Expressive Punctuation

I enjoy a well-placed exclamation point.

In high school geometry class a friend and I had to do a presentation on how to find the surface area of various 3D shapes. Obviously, it was a pretty bland project. So what did I do? I convinced my friend to let me put an exclamation point on the title slide: Surface Area! It was a small gesture but it was my small attempt to make the tedium of math class a little more exciting.

I bought rice the other day and part of the cooking instructions read: “Remove from heat (with lid on!).”  For some reason, this made me smile. It made cooking rice—another bland task—almost a little dramatic. What would happen if I took the lid off?!

Of course, it’s easy to go wrong with exclamation points. There’s that fine line between “enthusiastic” and “obsessed” that’s easily crossed when you decide it’s necessary to use exclamation points in four different instances in one email. You start sounding like maybe you’ve had a little too much caffeine—and maybe you have. Hello! How are you! Nice to hear from you! I was just wondering…! Thanks! Sincerely, Natalie!

I don’t know about you, but when I read something like that I’m likely to start slowly backing away from the computer screen. I don’t like feeling attacked by punctuation; it’s usually my friend. I will admit I’m probably a more frequent user of the exclamation point than most, but because I appreciate its value, I also appreciate the power of using it sparingly.

I think it’s a good skill to have to be able to use expressive punctuation well. (Of course, it’s not necessarily a priority.) An exclamation point done right exudes passion, hopefulness, and joy.  Aren’t those feelings we’d all like to express?

The Bacon Dilemma

For the past year or so, I’ve been toying with the idea of being a vegetarian. I love animals, and rationally I can’t really justify eating them; I hate dealing with raw meat, and gristle grosses me out way more than makes any logical sense. All these factors added to my decision to give vegetarianism a try.

When I go meat-free for days or weeks, I really don’t miss meat very much. But basically, the one thing that has gotten in my way many a time as I attempt to avoid meat? Bacon. My 21^st birthday came around shortly after I began my vegetarian journey. And on that fateful day afterwards, I went out to breakfast. I wanted bacon. “It’s your birthday, have bacon if you want it,” I was told. So I did. (Okay, I’ll admit that beef teriyaki has broken me too. Chinese takeout has a strong pull on the soul.)

It doesn’t help that I use bacon as a condiment. I hate ketchup, mayo, and most other real condiments—something about sugar and vinegar, I don’t know—and I’ve got to put something on my burger. So what do I put on it? Bacon and cheese, of course.

Yes, you’re right: If I’m being a vegetarian I shouldn’t be eating burgers anyway, and that shouldn’t be a problem. But burgers tempted me sometimes too. And even a veggie burger can call out for bacon sometimes!

It also doesn’t help that bacon is one of the very few ways I can enjoy eggs. As I say that, it is becoming clear to me that the problem here seems more to be my pickiness than anything else. I like to think I’m not picky—I’ve come a long way in the past few years. But, I guess I still am to some extent, and bacon helps with that. It helps with its salty, greasy goodness.

But, I’m proud to report that I have gone completely meat-free for the past two months with minimal temptation. I’m not going to flog myself if I end up eating some bacon, but you know, I’ve actually been okay without it. I had an egg, cheese, and veggie breakfast sandwich the other day, and it was actually pretty damn good. I believe this was because it was made well. So maybe I’m just picky for good quality food.

Plus, let’s be real: there’s always cheese and butter to fulfill my sodium and saturated fat needs.

Facial Hair Advocacy

Chris O’Dowd

I don’t think people give facial hair enough credit–unless it’s No-Shave November–but I’m a firm believer that a beard can really do the face justice all year round! I’m here to advocate for the few, the proud, the bearded.

I was pleased to read this infographic from onlinephd.org about beards because, well, it supports my values! First it says that women tend to prefer their men clean-shaven, but then proceeds give you reasons why you should grow one anyway. “Find a woman who can handle your panache,” it says. “Grow a killer beard and weed out all the amateur girlfriends who are going to cramp your style.” Beard advocates insist: Facial hair provides warmth, makes people respect you, and helps you stand out of the crowd.

