To Whom it Probably Doesn't Concern

Particularly on weekends, when I stay in, as I often do until I get coffee, I don't comb my hair. And especially in the winter, when the static electricity is worse, much of my hair stands out and it can look quite dishevelled. I generally don't brush it until I am about to go out, and it can be in this state for hours on end.

After all why should I comb it? I don't normally look in the mirror much, and when I don't I can't see, or otherwise perceive, the state of my hair. This is really the crux of the matter. As I live alone, the only other one I can think of who might care would be God, since He sees all things. But something deep inside me says that he will overlook this dereliction, though it seems to me inconsistent for God as I imagine He must be rather proper, given all the order in the universe.

I don't really think that I can tell without looking when my hair is in a state of disarray, and in any case it doesn't bother me or affect me in any way, I don't think. For example, I am writing this with my hair uncombed, or more accurately unbrushed, and I think that this condition will have very little effect on what I am writing, except perhaps this sentence, but not definitely this sentence, as I could be lying about the state of my hair.

I recently bought a new brush, as my old one fell in the toilet. It was more or less bound to happen due to the proximity of the sink to the toilet, and because I kept the brush on the side of the sink nearest the toilet. For a few weeks I was combing my hair with a little beard comb that came with my new beard trimming set. It worked OK except that it required more effort as it tended to get stuck, and although I could not notice on the finished product, I think I was ripping a lot of my hair.

That Which was Used as Storage for Meals Repeatedly Prepared...

Consider this refrigerator, late in the 1970s, around Christmas, after dinner. A refrigerator that I took more out of than put in to. And no doubt some of its contents remain a part of me, and will remain so long after I am buried. Perhaps they will do so until I can no longer be identified, except by forensic analysis. With that in mind I will this photo to science and have therefore identified its contents to the best of my ability (asterisks denote provisions I am likely to contain).
(mostly from Left to Right)

1st Row: A bottle of milk* (from the milkman), a tupperware container with some Sacramento (not from Concentrate) tomato juice* still left, and some 'Ready to Serve' Minute Made Lemonade*. In the back and to the right of the lemonade is a can of used Crisco* for frying french fries, with a half pint of Dellwood Heavy Whipping Cream* on top of it. Way in the back, behind the lemonade, there appears to be a bottle of soda, that I suspect may be Club Soda (possibly Hoffman's). I have some thoughts, but I don't really know what's on the plate covered with saran wrap at the right, or what's in the green container behind the tomato juice.

2nd Row: Fresh Breakfast sausage* on top of what I would think is proper potato salad* and a Pabst Blue Ribbon Beer, followed by Hershey's chocolate syrup, and Pillsbury Crescent Rolls*. Behind the rolls and syrup is a bottle of Hellmann's mayonnaise*. In the Cold cut 'drawer' I see up front what appears to be american cheese* wrapped in saran wrap. It is most likely land-o-lakes. In the far left of the cold cut 'drawer' I believe a package of cracker barrel cheddar* (probably sharp) is barely visible. I don't know what's in the aluminum foil next to it, but it may be mozzarella. As for the rest of what's in the drawer, though I have some strong ideas, I will not speculate.

3rd Row: An opened package of butter* from Waldbaum's, a styrofoam container of something (oddly enough it may be cole slaw), a butter* dish, and a package of Oscar Meyer Bacon*. To the far right there is, what may be, a glass bowl covered by saran wrap, which would lead me to believe that it may be filled with stuffing, but I am far from certain about this, as it might be macaroni and cheese.

4th Row: The contents of this row are more or less a mystery, particularly the silvery object near its center which one might think is Philadelphia Brand Cream Cheese, but at this point I don't think it is.

Alter Ego of a Torte

Lately I've become curious about the Linzer torte cookie, a cookie that was named after a torte. But it wouldn't surprise anyone who knows me that it's because of a bar, not a sweet tooth. I'm not proud of that, it's just the way it is. And it would hardly be worth noting that the bar offers wings gratis on Fridays were it not for the inauspicious manner in which I came to know this. You see, my birthday was on a Friday this year, and instead of deciding for myself whether or not to go to work and surf the web, the decision was made for me and it entailed winding up at this bar.

Now this bar was not named after the torte. It is not called Zum Linzer Torte or Linzer Torte Haus, or anything like that, but its name does sound much like "Linzer Torte's". In fact, I doubt very much that this bar, or its name, has much significance, historical or otherwise. The torte however does, it being the first torte on record, dating back to 1653 in the annals of baking.

