iPad Fever!

If anybody loves the iPad as I do and is looking for stylish leather and canvas cases, look no further!

Temple Bags - iPad Case

Temple Bags is offering a gorgeous couple of cases made from canvas, leather, bits of old suspenders from the 60′s, and a healthy dose of craftsmanship. This concludes my shameless product fawning for the day.

Sharks In Tophats

And now, for something completely different!

Exploding Dog wins again.

Well-intentioned but wrong

In my blogroll this morning, I found a blog post on a subject that I think is both complicated and very important: parents who make incorrect medical decisions on behalf of their children, against the advice of their physicians.  I felt the best way to work through my thoughts was to write it up here.  I hope we can get a productive discussion going!

Let me start with two similarly heartbreaking stories to illustrate the issue.  The first involves a couple who are currently being tried for manslaughter for the death of their infant.  The girl had pneumonia and a blood infection, and although these problems are serious we often successfully treat them with antibiotics.  Her parents, however, decided to forgo medical treatment and simply pray for her instead.  I will step lightly around the subject of these peoples’ guilt or innocence: the reason we have courts instead of stonings at whim is mainly that each case is surrounded with complexities and mitigating circumstances.  These people were probably loving parents doing the best they could, and now in addition to losing their child(!) they are enduring a court case and the social stigma that surely is attached to all of this.  Their lives are in ashes.  Just let this example raise the question: should parents be legally obligated to seek treatment by the medical community for life threatening conditions their children suffer?  If your answer is “yes,” let us ignore for the moment the nature of the punishment and focus on understanding why this is the government’s duty.  If you think they shouldn’t be so obligated, let’s focus on understanding why the government should not attempt to protect children from situations like this, or how they can protect them differently.

The second story presents a slightly different case.  A couple in Australia lost their one-month-old infant for reasons entirely beyond their control.  The baby caught and died from whooping cough, which was apparently contracted because other parents elected not to vaccinate their children from it.  This disease has been effectively battled with vaccines, and has reached the point where almost no first world country has many cases.  There has been an outbreak in Australia during the last couple of years, however, because many people have been choosing not to vaccinate.

The question of whether to vaccinate has grown complicated lately.  A few years back, a British physician announced results tying a then-common (and now uncommon) ingredient in certain vaccines to autism.  His research has since been discredited – he seems to have been trying to sell an alternative product and to have falisified results to scare people into buying in.  It’s kicked off a wave of frightened parents, though, who seem to think that autism is worse than death.  It’s also kicked off a wave of research, which has concluded (whether or not an individual chooses to accept the results) that there is no causal link between vaccines and autism.  As these events have transpired, parents who choose not to vaccinate have gone from “frightened by a guy on the radio” to “concerned about an open question in medicine” to “concerned despite the opinion of the medical community.”  Let us treat vaccination as an example, though, so that the truth of its connection to autism is irrelevant to this discussion.  Even the matter of parents and children is slightly beside the point here.  The question it raises is, “Should people be legally obligated to take actions that the medical community believes will protect the larger community?  If not, how can citizens legally defend themselves and their charges against individuals who choose not to take these actions?”

Both of these cases are tied closely to a world of complicated questions.  How do you decide what’s true?  Should there be legal ramifications for well-intended but deadly mistakes (as in the case of manslaughter through car accidents)?  How much risk should a caregiver be legally entitled to take on behalf of his or her charges?  How do you tell an honest expert from an expert who’s lying for financial gain?  Should religious authorities be giving medical advice (and “just pray for her” or even “praying for someone can be an effective cure” are absolutely medical advice)?  Should religious authorities be legally restricted from giving medical advice, or legally obligated to state that they are not medically qualified without receiving formal medical training?

Hard, hard questions.  I have my opinions, but I’m not sure I’m wise enough to find answers worth legislating.  What do you think?

Of thorns and groundhogs

While I walk the grounds of my country estate, I observe the birds and mammals around me. The delightful cardinals, flitting quietly about; the frantic dances of the squirrels, and the less-than-silent nobility of the grackles and robins all remind me of the busy intrusiveness of nature.

In the deserts of the American Southwest, where I took a long escape from the hecticity of the north-eastern regions of the country, nature had its own set of rules. With moisture being at such a rarity that a short spell of rain was enough to make an entire desert burst forth in a great range of colors, the flora and fauna used each drop carefully. While life was present in some, yet perhaps sparse, form in nearly every corner, it simply was not overflowing and overpowering to the level it is in the moist regions of the globe.

Also, nature is softer here in New England. Certainly, one can die of exposure in the grandest of six-star hotels, though unlikely, and I am not discounting the dangers that nature, anywhere, presents to those haphazard enough to poke the proverbial bear. No, I speak of something much more subtle. And yet, not subtle at all.

