Have you ever noticed that the most nutritious part of any food is also the least desirable? The rind, the stem, the membrane, the organ -- the disgusting part of fruits, vegetables or meats is always the bit that contains the best vitamins. It's maddening to be reminded this by nutrition-conscious people. I believe that most of them really don't know for sure whether they are right. They just assume that a food is nutritious if it has a revolting part.
My friend Alan once went on safari in Africa. He met friendly cannibals who were willing to chat about the cannibal experience. This surprised and delighted Alan because he's a big contributor to public television. Their discussion ranged over a number of topics and inevitably arrived at food. The cannibals were very frank about their favorite parts and what sorts of recipes were most popular. Alan was interested to learn that the cannibals' only complaint about their diet was that the most nutritious part of the human body is the hiney-hole.
I guess deep down inside -- no matter how different cultures may appear from one another -- we all share similar concerns.
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Monday, August 27, 2007
Modern Medicine
Medical doctors lead double lives. Their profession is saturated with tradition; when graduating from medical school new doctors recite an oath created by the father of medicine, Hippocrates, who lived in Greece around 400 B.C. Yet at the same time medical technology roars forward as it creates newly synthesized medications and advanced therapies.
In this time of change it would seem that doctors might themselves suffer from a crisis of identity. That's why there are several growing movements demanding that medicine return to its roots. Many doctors and medical professionals believe that ancient healing methods such as acupuncture, herbal therapy and spinal manipulation are superior and more humane than modern methods.
My friend Alan went to an alternative care physician for his hernia. He wasn't sure what to expect but Alan always has been interested in this sort of thing; he was the first person I knew who stopped eating bacon. Anyway, the doctor recommended against surgery for the hernia and suggested Alan undergo a sacred therapy that had been practiced for centuries and was currently enjoying a renaissance in the East.
Alan was excited and agreed immediately but things didn't turn out as he planned. I don't know exactly what happened because Alan wont talk about it. But it turns out that this doctor was practicing something called the "Kiss and Make It Better" method. I suppose this practice is based on the centuries-old tradition of mothers kissing the wounds of their young children to stop their crying. Anyway, the doctor kissed Alan on his hernia and Alan punched the doctor in the mouth.
Later, after showering incessantly for two days, Alan joked that the doctor couldn't treat his punch in the mouth with the Kiss and Make It Better method since it's impossible to kiss your own mouth.
In this time of change it would seem that doctors might themselves suffer from a crisis of identity. That's why there are several growing movements demanding that medicine return to its roots. Many doctors and medical professionals believe that ancient healing methods such as acupuncture, herbal therapy and spinal manipulation are superior and more humane than modern methods.
My friend Alan went to an alternative care physician for his hernia. He wasn't sure what to expect but Alan always has been interested in this sort of thing; he was the first person I knew who stopped eating bacon. Anyway, the doctor recommended against surgery for the hernia and suggested Alan undergo a sacred therapy that had been practiced for centuries and was currently enjoying a renaissance in the East.
Alan was excited and agreed immediately but things didn't turn out as he planned. I don't know exactly what happened because Alan wont talk about it. But it turns out that this doctor was practicing something called the "Kiss and Make It Better" method. I suppose this practice is based on the centuries-old tradition of mothers kissing the wounds of their young children to stop their crying. Anyway, the doctor kissed Alan on his hernia and Alan punched the doctor in the mouth.
Later, after showering incessantly for two days, Alan joked that the doctor couldn't treat his punch in the mouth with the Kiss and Make It Better method since it's impossible to kiss your own mouth.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
I am no longer Pluto
My friend Alan and I went bowling one afternoon not long after his relationship with Lana was over and “I am Pluto” folded. It was my idea that doing something out of the ordinary – such as bowling – might shake loose Alan’s depression. I stood in the lane setting up to bowl as Alan sat doodling absent-mindedly on the score board thing that projects your scores onto a screen over the lane. Alan wrote Lana’s name into an empty player box.
“Watch this Alan,” I said brightly and bowled the ball down the lane. I knocked down a few pins and thrust my fist in the air in an exaggerated gesture of triumph. Turning back to see Alan’s reaction I noticed that a crowd of elderly men – all in matching bowling shirts – were lined up looking with faces of dismay at the screen over our lane. Alan had scrawled “bowling sucks” across our score card and it was projected for all to see.