But is that why I’m attracted to beards? Because I like the idea of a powerful manly-man? I’m not so sure. Perhaps it’s the oedipal complex that draws me to facial hair–my dad did have a pretty substantial beard when I was young. I cried the first time he shaved it. I was most likely reacting to the new, unfamiliar, less cuddly face that I saw before me… but I still feel this way when males I’m close to end up shaving. I don’t think I’ve cried over a beard since my childhood, but I’ve definitely gotten upset over what seems to me like the unjust removal of some perfectly innocent feature-framing hair.

I am not talking about an over-the-top braided waist-length mass of facial hair. I’m talking about some nicely trimmed jaw coverage or some carefree scruff.

As with many superficial things, I think at least part of the attraction of facial hair is what it implies about the person underneath. Beards can be associated with many different personality traits: Manly, but somehow sensitive. Earthy, laid back. Artsy, maybe? These are all pluses in my book. Needless to say, I have recently come to the realization that perhaps the man for me is a gentle mountain man.

Of course clean-shaven men are attractive too. But when it comes down to it I prefer the thoughtful, shaggy, creative type over the clean-cut businessman type who always has his shirt tucked in.

I can appreciate the word choice “panache” to describe facial hair. I do think it takes a certain degree of boldness to flaunt those facial follicles. Get to it, guys!

(Note: For goodness sake, look at Nick Offerman without facial hair! He may look friendlier but it’s just not natural.)

The Senti-mentality

Sometimes the nostalgia sets in and the urge to keep, keep, keep takes over. I think we’ve all had those overly-sentimental thoughts at least once in our life. But what if I could use this someday? Maybe it’ll come back in style in 5 years. Or 10 years. Maybe I could recycle this old thing into something new. Wouldn’t want to just waste it. How resourceful of me!

But then you find yourself only 21 years old, with more things—just things!—than you know what to do with or can even remember. Most of it is junk; that’s the sad truth that you deny. It means something to the emotional, needy part of you, but your rational brain is kind of annoyed, and uses its space for more important things like memories and ideas.

But isn’t that why we cling to material objects a lot of the time? Because they remind us of times gone by that make us feel warm and fuzzy? We look at Fluffy, the ragged old stuff animal who’s missing patches of hair because we cut it once, thinking it would grow back like a living thing… and we remember the comfort that Fluffy gave us so many nights long ago. We also remember that the things we sought comfort from were miniscule in comparison to the evils we face as “grownups.”

I’ve gotten to the point where I actively avoid acquiring things. Free things are the most dangerous—they’re cheap and often flimsy, they serve little to no practical purpose, and I never know where to store them.

But it took me a while to get to this point. My mom would try to help me clean my room when I was a teenager, and we found ourselves painstakingly arguing over whether I needed to keep some old Pogs, my elementary school backpack, countless drawings that were floating around from my Sailor Moon phase. Getting rid of stuff—just stupid old stuff—can be heart-wrenching.

I’ve made strides in my personal struggle not to end up a pack-rat, but the hoarder mentality still lurks in the shadows. At a nonprofit where I work, I have to go through donations and make decisions on what to keep and what to toss (well, usually donate to another organization). Because we strive for certain standards for the people we serve, we can’t keep everything. And I noticed myself hesitating. “Oh, this is so cute!” I exclaim in a typical girl squeal. My coworker looks at me as if to say “It’s all cute.” … and it is. But that doesn’t mean it’s good quality. Some of it has to go.

That’s how it is at home and at work. Everywhere. Some stuff has got to go, so that the most important stuff can shine.

The Magical Fruit

There aren’t many things you will hear me preach about, but beans are one of them.

Often when I’m preparing a bean-tastic meal, I find myself reciting that silly old song. And then I think to myself: man, they are a pretty magical food.

My mom used to tell me that if you had to pick one food to have on a desert island, beans would be the perfect choice because they have carbs, fiber, and protein (also, iron—anemics unite!). And if you’re looking to cut down on saturated fat or just your consumption of animal products, beans are a good source of plant-based protein!

It’s frustrating to me how few of my beloved legumes are offered in meals around here! You really can’t find many bean options in your everyday restaurant, unless you’re going Mexican. But beans are so much more than an add-on in your burrito.

