A baked potato is a thing of wonder. Warm and filling, these mainstays of the American diet are a must during the cold winter months. That baked potatoes are infinitely customizable only adds to their universal appeal. Some people shower them with bacon bits; others fill them with cheddar cheese and chives; still others add sauerkraut (vegans, go figure). I'm a purist, though, prefering nothing more than dollop of sour cream and some (real) butter. However you prepare them, baked potatos always satisfy.
Except, that is, when I cook them.
Allow me to explain. Over the part week or two, I've attempted to bake and eat a potato with dinner several times. In my understanding, the proper cooking conditions for a potato are one hour (approximately) at 350 degrees. Admittedly, this is a long time to wait for dinner, but the reward -- a delicious baked tuber -- is, in theory, worth sitting around for 60 minutes with my stomach grumbling.
My principal problem with the baked potato is that I always finish preparing the rest of my dinner way before the potato is done. This presents a culinary dilemma. My choices are either 1) wait for the potato to cook fully and leave the rest of the food sitting idle and growing cold; 2) eat what is finished while it is warm and have the potato by itself at a later time; or 3) take the potato out of the oven, whether it is finished or not (it's not), and eat all components of my dinner at once, as originally intented. Since I'm very hungry at that point, I usually cannot resist pursuing option three.
In an incredible display of willpower, I once managed to hold out until the hour mark, but even then the potato was not soft inside. Armed with this empirical data, I raised the cooking temperature by 50, to 400 degrees, the next time (a few days later). To my surprise, one hour at this elevated temperature did not sufficiently cook the potato either. Oh, the horror!
Now, I'm not dumb. I know what the solution is here: let the potato bake for more than an hour.* But when you are hungry, this is far easier said than done. Unfortunately, I lack the foresight to put the potato in the oven that far ahead of when I want to be eating dinner. This means that the same process -- waiting as long as I can but inevitably pulling the potato out before it is done because I just want to eat, damn it -- will play itself out whenever a baked potato is a part of my dinner.
Can you imagine a worse fate?
* I could also turn the temperature way up, but I don't want a burnt potato.
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
Sunday, November 26, 2006
Conflagration on the Bridges
Recently, a friend lent me the book Tuesdays with Morrie by Mitch Albom. He told me, "It will change your life." Though his voice was heavy with sarcasm, I could see in his face that he sorta meant it.
Intrigued, I dove right in, reading it in two nights. The book's subject is a college professor, Morrie, who is slowly by inexorably succumbing to a degenerative disease of the nervous system. During his final days, Morrie is reunited with a former student, the author of the book, Mitch, and they spend every Tuesday night until his unfortunate passing talking to one another (hence the title). Each night, with incredible clarity and simplicity of message, Morrie delivers poignant lessons to Mitch (and the reader) on just about every facet of modern life.
I'm a bit disappointed to say that it didn't change my life. Most of what Morrie said to Mitch, I'd already come up with on my own. Essentially, Morrie advocated giving up the pursuit of material things for love, friends, and family. He believed that, for some reason or another, most people look for happiness and fulfillment in the wrong places--and therefore don't ever find it. Good advice, but not exactly earth shattering.
For me, it was what Morrie did more than what he said that really hit home. Faced with an illness that slowly incapacitates its victim through paralysis but leaves the mind untouched, Morrie never gave up on living. Day after day, he greeted the morning sun with as much vigor as his weakened frame would allow. And if it happened to be a Tuesday, you can be damn sure that he was going to meet with Mitch, regardless of his condition. Only by accepting reality and then working within its confines was Morrie able to make the most of his final days.
Now, I've never faced anything even remotely similar to what Morrie did. I hope I never will. But recent events have shown me that Morrie's approach is the correct one. You shouldn't fight the inevitable; it's a losing battle, one that guarantees misery. Sometimes, you have to accept unfortunate situations for what they are, no matter how hard your mind and body rebel against doing so. Once you let go of an irreconcilable vision of the future, reality becomes a much more welcoming place.
Intrigued, I dove right in, reading it in two nights. The book's subject is a college professor, Morrie, who is slowly by inexorably succumbing to a degenerative disease of the nervous system. During his final days, Morrie is reunited with a former student, the author of the book, Mitch, and they spend every Tuesday night until his unfortunate passing talking to one another (hence the title). Each night, with incredible clarity and simplicity of message, Morrie delivers poignant lessons to Mitch (and the reader) on just about every facet of modern life.
