Holy mother-of-pearl

There’s a rainstorm at Casa NewMexiKen this morning that began around 3:30 that goes way beyond Biblical. Mercy! If it rained any harder a good swimmer could swim straight up. [Update: About an inch-and-a-half.]


43,443 people were killed on American highways and roads in 2005, the highest number since 1990 and the highest per miles driven since 1986. 4,553 were motorcyclists (10.5%).

But what is amazing is that 55% of the passenger vehicle occupants who were killed were not wearing seat belts. Fifty-five percent!

About 80% of people use belts, so the 20% or so who don’t are really giving above and beyond the call.

Buckle up!


Have you noticed that mens’ rooms are getting busier? Woman have been complaining for years about the unfairness of long waits while men just zip in and out. Not any more.

As the baby-boomer men age — the oldest are now 60, the youngest turning 42 this year — it’s taking guys a lot longer to get the job done. There’s much more down time in mens’ rooms. As a result, we’re starting to see lines at crowded venues. Some are standing-room only.

This situation can only worsen as the male population continues to age.

Human Behavior

At The Dilbert Blog, everything you need to know about human behavior.

The maintenance man is moving the thermostat in our office today. I started talking with him about the “Thermostat Wars” [from Dilbert comics]. He told me about one office with 30 women where they could never get the temperature to an agreeable level. At his suggestion they installed 20 dummy thermostats around the office. Everyone was told that each thermostat controlled the zone around itself.

Problem solved. Now that everyone has “control” of their own thermostat there is no problem.

NewMexiKen once attended a meeting of various office managers that turned into a heated discussion about assigned parking places. The building had about 100 employees and 5,000 free parking places.

Briefs

Nora Ephron, who is 65, has posted a number of one-liners of things she wishes she had known as she grew older — and wiser. There are a few gems among them.

Elsewhere, Josh Marshall, after two decades of PCs, and a bad experience with Gateway, likes his Mac.

The Professional Air Traffic Controllers Organization (PATCO) walked off their jobs with the Federal Aviation Administration 25 years ago today. President Reagan threatened to fire the controllers if they didn’t return within 48 hours. Other unions failed to support PATCO. And so began the end of the labor movement in the United States.

Remember Me

NewMexiKen once read that, as with every other phase, we would know when the “boomers” — those 76 million Americans born from 1946 to 1964 — were getting old when we started to see the books about trendy funerals. And so, here is one of those books, Lisa Takeuchi Cullen’s thoroughly readable Remember Me: A Lively Tour of the New American Way of Death.

There have been substantial changes in the funeral business already. One-quarter of all Americans who die are now cremated; in 20 years half are expected to be. The floral industry has been decimated by the term “in lieu of flowers.” According to a 2004 survey cited in the book, 71 percent of Americans do not want a traditional funeral; 14 percent indicated they wanted “a party in my honor.” In a business as tradition-bound and as comfortable in its ways as any — a business where “the words tradition and history are usually engraved right on the company letterhead” — Americans don’t want morticians anymore, they want “funeral planners.”

And what are the funeral planners planning? Cullen set out to learn:

What kind of person turns a loved one into jewelry? What’s it like to watch an artificial reef mixed with the cremated remains of your parent sink to the bottom of the sea? How exactly is a modern mummy made? Where would I find a festival celebrating a frozen corpse? What’s the proper etiquette at a funeral involving animal sacrifice? Who would become a funeral director today—and why?

The most fascinating alternative to tradition we learn about from Cullen has to be turning the cremated remains of one’s loved one into jewelry.

The first step is to collect the cremains. Eight ounces of ashes can yield enough carbon to make up to ten diamonds of up to one carat each in size. Eight ounces is only a smidgen of the four to six pounds of ashes a human body produces—all of which is enough, the company says, for at least one hundred diamonds.

The carbon is turned into graphite; the graphite with pressure, temperature and a few weeks is turned into a diamond — all for just $2,500 to $14,000 depending on the size of the stone. The process is artificial; the diamonds are real.

A correspondent for Time, Cullen is a witty and charming writer whose style keeps a serious topic from becoming maudlin. She has a wonderful knack for turning a clever phrase or coining a revealing term: “end-trepreneuers,” “vigilante marketing” or, my favorite, “inebriating headline writers with a minibar of cliché opportunities.” Cullen’s infant daughter accompanied her on much of the research for the book as her “diaper-wearing assistant.”