Nature in the desert is prickly. I know, you are saying “Sebs, why are you wasting my time with the blatantly obvious? We have all observed the grand adventures of the coyote and the roadrunner and their unfortunate encounters with the grand Saguaro since youth!” Heavens, no. I speak of something that this New-Englandite was left firmly unaware of until I encountered it myself, and this is simply this: Everything in the desert is covered with sharp, pointy things.

It is a simple truth. Each flower contains a poison dart to shoot painfully into your nostril. Every single piece of ground foliage is clearly designed to devastate one’s toes. The animals contain their own bit of spark, be it from fangs and claws, or from that Black Plague bearing cute little mammal of death: the prairie-dog.

And let us not forget the roadrunner himself; truly a prehistoric looking beast. One need only lay eyes upon the creature to cast aside all doubt of the relation between dinosaurs and birds. The noble Geococcyx californianus is clearly a throw-back, and yet thrives in this hostile environment.

There are spiders with necrotic bites, killer bees, fabulously flaming fire ants, starving and angsty bears, and that goat-headed Puncturevine, all waiting to assault the unwary.

Whatever is a gentleman observing nature to do? As it turns out, cover every spot of exposed flesh with fabric, preferably one resistant to  puncture, or at least sturdy and stout enough to insulate from the briar and thorns that are ubiquitous. I found that wool was quite handy in this, both breathable and protective (despite the need to carefully remove the offending matter from one’s cuffs afterward), however in the sweltering months, one might have to take to some less elegant fabrics, but ones that are resistant to acquiring hangers-on.

And whatever are all these creatures protecting? Why, the great giver-of-life and remover of hangovers itself: Water. Be certain to carry plenty, because there is none, and there are even less tea and cakes to be enjoyed.

Then there are the grand majestic forests of New England, spotted with McMansions and Malls. Nature in New England is soft, yes, but even more so, it is painfully dominant. The tiny patch betwixt my drainpipe and the ground is a perfect example of this: In the desert, such a tiny plot would most likely be free of much vegetation for most of the time. Here in the land of abundant moisture, however, there is a miniature ecosystem all its own, with a forest of grasses, complete with spiders and snails.

“Surely, now, Sebastian, you are not a negligent gardener!” you say, aghast. Heavens, no: This tiny island sprung up in this particular corner in mere days! (And whilst I am not at liberty to discuss the grounds of the out-of-court settlement with Mister John Q. Groundskeeper, I do still stand by my insistence that a tutu is indeed an appropriate landscaping uniform, if a proper price is paid. Furthermore, I do beg The Agency, if they are listening, to return my calls, and/or send another strapping lad to prune, toot de suite.)

Mere days, my darlings. Whatever is your poor Sebastian to do? Nature spews a lovely green from every patch with a great ferocity.

Without regard, this simply isn’t what I had intended to speak of. Whilst inspecting my vegetable patch the other morning, I see that The Visitor has returned.

At first, I didn’t mind that he ate one of my broccoli plants. Certainly not! There is plenty for all. Then, a second vanished, and I narrowed my eyes, vowing to purchase poultry wire the following morning. Did the beast give me a chance? Did he?

A dare say that he did not! The following morning, the devastation was remarkable: An entire row of broccoli, not even beginning to approach a state even resembling something in which to smother in a rich creme sauce, was eaten away to sad little stubs. Sadly taken before its prime.

Be wary, Mister W. Groundhog. Though your mammalian cuteness approaches my own, you are certainly no Peter Rabbit.

Thankfully for you, I am no Mr. McGregor, and though I personally support Second Amendment rights, I am not the sort to either own a shotgun or discharge it towards your rotund, furry rump. You live to chew another day, you be-damned sciurid!

Well played, Mister Groundhog. You may have won this round, but be warned: The chicken-wire has been purchased.

Personal Refinement

In pursuit of gentlemanly behavior, particularly in writing about it, it’s easy to get fixated on the fashion and vanity aspect of it. Such is a shame, and it rapidly degrades into vanity: “Ye gods, did you see how that man was wearing blue jeans with a dress shirt? Surely, no gent be he!” — such is not couth behavior at all. Instead, being a gent is more about refining yourself into a better man.

When frustrated, I’m prone to venting my spleen at my loved ones around me, demanding that they help me find my misplaced doodads (I misplace things quite frequently, particularly now that I have children), hold something while I mess with something else, or whatnot, and generally being boorish.

Lately, however, I’ve been striving to take things in a more civilized manner and not flinging blame around like an angry chimpanzee. I take a few deep breaths when I feel myself getting worked up, and just pause for a minute to take the best course of action. This has worked quite well in regards to personal relations, and I’m calmer about things more as well, once I get past the initial blood pressure rise of redirecting the feelings of my inner monkey.

