A horse is a horse, of course, of course!

Ladies and gentlemen, may I reintroduce the terribly defunct blogger: Chanel!

[Insert screaming crowd impression here.]

But seriously. Hi, guys. It's been two months since I laid a finger on this blog. I feel like a failure. But then I reminded myself that giving up completely is a failure. I merely took a sabbatical. I guess. I've been working three jobs and continuing school full-time, so blogging took a major backseat this summer. I want to apologize.

I also want to write. And I'm torn between two subjects today. They sort of relate. I'm going to go with the one I've had on my mind the longest: "Don't look a gift horse in the mouth."

I was at a LARP event last month, and somehow this saying came up. I always thought it went something like, "don't kick a gift horse in the mouth," or, "don't look a kicked horse in the mouth," I donno. Apparently I thought that the saying was some sort of play on words with the fact that if a horse kicks you in the mouth, you're gonna lose all your teeth, so you better not do it!

Wrong.

A friend of mine corrected me on what the actual saying was. Then I had even less of an idea of what it meant. He went on to clarify for me. So, get this: by looking in a horse's mouth, at it's teeth, you can determine it's age. Kind of like rings on a tree stump. Therefore if someone gifts you a horse, it would be terribly rude to stop and look it in it's mouth to see if it's still in tip-top-horse condition because, hey, it was a gift!

If you don't believe me, check out this webpage about horse's teeth. I'm now going to wonder if any of the people I knew in high school with giant teeth had horse heritage. Or if maybe they were Benjamin Buttons.

Image credit: Tumblr funny-horse

Stay tuned for the next installment of nerdiness: the origin of the word "nerd."

♫/I want to hold your hand♪ (but only on my right side, in case you need to draw sword to defend my honor).

Jon and I were walking through Old Orchard Beach the other day and we were holding hands. I thought nothing of it. As we walked, we passed another couple who was holding hands. I noticed their hand-holding, looked down and noticed our hand-holding, and instantly wanted to know where the tradition started.

Jon thinks it's simply human nature--a compulsory action that we make toward someone we care about. An article by the NY Times states something similar:

"To hold someone’s hand is to offer them affection, protection or comfort. It is a way to communicate that you are off the market. Practically speaking, it is an efficient way to squeeze through a crowd without losing your partner. People do it during vigils, marches, weddings and funerals."

I'm not inclined to disagree, nor am I against hand-holding, but I do want to know if there is a reason for it. Everything has a reason. Right? I mean. People invent things for a reason. Maybe the only reason for hand holding was for safety, back in the day when Tarzan and Jane were running from a T-Rex. Or maybe the reason was to display, pardon the wording, "ownership" of one another. But why hands? Why not hold an ear, or something?

As much as I hate to say this. I can't find diddly on the topic. The best guess I've found is from a Yahoo! Answers post where a man makes the point that joining hands was a way of joining two people together when they were married. Obviously symbolic of them becoming one. 

This couple has been holding hands for 1,500 years: 

Photo Credit: thehistoryblog.com

Hand-holding is an ancient tradition. I'm not sure there are any origins. Alas! This post is not a total bust! According to this article by Primer Magazine, the reason that men escort ladies on their left side is also an ancient tradition? Can you guess what it is? Huh? Can ya? Can ya?

I'll tell you!

Back in medieval times, men would escort ladies on their left arm so that if a threat became imminent--or, you know, a lady's honor needed defending--the man's sword arm would be free. He could quickly draw his weapon and slice down a foe much more quickly than if his sword arm had been all tangled up in the lady's arm. I like the way these people thought. 

So I'm Wrinkly. Sue Me.

I have attended quite a few events in the past few weeks and there have been a lot of pictures taken of me. As I check them all out as they come up on Facebook, I think one thing: Wrinkles. Why?

I have one wrinkle that runs horizontally across my forehead and another that runs vertically between my eyebrows and it's only going to get worse and I kind of hate them. I've only noticed them appearing over the past year-ish. I mean, I'm 25 years old. It's not like I think I look like Lieutenant Worf or anything, but still. Wrinkles, really? Why the hell does our skin wrinkle anyway?!

Photo Credit: startrek.com

I've heard all sorts of speculation about the origin of wrinkles, from dry skin to old age, but I've never cared to understand wrinkles. Until now.

According to MSN, dry skin does not cause wrinkles, but it does make them look worse. The actual wrinkles are caused by side effects of aging, not being old. More specifically, what the article said: "Over time, shrinkage of facial bone structure, loss of collagen, skin elasticity and gravity equals wrinkles." What I heard: "You get old; you shrink; your skin gets loose, and gravity pulls it down. Along with all your other parts."

But I am 25. Sure, that's one quarter of a century, but... Wrinkles? Already?

Ah, alas, MSN also says that 90% of wrinkles are caused from sun exposure. Now I understand that they mean years and years, decades, really, of sun exposure. But I'm pretty sure that means my two wrinkles are from squinting in the sun. Light sensitivity is a side effect of bad eyesight (something I learned at college this year so it must be true). I have horrible eyesight and I definitely am sensitive to light, so any time I step out into the world without sunglasses I am squinting like Clint Eastwood. These two wrinkle offenders of mine happen to run exactly where my face squinches when I squint.

Photo Credit: tvtropes.org

How do you fix wrinkles? Well, as far as I can tell wrinkles are like pregnancy: preventing it from happening in the first place is the best way to "fix" it. Okay, the steps for wrinkle-prevention differ a bit from preventing pregnancy, but the premise is the same: a little preventative maintenance goes a long way in avoiding the end-result you're looking to steer clear of. Keep your skin moisturized to help with the appearance of wrinkles, stay hydrated to help the skin not dry out in the first place, stay out of the damn sun--or at least wear sunblock (which I've already decided doesn't work anyway)--to protect your flimsy human flesh, and something else about fruit acids and vitamins.

So what I gather is, wrinkles are pretty much a gamble. You can try to prevent them but there's no guarantee it'll work. "You want a guarantee, buy a toaster." 

Garlic Clears Infections. And the Room.

So I'm one of the bazillion Americans who doesn't have health insurance and works two part-time jobs so she can't get health insurance because her hours don't exceed 29/week at either position. I also have impacted wisdom teeth. I think. I don't know for sure because I refuse to go to the dentist. I've never had anything but a cleaning done and I haven't been in probably a decade. But I read A Million Little Pieces--I have a vivid idea of what tooth work would feel like. You all can't fool me with your comforting words.

Anywho. A couple of years ago all of the wisdom teeth in my mouth got infected and swelled to epic proportions. At the time I had some leftover antibiotics hanging around so I took them and my mouth eventually recovered. Last week the wisdom teeth on one side of my mouth decided to get silly and out of control again. Silly teeth.

Being as I don't have insurance for a dentist. And I don't have a doctor (since I don't ever go) who I can call and beg for antibiotics. And I hate hospitals. I had to turn to the internet for some solution. Because a) I was afraid the infection would go to my brain and murder me in my sleep; b) my mouth hurt and eating and talking was harder than it should have been; and c) Jon was going to make me go to the dentist.

I turned first to Facebook and asked friends what to do. Among the myriad of responses, I was told to try clove oil for the pain and garlic for the infection. Yes, garlic.

I looked it up and found out that garlic is indeed a natural antibiotic. Cool! I love garlic!