When writing about turning a loved one into diamonds, there’s just the right touch:

This, too, is interesting to me. I had not realized that diamonds, all diamonds, could crack; I had thought the diamond was the hardest substance on earth. … As bad as I would feel cracking the stone my husband paid for by teaching fifty hours of clarinet lessons to fourth-graders, I think about how much worse I would feel if this stone were, say, my mom.

Or, about mourners scattering ashes at sea:

Of course, the practice of ash disposition at sea is hardly new. I venture to guess that many a family has gathered on a beach at dusk past the empty lifeguard stands to cast Pop-pop’s cremains into the surf. They are breaking the law. … I imagine this law is not easy to enforce. I personally have never seen federal agents skulking around the Jersey shore at twilight, arresting sad-looking families carrying bags of dust.

Cullen’s many stories about the deceased are poignant, sufficiently emotional to supply the reader with just enough attachment to make a discussion of their funeral affecting.

As Cullen herself reminds us, “death is a big, huge bummer.” It is not a subject we frequently discuss. That said, it is a subject that holds much fascination — it is the one event we all share in life. Remember Me is a masterful book because it introduces us to the topic with just the right balance of sensitivity, information, and humor.

This fascinating, informative, at times moving, at times amusing book deserves your attention. It was published August 1.

Reading is hot

This from Guardian Unlimited:

Not only can you judge a book by its cover, it seems you can judge the person reading it, too. According to a survey of over 2,000 adults carried out by internet pollsters YouGov for Borders bookstore, books play a crucial role in influencing our opinions of strangers. Half of those asked admitted that they would look again or smile at someone on the basis of what they were reading.

And it gets better. For those of you troubled by the lingering idea (instilled in youth by parents obsessed with the benefits of “enjoying the sunshine”) that a life spent reading is a life half-lived, your worries are over. Not only does sitting with your nose in a book positively influence others’ opinion of you, it could actually – get this – lead to sex. A third of those surveyed said that they “would consider flirting with someone based on their choice of literature”. It’s finally official, people. Reading is hot.

But before you trip off to the park clad in your most fetching sun hat and clutching your copy of the latest Jilly Cooper – be warned. Not just any book will do. Erotic fiction, horror, self-help books and the dreaded chick-lit were all, in fact, deemed turn-offs when it came to love between the covers. The genre most likely to help you pull – the itsy-bitsy-teeny-weeny yellow polka dot bikini of the books world – is the classics, followed by biography and modern literary fiction

Does blogging about the classics count? Today is Herman Melville’s birthday.

Link via Bookslut.

Milestone

A former colleague and his wife, Ross and Margaret Swimmer, finished the San Francisco Marathon together Sunday in 4 hours and 41 minutes. Not bad you say, but what makes it particularly sweet is this — it was their 40th wedding anniversary!

Sorry, wrong number

Man: It was nice to meet you. Now will you shake my hand?

Little boy: No.

Man: Why not?

Little boy: Because she gave you her number, but she already has a boyfriend! I don’t like that.

Woman: Shut up. That’s not true.

Little boy: If it isn’t, then why did it say “Jason and Trish, together forever” on your phone, when I turned it on right now?

Woman: Together forever, my ass; now shut up!

–Q37 bus, Liberty Ave

Overheard in New York

It’s My Funeral and I’ll Serve Ice Cream if I Want To

From an article in The New York Times highlighting the new personlization and entertainment trends in funerals:

Mr. Biggins said funeral homes can do anything that party planners can do. At his own funeral home in Rockland, Mass., Mr. Biggins arranged a service for Harry Ewell, a man who had been an ice cream vendor. Mr. Ewell’s old ice cream truck led the funeral procession and dispensed Popsicles at the end. “If you call that over the top, then I guess I’m guilty,” Mr. Biggins said. “But our business reflects society as a whole. Today’s consumer wants things personal, specific to their lifestyle, whether it’s highlighting a person’s passion for golf or celebrating someone’s deep devotion to knitting or needlepoint.”

For NewMexiKen’s part, just blog my funeral, comments required.

The Urban Etiquette Handbook

This article (articles actually) in New York Magazine goes on-and-on, but some of it is actually useful and some of it is funny. It’s subtitled, “New rules for getting along in an endlessly wired, ruthlessly crowded, sexually libertarian city.” Some examples:

Is it ever acceptable to talk to a stranger on an elevator?
If there are six or fewer people on the elevator, no. However, if the group is larger than six, you have achieved an Elevator Humor Quorum and someone must make a remark about the elevator’s lack of size or speed in order to relieve the tension created by standing in a tiny space with six or more strangers. If another member of the group makes the remark first, Elevator Humor Solidarity obligates you to chuckle mildly.