This act of refining myself isn’t easy. In the moment, I’d much rather scream and shout. But the benefits of a happier family is much worth it.

~ Charles von Marinus

That which has sprung

After one or two fitful misstarts, spring seems to have finally arrived in sunny New York City!  It’s time to carefully store away all your thick woolen clothes and break out the Panama hats and dancing shoes.  (I’m pretty fond of these little numbers from Fluevog, for instance!)  I highly recommend kite flying in Central Park.  If your fancy favors the sea, though, it’s perfect weather either for sailing or that perplexing feat of strength which is rowing.  (I will never quite fathom why one is expected to face in the direction you’ve just come from.)

I recently had the pleasure of attending a reception for one Philip C. Plait, PhD.  Yes: the very same gentleman who wrote Death from the Skies, which I reviewed some time back (in summary: buy it!).  He is entirely charming in person, and came dressed to kill in a black suit and burgundy tie.  Now, readers, I have seldom been accused of being the most aggressive person in a given room.  Nevertheless, when the evening was coming to a close and a charming Norwegian lady (let us call her M.) started angling for an after-party at a nearby bar, I made my best effort to help pursuade the too-modest astronomer to join us.  He ended up joining us, along with another gentleman: George Hrab, a podcaster and musician of some repute.  I must confess that the two of them outclassed me both in range of conversation and in dress, but it was well worth the time to get to know the two of them.

This weekend I’m going to the home of one of the as-yet silent members of the Gentlemens’ Club in order to attempt a grand experiment: we are considering creating a series of brief instructional films on various topics related to the club.  Our first attempt will feature a variety of ways to knot a tie.  If these prove successful, we may make the occasional film a regular part of the blog.  I will keep you posted!

Savoir Who?

Style. That’s what I like. Oh, you can buy class. You can read all the books on what to wear and how to wear it. You can consult your tailor, look at what your boss is wearing, and discard all of your sportswear, but if you have not style, you’ve gained naught. But! If you’ve got style, you make your clothes look good.

“But, von Marinus,” you might ask, “I am completely lacking in style and my books tell me I should dress nice, yet I find myself dressing in an ill-fitting grey two-piece suit with an untucked white herringbone shirt and lime-green tie! I don’t understand what’s not working!” (You know who you are, Mr. Slovenly-on-the-bus-home!)

With the right savior faire, you can rock that green tie, though it may cause Mr. Antongiavanni to roll over in his grave. (What? He’s not dead yet? Okay, roll over in his Mercedes. Read his book, good tips.) To properly rock the faux pas, you can’t merely throw on anything. Look like you take some pride in your appearance. Tuck in your shirt. Hold your head up and be aware of your surroundings. Choose clothing that doesn’t scream of compensation issues, whether you’re compensating with bling or with expensive leather shoes. But for god’s sake, don’t wear shoes with tassles on them! All the style in the world can’t make up for those!

Single Malt Scottish Bliss

I went with a friend to a scotch tasting the other night: a local wine shop offered a discounted rate to my friend’s coworkers, and I was invited to tag along.  I had a great time!  The tasting was in a cozy room that was all but filled with the table in the center.  The wine shop had set out nuts, shortbread, and dried apricots to complement the alcohol, and the dozen other scotch fans proved to be entertaining company.

The tasting was run by the Balvenie brewery (owned by the same folks who founded the Glenfiddich brewery, which is more familiar to most).  It was clearly an attempt to make loyal customers of us, but you can’t fault a company for advertising.  The employees they sent were charming and well-informed; I learned a lot about scotch.  Not that this was hard: I started out knowing only two facts.  First: scotch is a form of whiskey made in Scotland.  Second: whiskey is something I approve of.

In a little more detail, then: whiskey is distilled beer.  Whiskey in general can be distilled from beer made from a broad variety of grains: wheat, barley, rye, corn, &c.  There are many options available, limited only by the creativity of people for whom putting something different into their whiskey is considered a form of creativity.  It is our good fortune that such people exist!  Single malt whiskey is a variety that’s made by a single distillery out of a single type of malted grain: barley, typically, but wikipedia tells me that rye can be used as well.  The significance of single malt whiskey is that the majority of a given batch is generally too harsh to drink alone.  It has long been the industry’s practice to blend whiskies from several distilleries in order to mellow them out.  A single malt whiskey is generally the best of the batch; the only stuff that’s worth drinking untainted.

The liquid comes out of the distillery as a perfectly clear, highly alcoholic liquid.  The brewers pack it into oak barrels and let it mellow for several years before it’s drinkable.  The barrels are where much of the variety in flavor and coloring comes from: they have typically led prior lives as barrels packed with other things, and those other things lend their flavors to the whiskey.  These days, that usually means that the barrels stored other types of alcohol.  You can find whiskies that taste slightly of rum, port, or many other things for the simple reason that they soaked up trace amounts from their barrels.

