The Soiled Fruits of Conscience

So, feeling particularly inspired by Gustaf’s recent post on "brain food", I decided to buy some antioxidant-laden berries during a recent trip to the food store on Tuesday night. (Yeah, that’s right, I called it a “food store”—do you wanna fight about it?) Anyway, lo and behold, there they were: blackberries, on sale for $1.99. I picked up a carton, sized it up, liked what I saw, and nonchalantly placed it into my grocery cart (into the upper "basket" area by the handle). But alas, it seems my placement was a little too nonchalant as the carton immediately fell out the back of the cart and onto the floor:
Upon impact, the carton popped open, berries flew everywhere, pandemonium ensued. My 1st reaction was to giggle and look around nervously to see if there were any witnesses (there weren't). My 2nd reaction was to realize I had quite the crisis of conscience on my hands. I could...

a) Put a canvas bag over my head and run out of the store with identity concealed and dignity intact.
b) Grab a new container and continue shopping as if the whole thing never happened only to become wracked with guilt a few minutes later when a voice got on the PA to request "cleanup in produce".
c) Go ask the high school kid working at the deli what I should do, and be told: "Screw 'em, man, s*** happens".
d) Get on my knees, put the fallen berries back in the carton, buy them, wash them ridiculously thoroughly with water, and eat them.

Which option do you think I chose? What would you have done?

Feed Your Mind

I'm not quite sure what caused it (that recent brain MRI, undergone for a research study, which revealed an unexpectedly noticeable degree of CSF in my parietal lobe, perhaps?), but I've lately developed an obsession with eating (and cooking) in a brain-friendlier fashion.

My newfound neural neurosis might also stem, in part, from a research article I read not long ago that discussed the profound effects of malnutrition on the human brain. The study, which used MRI to assess the brains of acutely ill anorexia patients both before and after inpatient hospitalization, reported that brain matter actually atrophies in tandem with starvation-induced weight loss. Fortunately, this (and other) research also suggests that the brain can "grow back", at least in part, with proper weight restoration.

Cerebral sustenance
Whereas the above article offers a more drastic example of how food and nutrients (or the lack thereof) can affect the brain, a July 2008 Economist article discusses subtler, yet more universally applicable, evidence of this phenomenon. Titled "Food for thought", the piece offers various tips on how to "eat your way to a better brain", citing many foods known to enhance learning, improve memory, and protect again age-related cognitive decline.

Such foods include those rich in: omega-3 oils (e.g., salmon, kiwi, walnuts); folic acid (spinach, beans); and antioxidants such as Vitamin C (berries, citrus), Vitamin E (almonds, avocado, vegetable oils), and flavanoids (tea, dark chocolate, red wine). For more details, including a "Brain Food" menu for the entire day, check out the Economist article here.

Crime and Matrimony

What follows is perhaps the final chapter in the bildungsroman of a protagonist formerly cloaked under the moniker of a "certain (unnamed) member of brumpelstiltskin"; who I'd intended to refer to herein as Mikhail Fyodorovich Brumbelmazov; but who, since he recently chose to reveal his true identity, I shall begrudgingly refer to sans nom de plume as Mike-Michael.

But before I do any such thing, I must first digress into a brief discussion of Dostoevsky's Crime and Punishment. Said novel begins with its main character, Raskolnikov, contemplating the following plan: entering the apartment of an unattractive, loathsome, disgusting, miserly, wicked, old "crone" of a woman (a pawnbroker by trade); divorcing her from existence (i.e., murdering her); stealing her money and other valuable pawned items (e.g., jewelry); and then redistributing said riches to the poor.

During this stage of premeditation, Raskolnikov reflects on why most crimes are so easily solved, and decides it is because the perpetrator "experiences at the moment of the crime a sort of failure of will and reason, which, on the contrary, are replaced by a phenomenal, childish thoughtlessness, just at the moment when reason and prudence are most necessary". In contrast, Raskolnikov considers himself a cut above the common criminal, and thus immune to such weak-kneed witlessness.

But in the heat of the moment, when Raskolnikov finally carries out this act, his once-steely self-assurance melts away:

A dark, tormenting thought [rose] in him—the thought that he had fallen into madness and was unable at that moment either to reason or to protect himself, and that he was perhaps not doing at all what he should have been doing ... 'My God! I must run, run away!'

With that said, I now return to our main character, Mike-Michael, who, not two months ago, found himself contemplating this plan: entering the apartment of a beautiful, lovable, charming, giving, angelic, young "gem" of a woman (a social worker by trade)—not with the intent of murder, to be sure, but certainly with an "M" word in mind—and temporarily stealing a specific, rather invaluable article of jewelry (a ring).

Much like Raskolnikov, as Mike-Michael entered the scene of his crime, he felt presumptuously, even arrogantly, confident not only in the inevitable success of his venture, but also in the careful and collected precision with which he would execute it. But also like Raskolnikov, Mike-Michael's aplomb and self-assurance would prove short-lived.

