Sometimes people write novels and they just be so wordy and so self-absorbed. I am not a fan of books. I would never want a book's autograph. I am a proud non-reader of books.Kanye West, on the occasion of his first book, Thank You and You're Welcome. Further ironies via the link:
[Mark Trail and one panel of Hi and Lois, May 27, 2009.]
I read Mark Trail only occasionally. I'm glad that I read Mark Trail today. Click the image for a larger view and see why.
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"Why isn't asshat in the dictionary?"Lexicographer Erin McKean talks about how dictionaries are made:
Jonathan Rauch:
I suspect a lot of bloggers may be introverts, because blogging is great if you like to sit in front of the internet all day.Hmm.
Eight questions for Jonathan Rauch (Economist)
Alissa Hamilton, Squeezed: What You Don't Know About Orange Juice. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2009. $30.
A gown made of the finest wool,
Which from our pretty lambs we pull
Christopher Marlowe's "The Passionate Shepherd to His Love" presents a pastoral dream, a world in which labor is non-existent or non-laborious, in which the line between nature and material culture has been dissolved. In the lines above, lambs turn into wool turns into gown as by magic. To adapt the lingo of the orange juice industry, the gown is "fresh-pulled."
Orange juice too is a pastoral dream. As Alissa Hamilton notes, the American imagination regards orange juice as purity and simplicity. Think of the Tropicana carton, with drinking straw stuck in fruit. Or Simply Orange, as one brand name proclaims. Hamilton's purpose in writing Squeezed is to make us see orange juice anew: "to make you look at [it] differently and begin to see through the opaque packages of food that surround you."
Florida orange juice began in the early twentieth century, with an effort to increase citrus sales via the promotion of household juice extractors. Canned orange juice, developed in the 1930s, disappointed: the heat of pasteurization damaged flavor. The breakthrough in processed juice came in 1948, with Frozen Concentrated Orange Juice (FCOJ), the "Cinderella Product," as it was called, which brought far greater returns to growers than fresh fruit or canned juice. And then came flash pasteurization, which led to the rise of Not From Concentrate juice (NFC).
Processed juice, as Hamilton tells the story, is hardly pure and simple. The story has at its core six months of Food and Drug Administration hearings (1961) that sought to establish standards of identity for orange-juice products. The hearings turned on strange, almost philosophical questions. Does freezing alter the identity of juice? Is "chilled" an appropriate description of pasteurized juice? Is orange juice defined by chemical composition or by the process of its making? The standards of identity that emerged from the hearings resulted in ingredient lists that imparted minimal information to the consumer, conceived as an archetypal homemaker who did not care about and would only be confused by the complexities of food processing.
NFC, which dominates juice sales and is most associated with all that's pure and simple, is indeed a processed product. Its story involves chemistry, globalization, and questions of land use. Oranges undergo what the industry calls "hard extraction" (not a gentle squeeze). Extracted juice is vacuum-stripped of oxygen, de-oiled, and held in massive tanks (holding as much as 1.5 million gallons), sometimes for more than a year, before being made palatable via a "flavor pack," a proprietary blend of orange essence and orange oil, themselves composed of hundreds of chemicals. (Ethyl butyrate is the one that most pleases North American palates.) The flavor pack is water-soluble, which means that some water goes in with it. But it's still Florida orange juice, right? Not really: as Florida growers lose land to real-estate developers, more and more oranges and essence and oil come from Brazil, where land and labor are cheaper and environmental regulation minimal.
Hamilton points out that not even people in the juice business can distinguish NFC from FCOJ. The alleged simplicity and superiority of NFC are in essence (and oil) fictions of advertising. Still, NFC is not cigarettes, and Hamilton is not suggesting that NFC is hazardous to health. Her argument rather is that a consumer's right to know how foods are produced must extend beyond matters of health risks (as with halal, kosher, and organic foods):
Unless we as consumers are provided with factual information, we cannot accurately assess what and what not to worry about. We cannot properly rank our priorities. We cannot make meaningful choices regarding the massive number of industrial products on the market.Squeezed could use more careful editing ("There ends the parallels," remonstrate confused with rebuke), and the book could be enlivened with more visual materials. Its photographs of orange-juice people and places seem oddly remote, like items in a decades-old textbook. It'd be nice to see photographs of NFC cartons, with their minimal ingredient lists and their attempts to make the word pasteurized nearly invisible. Perhaps Hamilton prefers that the reader look at these cartons on supermarket shelves, and then start looking at other packaging with the same attention.
Jay Bennett, ex-Wilco, died on Sunday in Urbana, Illinois. At the time of his death, he was in need of hip-replacement surgery and without health insurance. Unspeakably sad.
Jay Bennett, dead at age 45 (Chicago Sun-Times)
Jay Bennett dies at age 45 (Chicago Tribune)
The television is on in the background, "for warmth" — it's a wet, grey day. And thus I just heard a visitor to the Ponderosa raise his voice to insult Ben Cartwright:
"You, sir, you sired a litter of lazy, shiftless whelps! Like father, like son!"Not really a litter; Adam, Hoss, and Little Joe are the children of different mothers, as any child of television knows. But still a wonderfully loopy bit of dialogue.
One hundred years ago. From "Memorial Day Fete to Last Three Days," New York Times, May 29, 1909.
It occurred to me this morning how odd it is that one stands and watches in the mirror while brushing one's teeth. Yes, the mirror is just there. But there's no need for visual feedback when aiming a brush at the mouth. So I did something odder than watching myself: I turned away from the mirror to brush, and found myself hearing, for the first time really, the sounds of toothbrushing in my head. I discovered that brushing my lower molars makes a different sound from brushing all other teeth.
Then I did something odder still: I decided to write this post.
It makes sense that shutting off one sort of sensory data would make another sort more noticeable, as when people close their eyes to play or listen to music. Music is much more interesting than toothbrushing, and saves this post from being only about brushing my teeth without looking.
A limited edition of Agatha Christie's Miss Marple fiction is said to have the thickest spine in bookdom, "measuring over a foot long, with 4,032 pages." Long? Wide? Deep? Whatever. Only 500 copies.
