be closed-minded sticks in the mud. So now I’m approaching forty and I can do many things I would never have even considered as a teenager, such as drink coffee, eat sushi, play golf, watch NASCAR and Westerns, and care deeply about not just about Dow Jones but also his Industrial Average. (Note to teenage self: You are a buffoon).
So in the last few months I have watched Shane, Unforgiven, The Outlaw Josie Wales, The Searchers, and The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly. I finally understand the fuss over Clint Eastwood and John Wayne. I still wouldn’t say I’m a huge fan of Westerns, but I’ve definitely crossed some kind of divide (or prairie, canyon, riverbed, impasse, Rubicon, holler, etc).
And I finally learned the origin of that iconic Western musical score I’ve been hearing for years. It came from The Good, The Bad, and the Ugly. The movie merits watching for the music alone. You know the music I mean. It goes like this:
Ooh-eee-ooh-eee-ooh
wah-WAH- wah
Ooh-eee-ooh-eee-ooh
wah-wah-WAH
If you can’t tell what I’m talking about and are really curious, you can follow this link and press the “play” button near the top of the page.
All of these movies of course have some version of the same character. He is basically a loner type with a quiet but confident demeanor, who exudes some sort of vibe that makes you suspect you probably shouldn’t mess with him, which is confirmed as soon as anybody tries to mess with him. I’ve grown to like that guy.
But now I need to tell you about this bathroom door at my office building. It had a truly horrifying squeak. Drove me crazy every day, and did so for months. It was so squeaky that over time it actually heightened my squeak sensitivity. I started noticing squeaky doors everywhere, to the point that I often found myself wishing I had a can of WD-40 with me. Last weekend I was at Lowe’s and saw a display of cute little cans of WD-40, much smaller than the standard size.
Inspiration struck.
I bought a little can of WD-40. Monday I resolved to carry the can with me ALL day. I figured if I hosed down every offending hinge during the normal course of a workday, my life could be largely squeak-free for months. I loved this idea. Monday morning I got out of my car (with doors that no longer squeak) armed and ready. I was a little self-conscious as I strode across the hot, dusty parking lot. Then it happened.
Ooh-eee-ooh-eee-ooh
wah-WAH- wah
Suddenly I was not some meek, middle-aged guy in a golf shirt carrying a fun-size can of WD-40. I was Clint Eastwood sauntering into town brandishing a long rifle and a (computer) chip on my shoulder. Did I care who took notice or what they thought?
I reckon not.
I sprayed both the outer and inner entrance vestibule doors. I got the stairwell door. Next came the (horrifyingly loud) bathroom door and the inner door that led to the locker room. Soon I got the two doors leading to the stairway to the mail room. Then the two doors leading to the cafeteria. I got another bathroom door. I proceeded to a laboratory door. Finally I hit an emergency backup bathroom door that I only use when the bathroom nearby is being cleaned.
I was a squeak-eliminating fool. And now my life is a much quieter, serene place. I just need to perfect me a twirl before I put this thing back in its holster.
Go, Granny, Go
I had a birthday over the weekend. It was a low-key affair devoid of pomp and circumstance. I’m not big on circumstance and rarely countenance pomp. For my gift I picked out a fire pit at Lowe’s that should let me light things on fire in my backyard without my neighbor calling the fire department on me. I just re-read the previous sentence and am compelled to clarify that I am not thirteen.
During this birthday weekend I was putting gas in my car and noticed a neat motor scooter up by the entrance to the gas station. I have always loved motor scooters. I think they intrigue me more than actual motorcycles because I know I’ll never be bold enough to buy a true road motorcycle for fear of an inattentive driver hitting me in the ribcage with a Lincoln Navigator. But a scooter could be used to putter safely around my neighborhood.
I could see myself on a motor scooter. I even priced one once while on a business trip to China. (They have a few scooters over there in China. Maybe you’ve heard). I found one that was very reasonable but figured shipping would be an issue, especially the part where I’d have to inquire about the shipping in Chinese. I also figured it would be difficult to find replacement parts back home.
Mark: Hi. I need an oil filter and a spark plug for this scooter.
Scooter repair guy: What brand is it?
Mark: Um. China brand.
So I was eyeballing the scooter at the gas station and thinking about my birthday. Then a cute teenage girl came out of the store and walked toward the scooter. She was wearing extremely pink, extremely tight pants and carrying a Coke. Suddenly I felt very old to be riding a scooter. My window of opportunity had closed for any kind of dignified scooting. Alas.
I finished filling my gas tank and started to climb back into my car. Much to my surprise, the teenage girl had continued past the scooter and was now walking down the street. Perched atop the scooter instead was a gray-haired lady who had to be approaching sixty.
I should have thanked her for the spring she put back in my step.
Anniversary
I think blind dates get a bad rap. Wouldn’t you rather go out on a date with somebody suggested to you by a common friend who knows you both and thinks you’d get along?
Well, I guess you’d have to take into account the trustworthiness and judgment of the common friend.
Sixteen years ago today a really, really successful blind date took place. So successful that tomorrow (July 2) is our fifteenth wedding anniversary.
So I’d rate that as an outstanding first date in terms of the ultimate outcome, but as a stand-alone event it was not my smoothest moment (which is saying something as the competition for my smoothest moment award is not fierce). For one thing, it was a double-date and after dinner the other guy gave the waiter his credit card. At that point in my life I always paid cash for everything. I panicked and felt pressure to appear grown-up and sophisticated, so I got out my card, too. (There is some slim but non-zero chance that my wallet was a Velcro, which I’m pretty sure trumps the sophistication of any method of payment). When the waiter returned with the credit card receipts, I got flustered and had to confess to the table that I didn’t know what to sign, how to tip, etc. They had to teach me.
Smooth.
Also, we all rode in one car together, meaning I didn’t have much control over the logistics. For reasons I can’t remember, the other guy was ready to call it a night immediately after the movie (Jurassic Park). Since I had no wheels I either had to follow his lead or on a moment’s notice devise some sort of plan that allowed Laura and I to get dropped off where my car was so that we could go for ice cream.
Those who know me well will agree that “smooth plans” and “moment’s notice” when taken together (or, alas, separately) are not my gifts. I prefer time to process things. Thus this other guy and his date (who to her eternal credit masterminded the blind date) sat in the car and watched as I walked Laura to the door at what was probably around 9:45pm.
I got home early enough to call yet another friend to discuss the date, and her first comment was, “You’re home already!?”
So the very promising first date was cut short. Everything worked out OK because while being “smooth” is not my gift, I was at least clever enough to ask for Laura’s phone number.
I’m also clever enough to thank God for bringing her into my life. My plans may never be smooth, but His cannot be topped.