Now let me just preface this by saying that I put garlic in pretty much everything I cook. I use so much garlic that if a vampire decided on me for a tasty snack, they'd fly screaming in the other direction with one precious bite. In my home remedy searching, I came across some info that chewing on a raw onion for three minutes helps with tooth swelling/infection. I wasn't quite ready for that step but I figured that if I chewed on the garlic it would have the same effect and it had to be better than chewing on an onion. Right?

Frigging WRONG. The first night, I popped a clove into my mouth and started to chew and ohmygoodgod. Raw garlic burns. It burns so bad. I swallowed it down as quickly as I could and decided to chop up the next clove into pill sized bits and swallow them with a glass of water. I also swished with salt water several times, swished with hydrogen peroxide, and soaked gauze in clove oil and let it sit on my gums for a few minutes. That last bit was challenging--I was drooling like my friend Krista's bull dog by the time I spit it out. After all was said and done my teeth felt much better but my mouth was on fire and I smelled like I imagine the Godfather smells.

So last night I decided that there would be no chewing of the garlic. I chopped up both cloves and swallowed them like pills. I brushed my teeth. I swished with salt water. I swished with peroxide. I swished with mouth wash for good measure. I dabbed a tiny bit of clove oil onto the gums themselves.

I got into bed. I got about 8 inches from kissing Jon. I hear "I smell garlic."

-_-

My advice to you all? If your wisdom teeth flare up and you don't have insurance and you don't like the dentist and you decide to swallow raw garlic to fix the situation: take your garlicbiotic eons before you're about to get into bed with your partner. "I smell garlic" is a real mood-killer.

Photo credit: www.pet-grub.com

I'll Take One Bridesmaid, Extra Crispy Please!

So I was a bridesmaid in a friend's wedding on Saturday. The wedding was on Cliff Island, off of the coast of Portland, Maine. The bride and groom rented a house on the island for the week surrounding the big day and about 3 weeks ago, the weather forecast started showing rain. Not only rain for the day of, but rain for the whole week.

Well, being as the weather forecast often is, it was wrong. The sun managed to fight its way past the clouds and we had gorgeous weather--up until Friday. It rained and rained all of Friday and into Saturday morning. Miraculously, with a little help from the bride's late mother, the sun came out in full force about an hour before the ceremony.

The result? One very happy bride, a beautiful wedding overlooking the ocean, clear skies for gorgeous photos by the fabulous Clare Norton, and several very sun burnt bridesmaids.

As the sun had only shown its face literally an hour before the ceremony was set to begin, not one of us thought of sunscreen. For the duration of the ceremony I could feel the sun beating down on my bare shoulders but the only thought I gave to it was just to be thankful for the warmth after the previous freezing 24 hours. After the vows and kisses were exchanged we were off and moving and I forgot about the sun.

We were running around for pictures and for wine and for lobster and for dancing and for, well, everything that happens at a wedding. For five hours I was grateful for the warmth of the sun at an outdoor wedding. I had no idea that I was burning. Apparently I was.

Making my way home from the island, I noticed that the strap of my bag was hurting my shoulder more than normal. I thought, "Oh, I must have gotten a little sun!" I got to my apartment, removed my jacket, saw that my skin was almost purple and thought, "Holy hell! What happened?!"

Then yesterday Jon and I went to the Wicked Big Meet in Connecticut. He demanded I wear sunscreen. Feeling the crisp on my shoulders, I obliged. We brought it with us and reapplied consistently throughout the day. Okay, I mostly just reapplied to my shoulders because I wanted color on the rest of my body, but still! I definitely put it on my already-burnt parts more than once.

I left WBM with a sunburn on my shoulders that was twice what it was when I had arrived. I got in the car and asked Jon what SPF the sunscreen was--thinking it must be low, like 10 or 15, if the sun got through it to burn me further. Nope! It was SPF 50!! Then Jon tells me that he heard once that any SPF works kind of like the car wash: any package beyond a certain package is the same one with spiffier words and a higher price--meaning any SPF over 30 works just the same as 30 only it costs more.

I'm not normally a wearer of the sunscreen so I must know: Is it really all just a marketing gimmick when you get past SPF 30?

My initial search on Google tells me that this is apparently a hot topic (heh heh) as there are a lot of results. Whether or not sunscreen over SPF 50 works any differently than anything over it seems to be where the controversy lies. According to this article by the NY Times, SPF used to max out at 30, so when higher numbers started hitting the beach, folks were skeptical. It also tells me that the way SPF is calculated is by comparing the time a person usually takes to turn red in the sun with how long it takes them to turn that same shade of red with the sunscreen on (sucks to be that Ginny pig).

What that means, according to this article, is that a person who normally turns into a lobster in 20 minutes in the sun unprotected, should theoretically be able to stay in the sun without burning 15 times longer than that when wearing SPF 15 sunblock. So according to that math, assuming there is no swimming or sweating involved, that's 5 hours in the sun without burning. Right? 15 x 20 = 300/60 = 5. Yeah. 5 hours in the sun without burning while wearing SPF 15 if you normally burn in 20 minutes without it. I can do math!

Well I think that SPF is a big fat marketing liar. Because wearing SPF 50 even applied once I should have been fine being in the sun for 7 hours. I was a good human and reapplied over the course of those 7 hours and I still burnt.

Interestingly enough, the difference in ultraviolet B ray protection between SPF 50 and SPF 100 is barely notable. It's not actually offering you double the blockage. SPF 100 blocks 99% of the UVB rays, SPF 50 blocks 98%, and SPF 30 blocks 96.7% (thank you NY Times). Does Coppertone or Banana Boat tell you this? Nooooo. Of course not! They just go ahead and let you believe you're doubly protected while charging you another $2 and throwing images of little-girl-butt in your face.

A Perfectly Poignant Post About Pee

Sometimes my mouth opens and words fall out and I hear myself saying Why? Why did you just say that? Stop talking! So I laugh nervously when whoever I'm talking to laughs awkwardly at whatever I've just said. Instead of shutting up and suffering in silence while they forget whatever weird words I've just spoken, I keep talking thinking I can smooth it over with more words. My mouth opens and I utter more ridiculousness while my brain screams STOP TALKING RIGHT NOW! YOU'RE MAKING IT WORSE!

Well I just told my boss that going to the bathroom was an important part of my day.

It happened because we were both awkwardly walking from the office to the bathrooms in the hallway at the same time. They're right next to each other and there's really no way to avoid the fact that you're essentially going to the bathroom together if you happen to go at the same time as someone else. It's just weird and I generally try to avoid this but somehow I managed to end up in the hall, headed to the bathrooms with my boss anyway. Of course, small talk is required else you seem odd for avoiding someone you know who is two feet away from you.

He had forgotten he had to go to the restroom earlier and told me this. I replied with a cheesy remark, something along the lines of, "Man I hate it when that happens. Peeing is important." Which was a really weird thing to say to your boss. So he made some awkward remark back and instead of just shutting my mouth, I felt I needed to explain why I said peeing was important (aside from, you know, having your bladder explode if you don't) and that's when I announced proudly that the bathroom was an important part of my day. At this point, I stopped talking. He offered to unlock the bathroom door for me. I silently declined by holding up my own key and stepped into the Women's Room.

The reason the bathroom is an important part of my day is because I visit it frequently. I drink about a metric ton of water every day and as a result, I pee a lot. If I couldn't visit the bathroom, I would be in trouble. After partially explaining this to my boss on the way to the bathroom (in which I left out the why the bathroom is important and couldn't figure out a proper way to include it because that's not information a boss ever needs to have and ended up just being weird) I realized that even if I don't drink a metric ton of water in a day and I only drink a metric yard of water (if that's even a thing), I still go pee a lot. I have a tiny tank.