I'm a bit disappointed to say that it didn't change my life. Most of what Morrie said to Mitch, I'd already come up with on my own. Essentially, Morrie advocated giving up the pursuit of material things for love, friends, and family. He believed that, for some reason or another, most people look for happiness and fulfillment in the wrong places--and therefore don't ever find it. Good advice, but not exactly earth shattering.
For me, it was what Morrie did more than what he said that really hit home. Faced with an illness that slowly incapacitates its victim through paralysis but leaves the mind untouched, Morrie never gave up on living. Day after day, he greeted the morning sun with as much vigor as his weakened frame would allow. And if it happened to be a Tuesday, you can be damn sure that he was going to meet with Mitch, regardless of his condition. Only by accepting reality and then working within its confines was Morrie able to make the most of his final days.
Now, I've never faced anything even remotely similar to what Morrie did. I hope I never will. But recent events have shown me that Morrie's approach is the correct one. You shouldn't fight the inevitable; it's a losing battle, one that guarantees misery. Sometimes, you have to accept unfortunate situations for what they are, no matter how hard your mind and body rebel against doing so. Once you let go of an irreconcilable vision of the future, reality becomes a much more welcoming place.
Friday, November 17, 2006
Local Warming
Though scientists and politicians continue to debate the existence of global warming, I am hear to announce that the issue has been settled. Based on my observations after living through two very wintery winters in NYC, I am ready to declare once and for all that the globe is indeed warming. My conclusive proof? It is 60 degrees -- six zero -- outside today, this November 17th.
Never fear. Global warming isn't all bad. At the very least, it gives residents of the East Coast a small taste of what it is like to be Californian. And, more importantly, it is presently providing me a much-deserved respite from the cold.
Never fear. Global warming isn't all bad. At the very least, it gives residents of the East Coast a small taste of what it is like to be Californian. And, more importantly, it is presently providing me a much-deserved respite from the cold.
Sunday, November 12, 2006
Meager Beginnings
Just moments ago, I was watching a video on Youtube about the 100 best cars of all time. Astonishingly, I caught a glimpse of my very first car, a 1985 Nissan Sentra. (We used to call it the 'Catfish' because of a piece of bodywork which, like that fish's whiskers, stuck out absurdly to the side.)
Unfortunately, my car was not featured as a demonstration of Nissan's engineering accomplishments; instead, it was shown during the intro for a short piece dedicated to the worst cars of all time. Let me repeat that: the worst cars of all time.
Thanks Mom and Dad.
Unfortunately, my car was not featured as a demonstration of Nissan's engineering accomplishments; instead, it was shown during the intro for a short piece dedicated to the worst cars of all time. Let me repeat that: the worst cars of all time.
Thanks Mom and Dad.
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
Attn: 20-something Marathon Runners
Get a hobby. Seriously.
With a few notable exceptions, I've come to the regrettable conclusion that twenty-somethings who run marathons live uninteresting lives. Sure, they work (or study) hard, make their bosses (or professors) happy, and sometimes even manage to take their two-weeks of paid vacation. Only rarely, though, do they have interests outside of work, apart from popular culture and the news. To these overworked and uninspired souls, a marathon represents a much-needed break from a status quo characterized by long bouts of inaction and immobility.
As I've gotten older, it seems that more and more people have been taking up marathon running, leaving me to wonder why a long and often very painful foot race remains utterly unappealing to me. This increase in marathon running should not be surprising: the more my peers are forced to spend all of their time doing things they don't want to do, the more a marathon becomes a desireable alternative.
When we were younger, there was no limit of fun things to do -- we had friends to hang out with, sports or afterschool clubs to participate in, and hobbies to occupy our considerable free time. As kids, even our backyards provided plenty of opportunities for exploration and adventure. That meant a marathon was pretty much the last thing on our minds.
This is not to say that a marathon is a completely worthless endeavour. It's certainly true that by finishing a marathon you can prove (to yourself and everyone else) that, despite not being a kid any longer, you are capable of an impressive feat of physical strength and endurace.
But so what? From what I can tell, pretty much anyone -- the fit, the out-of-shape, and everyone in between -- can do it with enough training. The only reason anyone might realistically doubt that they could complete a marathon is if they are so far removed from physical activity that they really have no idea what their body is still capable of. But at that point, the solution is not a 26-mile run -- it's a complete overhaul of priorities.
