Thursday, February 25, 2010
This
I couldn't agree more.....
(from Steven Koplan's article "Drink up! A pleas to pour your best wines tonight" on Salon)
I admit to having more than a few special bottles in my cellar, set aside for broad celebrations and intimate seductions. As I gazed at dozens of wonderful wines I began to realize that any time true friends, new or old, and family, beloved or merely tolerated, break bread in my home, these treasured bottles should grace the table. Some of these wines are rare, many irreplaceable, but not nearly as rare or irreplaceable as the important people in my life....
We agreed that the pairing with the food really was amazing, almost a force of nature, but what was so much more important was that sharing this irreplaceable wine together enhanced our conversation during dinner and tied anew the strong bonds of a lifelong friendship. What started out as a day to just hang out became an important and memorable one.
To be sure, fine wines are treasures, and I sometimes wonder if even the most wine-stained among us realizes how truly rare is the opportunity to taste great wine. Ninety-six percent of the wine produced in the world is made to be consumed within one year of its harvest vintage; 99 percent within two years. No more than one-tenth of 1 percent of the wine produced in the world is destined to be among the treasured classics, and the rich and powerful can always get to them first.
We the many, who are neither so rich nor so powerful, may occasionally enjoy one of life's Little Luxuries, a fine wine to be shared with the right people at the right time. But with how fleeting life can be, we might want to reexamine the definition of "special occasion" to make it more inclusive, more elastic, more fun. Get those bottles out, stand them up in the light of day, and bring them to your table to enjoy. Opening and sharing a rare and wonderful wine makes the food taste better, the conversation more sophisticated (or at least the same old stories become bearable), your dining companions more attractive. Make tonight's dinner special for the one you love more than any other; special for your kids home from college; special for the friends who you rely on and who rely on you; special for the folks who don't always feel so special, but you know they are. Sharing your finest wines makes the table a place for celebration and meditation.
With our first look, our first smell, our first sip, we are transported to a place where riches and power run a distant second to pure pleasure, and for that brief moment we are as rich as the richest person, as happy as the happiest, and power just doesn't matter.
(from Steven Koplan's article "Drink up! A pleas to pour your best wines tonight" on Salon)
I admit to having more than a few special bottles in my cellar, set aside for broad celebrations and intimate seductions. As I gazed at dozens of wonderful wines I began to realize that any time true friends, new or old, and family, beloved or merely tolerated, break bread in my home, these treasured bottles should grace the table. Some of these wines are rare, many irreplaceable, but not nearly as rare or irreplaceable as the important people in my life....
We agreed that the pairing with the food really was amazing, almost a force of nature, but what was so much more important was that sharing this irreplaceable wine together enhanced our conversation during dinner and tied anew the strong bonds of a lifelong friendship. What started out as a day to just hang out became an important and memorable one.
To be sure, fine wines are treasures, and I sometimes wonder if even the most wine-stained among us realizes how truly rare is the opportunity to taste great wine. Ninety-six percent of the wine produced in the world is made to be consumed within one year of its harvest vintage; 99 percent within two years. No more than one-tenth of 1 percent of the wine produced in the world is destined to be among the treasured classics, and the rich and powerful can always get to them first.
We the many, who are neither so rich nor so powerful, may occasionally enjoy one of life's Little Luxuries, a fine wine to be shared with the right people at the right time. But with how fleeting life can be, we might want to reexamine the definition of "special occasion" to make it more inclusive, more elastic, more fun. Get those bottles out, stand them up in the light of day, and bring them to your table to enjoy. Opening and sharing a rare and wonderful wine makes the food taste better, the conversation more sophisticated (or at least the same old stories become bearable), your dining companions more attractive. Make tonight's dinner special for the one you love more than any other; special for your kids home from college; special for the friends who you rely on and who rely on you; special for the folks who don't always feel so special, but you know they are. Sharing your finest wines makes the table a place for celebration and meditation.
With our first look, our first smell, our first sip, we are transported to a place where riches and power run a distant second to pure pleasure, and for that brief moment we are as rich as the richest person, as happy as the happiest, and power just doesn't matter.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Dangerous beds
From Mark Twain in 1871, via Bruce Schneier
I hunted up statistics, and was amazed to find that after all the glaring newspaper headings concerning railroad disasters, less than three hundred people had really lost their lives by those disasters in the preceding twelve months. The Erie road was set down as the most murderous in the list. It had killed forty-six—or twenty-six, I do not exactly remember which, but I know the number was double that of any other road. But the fact straightway suggested itself that the Erie was an immensely long road, and did more business than any other line in the country; so the double number of killed ceased to be matter for surprise.