What I want to know is how many pees a day is too many pees a day?

I have turned to Google and typed in the dreaded phrase "Frequent Urination in Women." I hate Googling symptoms because A) if you're a woman, it seems every symptom in the world means you're pregnant and that will solve everything and B) I leave the computer every time thinking I have some form of cancer, a terminal illness, or a rare and tropical disease and I'm going to have to be poked and prodded in places I didn't know could be prodded or poked in order to find out what's the matter.

And of course, this search hasn't let me down. Web MD says that typically a person goes to the bathroom four to eight times a day. It also says that peeing more than that means any of the following could be the cause: I have diabetes; I'm pregnant; I have an enlarged prostate; I have Interstitial cystitis; high blood pressure medications are messing with my fluids;  a stroke damaged my nerves; I have bladder cancer or dysfunction; I have Overactive Bladder Syndrome; and on and on.

Well. I feel better. Not.

I don't think I pee more than eight times a day. I'll have to start a tally to make sure. But of course now I have to click on all of these other problems and make sure that I don't have any symptoms, which, I'm sure I will because every medical issue I look up has about a billion generic "symptoms."

I have had a tiny tank all my life so I can cross off pregnancy. Peeing doesn't hurt me, so I can cross off cancer, a Urinary Tract Infection, and cysts. I don't think I have diabetes. Apparently if I had OBS, I'd leak pee when I laughed--and I don't. People with Interstitial cystitis pee up to 60 times in 24 hours and I definitely do NOT pee anywhere near that frequently. I've never had a stroke. I am not currently, nor have I ever been, in possession of a prostate so I can assume an enlarged one is not the cause. I've never had radiation therapy so that can't be it. I've had my thyroid checked before so that's not it. I don't have high blood pressure, let alone medication for it...

Maybe I just drink too much water. Maybe I just have a small bladder. Maybe I'm not abnormal--aside from writing an entire post about peeing.

Starting today I will keep "The Water Journal--a Documentation of Going In and Going Out." You know, just to be sure.

Chock-Cheke-Chokken-Full

So I'm sitting here working on a piece of marketing material for my day job, and I implement the phrase "chock-full of valuable information!" ...Chock-full. What does that even mean?

Apparently I'm not the only one to wonder, because a bunch of answers are jumping for my attention when I type my question into Google (which has a wonderful tribute up today to the guy who created petri dishes, by the way). I now find myself staring at The Mavens' Word of the Day from Random House.

Though the page is dated January of 1998, I'm gonna go with it. I can't imagine that the origins of "chock-full" have changed much in the last 15 years if they haven't changed in the past several centuries.

The earliest versions of chock-full showed up in the fifteenth century as "chokkefulle" and "chekefull" and then disappeared! How a word disappears I have no idea, but apparently the early forms of chock-full did. When it reappeared two centuries later, it was in the form of "choke-full" and "chuck-full."

Choke-full? Chuck-full? What kind of word is this?? Chuck-fill makes me think of vomit and full makes me think of, well, full. So I have an image of a vom filled bucket sloshing around in my mind. /gag. And Choke-full? Well that's just weird.

There is speculation that the word as we know it today means "cheek-full" as in "cheeks stuffed full like a squirrel." The Old English word for cheek could apparently be where the original "chokke" or "cheke" came from. I can maybe buy into that.

Oh, this other theory is that the "chock" part of chock-full represents Middle English "chokken" which means "to cram" which is from an Old English word "to thrust" and apparently that all boils down to "chock-full" meaning "crammed full!" I like  this explanation!! Crammed full is a synonym of chock-full, so it not only makes the most sense but it seems the most rich in its history. Three wordly ancestors for "chock." Now that's cool.

There's some other bits on Mavens' Word of the Day about chock representing the ancestor of choke and the compound becoming "full to the point of choking," which, I mean, I have been there--I ate two plates of pork chops, broccoli, and potatoes last night and thought I was going to chuck-full for a good four hours--but I don't like this meaning as much as the second.

I think from now on I'll write "chock-full" as "chokken-full." You know, as a throw back to Middle English. And to confuse people.

I'll probably leave it modern for this marketing material, though... Something tells me my boss wouldn't find "chokken-full" to be as cool as I do.

A Slice of History at the Saco Drive-In

I'm 25 years old and, despite the fact that I grew up 20 miles from one, up until last summer, I had never been to a drive-in movie theater. When I did finally go, it was the most exciting movie experience of my life. A cool summer night, a giant screen, a blanket, and a double feature... I felt like I had stepped into the movie Grease--and I loved it. It was extra meaningful to me because Jon took me there on a date and it felt like so much more than just dinner and movie. It was actually special, thoughtful, quirky, fun.

We went back for opening weekend this year and for 15 bucks saw Iron Man 3 and Oz. If we had gone to a regular theater, tickets alone would have been more than that for just one film. Not to mention buying dinner if we went to Smitty's would have been another $30 and concessions at Cinemagic probably wouldn't have been much less than that. The price of a date night at the drive-in is ridiculously low. They have a really cool concessions building, too, which also has a really 50s vibe to it, complete with glass bottle sodas.

This weekend is Memorial Day Weekend and the drive-in is playing Star Trek and Oblivion. Gates are at 7:15 and the first film starts rolling at 8:20. They're also going to be open for Friday, Saturday, and Sunday night. Considering most theaters make their money off of concessions, and that a lot of people bring in their own refreshments to the drive in, staying open for a third night may prove harmful to profits--but they're doing it anyway. They're doing it for the people who voted, "yes, please stay open for the third night this week," on the Saco Drive-In Facebook page. I'm going to go to the drive-in this weekend, I'll be going on Sunday, and I'll be purchasing from the concession stand.

But the Saco Drive-In needs our help to remain in operation. They are having trouble getting feature films this year because everything has transitioned to digital and the Drive-In is still running an old 35mm projector. If they want to get the films that people will pay to see, and, eventually, any films at all, they need to upgrade to a digital projector. The cost of which is close to $80,000. Without upgrading to digital, the Drive-In will not be able to continue functioning. The Saco Drive-In will close.

I just learned today that the Saco Drive-In was the first drive-in ever built in Maine, the 17th drive-in ever built, and is now the second-oldest, still-operating outdoor movie theater in the entire country. And it's right here in Southern Maine!! How can we stand by and let this historical drive-in become another empty parking lot??

I love the Drive-In. I just found it a year ago and I don't want to lose it now. We can save the Saco Drive-In. Spread the word! Donate $5. Every penny counts!

Check out this keepMEcurrent.com article for more information about the Drive to Save the Saco Drive-In. Share this post, share the link to donate, share the article, go to the drive-in this weekend, like their Facebook page, buy a T-shirt, donate fundraising ideas, there are plenty of ways to save the drive-in!

CLICK HERE TO DONATE SAFELY AND SECURELY TO THE CAUSE!

When you're looking at movie listings for this weekend, stop and think... Oh the Drive-In! Trust me, it's a wonderful experience--and at $15 a carload, how can you possibly beat it?

Why White People Can't Dance.

I have faith in the internet. I have faith that I can ask the internet anything I need to know and get the answer. And because of that faith, I feel I can ask the internet: Why can't white people dance?

I know, I know, how cliche can I get? But really, I need to know. Because it's widely true. When you go out to a club, at least any club I've ever been to, you're guaranteed to witness the following:

1. White ladies on the dance floor, wiggling their arms around--usually over their heads--and gyrating their shoulders off beat from their hips while their bodies sway back and forth in an attempt to gain momentum to swing their hair around in a sexy manner. They are generally doing this with other white ladies who also can't dance or with black men.

