Newly Be-Hatted

This is sort of what my new hat looks like;

 Doesn't it fill you with a deep, spiritually transformational inner peace?
Aaaaahhh... hat.


On the downside (because there is always a downside, if there weren't a downside the entire universe would implode due to the sudden lack of balance in the Force and we would all die... and that would be bad... mostly bad, anyway), this hat was made in China. Yes, like everything else. On its tag it screams out in bold letters 'DESIGNED IN NEW YORK!!!', while printed just below that in criminally small font it admits to being 'made in china'. Bombast and apology, all on one little price tag.
Beyond the obvious material, cultural and economic drawbacks of my 'DESIGNEDINNEWYORK!!!butmadeinchina' hat, I'm happy with it.

Aren't you?

You see, this hat is just the beginning of a new era of hatti-ness that will no doubt mark my entry into society. And by 'society', I mean 'hat snobs'. Cheap, hypocritical, self-satisfied, happy hat snobs.

Fifteen Pumpkins

That is the number of pumpkins our household has to procure in order to be competitive pumpkin displayers in our neighborhood. Fifteen.
That may seem an exorbitant amount of pumpkins, particularly for a household of three, but that is where the bar has been set. Anything less would be admitting defeat. After all, would you rather be remembered as the Pumpkin House with the mind-blowing fifteen pumpkin display, or as... yeah... there was this other house with some pumpkins, too...
Which would you rather be? A discreet appreciator of little "h" halloween, or the Life of the Neighborhood?

I can't let another Halloween (notice the  "H") pass by without some whooping and howling and pumpkin carving! No! But... I also can't help but wonder if this sudden desire for pumpkins, pumpkins, More Pumpkins, isn't rooted deep in my childhood. Perhaps, by peeling back the mists of time and examiniOHGODWHATISTHATTHING?!?


Anyway... pumpkins whisk me back to a time of innocence, when my only enemy was my younger brother and little boys would show little girls you how far they could pee and little girls would laugh and point, but secretly wish they could also pee long distance. We would go to the pumpkin patch every year and get some marvelous great pumpkins of curious shapes and sizes. Dad would invariably cut up some loony faces; Brother the Enemy and I would slice out the triangle eyes and block teeth that every small child everywhere considers the apex of pumpkin creativity. Then we'd cook up the pumpkin seeds, put the pumpkins on the porch and light 'em up. Spooooooky...

It's different now. It's all keeping-up-the-the-Joneses now, with bigger and more elaborate pumpkin displays erected every year. It's not innocence and magic; it's an annual Pump-Off. (Admit it; pornographic images just swirled through your head. That's because you're a pervert. It's not your fault, though. You would never act on that fantasy, never.) I'd advocate a return to simpler times, with a mere two to five pumpkin showing, but then the thirteen pumpkin house would win.
We can't have that. There is a crown to be won, a crown for the hardest working, most dedicated Halloween purveyor of spirit, and it's shaped like an ass load of pumpkins.

Bring on the Pumpkins!

P.S. I don't actually think of my brother as The Enemy. I used to, though. I used to.

P.P.S. If you're reading this, Ian, do try to remember all those times I didn't beat you up. Those were great, huh? 'Cause now you're, like, 6'4 or something. Yeah. Good times...

The Inevitable Space Tuna

Isn't that the best blog title you've ever seen?!? I'm so proud.
Even better, space tuna is real. You can buy it at Trader Joes. You can stick the entire package in a pot of water, boil it, open the package and dump the contents over rice, pasta, veggies, bread, ice cream, whatever you typically eat with your tuna, and chow down.
The space tuna made me think today, when I had a free moment and a brain cell to spare for non school-y thoughts, about the future of food.
The topic, as a whole, is increasingly grim and uncertain. As a species we are generally becoming aware of how cavalierly we use natural resources and how quickly we're going through the ones that are not self-replenishing. I saw a chart recently (no link, sorry) that suggested that, while there are three times as many people alive today as there were in 1960, there are half as many resources available to the whole. Half as much potable water, half as much rich soil, half as much gasoline, half as much of what we can't do very well without.
It won't be long before space tuna will be the only tuna. Fortunately for you and all your fellow tuna lovers, it's delicious. So munch away on a glorious heaping plate of the inevitable space tuna, then wash it down with some reprocessed human space beer. Just don't think too hard about what you might actually be eating... in The Future.
I'd like to think future space food will include a lot of candy. I like candy and don't eat nearly enough of it. No, really. I like candy. I'm also rooting for peanut butter.
We will have to concentrate on foods that can be "grown" in a petri dish on a space station. According to science fiction movies, that includes just about anything your little heart might desire. Space people of the future will spend an inordinate amount of time eating the equivalent of nutri-loaf*, however. They clearly won't be smarter than regular humans, who have spent centuries nurturing the beet and featuring the thing in dishes ranging from soup to jello molds. Come on, people! It's not meant to be eaten! Are you crazy? Are you even list- oh, never mind...
It's up to us make the future of space food a brighter one than it might otherwise be if we allow the crazy people to take the reins. Say no to beets. Say yes to candy. And please, pass the tuna.**


*Nutri-loaf is a meal given to medium and maximum security prisoners who are not behaving themselves and have their meal privileges taken away. Nutri-loaf consists of whatever is on the menu for the day, blended up, mashed into a loaf shape and baked. According to my mom, this is for real.
**I'm really tired.