It was suddenly and remarkably silent for a bowling alley. Another afternoon bowling leaguer joined the group staring at us before I managed to stammer, “Bowling doesn’t suck.” Thinking I was speaking to him and without looking up, Alan said, “Bowling does suck.” I hissed, “Alan. Alan!” He looked up to see me rooted to the spot and then turned around to see the assembly of white-haired men lined up looking more disappointed than anything. Three lanes away a ball stuck ten pins soundly.
I met Alan's grandfather at one of his family reunions years before. Alan admired the man and when we arrived the old fellow was rocking in a chair on the porch telling his great grandchildren stories about his life. He described in graphic detail how his great grandfather was drawn and quartered by Indians. Of course, this story was inappropriate for the younger relatives and they were led away from the porch.
As the rest of the crowd went inside the house one by one, the old man tried to think of a good memory to tell as he looked around feebly. Soon he was left to sit alone with Alan and me in the fading afternoon light. I felt bad for him wanted to remain there.
We were quiet and Alan’s grandfather sat for a time and it seemed he was trying not to cry. Then slowly he began to stand up. I watched him transfixed. His thin arms quivered as he pushed up from the chair. A wisp of the old man's white hair lifted and fell in the breeze as his lips trembled and his eyes filled with determination and tears. The afghan draped over his legs slid to the floor as he stood and he wasn’t wearing any pants.
Another bowling ball rolled loudly down a lane. Alan’s response to the upset bowlers was similar to his reaction to the skinny white nakedness of his grandfather; he looked at me and murmured, “Wow.” Then he jumped up and said loudly, “You want to see why bowling sucks? I'll show you why bowling sucks!” Alan plunged his fingers into a ball and rolled it down the lane. Immediately it was a gutter-ball. He wheeled around and proclaimed, “It’s because I suck. That’s right, I suck.”
My friend Alan and I have been in a lot of scrapes, but this one was way too close. Finally, a few of the old men turned to look at each other bewildered and they filed away silently and shaking their heads. With a great sigh of relief I quickly moved to scribble over Alan's "bowling sucks" and sat down relieved.
After about a minute I said, "Alan, you know you don't suck." "I know," he said. We bowled two games, drank some beer and I could tell Alan was feeling better when he began considering whether he should steal the shoes.
“Watch this Alan,” I said brightly and bowled the ball down the lane. I knocked down a few pins and thrust my fist in the air in an exaggerated gesture of triumph. Turning back to see Alan’s reaction I noticed that a crowd of elderly men – all in matching bowling shirts – were lined up looking with faces of dismay at the screen over our lane. Alan had scrawled “bowling sucks” across our score card and it was projected for all to see.
It was suddenly and remarkably silent for a bowling alley. Another afternoon bowling leaguer joined the group staring at us before I managed to stammer, “Bowling doesn’t suck.” Thinking I was speaking to him and without looking up, Alan said, “Bowling does suck.” I hissed, “Alan. Alan!” He looked up to see me rooted to the spot and then turned around to see the assembly of white-haired men lined up looking more disappointed than anything. Three lanes away a ball stuck ten pins soundly.
I met Alan's grandfather at one of his family reunions years before. Alan admired the man and when we arrived the old fellow was rocking in a chair on the porch telling his great grandchildren stories about his life. He described in graphic detail how his great grandfather was drawn and quartered by Indians. Of course, this story was inappropriate for the younger relatives and they were led away from the porch.
As the rest of the crowd went inside the house one by one, the old man tried to think of a good memory to tell as he looked around feebly. Soon he was left to sit alone with Alan and me in the fading afternoon light. I felt bad for him wanted to remain there.
We were quiet and Alan’s grandfather sat for a time and it seemed he was trying not to cry. Then slowly he began to stand up. I watched him transfixed. His thin arms quivered as he pushed up from the chair. A wisp of the old man's white hair lifted and fell in the breeze as his lips trembled and his eyes filled with determination and tears. The afghan draped over his legs slid to the floor as he stood and he wasn’t wearing any pants.
Another bowling ball rolled loudly down a lane. Alan’s response to the upset bowlers was similar to his reaction to the skinny white nakedness of his grandfather; he looked at me and murmured, “Wow.” Then he jumped up and said loudly, “You want to see why bowling sucks? I'll show you why bowling sucks!” Alan plunged his fingers into a ball and rolled it down the lane. Immediately it was a gutter-ball. He wheeled around and proclaimed, “It’s because I suck. That’s right, I suck.”
My friend Alan and I have been in a lot of scrapes, but this one was way too close. Finally, a few of the old men turned to look at each other bewildered and they filed away silently and shaking their heads. With a great sigh of relief I quickly moved to scribble over Alan's "bowling sucks" and sat down relieved.