2. Black men with that rhythm and groove that is smoother than a baby's ass, dancing with white ladies who can't dance but with the assistance of said black men can produce a semblance of dance--a sort of almost deep, primal mating ritual.

3. Black ladies who can dance--and who know they can dance--who laugh, roll their eyes, or get annoyed at the white ladies who can't dance taking up the dance floor. Sometimes they will take pity and guide the rhythm-less white ladies into dance-phoria.

Where are the white men, you ask?

4. At the bar, with popped collars or loosened ties, staring at the dance floor with envy and apprehension.

Yes, I'm generalizing. Obviously there are exceptions to these rules, but, Christ, not many. Roll with me on this one.

Wikipedia can't help me here. So I turned to Google and came across this essay, Why, I Say, White People Can't Dance (And, Yes, It has to Do with Race/Culture/Rhythm, Appreciation, & Respect). The essay gets a little convoluted toward the end, but the author starts out strong by pointing out that dancing is a language whose words are movement and grammar is rhythm. In general, white people have learned a different language than black people and therefore express themselves in the language of dance differently.

I have to say, that's a pretty good explanation. I'm having one hell of a time trying to find any other, and trust me, I'm looking. Another really fantastic point made is that the preconceived notions that we have about our bodies really define how we translate our movements into rhythm and dance.

Think about it: white culture is largely conservative. Any Native culture--be it African, Native American, or Australian Aboriginal--is foreign to white European Americans. Breasts bared? No way! Rites of passage that involve sex in front of the elders? Absolutely not! Peyote around the smoke circle while the drums beat? Forgetaboutit!

We seem to have started out ashamed of our bodies in this country. We banned "provocative" dance moves at points in time, made sex a sin, and considered anything less than "proper etiquette" to be barbaric. White people owned black slaves in this country and therefore, any way the slaves acted was considered below the white people and not proper. Therefore, why in the world would white folk want to learn to move their bodies in the same beautiful, unabashed, creative way that black folk did?

Sure, this is mostly my speculation, but I think it makes sense. There's no scientific reasoning why white people can't dance. Not all white people can't dance. Not all black people can, for that matter. It's just a wide generalization which is based in truth, so it has to come from somewhere. I say it comes from hundreds of years of conservative snobbery.

It's a culture thing. Think Will versus Carlton. Rhythmical dance doesn't fit into a Tiffany's 5x7.

Psychic Popcorn

I remember sitting at the lunch table in Junior High School with the other girls, dreaming of the days when  we'd finally become women, when we'd bloom--blossom, flower, menstruate, bleed. There were candid discussions about pads versus tampons, how many holes were down there, and how much red was enough red to be considered womanly. Well, when the time came and the Fantastic Five and I actually started getting visits from Aunt Flow, our faces were probably redder than our underwear.

We immediately decided we needed code words for tampons, pads, and, the ugliest word of all, period.

Period became "popcorn," and tampons and pads morphed into one and became "microwaves." Now, I can't tell you where in the blue hell these code words came from because I have no idea. I'm not sure any of us would remember now. It just happened that way. I do know that period became "popcorn" first, and in need of something that made sense to say with the word popcorn in public, we settled on "microwave." So if we were in the cafeteria or art class or whatever and we started our periods and needed a device to stop the flow, we'd simply say, "I need a microwave for my popcorn."

In the middle of gym class, "Hey! I just got popcorn. I need a microwave."

"Oh sure! Let me get it from my backpack for you!"

Really awkward; I know. In retrospect, it probably would have made more sense to ask for popcorn from each other than a microwave. It stuck for a long while, but years passed as they have a tendency to do and as we got older, we cared less and popcorn became a distant, vintage memory.

Which is why, when in 2004ish, sitting in a dimly lit parlor in Salem, Mass across from a psychic who had just asked me what "popcorn" meant to me, I was slightly taken aback.

"Popcorn?"

"Yes, popcorn. I'm seeing the word popcorn."

"I just don't know... Popcorn..."

Then it hit me... POPCORN! I was old enough to have mostly forgotten popcorn but still young enough to be too mortified to tell this old man psychic that popcorn was code name for period. I didn't tell him and so we moved on, but I've always wondered about that day. Of all the words he could have chosen, how did he pull the word "popcorn" out of thin air?

According to my wonderful Wiki, psychics utilize extrasensory perception to feel out information that is hidden from normal senses. ESP is that "sixth sense" you sometimes hear people talking about. Now my Wiki tells me that in 130 years of psychic existence, there is no scientific evidence that psychichism is a real thing. While that may be true, I have a hard time believing that there is just no such thing as psychics.

What I went to was a "cold reading," which, according to Wiki, is a reading where a person walks in off the street, gives no details to the psychic, and the psychic uses their powers of observation to make high probability guesses about the person being read. But asking me what the word popcorn meant to me? That is just way too big of a coincidence; of all the things he could have gleaned from focusing his ESP on me, he chose that??

I don't think any amount of indicators from my clothing, race, gender, level of education, etc, etc, could have pointed that psychic in the direction of "popcorn." Do you?

A Hairy Situation

When I was in junior high school, I had this group of friends that some referred to as "The Fantastic Five." Five of us girls, from strikingly different backgrounds, who somehow came together to be an anti-clique clique. We had our fearless leader, we had our bully, we had our bad girls, we had our good girls faking bad, etc, etc. This group of girls got me to do a lot of things I don't think I would have done otherwise. I mean, I'm not saying that it's not my own fault that I mooned Route-One mid-summer, or sneaked out of the house to visit boys, or found out what alcohol was at 13--what I'm saying is, I was a dork before I befriended them and dorks weren't cool, and peer pressure is a bitch, and I wish I'd staved it off to stay a dork. 

Well, I didn't. And there came a point in seventh grade when it became very uncool to have arm hair. I'm not sure where this pandemic spread from first, but it hit our group hard. I have, what I thought at the time was, very hair arms. Looking down at them now, that makes me laugh because I've seen hairier arms on babies. Anyway, in the Fantastic Five, it was shave your arms or exile. Or so it seemed at the time. 

I remember standing at the sink at one of the girls' house, there were three of us there. We had a bag of disposable razors and we dulled two of them shaving my arms. Now I'm not talking wrist to elbow, no. I'm talking fingertip to shoulder and every last centimeter of skin in between just in case! Absolute craziness! I remember the girl whose house it was got mad at me because it took two razors to get through my hairy arms and it was her demand that I shave them to begin with! If I'd suddenly felt bad about having "hairy" arms before, now I felt ashamed, too.

Eventually, arm shaving died out like every other fad in junior high school. And thank the gods, because it looked really stupid to have prickly arms and it was a nightmare to shave your arms every other day. Once I stopped shaving my arms, though, I noticed that they were hairier than ever! And I actually had little hairs growing on my hands where I'd never had them before. I was a girl and I was sporting hairy knuckles! 

Staring at my hands and arms now, I am reminded how much I dislike tween girls for talking other girls into doing stupid things like shaving their arms for months for no reason, or, you know, stealing bracelets from little shops, or whatever. But I am curious, does shaving hair really make it grow back darker or thicker? 

My arm hair now is pretty light. I think it's permanently bleached from the sun I get in the summer. But I swear it was much darker when it first grew back 10 or 11 years ago. And I know I didn't have any hair on my fingers before I was told to shave them too, or if there was hair, it wasn't enough that even I could notice it. 