The tasting process itself was very carefully described to us.  Tasting follows a very careful algorithm that’s a little different from simply drinking the alcohol.  One starts by holding the whiskey up to the light and observing its color, viscosity, and surface tension.  There is a lot of information to be gleaned from these details, but I am embarrassed to report that I’ve forgotten most of them.  The second part is where most of the action is: nosing the whiskey.  Your nose can provide a lot more information about the contents of a drink than your tongue will reveal.  You have to be careful, though, not to overload it with the alcohol’s scent.  There are several strategies: you can waft the glass from side to side under your nose, so you’re not directly above the alcohol.  It’s also common to put a little water into the scotch: this helps separate the flavors and reduce the harshness of the alcohol.  Scent is what differed most among the varieties we tried, and what we spoke of most often.  One variety was light, and smelled of honey (after cut with water and left to mellow for a few minutes).  Another had an almost leathery scent to it, and a third reminded me somewhat of flowers.  The interesting thing about nosing whiskey is that if you take your time and pay attention, you can start to pick out several different scents.  It took some concentration for me; my friend said he only smelled alcohol.  I imagine it’s a skill one has to learn, like most worthwhile tasks.

Finally, you actually taste the alcohol.  We started with the tiniest of sips: barely enough to taste, and not enough that one needs to swallow.  This is particularly important before you’ve had a bit of scotch, so your tongue doesn’t rebel against the strong flavors involved.  After that, your goal is to just coat your tongue and mouth so that the taste buds in all the various regions have a chance to offer their opinions.

I thoroughly enjoyed myself, and left with a strong respect for scotch in general and Balvenie in particular.  The company has been family owned for a century, and they do a lot of work on site that most distilleries outsource in order to preserve the quality of their product.  They have a coppersmith of fifty years, and a team of coopers to assemble and maintain their barrels.  The man in charge of the operation has been in that position for forty years, and has been intimitely involved with all the varieties of whiskey that they’ve produced.  There is much to respect in a company that values hard-won craftsmanship, holding onto employees for their entire lives, and resisting the dilution of their recipes with cheaper modern techniques.

On Persuasion

Nobody who is interested in those subjects which are based largely on human interaction – particularly politics, economics, business, science, and religion – can have failed to notice that we can hardly leave each other alone.  Each person has an opinion, and many feel compelled to persuade others to their line of thought.  This fundamental fact may be our species’ strongest trait: it’s the driving force behind the dissemination of knowledge, the true mother of invention, and the thread of conversation that leads a people to improve its lot.  Still, it is often extremely frustrating when you see ideas you are opposed to spreading through your own culture.

There are countless examples.  Some people think that all romance should happen between exactly one convex and one concave person.  Some believe that this is the only natural coupling, despite the vast diversity that occurs in various animal species and human cultures.  (One wonders exactly what they mean by “natural.”)  Other people think it’s no big deal: that an individual’s choice of partner is his or her own business.  Taken from certain perspectives, it’s very strange that somebody you’ll never meet who lives a thousand miles from you has very strong feelings about who you might fall in love with, or go to bed with, and especially who you marry.  They will even donate money, votes, and effort in an attempt to prevent you from doing as you will.  Some of them say that the meaning in their own marriages is threatened by the actions taken by strangers in another part of the country.  Why do they care?  Because, perhaps, of this innate need to persuade others to think as we do.

One of the subjects I personally am most frustrated by is what I think of as the extremely poor quality of argument that can be persuasive.  People, by and large, don’t decide by carefully gathering facts, challenging their own assumptions, and trying to arrive at the most honest and beneficial decision.  Honestly, for most decisions in life we don’t have the time.  Instead, people choose others who they feel they can trust and rely on the integrity of those sources.  In order to persuade people, then, you only have to seem trustworthy.  Present your message as if you’re a member of the group you’re trying to address, make a few claims designed to outrage them, and you’ll whip up an army in no time.  Fortunately, these armies often limit their rage to signing e-mail petitions and belittling politicians.

Here’s a favorite concrete example. Read the rest of this entry »

This and that

Just a few administration notes:

• If you’re paying attention, you’ve probably already seen the fancy new gravatar.com icons that Charles has created.  He’s got a few more tricks up his sleeve, and the blog’s appearance will continue to gradually improve under his tending.
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• I added a bunch of buttons to share our blog posts on various social networking sites.  If we missed your favorite, just comment here and I’ll see if I can add it.
• Our lives are busy, but we have quite a few posts in mind for the near future.  Thanks much to all of you who have been signing up and commenting!

-sterling