See the Light

I hate what the information age has done to information.  By democratizing its access, we’ve devalued it entirely, which in turn has rendered its pursuit a non-viable economic model.  Instead, its value is now determined by aggregation.  The facts themselves are now worthless, but if one has enough sheer volume of facts, then they can drive traffic and by extension, capitalize upon secondary ad revenue.

So with the information itself demonetized, no incentive exists to analyze it–just to present it in a quickly digestible form.  The result is the same sub-1000-word article on every website.  Any academic value it originally had is diluted by this copy-paste method.  No one’s vetting the research, and very few are doing any original research.

I encountered this phenomenon while indulging in a casual curiosity.  The Super Bowl was playing, and there are few things I have less interest in watching, so I ate a can of sardines.  (I forced the child to try one for the character-building experience).

Delicious fish having been consumed, I was left with a can of oil.  I recalled hearing that the fish/olive oil made a good base for an improvised oil lamp (of course it would, seeing as that was the primary purpose of originally harvesting olive oil, which was a major step for humanity towards achieving ubiquitous and affordable artificial light–facts apparently lost to history).  So I rolled up a piece of paper towel into a wick, stuck it in the can, and lit it.  And, unsurprisingly, it burned with the steady flame of an oil lamp.

As I watched the flame, I wondered where I had read that article, who’s purpose was to list the unconventional sources of lighting one might find in their kitchen, for use in an emergency.  So I took to the Internet.

And this is where I became irritated with the scenario outlined in the first two paragraphs of this post.  I wouldn’t have much considered that the lists contained the same substances.  After all, there’s only so many combustible liquids in a typical residential building.  But what grabbed my attention was that every article added in the little quip about how burning the sardine oil would make the house smell like fish.  That was because, it didn’t.  The little flame is insufficient to bring the contents of the can to the volatiles’ vapor point, and the oil that was actively combusting was heated to the point where anything which would have smelled was denatured.  It was a clean, odorless lamp.

This indicates to me that the original author of the article probably put in the humorous aside, meant to be nothing more than a small joke, and was subsequently copied as a priori fact by content harvesters looking to add information to their own catalogues.

So for fuck’s sake people, do a little bit of original research.

It also bears mentioning that the sardine lamp burned out sometime after I had fallen asleep, so you do get several hours’ worth of illumination from it.  And the sardines were good.

–Simon

After the Fall

February is approaching, which means I’m not doing much of interest right now, which means there isn’t much to write about, which means I’m going to do some rambling.  Yep, it’s one of those posts.

And as I trudge through the bleakness in my MUCK boots (which are awesome, by the way), I ponder the meaningless of the human existence.

Okay, not quite, but a general lack of distractions when it’s cold and dark does tend to condition the mind towards a gnawing hopelessness.  And to validate that such feelings are not unique to my own winter slump, I booted up a game I hadn’t played in 2 years: Tom Clancy’s The Division.

If you know anything about the Tom Clancy universe, it’s an unapologetic argument for extreme right-wing executive enforcement of national security.  Clandestine operations?  No problem.  Spying?  No problem.  Anti-terrorist death squads?  No problem.  And so on.  And whatever my political views on these activities might be, in a simulated world, it’s damn fun to live an artificial life of justified violence and power without accountability.

To summarize the plot, a manufactured virus is unleashed in New York City.  Its 90-something % mortality rate destroys modern society, survivors struggle to stay alive, the predictable scum of humanity form coalitions and prey on the weak, and a branch of Homeland Security sleeper agents are activated and sent in to restore order (AKA shoot every criminal possible).  It is an oddly believable premise for a story–not to mention unsettling, to roam the largely vacant streets of a large metropolis, no longer feeling remotely safe to be outside.

It caused me to consider a pattern among video games from the last few years: societal collapse and annihilation.  The trend seems to have started with Fallout 3, which came out right as the recession hit.  Of course we had Fallout 4, and Destiny (which is a little further removed from the collapse but still a major theme), and the Metro series announced a sequel, and we got a teaser for Anthem–which looks Destiny-ish in its post-collapse (as opposed to post-apocalyptic, a subtle difference) theme.