Well, according to the Mayo Clinic, shaving has no effect on hair. Except to make it disappear, of course. But, aha, because shaving blunts the tip of hairs, when it grows back it can appear darker, thicker, or more noticeable than it was before. 

I checked with Snopes, too, because obviously one source isn't enough when the origins of my hand-hair is at stake. Alas, they confirm what Mayo told me: my hand hair has been with me all along. Stupid genetics.

Ho-Ho-Hoax

So there's this rumor floating around on the internet, this meme, that in Maine, there is a law forbidding its inhabitants from keeping their Christmas lights up after January 14th.

Now I remember, when I was growing up, my neighbors put up their lights in November and kept them up through, like, February at least. Naturally, I was curious, and since it's 10pm in May, I'm not going to call up the police station and ask them about Christmas lights. So I did a little digging.

According to an article by the Portland Press Herald, there is no law! And when I Googled it, 9 out of 10 articles were in support of this bogus law. As the article points out, the rumor was even picked up by Fox Business News as the second dumbest law in the US.

Fox broadcasting false information? Nooooooooo! Never!

Less Than Three

A question that's been burning inside me all week: why are hearts shaped like this <3, when they don't actually look a thing like that?

I am attempting to challenge myself and do my own research fully instead of pulling from Wiki. Let me tell you, there is a lot of stuff out there on heart lore. So much so that I don't know where to begin or what to tell you and not tell you.

I guess I'll start at the beginning. According to an article called The Shape of My Heart, in the seventh century B.C., there was a rare plant called silphium. I guess it was a form of birth control that was quite profitable for the city-state Cyrene (an ancient Greek colony found in present-day Libya). Being such a core source of income for Cyrene, the folks decided to put a picture of its seed on their coin. The seed apparently had a similar shape to the less-than-three heart we're so familiar with today and because the plant was associated with birth control and sex, it eventually became the symbol of love. Somehow. I think this is all hilarious because each time I read "silphium" I hear "syphilis" (because obviously every word that starts with s and has a ph in the middle and relates to sex is the same word as syphilis) and if that's the symbol of love, so help us all.

Onward, to the Catholic Church. I suppose I should have started with them because they always put themselves first so I should too, right? According to The History of the Heart, in the late 17th century, a Saint named Margaret Marie Alacoque had a vision of the <3 surrounded by a thorn crown. Yet, centuries earlier, the heart was used in many stained glass windows and cloister decorations. Apparently all of this means that in Christian world, the <3 is symbolic for Jesus' soul.

Further inquiry reveals a more down-to-earth heart tale. One of ancient people making a botched attempt at recreating the pumping organ on paper.

So those are my options? An ancient birth control plant, a bad drawing, or Jesus' soul?

I'm beginning to rethink my use of the <3 symbol.

The Only Thing You Need to Know about Old Orchard Beach.

So I'm driving home from class tonight and thinking about what I'm going to write about for tonight's blog. I'm figuring it has to be something extra awesome since I haven't had time to give you the goods for three whole days--I'm failure, I know. Anyway, I'm writing an essay about a place for a creative non-fiction class that requires me to do a little research. That lead me to Old Orchard Beach. Which lead me to the history of OOB; namely, the pier. I'm thinking all about what I'd like to know about the pier when one word pops into my head that sums up pretty much all you need to know about Old Orchard Beach:

poutine

Who doesn't love a good poutine?! Everyone loves poutine. Fries, gravy, cheese curds! What's not to love!? POUTINE. A dish so delicious that it's even got it's own domain.

That lead me to wondering who the hell came up with poutine? A question I am going to set out to answer for you all. Maybe you already know the history of poutine, but bear with me. I'm not sure what I'll find since, like many great culinary creations, poutine may very well have started out as someones garbage plate.

Maybe it was born from a particularly sloppy bucket of bus-tub buffet? Maybe a five-star French-Canadian chef put french fries on a plate, drowned them in gravy, and said, "It's missing something!" then covered it with cheese and kissed his fingers? Maybe somebody just got downright weird and started the trend? Who knows? Well, the internet, of course. I'm hoping.

Poutine is a French thing, tres, tres French. Which explains why it runs rampant throughout the Biddeford/Old Orchard region. And basically anywhere in Maine.  According to the Montreal Poutine's website, there are many claims to poutine-invention-fame. The earliest claim, however, goes to Fernand LaChance, when in 1957 a gentleman walked into his restaurant, Lutin Qui Rit, and ordered french fries and cheese curds in the same bag. Swearing at the man that he would make a damned mess, "ça va faire une maudite poutine!" he obliged. 

Fries n' cheese caught fire but the gravy train supposedly didn't come along until 1964 when a man named Jean-Paul Roy laid stake to the claim that he invented poutine as we know it today--fries, cheese, gravy and all. According to him, he noticed customers adding his special potato sauce to LaChance's cheese fries and decided to deliver the world poutine.

And offer the world poutine he did! Look at his menu; 20 different types of poutine! TWENTY! And you know they're all good because they're Quebecois.

To the restauranteers of OOB: I beg of you, please, please, learn how to make amazing poutine. There is some debate about messing with the original, but I say if you're French, or if your great-grandmother's cousin owned a French Bulldog, or if you watched a French cooking show one time, and you can create amazing cuisine--because poutine is cuisine-- then throw it at me! I've never met a poutine I didn't like.

G(man)'d Up

G-Man. What's a G-Man? Is it really just a name for an FBI agent? If it is, where did it come from? I'm going to find out.

According to the oh-so-reliable Urban Dictionary, G-man is short for Government-man. Ahhhh... It all makes sense now. Here I was all along thinking it was something related to aliens. I have no idea why.

Though Urban Dictionary offers some pretty interesting definitions, Wiki offers more interesting details of the history of the term G-man. The term possibly derived from Ireland during the Irish Civil War when the G-division of plainclothes officers existed within the Dublin Metro Police.

FBI legend claims that the term was first used when the gangster George "Machine Gun" Kelly found himself unarmed and surrounded by agents and he shouted, "Don't shoot, G-men! Don't shoot!"

"G-man" is such an accepted slang that even Time magazine published an article titled, "Nation: Blasting a G-Man Myth."

G-Men is apparently also a movie from 1935.

All I really wanted to know was what the G stood for. I guess I got that covered.

Truffle Shuffle

Over the past few months I have watched all of the television series, Bones. If you haven't seen it, you need to. There are seven seasons on Netflix. You have no excuse! Anyway, the show takes place in the DC area and several times over the course of seven seasons, I've heard truffles referenced.

Any time I hear somebody referring to truffles, I wonder what they are. I mean, I know that there are chocolate truffles and that's what always comes to mind. But whenever I hear a fancy person talking about truffles or hear my favorite character on a TV show mention truffle pizza, I stop and think... they can't be talking about Lindt.

I generally chalk it up to truffles being something on par with caviar and don't dwell on the subject. That is, until I watched an episode recently that focused on truffles. Truffles that you dig up. Truffles that look like potatoes. Truffles which when cooked look like spaghetti?

I have to understand. What are truffles?

According to my handy-dandy Wiki, truffles are a type of subterranean mushroom. Oh? Mushrooms? I can get on board with that. I love mushrooms. Even if they are dug up with pigs.

But why, when Hodgins, <-- Hodgins, cooked truffles in the lab and asked Daisy,  <-- Daisy, to eat them, did they look like buttered spaghetti? A page on gourmetfoodstore.com which hails truffles as the all-mighty, tells me that pasta, rice, and potatoes are the holy truffle trinity and that you should always use the least amount of truffle you can to maximize the truffle flavor.  I can only assume that Hodgins cooked up the truffles with pasta. In a beaker.