After about a minute I said, "Alan, you know you don't suck." "I know," he said. We bowled two games, drank some beer and I could tell Alan was feeling better when he began considering whether he should steal the shoes.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
I am still Pluto
First it was the local media that picked it up and then it grew bigger. Alan’s new idea struck a chord with many people; “I am Pluto” t-shirts and bumper stickers were everywhere, people were meeting at public spaces and forming "I am Pluto" chapters. Alan was asked to speak at several of these events and he was treated as a celebrity.
Alan and I were having lunch one day during all this and he seemed excited and happy. A woman at the restaurant recognized Alan and approached our table. She appeared to be in her mid-50’s and was wearing an “I am Pluto” t-shirt. “I just wanted to tell you how much people appreciate your work,” she said to Alan. I laughed suddenly without thinking. Both she and Alan turned to me and angrily demanded in unison, “What?!” Embarrassed, I stammered, “It’s just that Alan started this whole Pluto thing because he felt unappreciated like, you know, like the former planet. And now he’s appreciated because he made a big deal out of being unappreciated. I just thought it was funny. Sorry.” They both looked at me blankly the same way my dog does when I say his name. After the woman left I could tell that Alan was annoyed with me.
Alan began an “I am Pluto” website and blog for people who felt unappreciated, which became very popular. It was surprising how many people in the world felt unappreciated. Of course there were the occasional wise guys writing in and pulling pranks such as calling on Alan’s followers to join the “I am Uranus” group for people who feel like assholes. But generally, Alan was enjoying a time of great recognition and he was glad.
The trouble began when Alan’s relationship to Lana the receptionist began to sour. All during the “I am Pluto” phase Alan dated Lana whom he met when he mistakenly barged into the International Astrological Union to complain about Pluto’s demotion as a planet. She soothed him during that difficult time, and then she found Alan’s new-found fame exciting. Before long, though, Lana began to tire of Alan and the entire “I am Pluto” affair.
She and I were chatting one day while waiting for Alan to join us for a couple of mojitos. Lana was a very attractive lady and I could see that she enjoyed the attention of men passing by us at the bar, many of them surprisingly large and muscular. She said to me, “You are a friend of Alan’s, I can talk to you.” “Yes,” I said blinking. “I need a man who is proud of who he is. A man who does not care if others appreciate him.” “I see,” I said. Another large bar patron strolled past and smiled at Lana. As she slowly turned to return his gaze, Lana said, “A man who is Jupiter, not Pluto.”
Just then, Alan entered the bar wearing an “I am Pluto” t-shirt and holding a string tied to a small white helium balloon floating just over his head. The balloon also read “I am Pluto.”
It took Alan months to get over Lana. He even tried to win her back wearing t-shirts that read “I am Jupiter.” Some of his followers saw him wearing this shirt and were confused. A cell phone photograph of Alan standing out front of the International Astrological Union in his “I am Jupiter” shirt holding a string tied to giant helium balloon was circulated on the web. The “I am Pluto” movement was in serious trouble.
Read the exciting conclusion of "I am Pluto" in next week's My Friend Alan.
Alan and I were having lunch one day during all this and he seemed excited and happy. A woman at the restaurant recognized Alan and approached our table. She appeared to be in her mid-50’s and was wearing an “I am Pluto” t-shirt. “I just wanted to tell you how much people appreciate your work,” she said to Alan. I laughed suddenly without thinking. Both she and Alan turned to me and angrily demanded in unison, “What?!” Embarrassed, I stammered, “It’s just that Alan started this whole Pluto thing because he felt unappreciated like, you know, like the former planet. And now he’s appreciated because he made a big deal out of being unappreciated. I just thought it was funny. Sorry.” They both looked at me blankly the same way my dog does when I say his name. After the woman left I could tell that Alan was annoyed with me.
Alan began an “I am Pluto” website and blog for people who felt unappreciated, which became very popular. It was surprising how many people in the world felt unappreciated. Of course there were the occasional wise guys writing in and pulling pranks such as calling on Alan’s followers to join the “I am Uranus” group for people who feel like assholes. But generally, Alan was enjoying a time of great recognition and he was glad.
The trouble began when Alan’s relationship to Lana the receptionist began to sour. All during the “I am Pluto” phase Alan dated Lana whom he met when he mistakenly barged into the International Astrological Union to complain about Pluto’s demotion as a planet. She soothed him during that difficult time, and then she found Alan’s new-found fame exciting. Before long, though, Lana began to tire of Alan and the entire “I am Pluto” affair.