What are the rules for disciplining other kids when their parents are around?
The same rules apply to adjusting other people’s yoga poses when the teacher is around: It’s just not done. The only exception is in matters of safety when the other parent isn’t paying attention (throwing toys, biting). As they always say (and by “they” we mean Oprah), the only person you can truly change is yourself; similarly, the only kids you can change are your own. If the parents are deadbeat do-as-you-willers, all you can do is make sure your own kid takes away the lesson, like, “That little boy is not being nice by doing that, but we know not to rob liquor stores, right?” As a last resort, you can always decide it’s time to go home.

The Lonely American Just Got a Bit Lonelier

A recent study by sociologists at Duke and the University of Arizona found that, on average, most adults only have two people they can talk to about the most important subjects in their lives — serious health problems, for example, or issues like who will care for their children should they die. And about one-quarter have no close confidants at all.

From an article in The New York Times

Key quote: “But gosh, the number of friends you have is a strong predictor of how long you live.”

A $31 Billion Gift Between Friends

In an earlier interview with Charlie Rose, Mr. Buffett explained the role he played in Mr. Gates’s engagement in 1994 to his wife, with whom he has had three children. The couple flew into Omaha, where they met Mr. Buffett at Borsheim’s, the jeweler that Berkshire Hathaway has owned for years.

“Look, Bill, this is none of your business, but when I got married, I spent 6 percent of my net worth on the ring,” he recalled saying to Mr. Gates, who at the time had a net worth already well into the billions. “I don’t know how much you love Melinda.”

Mr. Gates can get his jabs in, too. He has said publicly that his daughter calls Mr. Buffett “the man who works at Dairy Queen,” a needle at Mr. Buffett’s oft-expressed love for the company, which he owns, and its signature product.

The New York Times

Good news from Nora: Avon Walk 2006

Long-term readers may remember an item about Nora back in February telling of her participation as a crew member in the Denver Avon Walk 2006. The walk was this weekend and Nora has reported:

“I wanted to share the photos from my Avon Walk with you. Because of your generous donation to my walk, I was the #2 donor on the Denver Crew team. Your support means a lot to me (and to thousands of people affected by breast cancer).”

Pictures and more from Nora.

Even Leonardo had attention issues

The following was written when Leonardo Da Vinci was 55:

Begun at Florence, in the house of Piero di Braccio Martelli, on the 22nd day of March 1508. And this is to be a collection without order, taken from many papers which I have copied here, hoping to arrange them later each in its place, according to the subjects of which they may treat. But I believe that before I am at the end of this [task] I shall have to repeat the same things several times; for which, O reader! do not blame me, for the subjects are many and memory cannot retain them [all] and say: ‘I will not write this because I wrote it before.’ And if I wished to avoid falling into this fault, it would be necessary in every case when I wanted to copy [a passage] that, not to repeat myself, I should read over all that had gone before; and all the more since the intervals are long between one time of writing and the next.

Page 4, The Notebooks of Leonardo Da Vinci

Aging

People tend to regard the gradual yet irreversible atrophying of their faculties as a bad thing. Is it, though? Sure, it’s tied up with stuff that you don’t want to think too much about. One day, you learn that you can’t hear a sound that is perfectly audible to teen-agers and dogs. (Any significance in that symmetry, by the way? Do we feel diminished as a species because dogs can hear a noise that we can’t?) Soon after that, you realize that you have forgotten how to calculate the area of a triangle, and how many pints there are in a quart. From there, it’s not long until you find that you are unable to stop talking about real estate, which is the first step down an increasingly rocky and overgrown path that leads, almost always—all right, always—to death. What is there to like about any of this?

A lot it seems. Read the whole comment by Louis Menand at The New Yorker

The Rewards of Being Shy

Shy people may be quiet, but there’s a lot going on in their heads. When they encounter a frightening or unfamiliar situation–meeting someone new, for example–a brain region responsible for negative emotions goes into overdrive. But new research indicates that shy people may be more sensitive to all sorts of stimuli, not just frightening ones.

Read more from ScienceNOW.

Happy Father’s Day

This was sent to NewMexiKen today. Corny it is, of course, but touching, too.

As it could apply to either gender, I thought I’d post it here as a Father’s Day greeting. Happy Father’s Day.


When an old lady died in the geriatric ward of a small hospital near Dundee, Scotland, it was believed that she had nothing left of any value. Later, when the nurses were going through her meager possessions, they found this poem. Its quality and content so impressed the staff that copies were made and distributed to every nurse in the hospital. One nurse took her copy to Ireland.