My initial curiosity about truffles has been sated for the time being. I have to say, I would really like to try them someday and experience the flavor for myself. 

Not-so-fine China

So I'm listening to Pandora the other day and this song comes on, "Fine China" by Chris Brown. I'm bee-bopping along to the beat and I realize that at one point he's crooning the lyrics: "It's alright, I'm not dangerous/When you're mine, I'll be generous/You're irreplaceable/A collectible, just like fine china"

....Whut?

I double-checked my Pandora. Yep, Chris Brown. Like, Chris Brown Chris Brown? The one who beat Rihanna, Chris Brown? Ahhh yup. That's the one.

I dig the beat, but "It's alright, I'm not dangerous?" "A collectible, just like fine china?" Is that like, a plea to women that he's all cute and adorable and harmless and we should forget that he hit his girlfriend? Or maybe he wrote the song before he beat on her and now it's an ironic blip in his history. I have to find out.

Apparently, according to an article from Vibe, "Fine China" is the single off his latest album! You're joking! He actually went with those lyrics in lieu of the Rihanna thing?! Man. Well, I suppose if she's into going back to him, he's allowed to proclaim whatever he wants in his music.

Also, I went to YouTube to find the video. Which, in itself is another ...whut? the fudge?


First of all, did he seriously get an Asian woman to play his lady love in a song called "Fine China?" And make her the daughter of the leader of the Triads? Really, Chris Brown? Who do you think you are?

Second of all, he looks like a new lesbian. You know the kind; the ones who are barely 18 and "butch" but not butch enough to really be butch and they are adorable and move all excited and fluidly? Yeah, one of those lesbians.

Last of all, Chris Brown, you can sing, I'm not denying that. And you can dance, yeah, but you are not Michael Jackson. Nobody is or ever will be Michael Jackson. Stop trying. Also, you are not Jet Li. Sit back down.

Can we just talk for a minute about the level of stereotyping involved here? It's astronomical. The family is stereotypically Asian--strict parents, sushi, green tea, and triads?--and he's comparing this woman to a dish because it's fine chinaware and (apparently) so is she. You have got to be kidding me.

Should I even get into the level of sexism involved when referring to women as collectibles? Do I have to? How about the fact that he takes on all of the father's Asian gang members single-handedly with crazy martial arts (you know, because they're Asian) while the actual Asian woman behind him stands there like a princess to be rescued?

How about the racism? Like after they leave the club and have to face down a giant street bike gang of more Asians, but the day is saved by Chris Brown's Black/Latino gang with sideways, silenced guns.

All the while Fine China herself is bounced between these controlling men in her life? Come. Onnnnnnnn.

I set out to learn whether he recorded this song before or after the Rihanna thing, but after watching the video, I am now angry. Screw you, Chris Brown, screw you.

Oreos are Vegan?!

So, I make this version of a curry chicken dinner that I got from my friend, Abby. It calls for cream of mushroom soup, mayonnaise, sour cream, and cheese, among other things. Due to some unfortunate malfunctions in this body of mine, I can't eat anything involving dairy or eggs. So I modified the hell out of her recipe to come up with something of my own that still basically tastes the same.

I have to make my own faux-cream of anything-but-mushroom soup because Jon is allergic to mushrooms and I can get around most of the ingredients by replacing them with their vegan counterparts--though I've yet to find soy sour cream anywhere in Southern Maine--except cheese. Fake cheese tastes fake no matter how tasty the package claims it is. Cheese is cheese. There is no replacement.

Last night, Jon was recruited to help me bang out this creation in record time because I needed to get to coursework and it takes an awfully long time to cook when you have to make your own soup from scratch. I told him to add a good sized portion of Vegenaise to the mix. After he adorably tried to fit a 1 cup sized measuring spoon into the two-inch jar opening but before he informed that according to his mom it's called a "heaping scoop" (thanks Jon's mom!), he asked me what is in Vegenaise anyway?

Jon hates mayonnaise. And I mean all things mayonnaise. Not because it isn't tasty, but because it's so bad for you. His question stopped me in my tracks. What is in Vegenaise? I had always assumed it must be healthy because it can only be made of vegetables or soy, right? We turned to the label and though all of the ingredients seem harmless enough, there seems to be an awful lot of poly and mono and trans fats in there for something so "natural." Of course, I looked it up.

The folks from Follow Your Heart (the people who produce the product in question), were kind enough to include a little Q & A on their website.

No MSG added. Excellent! I'm allergic to that too. No GMOs. Fantastic! We're an anti-GMO abode.

In response to, "I've heard that Canola Oil is bad for you. Why do you use it in your product?" Second paragraph, first sentence: "Much of the concern surrounding canola is because canola oil is mistakenly equated with rapeseed oil..."

Rapeseed oil?! Of course I have to look that up now, too. Thank you, Wiki, for explaining to me that rapeseed is not a Follow Your Heart typo, it's a legitimate thing.

Back to business. Vegenaise contains apple cider vinegar, that's good stuff. Annnnd finally, the last question they've answered: it contains no ingredients of animal origin.

Okay that sounds great but what else is in it? Is it just as bad as regular mayonnaise? Well according to an article that wiseGEEK wrote about it, it contains the same amount of calories and saturated fat as mayo. That can't be good for you. Maybe I'll tone it down on how often I dump a heaping scoop of the stuff into my curry chicken deliciousness. Orrrr maybe I'll just make it for dinner less often.

V-E-G-A-N doesn't spell "good for you." Case and point: Vegenaise. And Oreos.

Country Club Ettiquette

Today I learned which fork to use at a fancy brunch. And also that I don't like mimosas. Even though I drank three.

Attack of the Twitter Clones

Do you have any idea how many Chanel Smiths there are in the world??

https://twitter.com/search/users?q=Chanel%20Smith <-- That many. Well, probably more than that. But that's how many exist in the Twitter-verse. That's a thing, right? The Twitter-verse?

I've always been under the impression that I have a pretty unique name. I mean, my last name isn't unique. Smith is the most common last name in the US, according to infoplease.com. But, Chanel? Chanel isn't all that common. Or so I thought.

I used to have a Twitter account titled "Don't Poke the Bear" tied to my name. It was either hijacked or hacked or blipped off the Twitter-sphere (that's one, too, right?) because I can't find it or get into it. I've tried. I made a new Twitter and started using it last week to help market this blog. 

So today, I realize I haven't tried searching for me by name. I figure, how many "Chanel Smiths" could there be? I get onto Twitter, type in "Chanel Smith," and BAM! I've got of all these people with my name! So many that I can't even count them!

There's Chanel Smith who is NOT a sneakerhead, she just <3 kicks.

There's Lady Chanel Smith who wants to bribe me a cupcake.

Oh hey, there's the old me Chanel Smith.

Here's Chanel Smith, a bad ass teacher.

Chanel Smith! with no days off!!!!!!

There's a 15 year old Chanel Smith motox rider.

Miss Chanel Smith LOVES Jaden Smith.

Even better, this Chanel Smith's a belieber.

WHO ARE ALL OF YOU WITH MY NAME?! And seriously, that's just a few.

So what if you thought your name was special and it's not and now you're having an identity crisis, Chanel? 