She and I were chatting one day while waiting for Alan to join us for a couple of mojitos. Lana was a very attractive lady and I could see that she enjoyed the attention of men passing by us at the bar, many of them surprisingly large and muscular. She said to me, “You are a friend of Alan’s, I can talk to you.” “Yes,” I said blinking. “I need a man who is proud of who he is. A man who does not care if others appreciate him.” “I see,” I said. Another large bar patron strolled past and smiled at Lana. As she slowly turned to return his gaze, Lana said, “A man who is Jupiter, not Pluto.”
Just then, Alan entered the bar wearing an “I am Pluto” t-shirt and holding a string tied to a small white helium balloon floating just over his head. The balloon also read “I am Pluto.”
It took Alan months to get over Lana. He even tried to win her back wearing t-shirts that read “I am Jupiter.” Some of his followers saw him wearing this shirt and were confused. A cell phone photograph of Alan standing out front of the International Astrological Union in his “I am Jupiter” shirt holding a string tied to giant helium balloon was circulated on the web. The “I am Pluto” movement was in serious trouble.
Read the exciting conclusion of "I am Pluto" in next week's My Friend Alan.
Friday, July 6, 2007
I am Pluto
Scientists recently demoted Pluto from planet status to something called a “dwarf planet.” Astronomers belonging to the International Astronomical Union contend that if Pluto were to remain a planet then many more bodies similar in size to Pluto that orbit our sun would also have to be designated planets.
Lots of people were upset by Pluto’s demotion, including my friend Alan. He said angrily over a beer, “You grow up thinking you understand the solar system and then a bunch of self-important science smarties think they can just come along and change the whole deal. What the hell?!” His closing exclamation drew the attention of several at the bar and Alan quieted down.
Later on, it was obvious that he had not stopped thinking about the plight of Pluto, and Alan blurted out, “Who in the hell do the members of the International Astronomical Union think they are anyway?” When we were asked to leave by a bouncer Alan put his hands up in that “don’t-touch-me-I’m-leaving” gesture.
Several days later Alan discovered that not only had Pluto been demoted, but that it also was renamed to “134340.” Alan went berserk. He drove directly to the offices of the International Astronomical Union – a surprisingly unimpressive building given the organization’s name. At the receptionist’s desk he demanded to speak to the person in charge. Turns out Alan was at the International Astrological Union; The International Astronomical Union is headquartered in France.
Just as he was about to get very angry, out of the blue the receptionist asked Alan for the date of his birthday. Such a personal question from a stranger startled Alan. He told her his birthday and then the receptionist went into a bunch of mumbo-jumbo about Alan’s starsign and how it influenced events in his life. In a soothing voice she told Alan that the indignity of Pluto’s demotion angered him so because he himself felt unappreciated. Of course, this wall all Alan had to hear. It was as if the universe suddenly made sense to him -- damn right, nobody understood him.
Not only did he fall in love on the spot with the receptionist, but he conceived of a new movement to give power to all those who felt unappreciated. Within a week Alan had printed 100 “I am Pluto” t-shirts and he began his campaign. Local journalists were curious at first because they thought Alan might be one of those space-wackos who wear tin foil-lined hats. But Alan went strait from being a news story to being a guest on the local morning show when they discovered “I am Pluto” was a new self-help movement. Alan was a hit.
Read more about Alan’s new adventure in the next installment of My Friend Alan.
Lots of people were upset by Pluto’s demotion, including my friend Alan. He said angrily over a beer, “You grow up thinking you understand the solar system and then a bunch of self-important science smarties think they can just come along and change the whole deal. What the hell?!” His closing exclamation drew the attention of several at the bar and Alan quieted down.
Later on, it was obvious that he had not stopped thinking about the plight of Pluto, and Alan blurted out, “Who in the hell do the members of the International Astronomical Union think they are anyway?” When we were asked to leave by a bouncer Alan put his hands up in that “don’t-touch-me-I’m-leaving” gesture.
Several days later Alan discovered that not only had Pluto been demoted, but that it also was renamed to “134340.” Alan went berserk. He drove directly to the offices of the International Astronomical Union – a surprisingly unimpressive building given the organization’s name. At the receptionist’s desk he demanded to speak to the person in charge. Turns out Alan was at the International Astrological Union; The International Astronomical Union is headquartered in France.
Just as he was about to get very angry, out of the blue the receptionist asked Alan for the date of his birthday. Such a personal question from a stranger startled Alan. He told her his birthday and then the receptionist went into a bunch of mumbo-jumbo about Alan’s starsign and how it influenced events in his life. In a soothing voice she told Alan that the indignity of Pluto’s demotion angered him so because he himself felt unappreciated. Of course, this wall all Alan had to hear. It was as if the universe suddenly made sense to him -- damn right, nobody understood him.