By further figuring, it appeared that between New York and Rochester the Erie ran eight passenger trains each way every day—sixteen altogether; and carried a daily average of 6,000 persons. That is about a million in six months—the population of New York city. Well, the Erie kills from thirteen to twenty-three persons out of its million in six months; and in the same time 13,000 of New York's million die in their beds! My flesh crept, my hair stood on end. "This is appalling!" I said. "The danger isn't in travelling by rail, but in trusting to those deadly beds. I will never sleep in a bed again."
I hunted up statistics, and was amazed to find that after all the glaring newspaper headings concerning railroad disasters, less than three hundred people had really lost their lives by those disasters in the preceding twelve months. The Erie road was set down as the most murderous in the list. It had killed forty-six—or twenty-six, I do not exactly remember which, but I know the number was double that of any other road. But the fact straightway suggested itself that the Erie was an immensely long road, and did more business than any other line in the country; so the double number of killed ceased to be matter for surprise.
By further figuring, it appeared that between New York and Rochester the Erie ran eight passenger trains each way every day—sixteen altogether; and carried a daily average of 6,000 persons. That is about a million in six months—the population of New York city. Well, the Erie kills from thirteen to twenty-three persons out of its million in six months; and in the same time 13,000 of New York's million die in their beds! My flesh crept, my hair stood on end. "This is appalling!" I said. "The danger isn't in travelling by rail, but in trusting to those deadly beds. I will never sleep in a bed again."
Labels: security
Monday, February 22, 2010
Nevah had it, nevah will
(with apologies to the Sprite commercial from the 80's, from which I totally stole that line.)
I several wonderful blogs from P-Dub, my favorite being Confessions of a Pioneer Woman. I live out in the country, I get up insanely early, I like the city life sometimes, I like to cook, I have a basset. We have some things in common. But then again, we have other things not in common. She has 4 kids, she homeschools (which I completely cannot fathom how you do and do well...it's not a matter of how smart you are, but I digress) and every once in a while, she will post or comment on how seeing a baby makes her want to have one.
I've seen cute babies in my day. I've seen well-behaved babies, even. One was at my house yesterday, coo-ing and laughing and in general being a ham. Not screaming, not crying, not fussing so I (and certainly her mother) was happy to have her over. But it didn't make me want one. No kid, young or not so young has ever made me think "you know, I really ought to do that". Even the well-mannered, not making a mess, reasonable to talk to ones leave me with a "thank goodness I don't have to deal with THAT" feeling.
So while I feel for Ree that she's in "uterine conflict", my uterus-free, insensitive-to-such-things self just doesn't have that issue. And I suppose I never will.
I several wonderful blogs from P-Dub, my favorite being Confessions of a Pioneer Woman. I live out in the country, I get up insanely early, I like the city life sometimes, I like to cook, I have a basset. We have some things in common. But then again, we have other things not in common. She has 4 kids, she homeschools (which I completely cannot fathom how you do and do well...it's not a matter of how smart you are, but I digress) and every once in a while, she will post or comment on how seeing a baby makes her want to have one.
I've seen cute babies in my day. I've seen well-behaved babies, even. One was at my house yesterday, coo-ing and laughing and in general being a ham. Not screaming, not crying, not fussing so I (and certainly her mother) was happy to have her over. But it didn't make me want one. No kid, young or not so young has ever made me think "you know, I really ought to do that". Even the well-mannered, not making a mess, reasonable to talk to ones leave me with a "thank goodness I don't have to deal with THAT" feeling.
So while I feel for Ree that she's in "uterine conflict", my uterus-free, insensitive-to-such-things self just doesn't have that issue. And I suppose I never will.
Labels: random musing
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Srsly?
(Stolen from Emergent Chaos....a fine blog, btw)
http://emergentchaos.com/archives/2010/02/im-not-comfortable-with-that.html
The language of Facebook's iPhone app is fascinating: If you enable this feature, all contacts from your device will be sent to Facebook...Please make sure your friends are comfortable with any use you make of their information.
So first off, I don’t consent to you using that feature and providing my mobile phone number to Facebook. Not giving my cell phone to random web sites (including but not limited to Facebook) was implicit when that number was provided to you. Your continued compliance is appreciated. What’s really interesting is the way in which this dialog deflects the moral culpability for Facebook’s choices to you. They didn’t have to create a feature that sucked in all the information in your phone book. They could have offered an option to exclude numbers. And why does Facebook even need phone numbers? Their language also implies that such transfers of third party data are not constrained by any law they have to worry about. Perhaps that’s correct in the United States.