Well! It's strange to see my name with so many different personalities attached! Obviously, I'm not insane and don't expect that these people should not have my name because it's mine or something, I'm just shocked and overwhelmed. That's a lot of people with my identity and I had expected none. Yes, I know it's a big designer name. I don't live under that much of a rock--even if I didn't know who 2 Chainz was. I've only ever met one other person named Chanel in my life. 

Maybe they feel the same way. I wonder if they've ever searched Twitter for themselves? I think I'll follow all of them and see what happens.

Rest In Pandora Peace, 2 Chainz

Okay, so I've been avoiding writing this post in an attempt to avoid sounding like I live under a rock, buuuut... it's time.

2 Chainz. Who the hell is he and why the hell should I care?

A few months ago, or maybe longer I donno, a local rapper, Spose, posted on Facebook about his daughter rapping 2 Chainz or wanting to listen to him or something. I can't quite remember what the post was exactly, but the point is that it mentioned 2 Chainz and his toddler in the same sentence and I remembering thinking, "Who the hell is 2 Chainz and how uncool am I for not knowing when this 3 year old knows?"

I forgot all about 2 Chainz until last week when he suddenly wiggled his way onto my Pandora radio station. I can't really blame Pandora for this one, though, because I may have been listening to the Today's Hip Hop and Pop station... What can I say? I'm musically diverse.

Anyway, I'm listening to something with a beat and all of a sudden I hear this slow ass rapper take over and announce himself as "2 Chaaaaaaaaaaaaaaainz!" And I was like.... Really? This guy is 2 Chainz? So I've decided to do some research before I condone the man to a  life of Pandora thumbs downs.

According to his bio, he's signed to Def Jam Recordings and he hails from the "southside of Atlanta." This explains the drawl he calls a rap--the Atlanta thing, not the Def Jam thing. Although, Luda is from the ATL and he is killer, so 2 Chainz has no excuse.

I need to consult YouTube. The first two videos I've clicked on for this bloke are just beats. Maybe he's not a rapper? But that doesn't make sense, I've heard him rap on the Pandora.

Upon further investigation, I've stumbled across Cowboy, I'm Different, RIP, Spend It, and No Lie. I'm running out of patience and I'm not impressed. I would have kept searching for one I liked, but the line "She could have a Grammy, I still treat her ass like a nominee," by his cohort Drake in No Lie, quite frankly, pissed me off.

It's looking like a quick trip to the Pandora graveyard for Mr. Chainz. I'm disappointed;  it takes a lot for me to thumbs someone down completely. As I've said, I have a pretty diverse taste in music. Rap was the first genre I fell in love with and I hate to get down on an artist, but seriously... I can't find a reason to like this guy.

"2 Chainz but I got me a few on," may be the only thing that saves him. And maybe just that one song. And only because I love puns.


This just in: All 2 Chainz wants for his birthday is a big booty ho. So if someone can help him out, I'm sure he'd appreciate the help. With skillz like his, he needs it.

Can you imagine being those dudes getting lap danced on camera? Awkwaaaard.

Patriot/'s/s' Day

Yesterday, two bombs went off at the 117th annual Boston Marathon. The marathon takes place on the third Monday of April, which is Patriots' Day. From some of the articles I've been seeing in the past 24 hours, it seems like the marathon was purposefully started on Patriots' Day back in 1897.

I'm guess I'm confused. I thought Patriots' Day was a holiday Bush Jr. created after the events of 9/11. Has it been a holiday all along? And why don't I get the day off from work? That's all holidays seem to be for these days--a three-day weekend.

Now, don't get on my back for this, (or actually go ahead, get all up in my grill about how ignorant I am if you want, at least I'll know you're reading) but I have a question: What the hell is Patriots' Day anyway?

I suppose I should start by defining "patriot." Since I'm annoyed at the internet today, I'm pulling out the Webster for this one.

"Patriot: one who loves and zealously supports ones own country*"

Okay... When I hear the word patriot, one of two things comes to mind:

1) A redneck who loves his guns and hates gay rights and abortion, flying the "Don't Tread On Me" flag, which is, according to Wiki, apparently called the Gadsden Flag. I forgot to be annoyed at the internet and looked it up. I'm learning lots today.

2) Someone who believes completely in every aspect of our country, including our government.

I'm not saying there aren't variations of these "definitions" as they are in my head, but they're definitely the two preconceived notions that I have when it comes to defining who identifies as a patriot. But what about the people in the middle??

I'll probably be put on a government watch list for saying this, but I hate our government. I really do. And because of that, I have no real sense of pride for my country. I think we're young and foolish. So I'm not a patriot by definition because I don't find our government to be just. I suppose I would be have been a patriot a long time ago, maybe, back before the government was the monster it is today, but definitely not now.

If I was a patriot, because I don't believe in the government, by my definition I'd have to fall into category number one, but that's not right either. I do believe strongly that I have the right to bear arms because the Founding Fathers gave me the right to, and because when zombies or civil war breaks out, I sure as shit don't want the only weapons to be in the hands of our government. I do believe in our Constitution and I do believe in total individual liberty. But I feel like in order to be considered a true "patriot," I'd also have to also praise Jesus, believe that marriage is between one man and one woman, and be prepared to beat any ethnic person I see back across the border.

I have seriously digressed. I didn't mean to get politicking. So now that I truly understand what a patriot is, by definition anyway, what is Patriots' Day?

According to an article on timeanddate.com, Patriots' Day is a day to commemorate the battles of Lexington and Concord (fought near Boston in 1775). It's a State holiday here in Maine and in Massachusetts, which is why I don't get it off from work because I don't work for the State or for a bank. Coincidentally, I have worked for both. Fun fact: depending on if you're in Maine or Massachusetts, the holiday is titled "Patriot's Day" or "Patriots' Day," respectively. I side with Massachusetts on this one. Sorry, Maine.

It's no wonder I was confused. Little Bush titled 9/11 Patriot Day, and it's an "annual observance," not a holiday. Whaaaaaaaaaaaa...Who names a not-holiday that similarly to another holiday?? That would be like having Administrative Professionals Day (which is next week, folks) and Administrative Professional Day.

To recap: Patriots' Day is a Maine and Massachusetts State holiday to commemorate two battles fought long ago, Patriot Day is the annual observance to remember those who were killed or harmed during the terrorist attacks of 9/11, and a patriot is someone who is wholly dedicated to his or her country. Got it.





*"Patriot." Webster's New World Dictionary. Fourth ed. 2003. Print. 

Tin Foiled

So there's something that's been bugging me about tin foil: why is there a shiny side and a matte side?

Every time I use tin foil, I ponder the purpose of the two different sides. Each time, I pick a different side to put facing the food, and each time, I forget to keep track of what difference it makes.

So when yesterday, while helping out at my cousin's baby shower, I was asked to put tin foil over the potato salad, I stopped and wondered, again, which side do I put facing the food and what difference does it make?

Does one side stick less? Does one side cook better? Is one side for meat and the other for vegetables? Is one side for the freezer and the other side for cooking? What, dear gods, is the difference?!

I asked my cousin, Jenny, if she knew. She did not. She hadn't even noticed there was a difference between the sides of the tin foil before, which leads me to wonder how many of you knew and also wondered about the two sides and how many of you think I'm crazy to have noticed.

Last night, as I went to wrap up the unused portion of a three pound package of hamburger, I found myself vis-a-vis with the two-faced tin foil dilemma again. Twice in just one day! I turned to my Eagle Scout boyfriend Jon, because obviously being an Eagle Scout makes you an expert in tin foil, and posed the question to him, "Why is there a shiny side and a dull side to tin foil?!"