No sooner had he entered the apartment—by means of a spare key he'd cunningly secured beforehand—than a pang of tormenting questions struck his senses: Was the door deadbolted when he arrived, or had he only unlocked the knob? Which way should he lock it upon departing? What if he guessed wrong? How could he make such a crass mistake‽

From there a virtual deluge of doubts poured forth: Had he wiped his boots well enough? What if he left behind incriminating footprints? Where was the jewelry box? What if she noticed that a ring was missing from it? What if the cat noticed that a ring was missing from it? Why was he acting like a thoughtless child? Where had his reason gone? Should he run away?

Fortunately, and somewhat miraculously, our "hero" was able to pull himself together and pull off the heist undetected. But alas, it would all be for naught. For just as Raskolnikov's crime proved to be in vain—he ended up burying his stolen goods in a courtyard rather than selling them off to benefit the poor—so too did Mike-Michael's crime fail to serve its intended purpose.

Namely, later that evening, when he placed the ring atop a glass counter and triumphantly stated, "I think this should answer the question at hand," his jeweler gave it a quick examination before very politely and delicately inquiring: "Do you happen to know what hand she wears this on? Or which finger? One of her...thumbs, perhaps?"

Indeed, it was a thumb ring he had stolen. But by the grace of Don, he still managed to secure the right-sized ring. And by the grace of God, when he presented this ring—a new ring—to her, she said "Yes".

In other words, Mike-Michael is engaged.

Lala La Truths

A few weeks back, a friend of brumpelstiltskin (code name: clake) invited me to join a music site called Lala. Appended to his enthusiastic invitation was the following disclaimer:

I know this email sounds like I just got a secret second job as a viral marketing wonk, but really I'm just very excited!

I'd like to begin this post by seconding said disclaimer.

That said, I'd also like to proclaim, publicly, that not since my discovery of Rate Your Music—nay, not since the heyday of Napster itself—have I been this head-over-heels, feel-like-a-schoolboy-again, love-love-me-do IN LOVE with a music website!

What so great? In brief, Lala allows you to build a personalized online collection of "web songs" that can be streamed (i.e., listened to online) from any computer an unlimited number of times. Web songs can be added in two ways: 1st, all songs from your computer's preexisting digital collection can be uploaded for free; and 2nd, other songs (chosen from Lala's database of over 6 million tracks) can be added to your web collection for a mere 10 cents (note: creating an account allows you to add 50 such tracks for free).

Lest I get too carried away, though, I should mention that Lala is not perfect. For instance:

• It doesn't have licensed access to all artists' catalogs (The Beatles are a key example), although "unlicensed" songs can still be uploaded to your private web collection if you already "own" them on your computer.
• The process of uploading your preexisting digital collection (via Lala's Music Mover software) can be quite slow, although it eventually gets the job done.

Fortunately, Lala's many perks more than make up for any shortcomings. For example:

• Songs (and albums) not in your collection can be listened to once, in their entirety, for free. This feature allowed me, for instance, to determine that Skylarking by XTC—an album that used to be on my wishlist despite having never heard it—is not something I actually need to own.
• Web songs purchased for 10 cents can later be upgraded to downloadable iPod-friendly MP3s for a price comparable to iTunes.
  
• Lala includes a social networking component—an iTunes/Facebook lovechild of sorts—that allows you to "follow" what your friends are listening to, send them instantaneous song recommendations, and promote up to four "songs you think others should listen to" via your own personal "Music Forecast"
• What's more, said Music Forecast can be embedded on your MySpace or Facebook page—and, yes, on your blog as well (see the right side of Mic's Tape; clicking on the play button next to each song will play it for free)

La La La Lies - The Who

One last feature to share is that songs can also be embedded directly into a blog post itself. Notice that I've embedded "La La La Lies", a 1965 track by The Who that's remarkable if only because it inspired the name of this very article.

Wig & Pen Triumphs Over Flood

I was very fortunate, this past June, to be spared the direct effects of the 2008 Iowa flood; many around me (including family, friends, coworkers, and beloved businesses) were not so lucky.

Looking back, one of the images that hit closest to home was that of the Wig & Pen Pizza Pub—perhaps brumpelstiltskin's favorite local eatery—completely surrounded by water. Particularly striking was seeing the restaurant's signature red telephone box almost entirely submerged by the Iowa River.

Thus, it was joyous news last Friday that heralded the Wig & Pen's triumphant reopening, which was tentatively scheduled for this past Saturday (10 Jan). Aside from a new four-foot flood wall, owner Dick Querrey has signaled that little else will have changed. In other words, the establishment's Anglo-cized ambiance (possibly inspired by this pub in Portsmouth, UK?) should retain every ounce of its original charm.

So, please join brumpelstiltskin in paying them a visit soon (or ordering from their east side delivery/takeout location). If you're not sure what to get, do consider their renowned "Flying Tomato" pizza: surely the most delightfully tasty concoction of pan-style crust, mozzarella, sauce, and fresh tomato slices that I've ever had the pleasure of consuming.