Recently, I overhead a conversation on this subject between someone who had just run a marathon and someone who had done so in the past. What struck me most was a comment from the more recent marathon runner. She said, "I'm depressed the race is over. I'm in such good shape now it's a shame to let it slip away." The past marathon runner than told her about a series of shorter races which take place a few weeks after marathons to allow people who had trained for the marathon to take advantage of their newfound fitness. Uninterested, she dismissed the idea.
And you do know why? Because running is boring -- and marathon running is not a substitute for a physical activity or hobby that you enjoy.
Running, I believe, should be part of a more balanced diet of exercise. If you run to get in shape for, say, backpacking, a soccer league, or bicycling, then it makes perfect sense. Otherwise, training for months to run in the longest, most boring foot race that has ever been conceived only sink right back into fitness oblivion afterwards seems like one of the most pointless endeavours ever conceived.
With a few notable exceptions, I've come to the regrettable conclusion that twenty-somethings who run marathons live uninteresting lives. Sure, they work (or study) hard, make their bosses (or professors) happy, and sometimes even manage to take their two-weeks of paid vacation. Only rarely, though, do they have interests outside of work, apart from popular culture and the news. To these overworked and uninspired souls, a marathon represents a much-needed break from a status quo characterized by long bouts of inaction and immobility.
As I've gotten older, it seems that more and more people have been taking up marathon running, leaving me to wonder why a long and often very painful foot race remains utterly unappealing to me. This increase in marathon running should not be surprising: the more my peers are forced to spend all of their time doing things they don't want to do, the more a marathon becomes a desireable alternative.
When we were younger, there was no limit of fun things to do -- we had friends to hang out with, sports or afterschool clubs to participate in, and hobbies to occupy our considerable free time. As kids, even our backyards provided plenty of opportunities for exploration and adventure. That meant a marathon was pretty much the last thing on our minds.
This is not to say that a marathon is a completely worthless endeavour. It's certainly true that by finishing a marathon you can prove (to yourself and everyone else) that, despite not being a kid any longer, you are capable of an impressive feat of physical strength and endurace.
But so what? From what I can tell, pretty much anyone -- the fit, the out-of-shape, and everyone in between -- can do it with enough training. The only reason anyone might realistically doubt that they could complete a marathon is if they are so far removed from physical activity that they really have no idea what their body is still capable of. But at that point, the solution is not a 26-mile run -- it's a complete overhaul of priorities.
Recently, I overhead a conversation on this subject between someone who had just run a marathon and someone who had done so in the past. What struck me most was a comment from the more recent marathon runner. She said, "I'm depressed the race is over. I'm in such good shape now it's a shame to let it slip away." The past marathon runner than told her about a series of shorter races which take place a few weeks after marathons to allow people who had trained for the marathon to take advantage of their newfound fitness. Uninterested, she dismissed the idea.
And you do know why? Because running is boring -- and marathon running is not a substitute for a physical activity or hobby that you enjoy.
Running, I believe, should be part of a more balanced diet of exercise. If you run to get in shape for, say, backpacking, a soccer league, or bicycling, then it makes perfect sense. Otherwise, training for months to run in the longest, most boring foot race that has ever been conceived only sink right back into fitness oblivion afterwards seems like one of the most pointless endeavours ever conceived.
Friday, October 27, 2006
I'm becoming a New Yorker
Despite my best efforts, it's happening.
I now live on Broadway, one of the noisiest streets in Manhattan. The 24-hour-a-day street sounds which emanate from more than ten stories below -- including but not limited to police cruisers, firetrucks, honking drivers, and pseudo-musical performers -- are driving me absolutely crazy.
At this very moment, I'm one annoying sound away from opening my window and yelling at the top of my lungs "shut the hell up!" to everyone on the street.
I now live on Broadway, one of the noisiest streets in Manhattan. The 24-hour-a-day street sounds which emanate from more than ten stories below -- including but not limited to police cruisers, firetrucks, honking drivers, and pseudo-musical performers -- are driving me absolutely crazy.
At this very moment, I'm one annoying sound away from opening my window and yelling at the top of my lungs "shut the hell up!" to everyone on the street.
Saturday, September 23, 2006
Bloglove?
Should I really rekindle the old flame, i.e., start posting on this space again? Rodion suggests I should; school and other responsibilities urge me not to. Hmmm. . . Perhaps I could write less, but post more often. i guess the big question is: can my blog really recover from a summer of silence?
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