Jon proceeded to tell me that the shiny side reflects heat better, so if I want to cook with it I should put the food on the shiny side. I then proceeded to stare at him in astonishment. Apparently being an Eagle Scout really does make you an expert in tin foil. He also knows how to make an oven out of tin foil and a cardboard box. Good to know, if we ever end up on the street.

This explanation still leaves me wondering why there is a dull side, though. It seems that if there is a shiny side because food cooks better on it, then why would the tin foil people bother to make the other side completely different? Why not just make both sides shiny?

So, of course, I head to my trusted Wikipedia where I find out that I'm technically calling it by the wrong name. Tinus Foilus (yes, science people, I made that up), more commonly known as "tin foil," is more correctly known aluminum foil.

Fun fact: Reynolds Metals is still the leading manufacturer of aluminum foil, which is funny because I'm pretty sure if my Grandmother were still alive, she'd still be calling it Reynolds' Wrap no matter what brand was in her kitchen.

But why is there a shiny and a matte side, Chanel?

Well apparently, according to Wiki, the only reason that tin foil, 'scuse me, aluminum foil has a shiny and a matte side is because of how it is manufactured. When the foil makes its final pass through the rollers, the shiny side is produced. Because of something about it being hard to make the machines cope with the fineness of the foil gauge, they roll two sheets at the same time through the machine, which means that when the sheets are separated, the sides that were facing the rollers are shiny but the sides that were facing each other are left dull! [Click here and scroll down to "Properties" if you want a more detailed explanation.]

So there is no real reason why there is a shiny and a dull side except that's just the way it is. What's more interesting, is that the idea that favoring one side over the other grants different effects when cooking is a myth! You know what's also a myth, Eagle Scout boyfriend Jon? That the rate at which the shiny side reflects heat makes a difference in cooking. The shiny side reflects at a rate of about 88%, while the matte side reflects at about 80%, which according to Wiki is an "imperceptible amount."

If we ever need to survive by making a cardboard box/aluminum foil oven, Jon, I'll let you build it with the foil facing shiny side in. Because 8% is more than imperceptible to me. And also because I love you.

Put Da Lime in Da Coconut

So I have this kind of hair: 

http://coolspotters.com

But I would like this kind of hair:

http://www.speedyremedies.com

Soft, shiny hair. Such an elusive beast. According to www.speedyremedies.com, I could do something like rinse my hair with a can of beer at the end of each washing--being sensitive to gluten and wheat, I no longer drink beer, therefore I am so not going to rinse my hair with it and smell like beer for the rest of the day. Plus, I'm not going to be that guy who walks into the store and purchases a single. I can see myself at the register now.

"I'm going to rinse my hair with it! It's supposed to make it shiny. I can't get six because I can't drink them and don't want them at the house, so I decided buying one was the way to go since I only need one to rinse my hair but I didn't want you to think that I was buying just one because I'm a drunk on the street and that's all I can afford, or that I need one to get me home from work or something. So it's for my hair! Do you see how blah my hairs are now? This one beer could save them all!"

--blank stare--

"Right. You didn't ask. Sorry."

Another home shiny-fix recommended by Speedy Remedies is to create a hair mask mixture made of egg and yogurt. Well, I'm allergic to eggs and dairy so that's a no. I doubt putting it on my scalp would cause a reaction, but I don't want it that close to my face. I miss dairy so much, I wouldn't put it past myself to take a lick--even with the raw egg involved. I ate cookie dough by the ton when I was a kid and I never got salmonella.

Sidebar: According to this article, [this one, here], eating raw eggs could decrease my allergicness and only 1 in 30,000 of commercially produced eggs are infected. And since you all buy your shit locally, right?, the chances of your eggs being contaminated is drastically reduced. Healthy chickens, YEAH!

Anyway, back to the issue at hand: my not-so-shiny HAIR!

So, I have this friend/roommate Mike. He has just about the shiniest, longest locks I have ever seen, and he uses the hell out of coconut oil to get them. Every time I go to the store, I pick up a jar of it, heft it in my hand, and think about how much work it must be to make that concoction equate to shiny hair. I always have an excuse not to get it. It's solid in that jar! It's more expensive than gas! There's gotta be a better way!

Well, folks, I found myself at Trader Joe's the other day, with a jar of $5.99 coconut oil in my hand, and finally surrendered to da coconut.

At home, I cornered Mike and demanded his superior shiny hair knowledge, "How do I use this stuff?"

He tells me that he usually uses it once every couple of weeks as a sort of homemade moisturizing mask after washing it and applies it only on the bottom half (avoiding his roots). I want to know how. Don't you heat it up? Apparently not. Mike tells me that I can heat up a tablespoon or so and use it for a hot-oil type treatment before I shower but I don't have to. When he puts it in his hair as a moisturizer, apparently he just rubs it in because it melts right in your hand.

Of course, me being me, I decide that just moisturizing my hair couldn't possibly be enough so I go for the hot oil treatment. Have I ever done this before? Nope. Do I look up online how to do it? Nope. Do I proceed to heat up two tablespoons, rub it all over my dry hair, let it set for 20 minutes, and wash it out? Yup!

I did this yesterday morning. Yesterday mid-morning whilst trying like mad to wash the oil out, I felt like a failure. Yesterday afternoon after drying and brushing, I felt like my hair was still dry and fat. Last night when I brushed it before bed, I felt a change... It got lighter, and a bit shinier. This morning, I brushed it again and I feel like it's on the road to recovery. I'm satisfied with da coconut oil and now I want to do more. *I can have shiny hair!*

Because Crunchy Betty is awesome, I'm going to take her advice on how to move forward in my hot oil hair treatments. Check out her two-part post on how she does things if you're interested in becoming a hot oil hair guru--or if you just want shiny hair.

Crunchy Betty Part 1: Creating
Crunchy Betty Part 2: Indulging

Tippy Kowtow

Today I have learned how to spell "kowtow." I was texting my friend about a doofus we both know and the phrase I wanted to use was, "He usually kowtows to people he knows are better than him at what they do." 

As I tapped away at the letters on my iPhone, blasting full steam ahead into this text, I had to stop and realize that I didn't know how to spell kowtow. Had I ever actually spelled kowtow? Come to think of it, had I ever actually used kowtow in a sentence with enough confidence in my vocabulary to speak it loud enough for all to hear? 

I stopped and looked at what I'd written, "He usually cow tows to people..." Cow tows? An image of a cow towing a busted up Ford came to mind. That can't be right... Cowtow, maybe? How does that make it any better, Chanel? Tow is tow no matter how close I put it to the cow. 

This lead to an immediate sidebar in my head about how the English language really is whacked out. How in the hell are you supposed to spell kowtow with a cow and a tow? It's the wrong O sound in tow. It doesn't make any sense!

So I did what I always do in these situations. I turned to the trusty Google, waiting for me right where I'd left it--on my bookmarks bar, sandwiched between Wiki and dictionary.com.

I type in "cowtow" and wham! Before I even hit search, the interwebs is asking me, "Hey, you American fool, did you mean 'kowtow?'" Yes! Yes, Google, I did mean kowtow!

Apparently Kowtow derives from kòu tóu, and it's Mandarin Chinese. No wonder I didn't know how to spell it. Why is this verb even in my brain vault? 

I don't know, but if you're wondering what the hell kowtow even means, according to the wonderful Wiki: 

"Kowtow, which is borrowed from kòu tóu in Mandarin Chinese, is the act of deep respect shown by prostration, that is, kneeling and bowing so low as to have one's head touching the ground."

At least I used it correctly.