Okay, so some beans taste sort of bland. And the more you eat the more you toot. (To that I say: get over it. Everybody farts.) But beans—they have a lot of potential. Lentils are a versatile base that you can make into curry, or mix with anything from sausages to rice to simple vegetables and coriander. Black and pinto beans are obviously great in Mexican food. Hummus (made from garbanzo beans) is delicious. There are countless bean soup and bean salad recipes out there that use anywhere from one to dozens of bean varieties.

Bean soups are often very hearty, but still healthy, which is one of the reasons I like them so much. One of my favorites has been a soup called Harira, which is a Moroccan bean stew. It used to be on the menu at the Whole Foods hot bar a lot, and I fell in love. I’ve never tried it anywhere else, but there are a ton of recipes out there for it.

Another thing I enjoy is the bean medley or bean-and-rice medley. You can find these pre-mixed in their raw state. I like to cook the medley, add some butter and a vegetable of my choice, and voila—a well-balanced, low maintenance meal.

For even more convenience, canned beans are a lot easier and quicker to deal with, but I don’t think they’re always the way to go. For stews and chilis, it can be worth it to use raw beans because they get that slow-cooked taste that absorbs so much of the flavor around them. All in all, there are so many directions you can take legumes in, whether you have 5 minutes and an old can of navy beans sitting around, or several hours and a expertly crafted bean mix ready for stewing.

British Infusions

Sometimes it’s nice to switch it up and add a little overseas character to your daily bread. Here are some ways to Brit-ify the Yank food we’re used to.

Hot toddy

Earl Grey Sweets
Earl Grey ice cream is a brilliant idea. It’s a creamy treat with a subtle black tea taste. I haven’t been able to find it many places, but one ice cream shop that has it is Toscanini’s in Cambridge. I like to get it with heath bars when possible. Such a wonderfully British combination. I also tried making Earl Grey cookies once, with heath bar chunks in them. Now that I think about it, Earl Grey cheesecake would also be a great idea. Desserts for the Englishman!

Hot Toddies
I had never heard of a hot toddy until one chilly night recently, when I found myself wanting a cup of tea but also wanting that tea to have some kind of kick. Lo and behold, I discovered a gentleman’s drink: the hot toddy. The name itself registers as quite British to me, though the supposed place of origin ranges from Scotland to India. The ingredients for this drink vary widely, but generally include hot water, some kind of spirit, some kind of sweetener, and lemon. In England the “toddy” implies whiskey specifically. You can find some expert toddy recipes from across the pond here.

Toad in the Hole
The British are so great at naming things expressively. I guess we have “pigs in a blanket” but that’s not as vivid. The Toad in the Hole involves sausages in gravy and a popover-type breading. I’ll admit we Americans are a little hesitant about meat pies and the like, but I’d try it for breakfast. This meal also supposedly has a back story involving toads in their underground homes being disturbed by loose golf balls.

The Chip Butty
A sandwich of French fries, buttered bread, and some kind of vinegary sauce (often ketchup). It’s a big deal over there. The dish originated in Ireland but spread to the UK. Again, I think the name’s great. But I’m not sold on the sandwich—it looks a little soggy. Fans of the sandwich say it’s “not just a handful of greasy fries shoved willy-nilly between two slices of bread.” A “proper” fry sandwich gives you lots of fries without being an ugly, lumpy mess. Personally, before I’m convinced, I’d like to see it tried with some nice toasted sourdough and hand-cut (or sweet potato!) fries.

This is not one you can get in many places in the states; the only reason I know it exists is that we briefly had an Irish restaurant in Brighton called “The Battery”–as in, food battered and fried. My brother once came home eating a french fry sandwich, and my mom and I just… cringed.

No judgment! We all have our fair share of disgustingly delicious comfort food. Enjoy, old chaps.

Necessity vs. Privilege

At Emerson College and much beyond, people are talking about the heartwarming story of how one transgender student’s fraternity brothers raised thousands of dollars for part of his female-to-male surgery. (Read the full story here.) I run with a pretty liberal crowd, but my friends ended up having widely varying opinions on this topic.