Not only did he fall in love on the spot with the receptionist, but he conceived of a new movement to give power to all those who felt unappreciated. Within a week Alan had printed 100 “I am Pluto” t-shirts and he began his campaign. Local journalists were curious at first because they thought Alan might be one of those space-wackos who wear tin foil-lined hats. But Alan went strait from being a news story to being a guest on the local morning show when they discovered “I am Pluto” was a new self-help movement. Alan was a hit.
Read more about Alan’s new adventure in the next installment of My Friend Alan.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Inventions
Pythagoras was a great mathematician. He first discovered a relationship between musical harmony and mathematics. Dividing a single stretched string into equal parts produces harmonious notes. What a fantastic discovery! The chords which sound pleasing to the western ear correspond to exact divisions of the string by whole numbers.
Then Pythagoras discovered geometry. As if the whole music thing wasn't enough.
Thomas Edison was the same way. He invented the light bulb and phonograph recording. After lunch he came up with motion pictures.
It's generally agreed upon that Pythagoras and Edison were great men. Sure, they were brilliant and the world is a better place because of their efforts. But what about those of us who have a notion to invent and discover? There's nothing left. They hogged all the big stuff.
My friend Alan is certain that he could have invented something great such as the light bulb. Would Edison have been any less great if he invented one less thing? No. Alan leaves the room in a huff when ever Thomas Edison comes up in conversation; he has a real chip on his shoulder over the light bulb.
At one of those innovation and patent trade shows Alan met the guy who invented the spoon-and-fork-combination thing that is popular among picnickers. Alan tried to convince the inventor guy that he could have invented something great like direct current. But instead, Alan persisted, this guy’s potential was wasted on a strange plastic utensil since Edison already invented it himself. The spoon-fork guy just laughed at Alan and got into his limousine.
Alan does have a point, though. When someone invents a great thing or makes a tremendous discovery they should be stopped. Only one great invention per person, that's fair.
Then Pythagoras discovered geometry. As if the whole music thing wasn't enough.
Thomas Edison was the same way. He invented the light bulb and phonograph recording. After lunch he came up with motion pictures.
It's generally agreed upon that Pythagoras and Edison were great men. Sure, they were brilliant and the world is a better place because of their efforts. But what about those of us who have a notion to invent and discover? There's nothing left. They hogged all the big stuff.
My friend Alan is certain that he could have invented something great such as the light bulb. Would Edison have been any less great if he invented one less thing? No. Alan leaves the room in a huff when ever Thomas Edison comes up in conversation; he has a real chip on his shoulder over the light bulb.
At one of those innovation and patent trade shows Alan met the guy who invented the spoon-and-fork-combination thing that is popular among picnickers. Alan tried to convince the inventor guy that he could have invented something great like direct current. But instead, Alan persisted, this guy’s potential was wasted on a strange plastic utensil since Edison already invented it himself. The spoon-fork guy just laughed at Alan and got into his limousine.
Alan does have a point, though. When someone invents a great thing or makes a tremendous discovery they should be stopped. Only one great invention per person, that's fair.
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Speed
Einstein got his idea for the Theory of Relativity when riding the train one morning to his job at the patent office. On a whim he imagined that the train moved at the speed of light. The trip to his office normally took several minutes to make as it crossed a large city square. But at the speed of light, he realized, it would take less than a second to get to his destination. So if he looked at his watch at the moment he arrived at work, the second hand would not have moved –no time would have passed since he began his journey. Einstein realized that man's concept of time was relative after traveling at speed of light in his imagination. That's also why his hair was permanently messed up.
My friend Alan drives fast. He says that it's simply because he's got so much to do. But speeding is breaking the law and I think it's wrong. I asked him when we were driving to go bowling once why all the time he was tailgating other motorists. He just laughed and asked, "Motorists!? Do you think of yourself as a motorist when you're driving? When I'm driving, I'm still Alan."
By the time he finished what he was saying I forgot what I had asked him. Bowling was fun though.
My friend Alan drives fast. He says that it's simply because he's got so much to do. But speeding is breaking the law and I think it's wrong. I asked him when we were driving to go bowling once why all the time he was tailgating other motorists. He just laughed and asked, "Motorists!? Do you think of yourself as a motorist when you're driving? When I'm driving, I'm still Alan."
By the time he finished what he was saying I forgot what I had asked him. Bowling was fun though.
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