October 2007


Someone at work brought in Halloween candy today–it’s that time of year, and we tend to eat a lot of sweets here in corporate America regardless–and in perusing the selection, I picked up a mini-bag of Sour Skittles.  I hadn’t had them in an age and a half, but they seemed to fit my mood.  (You can buy Starburst here in the vending machine, so that was out.)

Anyhow, in consuming the package, I realized I’d forgotten how much I enjoy sour/sweet candy.  I used to eat it in spades as a kid, but lately I haven’t really had access to it.  ‘Taste maturity’, maybe, or maybe I just decided on things that didn’t give a slight burst of pain when one consumed them.  The problem is that the pain of the sourness is the whole point in this candy (or at least in Sour Skittles).  The sweet part’s just a sort of reward, and the real pleasure comes from the sour part.

Is it inherited?  My mother has a penchant for everything lime and lemon, as do I.  The thing is that it has to be strong, not like Cantonese sweet and sour sauce, exactly.

Aside from the metaphors that could be rampant here, I can’t seem to find a scientific logic for this fact online, though I could have sworn I’d seen something once on the Food Network, possibly on Unwrapped.  If you know, drop a comment.

As for me, I’m wondering if I can get away with taking another packet.

Ack!  I’m so far behind in Blog Stalker that it isn’t even funny.  Been working more hours and therefore have far less energy.  Not to mention a lack of inspiration to be clever.  And then there’s Ravelry…

But I’ve resolved to catch up.  And therefore you get more pictures to satisfy your need for more ideosyncratic insight into the life of one young Midwestern woman who doesn’t mind shoving it all out there onto the Internet for you.  So look interested.

Week Three was all about transit–how do you get from place to place?  And much as I’d like to say I have a small carbon footprint and I walk a lot, that’s simply not true anymore.  Not now that I live back in the suburbs.  So I have a car, instead.  She’s my second car, after my first got fairly totaled back in March…long story.  She doesn’t really like humid weather and she has a dent in the hood from an unfortunate incident in August; the interior gets scorching in sunny weather and her previous owner had kids who spilled soda everywhere; and she gets far better highway mileage than city driving (guess which I do more of).  But I love her to bits as she is MY CAR.

Ladies, gentlemen, and other beings: Meet Betty.

She’s a 94 Maxima with a V6 engine.  And I hope to keep her a while.

First off, there will be a Blog Stalker post later today.  I promise.  I’ve just been exhausted as I went to full time this week at my job and I’m still making the circadian transition.  So when I get up the stairs, I don’t feel like taking my camera and going back down to snap a picture of my transit.  It will happen.  rly.  Oh yeah, and TV being new has been a big blow to my schedule, as well.  Between The War on PBS and all the show premieres, I’m swamped.

 Speaking of The War, I’m of two minds about it as a whole.  (For those who don’t know–it’s Ken Burns’ latest massive documentary about regular Americans during and in World War II.)  It’s wrenching, emotionally, between the veterans who speak, and the footage that Burns acquired.  To be honest, it takes a certain amount of will to remind yourself that those are actual dead bodies or wounded people or battles, filmed sixty years ago by some brave crazy men in the US military.  They’re not special effects, and most of it isn’t staged.  It’s a drastic change from where we are now, with embedded journalism and instant information.

It’s hard to remind yourself of that.  It’s hard to remind yourself of a lot of things, like that someone could be killed and the family wouldn’t find out for over a month.  And that there was so much footage taken that the public didn’t see for ages.  If they had had instantaneous communication, as we do now…would they have wanted to know?   And are the people of that time really ‘the greatest generation’ or just people who walked in towards combat blind because no one had made them aware of its horrors before, and were too disciplined by societal mores that prescribed to stay the course?

I’m thinking that the truth is somewhere in between.

And someone should have made this documentary fifteen years ago.