It’s easy to understand the prevailing nuclear apocalypse theme from 60s and 70s cinema, given the Cold War, but why is this such a commonality now?  Naturally, I jumped online to examine this phenomena–or rather, I Googled a few phrases to reduce what might be a lengthy academic discussion to a few hundred words.  Don’t judge.

The conclusion–we romanticize a simpler existence and hope for the fall of government corruption, even at the expense of losing our luxuries.  In reality, I doubt anyone would consciously choose that existence, but as I mentioned earlier, it’s fun to pretend.

I’m going to go shoot more New Yorkers now (now that’s a cause I can get behind).

–Simon

Canine Crunchers

Poppy is getting older, now to the point where she’s getting her adult teeth in.

I always wondered where puppies’ baby teeth went.  Presumably they fall out, but I had never found one after that.  My guess was that the dogs would eat them.

But then we found one on the kitchen floor:

Ewwwww

Yep, they’re just like people teeth: gross.

–Simon

Americana

Being American presents an odd dichotomy.  On one side of the coin we’re American, but on the other we’re descendants of another culture.  The latter is almost inevitable to most, considering the relative youth of the American nation itself.  I’m all about hotdogs and burgers and the 4th of July, but damn do I enjoy some good sauerkraut and bratwurst.

Consequently, I feel an odd nostalgia for things which represent the spirit of either, and considering my status as a suburbanite, for the former, they can be quite Rockwelian at times.

Over the holidays, mom brought down the old Flexible Flyer sled.  Now that’s Americana.  Or it was, but more on that in a bit.  Over the weekend we got 6 inches of snow, so it was decided that the kid would experience some sledding.

Watch some sledding:

The trouble with sledding is that long hike back up the hill

We were the only ones on the hill with Flexy Flyer.  Everyone else had various plastic contraptions.  I hadn’t thought them that rare, and it got me thinking.

Back home, I looked up the Flexible Flyer brand.  It dated back to the early 20th century, and had apparently gone through a number of ownership changes, ultimately being sent for manufacture overseas.  Disheartened that my piece of Americana wasn’t American, I checked for a label, but was pleasantly surprised to find out it had been manufactured in Olney, IL.  A Wikipedia search revealed that to date the sled between 1993 and 1998.  After that, they were made in China.

So, an American suburban family went sledding on an American icon, made when it was truly American.  I’m fitting in with suburbia more than I ever expected.

–Simon

Yolk

As an evolved omnivore, I can extract nutrients from a variety of unsettling plant and animal products.  In fact, the ones I treasure the most–alcohol, cheese, butter–are kind of gross upon a deeper examination.  And the foodstuffs not ingrained in my own culture, the ones I find even more revolting, are equally edible…and generally presumed to be enhancers of male virility.  Erections from bird saliva–who would have thought?

And to further push the boundaries of making this blog no longer family-friendly, let us consider the humble egg.  That’s right, a chicken gamete.  I often don’t consider the biology behind the food I consume, but one day I cracked and egg and into the pan fell the bloody indications of fertilization–I suppose that made it a zygote, for it not yet bore any indication of embryonic status.

Repulsed, I hesitated, for how often does one find a fertilized chicken egg in their soon-to-be omelet?  Squander not an opportunity I say.  And I knew intrinsically, probably from some long-forgotten documentary, that such an egg was indeed “a delicacy”.  At the worst, it wouldn’t kill me.  So, I cooked it and bit into it with determined curiosity, then promptly expectorated my sample into the sink.  It tasted, unsurprisingly, of a bloody egg.  Yuck.

I tell this story as a preface to another.  This last weekend I cracked an egg (for the former experience was insufficient to turn me off eggs forever), and was pleasantly surprised with a new kind of novelty: a double yolk:

I suppose this means that a chicken could, in theory, have twin offspring.  Naturally I took to Google to find evidence, but while the anecdotal postings confirmed the theory, they revoked the practice.  Apparently two chicks can develop in an egg, but ultimately complications arise which doom the progeny.

Pity.  I winced once again at the over-analysis of what I was eating, then added salt.

–Simon