Many people at Emerson find the story inspiring and are proud to be a part of such an accepting peer group. But it seems that support for LGBTQ issues gets a little blurry when it comes to highly medical (and thus expensive) issues like gender reassignment.

One friend of mine said that her issue with what happened with Collins is that poverty, homelessness, and lack of healthcare are huge problems. She says that these problems deserve more attention than someone not feeling that they belong in their body.

My friend does have a point about triage. Poverty is a huge problem, and causes more devastating effects than that of gender dysphoria. But at the same time, there are people suffering from both issues. The fact is, we are forced to pick and choose what causes to support every day. Most legitimate needs will never be fully met, and that’s the sad truth.

People with money always have the right to decide what to do with their money. We are, after all, capitalists. If a struggle to get female-to-male surgery is what speaks to someone, they can and will donate money to that instead of any other cause.

Another friend thinks that getting a sex change is altering the human body as if there is something “wrong” with it, which she doesn’t believe is right. She believes it’s a problem that privileged people come up with.

As for the alteration-of-the-human-body issue, I don’t think something like breast implant surgery can be compared to a sex change, because they are inherently different kinds of changes. With breast implants, the end result is objectively viewed by society as an improvement, whereas with the changing of a person’s sex, the end result is just different, not necessarily better (subjectively, for the person, it is “better” because it fits them better; but I don’t believe most transgender people change because they think it would be better to be a man in society).

This is a contemporary issue, I will give her that. But perhaps this is because the possibility of a sex change was not even fathomable before.

Both of these people are liberals. They support the right to live, act, and dress how you want, but don’t see gender reassignment surgery as a necessity for individuals struggling with gender identity.

What is important here is the degree of not only acceptance but overwhelming support shown to Collins’ by his fraternity brothers. To me, that’s why the story is worth being shared.

I try not to take too much of a hard stance on these types of issues, because I can never truly know what it’s like living that person’s life. But my general rule of thumb is, if something is causing a person unhappiness or distress, and the solution does not harm anyone, then we should accept it. This is why I support gender reassignment surgery.

Sheep Breeds: A beginner’s look

People in the UK take their sheep seriously. Then again, people in the US kind of do too.

You may think that if you’ve seen one sheep, you’ve seen them all. But there are actually dozens of different breeds with their own unique characteristics and niches.

Some are better for wool, some are better for meat, some are good for milk production, and some are great for giving birth to lots of new sheep. Some have curly wool, some have straight wool, some have short and some have long hair; some have black faces, some have spots. It’s probably safe to say that they’re all good for mowing the lawn.

Many of these breeds have their own websites.

Some have silly names:Lonk, Badger Face, Swaledale, Dorper, Shropshire (what a great word–love the way it rolls off the tongue), Llanwenog, Zwartbles… I could go on.

So who’s good at what?

Merinos have the finest wool (SmartWool brand socks, for example, are made from Merino fiber).

Merino sheep

British Milksheep and Friesian (AKA Friesland) are good for makin’ babies and producing milk.

British Milksheep

Devon, Lincoln, and Cornwall Longwool sheep look like hippies. How can they even see where they’re going when they walk? I guess that’s what a sheepdog is for.

Lincoln Longwool sheep

Some prefer the heftier, more rugged Border Leicester.

Border Leicester sheep

My favorite, of course, are the fluffy ones. Really anything that looks poofy–like a Romney or Ryeland sheep–floats my boat.

Ryeland sheep

Sheep breeds can also vary according to things like flocking style and overall demeanor. Sheep lovers know their favorite sheep, for whatever reasons they may choose, and I warn you: they will get attached to their breed.

For even more sheep specifics, check out Grit Magazine’s Guide to Sheep Breeds and its related sidebars.

Hey Arnold, You Done Good.

My fondness for this old football-head is not rooted in simple nostalgia. I learned a lot of arbitrary but practical stuff from Hey Arnold!. A lot of children’s shows teach “lessons” but I find the topics addressed by this show to be especially insightful and more profound than the average Saturday morning cartoon.