But none of that is considered in the brief notice.
I don’t agree.
Me either. I don't have my cell # in FB. I don't have many of my FB contacts in my cell phone. I'm quite happy for those streams of data to exist in "parallel lines that shall never again intersect"* It's probably not worth polling everyone I know to see if A) they have a Jeebus phone and B.) they use the FB Jeebus phone app. Besides, what would they do? If I'm in your cell address book, there's probably a reason. I can't ask folks to NOT use the app or manually enter my number every time they want to call/txt me. But FB really should have provided other options. Selecting who you import would be a good start. Not automatically sucking in information *not needed to run the application* (a novel idea, I know).
http://emergentchaos.com/archives/2010/02/im-not-comfortable-with-that.html
The language of Facebook's iPhone app is fascinating: If you enable this feature, all contacts from your device will be sent to Facebook...Please make sure your friends are comfortable with any use you make of their information.
So first off, I don’t consent to you using that feature and providing my mobile phone number to Facebook. Not giving my cell phone to random web sites (including but not limited to Facebook) was implicit when that number was provided to you. Your continued compliance is appreciated. What’s really interesting is the way in which this dialog deflects the moral culpability for Facebook’s choices to you. They didn’t have to create a feature that sucked in all the information in your phone book. They could have offered an option to exclude numbers. And why does Facebook even need phone numbers? Their language also implies that such transfers of third party data are not constrained by any law they have to worry about. Perhaps that’s correct in the United States.
But none of that is considered in the brief notice.
I don’t agree.
Me either. I don't have my cell # in FB. I don't have many of my FB contacts in my cell phone. I'm quite happy for those streams of data to exist in "parallel lines that shall never again intersect"* It's probably not worth polling everyone I know to see if A) they have a Jeebus phone and B.) they use the FB Jeebus phone app. Besides, what would they do? If I'm in your cell address book, there's probably a reason. I can't ask folks to NOT use the app or manually enter my number every time they want to call/txt me. But FB really should have provided other options. Selecting who you import would be a good start. Not automatically sucking in information *not needed to run the application* (a novel idea, I know).
Facebook, this is yet another epic privacy FAIL. I sure wish I--and everyone I know--knew how to quit you.
*that's a quote from something...I don't remember what. If you know me, you know I'm not good at quotes. I can remember the quote or the source, but generally not both. This case, I got the quote.
Tuesday, February 02, 2010
Facebook games
I'm not always one for following things on Facebook. I don't do the applications at all and no Farmville or play restaurant for me. But this one, I did.
Go to urbandictionary.com and look up your name. Simple. First definition specified that my name is the feminine version of my name. Wow. Second definition "Amazing girl that basically rocks everybody's world. She is totally classy and an awesome friend." I do pride myself on being a good friend. But the third definition (seriously, I'm not making this up and I didn't correct the spelling. I wanted to, but didn't.)...
Feminine name; Scottish in origin; meaning dark grey fortress.
Often given to women of incredible beauty and abysmal depth, whose demeanor evokes some ancient mystical rite lost to modern time.
Like a dark grey castle fortress in the early morning, one marvels at its beauty subtley and magically revealed through fog and mist. One longs to not merely see the timelessness of such a creation, but to also scale its walls to be part of something greater and far more ancient than the one's self.
Perhaps once in a lifetime, one is lucky enough to see an EY. And if so, one will never forget how such a sight grants one with an apprecitation of the gradiations between the physical and metaphysical.
Go to urbandictionary.com and look up your name. Simple. First definition specified that my name is the feminine version of my name. Wow. Second definition "Amazing girl that basically rocks everybody's world. She is totally classy and an awesome friend." I do pride myself on being a good friend. But the third definition (seriously, I'm not making this up and I didn't correct the spelling. I wanted to, but didn't.)...
Feminine name; Scottish in origin; meaning dark grey fortress.
Often given to women of incredible beauty and abysmal depth, whose demeanor evokes some ancient mystical rite lost to modern time.
Like a dark grey castle fortress in the early morning, one marvels at its beauty subtley and magically revealed through fog and mist. One longs to not merely see the timelessness of such a creation, but to also scale its walls to be part of something greater and far more ancient than the one's self.
Perhaps once in a lifetime, one is lucky enough to see an EY. And if so, one will never forget how such a sight grants one with an apprecitation of the gradiations between the physical and metaphysical.