But this bar's neighborhood is not completely devoid of history, at least for me, as it was not far from this bar that I learned that one should not easily be swayed to go to a bar expressly for 10 cent chicken wings, and that it might not be a bad idea to look at them before partaking. Rubbery and undercooked, sour and yellowish, adorned with pimples and little hairs visible despite ample coverage by sauce, such are the hallmarks of the wings in this neighborhood.

And so years ago, I promised myself that I would never again eat wings around there. But that Friday a situation arose at this bar where the cards were stacked against me. I found myself in the midst of a delicate matter for which the wings, having been prepared by a particularly kind bartender, had become a critical olive branch. I should also note that I wasn't even hungry, as it was hard to have an appetite under the circumstances. I don't make many promises, and you can see why, but if that's what I get for acting like a gilded otter, then so be it. Besides, the wings were pretty good, although they could have been a bit more crispy.

An Opinion Mostly in Favor of Hatpins

I see little point in placing much stock in my own political opinions. Experts who study the issues often seem quite earnest and wise, yet have completely different and opposing views. I might as well pick my opinions out of a hat.

And while I'm not proposing that a haberdasher run for office, I do like a nice hat. I like a fedora, and I wish I had the courage to wear one, but up to now I've settled primarily on caps. If not the most civilized, the cap is without question the most convenient of all hats, convenient because it's easy to stow. I can't stuff a fedora into my jacket pocket like I can a cap. Even if it fit, present day fedoras would remain crumpled and would have lost their form after such an ordeal.

But this is far from the whole story, as my head, being inordinately large, severely limits my choices. And this, even more so than one might think as a hat that's just a bit on the small side is blown off very easily.

Pity that you don't see a lot of hatpins around these days. A couple of those suckers strategically placed might just do the trick. And it's odd that they aren't around since archaeologists even find them in the ruins of Pompeii. But that gives me an idea. I live in what was not long ago an epicenter for hatpin usage, so there are probably even now one or two lying around the park. I shall make an excursion of it this weekend.

The Liver Gains the Upper Hand

It would happen that, during the outward course of worldly contingencies, the inward matters of the system and its concerns would come to the fore. For it now occurs to me that my liver, it bordering on a kind of consciousness in its own right, has poised itself for a larger role. But a statement such as this surely begs for elaboration.

For years now I have suffered with the royal pain in the big toe that arises when ones' eating habits are an order too rich. And you see, the liver, not being located too far from the solar plexus, the largest neural ganglion save the brain, is involved in balancing such matters. Providence shows us that this solar plexus is particularly well developed in gourmets and alcoholics, acting as a seat of consciousness for the liver.

I'm pretty sure though that yesterday was the first time my liver ever made a telephone call. It called somebody in India. I have the number on my cell phone, and the call lasted 22 minutes.

Mt Rainier and Vicinity

Mt Ranier
Originally uploaded by bohacks

Back in the late 90s I took some photos in the Mount Rainier district. This is one of them and is taken with a proper camera.

Teeth-Sticking Gum

I had bought some gum, and initially it stuck to my teeth, but now a couple weeks later it does not, at least not like it did before. Could the gum have been too fresh when I first bought it? Strange that I don't know about these things as gums run in my family.

Speaking of gums, I don't have problems with mine. And I don't think there is anything funny about my teeth that would cause normal gum to stick to them.

It was however a nonstandard flavor of gum, mint mojito, which in hindsight was a mistake to buy if only because its freshening powers are no greater than those of a typical 8 year old cow. I have nobody else to blame but myself for its purchase as there were many other types of gum available (all of which I could afford). I probably thought it sounded cool or something.

My mother used to tell me that she would chew the same piece of gum all day. I find that difficult to believe. I suspect she told me that so I would not go through so much of it. In any event, they must have had it hard back then in the days of the great depression. Then came FDR and the new deal, which was pretty sweet for gum manufacturers, not to mention dentists.

I typically chew it for only 5 or 10 minutes, but I have to admit the duration varies greatly. Record territory would probably be on the order of an hour or two. I didn't used to see the point in chewing gum after it had lost its flavor, and I guess I still don't. But I have to admit that as I mature the flavor becomes less of a factor and I am more relaxed about letting it go for a while after the flavor has gone. Something I would never have done as a child.