First of all, the show has a great vocabulary. Watching that show, I was exposed to words like onomatopoeia, mauve, abdicator… The writers just kept dropping those gems in there. I think by far the best word I’ve learned from Hey Arnold! is “legume.” It taught me what legumes are. And that they are their own food group. That was actually in the first episode! (“Downtown as Fruits”)

No one is one-dimensional in Hey Arnold!, which I think is pretty rare for a children’s cartoon. Helga, for example, may be a grumpy tough girl on the outside, but we see her soft side as she secretly pines for Arnold. And Arnold is not your typical cartoon protagonist. He’s contemplative and dreamy, a good student, soft-spoken, and the moral compass of the show.

I also appreciate the role of animals in the show. Multiple episodes explore the meaningful relationships that humans can have with animals: Arnold and his grandma rescue an old turtle from its sad life at the aquarium; he gets extremely upset when his pet pig Abner runs away (Abner gets lots of screen time in this episode, too—he’s a great character); he befriends Pigeon Man, the recluse who understands birds better than he understands humans.

The setting of the show is also pretty unique. Their big city surroundings are often integral to the plot: it can be a dangerous place. Arnold gets mugged, interacts with weirdos on public transit, and gets lost downtown. It gets heavy sometimes! He also interacts with people of hugely varied backgrounds. Economic, class, social, and familial issues are addressed without fear—also with a touch of humor. They go across the board.

Though of course Hey Arnold! has its unrealistic, cartoony aspects (example A: everyone’s head seems to resemble a strange and unique geometric shape), I think what makes it different is its realism. It’s grounded in a realistic setting that it doesn’t shy away from. The problems Arnold and his friends face are largely adult problems.

All I can say is, good job, Craig Bartlett.

Love Might Cost a Thing

Since I’m not feeling particularly bitter this Valentine’s Day, I figured I’d do an all-too-expected “what is love?” post. But this one’s going to be about familial love, not romantic love.

In a literature class I’m taking this semester, we recently discussed the concept that, basically, love is a materialistic phenomenon. Of course this is an over-simplification of one writer’s complex thesis, but “love as materialistic” was the big idea we came up with by the end of class. The essay we read focused on the mother-child relationship, wherein the writer asserted that mothers have children for the affection and the future care that will be taken of them (say, when they’re old and sick); at the same time, children love their parents in return for material resources–food, shelter, etc.

It’s unsettling, obviously, because we certainly don’t want to think of love as material or utilitarian. To most of us, at least in the contemporary Western world, love is an intrinsic experience. We believe we love out of some sort of magical force particular to the human existence. Still, I found myself thinking about this distressing–but perhaps rational–argument.

This brings me to a concept I’ve actually explored in philosophy in relation to altruism. Philosophers question why people are altruistic. Some theorists say that being kind to others gives people positive feelings about themselves (as in, “Oh look how nice I am! I’m such a great person”), so in reality, they are still being selfish–because they are being kind to others for personal pleasure. But that assertion then begs the question: why do we even want to be “nice” people? Why do we get pleasure from that? Don’t we get pleasure from it because we like to see others happy? And if we simply enjoy seeing others happy, then aren’t we truly altruistic? It’s a very strange, circular conundrum. Of course, we never reach a conclusion (that’s how philosophy goes).

In the same vein, why do we love? Because, selfishly, it makes us feel good? Well, yes. But why does it make us feel good? There’s the physical pleasure we get from affection like hugs and kisses, and also the psychological pleasure of companionship. But what accounts for the rest of our love for a parent or family member? Do we just love our parents because we’ve been around them for our entire lives? I wouldn’t deny that familiarity and comfort around a person contributes to the feeling of love for someone. But still, could that really be it? We certainly don’t feel love for just anyone that we’re around a lot, or just anyone that gives us food when we’re hungry.

I do think there is a degree of altruism to love. Parents, especially, illustrate this. Why else would they do so much for their children? Not because they’re sure they’ll get something in return. (Of course I can’t exactly say, because I’m not a parent.) They may never get anything in return. But out of some special reserve of parental strength, they pull out love and more love unconditionally. I don’t see any self-serving purpose there.

It’s very odd to question why you love your parents. Really the only answer to that question that I could come up with is “because I do.” We just do, because they’re our parents. And maybe part of it is materialistic. But part of it is also…. something else.