I just had a random memory of a friends’ kid when she was about six or seven, when she cornered a couple of us at a get-together and says “wanna know what my dad had for lunch?”
We figured this was, while unusual, a pretty straight-forward conversation starter. “Sure”, we said.
We were NOT prepared. She went on this EPIC storytelling monologue about the restaurant and Italy and the art on the walls and some dramatic story she made up ABOUT the art on the walls. We were enraptured. No idea what was going on but by god we were hooked. At no point does she mention food.
The next week, similar get-together with the same people. Same friend I’m talking to. Same child walks up. “Wanna know what my dad had for lunch?”
But NOW we’re prepared, we’re excited. We’re about to hear some SHIT. We grin in anticipation. “Sure!”
“A salad.”
She walks off, seemingly unaware she just set up the funniest fucking week-long joke my friend and I had ever heard
I fucking hate the lack of infrastructure in my country. God.
Dude if I could take a train 400 miles anywhere I would pay 14 dollars just for a seat, never mind all those amenities. Jeez.
Reasons I remind myself I don’t like my country number who knows what
While this is super cool in and of itself, I’d also like to remind people that modern high speed rail (most of which is in China these days) operates at around 200 miles/hour (China’s fastest train actually operates at 370+ mph but that’s an absolute state of the art maglev, the 200 mph number is average rail speed). If we actually invested in these train systems, you wouldn’t even need an overnight ticket to make a 400 mile trip. To put that in an American context, it would allow you to get from New York to Los Angeles (the famous Cannonball Run taken by car enthusiasts for decades) in about 15 hours, which is 10 hours better than the current Cannonball Run record. With that kind of speed, you could take an evening train halfway across the country (Boston to Chicago would be ~5 hours) for a weekend trip.
Trains are not just more convenient (no driving!), but technologically superior to cars.
And yet in the UK, you’ll pay a couple of pounds more for a ticket between London and Letchworth (38.7 miles) than you will for a trip between Moscow and St Petersburg (a little over 437 miles). This despite the infrastructure having gone basically to hell since privatisation and there basically being zero amenities even on longer trips. MORE AFFORDABLE TRAINS, PLEASE.
One of the most bizarrely cool people I’ve ever met was an oral surgeon who treated me after a ridiculous accident (that’s another story), Dr. Z.
Dr. Z. was, easily, the best and most competent doctor or dentist I’ve ever encountered – and after that accident, I encountered quite a number. He came stunningly highly recommended, had an excellent record, and the most calming bedside manner I’ve ever seen.
That last wasn’t the sweet gentle caretaking sort of manner, which some nurses have but you wouldn’t expect to see in a surgeon. No; when Dr. Z. told me that one of my broken molars was too badly damaged to save, and I (being seventeen and still moderately in shock) broke down crying, he stared at me incredulously and said, in a tone of utter bemusement, “But – I am very good.”
I stopped crying on the spot. In the last twenty-four hours or so of one doctor after another, no one had said anything that reassuring to me. He clearly just knew his own competence so well that the idea of someone being scared anyway was literally incomprehensible to him. What more could I possibly ask for?
(He was right. The procedure was very extended, because the tooth that needed to be removed was in bits, but there was zero pain at any point. And, as he promised, my teeth were so close together that they shifted to fill the gap to where there genuinely is none anymore, it’s just a little easier to floss on that side.)
But Dr. Z.’s insane competence wasn’t just limited to oral surgery.
When I met Dr. Z., he, like most doctors I’ve had, asked me if I was in college, and where, and what I was studying. When I say “math,” most doctors respond with “oh, wow, good for you” or possibly “what do you want to do with that after college?”
Dr. Z. wanted to know what kind of math.
I gave him the thirty-second layman’s summary that I give people who are foolish enough to ask that. He responded with “oh, you mean–” and the correct technical terms. I confirmed that was indeed what I meant (and keep in mind, this was upper-division college math, you don’t take this unless you’re a math major). He asked cogent follow-up questions, and there ensued ten or so minutes of what I’d call “small talk” except for how it was an intensely technical mathematical discussion.
He didn’t, as far as I can tell, have any kind of formal math background. He just … knew stuff.
I was a competitive fencer at this point in time, so when he asked if I had any questions about the surgery that would be necessary, I asked him if I’d be okay to fence while I had my jaw wired shut, or if it would interfere with breathing.
“Fencing?” he said.
“Yes,” I said, “like swordfighting,” because this is another conversation I got to have a lot. (People assume they’ve misheard you, or occasionally they think you mean building fences.)
“Which weapon?”
“Uh. Foil.”
“No, it won’t be safe,” and he went off into an explanation of why.
Turns out, he was also a serious fencer – and, when I mentioned my fencing coach, an old friend of his. (I asked my fencing coach later, and, oh yes, Dr. Z., a good friend of mine, excellent fencer.) (My coach was French. Dr. Z. was Israeli. I never saw Dr. Z. around the club or anything. I have no idea how they knew each other.)
So this was weird enough that later, when I was home, I looked Dr. Z. up on Yelp. His reviews were stellar, of course, but that wasn’t the weird thing.
The weird thing was that the reviews were full of people – professionals in lots of different fields – saying the same thing: I went to Dr. Z. for oral surgery, and he asked me about what I did, and it turned out he knew all about my field and had a competent and educated discussion with me about the obscure technical details of such-and-such.
All sorts of different fields, saying this. Lawyers. Businessmen. Musicians.
As far as I can tell, it’s not that I just happened to be pursuing the two fields he had a serious amateur interest in – he just seemed to be extremely good at literally everything.
I have no explanation for this. Possibly he sold his soul to the devil.
I scrolled through the notes on this post and my favorite has to be one mockingly accusing Madeline Miller (a Latin and Greek teacher with a Masters in Classics) of needing to do research and she wasn’t a real writer like them.
Anyway when I read that line I immediately understood what she was trying to say.
Honestly, the first time I saw this tweet, I laughed my tits straight into the ocean.
I know what ‘olive skinned’ (and thus variations on it) means, but the author taking the time to have a little laugh, acknowledge that it’s at least a bit funny, and drop some knowledge is appreciated.
And a double thanks to the person I reblogged from for linking the articles.
The thread is perfect as it is, but just in case
Left: traditional extraction using a capacho basket, right modern extraction using a cold press. One is greenish brown and the other is green.
In case you want to see what the author meant about that not beeing what she saw.
it’s so fucked up when you see something you KNOW is a portal to somewhere but you can’t figure out how to activate it. this is the most frustrating feeling that plagues modern man.
I’ve seen this post easily 12 times now and EVERY TIME it’s just a different cat looking at a different door.