The old lady’s sole bequest to posterity has since appeared in the Christmas edition of the News Magazine of the North Ireland Association for Mental Health. A slide presentation has also been made based on her simple, but eloquent, poem. And this little old Scottish lady, with nothing left to give to the world, is now the author of this “anonymous” poem winging across the Internet:

Crabby Old Woman

What do you see, nurses …….. What do you see?
What are you thinking ………… When you’re looking at me?
A crabby old woman ………….. Not very wise,
Uncertain of habit, …………….. With faraway eyes?

Who dribbles her food …………. And makes no reply.
When you say in a loud voice, .. “I do wish you’d try!”
Who seems not to notice ……… The things that you do,
And forever is losing …………… A stocking or shoe?

Who, resisting or not, ………….. Lets you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding, …….. The long day to fill?
Is that what you’re thinking? …. Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse, …….You’re not looking at me.

I’ll tell you who I am …………… As I sit here so still,
As I do at your bidding, ……….. As I eat at your will.
I’m a small child of ten ……….With a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters ………….. Who love one another.

A young girl of sixteen …………..With wings on her feet
Dreaming that soon now ………. A lover she’ll meet.
A bride soon at twenty, …………. My heart gives a leap,
Remembering the vows ……… That I promised to keep.

At twenty-five now, ……………. I have young of my own,
Who need me to guide …………. And a secure happy home.
A woman of thirty, ……………… My young now grown fast,
Bound to each other …………… With ties that should last.

At forty, my young sons ……….. Have grown and are gone,
But my man’s beside me ……… To see I don’t mourn
At fifty once more, ……………… Babies play round my knee,
Again we know children, ………… My loved one and me.

Dark days are upon me, ……….. My husband is dead,
I look at the future, ………….. I shudder with dread.
For my young are all rearing …..Young of their own,
And I think of the years ………… And the love that I’ve known.

I’m now an old woman…………… And nature is cruel;
Tis jest to make old age …….. Look like a fool.
The body, it crumbles, …………… Grace and vigor depart,
There is now a stone ………….. Where I once had a heart.

But inside this old carcass ……. A young girl still dwells,
And now and again, …………… My battered heart swells.
I remember the joys, ……………. I remember the pain,
And I’m loving and living ………. Life over again.

I think of the years ……………. All too few, gone too fast,
And accept the stark fact ………. That nothing can last.
So open your eyes, people, …… Open and see,
Not a crabby old woman; ……….. Look closer….see, ME!!

Best gift ever

One of the best gifts I’ve ever received was a losing lottery ticket. My brother bought it for me. I realize that doesn’t sound like a great gift, since it only cost a dollar, and it lost. But the way he did it was pure evil genius.

No one wants to buy a winning lottery ticket for someone else. You’d bang your head on the wall for the rest of your life, yelling “WHY OH WHY DIDN’T I KEEP THAT ONE??? WHAAAWHAAAAWHAAAA!!!” That’s bad for the wall.

My brother solved that problem by buying for himself two additional lottery tickets with the same numbers as the one he got for me. He explained that in case my ticket won, he wanted to be twice as rich. It’s the thought that counts.

The Dilbert Blog

Adams goes on to explain that he’s told this story “about a hundred times, always to good effect.” So, it’s a gift that keeps on giving.

Harley’s Angels

Dan Neil on the Harley culture and Memorial Day. A must read that includes this:

The trappings of Harley culture—the leather jackets with club colors, the Kaiser-style helmets, the tattoos, the beards like Arizona tumbleweeds—were established in the ’50s and ’60s, the heyday of outlaw motorcycle clubs such as the Hells Angels, which are still around and whose members, may I state clearly, are exemplary young men for whom I have nothing but the greatest admiration and fear.

The first bikers I ever met were, in fact, Angels, and they were total bad asses, the sort of guys who, after firmly planting the knife in your head, would attempt to kick the handle off.

Doggy do

From Discovery News:

Language skills once thought exclusively human are also within the reach of dogs, say German researchers studying a nine-year-old border collie that has a 200-word vocabulary. …

In a game where Rico is told to fetch an unfamiliar object with a name he hasn’t heard before, Rico runs into a room where the new object is on the floor among several familiar objects, of which he already knows the names. Rico reliably figures out that the new word must go with the new object in a single try. Then, after a month of not seeing the new object or hearing the new word, he remembers them.

What’s scary is that he’s 9, which means 63 in human terms, right? I’m younger than that and I can go into a room and forget what I went into it for.

First posted June 10, 2004. Link no longer active.