Ending the Year With a Clang

There are times when it's best to destroy the evidence and swear all witnesses to secrecy. And then there are times to just come clean. This, I have no doubt, falls into the former category. And yet here I go:

The first thing I must come clean about is that back in August, when Mickens documented the key-related idiocy of a "certain (unnamed) brumpelstiltskin member", he was referring to me: Mike-Michael. The second thing I must divulge is that, last night, yours truly dropped a chain of keys—house, car, mail, work, and spare—into a fricking sewer drain.

How did said mishap come to pass? Well, it all started with a dinner (frozen Margarita pizza) and a movie (The Dark Knight) date I'd scored with a beautiful woman (Oh, who am I kidding? I've come this far, I may as well bare it all: the film was Made of Honor.)

Just before leaving for my date, I inexplicably performed three impulsive, uncharacteristic, and irrational actions: (1) I changed out of my belt-fastened work trousers and into loose-fitting sweat pants that fall down if I put anything in their pockets; (2) I inserted a recently obtained candy cane—which I typically neglect to eat until at least July—into my mouth; and (3) I decided to check my mail on the way out of my apartment.

Hence, as I exited my flat toward my car, I had a wad of credit card offers in my right hand; a half-foot peppermint in my mouth; and a heavy, key-laden ring dangling precariously between my left thumb and forefinger.

As for what happened next, I honestly cannot recall if what slipped was an envelope from my fingers or the mint from my lips, but one of said culprits prompted the reflexively fatal opening of my left hand that—along with gravity—sent my precious keys into the drain (pictured above) over which I just so happened to be walking.

As luck would have it, the keys were soon recovered: the drain was not more than four feet deep, and using a broom stick and a metal hanger (pictured right) that the aforementioned beautiful woman mercifully drove over to me, I was able to "MacGruber" those bad boys back above ground within an hour.

As I reflect on the half-hour between the original blunder and when my Chivalrous Damsel rescued her Sir in Distress, I'm struck by the fact that I never panicked. Well, except for those 30 seconds when—like a ring that's a half size too small for one's finger—I literally could not dislodge my elbow from the sewer grate I'd moronically stuck my arm through.

That last point brings me to my conclusion: namely, the following list of last night's lessons learned, which I'd like to impart to you all:

1. Never stick your entire arm through the narrow opening of a sewer grate, especially one situated in a frequently trafficked alleyway.
2. Affix your spare key to a trusted friend or family member, not to the same chain as the original it's meant to replace.
3. Patrick Dempsey is significantly, almost impossibly, dreamier on the silver screen than he is on TV.

The Scarlett Letter

I’m not quite sure what it stands for (a cross between Adultery and Arugala, perhaps?), but the letter "A" has been permanently affixed to my breast.

Let me explain. The source of my shame dates back to 2 Jan 2008, when I volunteered for Barack Obama at a pre-caucus "Stand for Change" rally in Coralville, IA (task: cajoling attendees into signing in and revealing who they intended to caucus for). Before the event, two rumors began to circulate: (1) that, after his speech, Obama would pose for a group photo and individually shake hands with all volunteers; and (2) that actress Scarlett Johansson would simultaneously give a post-rally "stump speech" before a small group of local college students.

If rumor turned to fact, I realized that a terribly conflicting decision would await me: I could meet Johansson, whose breathtaking performance in 2003's Lost in Translation made a heavy-hearted then-22-year-old want to love again; or meet Obama, whose intellectual yet inspiring rhetoric made a cynical then-26-year-old want to hope again.

By the time the actual speech concluded, it had become apparent that both rumors were true. As I anxiously paced the corridors of the Coralville Marriott Hotel & Conference Center—suffering within from a fierce tête-à-tête between passion and reason—I was reminded of a certain Seinfeld episode involving a chess scene.

But just then, fate intervened. Having aimlessly stumbled into a random conference room, I looked up to behold a small group of eager-looking, predominantly male college students—their eyes fixed upon a rather nondescript closed door. Sure enough, Ms Johansson walked through. With one glance at her beauty, it was settled: I would not be meeting Senator Obama.

Fleeting thrill, forever regret
I do not remember much of what Ms Johansson had to say. This is largely because she did not turn out to be the most, say, captivating of public speakers (e.g., to paraphrase: “I’m supporting Barack because he like, you know, wants to stop global warming”), but also because I spent the better part of her speech nervously texting seven of my friends the following note:

Im in a room with scarlet johannsen right now. She is stumping 4 Obama. She is way cuter in person.

In response to this text (surely the most obnoxious $1.40 I’ve ever spent), one friend (code name: "DJ The Pleiades") quite rightly responded with a well-known, two-word phrase perhaps unsuitable for Mic’s Tape (suffice it to say it's an anagram for "Yuck UFO!"). Looking back, said text response was certainly deserved, but it was also redundant; in other words, I had already screwed myself...

For that one fleeting moment, lost as I was in Ms Johansson's smoky voice, I did not question my decision. But eleven long months of sober mornings-after have brought the weight of my actions into sharp, inescapable focus: I could had met the future President-elect, but I blew it.

As I look in the mirror and see this Scarlett Letter staring back at me, I accept what I have become. But what I cannot accept is for even one of you to repeat my mistake. Thus, readers, hear my plea: if forced to choose between Potential Presidency or Certain Celebrity, please, please, please let your cooler head prevail!