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What is the information?

When I could not blog the last week in December, my brain got overloaded with stuff I wanted to offload.

Mark Evanier noted an article about information:

Anne Pluta says that the trouble with Donald Trump voters is not that they are uninformed but that they are misinformed. Biggggg difference. Uninformed people just plain don’t know. Misinformed voters think they do but they’re wrong — and they’re usually determined to never admit it.

Then Alan David Doane pointed to Frank Santoro, who wrote:

I asked my editor and comics scholar, Dan Nadel, about this occasionally quoted sentiment of younger makers
towards older makers and he said, “Here’s the thing about ‘knowing your history’ (you can quote me): It’s soooo easy. It’s a short history, there’s less than like 50 essential works that would take you about a week to digest, and, y’know, if you’re ambitious as an artist in the sense that you care about making good art (as opposed to making books, making Twitter, making a persona etc. etc.), it’s useful to know what was done before you in the medium of your choice. Only in comics (seriously) can one find a streak of self-hatred so strong that people would proudly talk about not knowing the history of the medium.

I realized why ADD’s rant about Facebook, on Facebook, made sense to me. A lot of those misinformed, or deliberately uninformed, people seem to gravitate there. “I am trying to wrestle it to the ground and preserve its usefulness while eliminating as many annoyances and aggravations as possible.” At the same time, I get less the value of, as one of his friends noted, “like a good cocktail party. You want interesting, stimulating conversation and a wide range of opinions.”

Chuck points to something Pat Robertson said about David Bowie. Except he didn’t say it. (And if he had, who cares? But that’s another issue, about online OUTRAGE.)

Some people are just mean, usually trolls, which is why SamuraiFrog doesn’t allow anonymous comments on any of his social media. “Mean” is a kinder word than what I’m really thinking.

I posit that if there’s a story about a firefighter saving a cat from a tree, it’ll be attacked by trolls. Some will think government money shouldn’t be spent on such minor activity, someone else will suggest the tree was harmed, some dog owner will suggest preferential treatment for felines, a person will note that it was a white cat and ask whether a black cat would have gotten equal treatment, and yet another person will declare that there must have been a payoff by the evil cat lobby.

Plus Facebook is just a time suck. I don’t even comment as much because, even when pleasant, is a degree of back-and-forth I don’t seem to have available. Some people seemed to get ticked off with me when I haven’t caught all their latest news, much of which is some boring memes.

Beyond FB, there’s a LOT of social media I have joined, such as GoodReads and Pinterest, which I find benign at worst, but simply cannot fit into the calendar. Those things that reward you for writing on your blog every day: I do the writing, but can’t be bothered to let “them” know.

But the blog stays. When I could not blog the last week in December, my brain got overloaded with stuff I wanted to offload. And it is, as as Arthur notes, an aid to memory. My memory. It is an information resource for ME. And, optimally, you too.
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The Novel is Dead, Celebrity is a Disease, and More

Movie review: Carol

The movie Carol is adapted from the Patricia Highsmith novel “The Price of Salt”,

I hated reading the audience reviews of the movie Carol before seeing it. My wife went to see it one day before I did at The Spectrum Theatre in Albany, and she told me how this older couple at the cinema complained how s-l-o-w the film was.

Interesting that the audience reviews at Rotten Tomatoes, which often find the film too understated, are quite a bit less favorable than the critics. But we agree with the bulk of the critics, who thought this was a fine, subtle, sensitive film by director Todd Haynes.

When the situation is boy-meets-girl, there’s a broad tableau of reactions that are possible. But when it’s girl-meets-girl, in the 1950s, even in New York City, there’s a lot more at stake, with more nuanced responses required. The alluring Carol Auld (Cate Blanchett) wants to buy a present for her little girl when she meets the young sales clerk, and aspiring photographer, Therese, “not Theresa?” (Rooney Mara) at a department store.

The relationship between Carol and Therese is all quite chaste, though Carol’s friend Abby (Sarah Paulson, who I didn’t recognize right away) sees the potential for more. The relationship between the two woman is confounding to Therese’s boyfriend. Meanwhile, Carol and her estranged husband Harge (Kyle Chandler) have their own tussles, trapped in a loveless, convenient marriage.

Some have predicted an Oscar for Mara. I wonder, though, because it’s not a flashy role, but rather quite controlled, like much of the film, which is the antithesis of an action flick.

The movie is adapted from the Patricia Highsmith novel “The Price of Salt,” and I know not how close the film is aligned with the book. I do know that the film look of elegance has garnered it several Oscar nominations in the technical categories.

Pictorial blast from my past

Photo booths use a direct positive process, imprinting the image directly to the paper — creating a one-of-a-kind artifact.

Here’s a pictorial blast from my past. I used to have this red photo album where I stored pictures of my childhood. It was lost many years ago, and virtually all the photos I now have prior to turning 18 I scrounged from my parents’ house, duplicates of some, but hardly all of my childhood memories.

Then my high school friend Steve – it was at his Unitarian church’s basement where I first heard the Beatles white album – started digging through boxes that have been in storage for 40 years, and found these.

Here’s a high school prom picture. The front row was Cecily, Michele, Karen, and Lois. The back row was Roger, George, George, and Steve.

We, along with a few others, were the socially liberal, antiwar demonstrating, civil rights marching section of the student body. Most of these folks weren’t dating each other. This would have been the 1970 high school prom of Cecily, Michele, and the Georges; Karen, Lois, and I, who went to kindergarten together, graduated the following year. Steve left to go to the Oakwood Friends School in Poughkeepsie, NY, which he described as a “Quaker version of Woodstock.”

These were pictures, undoubtedly taken at a Woolworth’s, not terribly far from Binghamton Central High School, which is now, and since 1982, Binghamton High School. This is Michele, Steve, and I doing what one does in a tiny room, the camera flashing every ten seconds or so. I probably never saw these since they popped out of the side of the booth over 45 years ago.

In the era of the selfie, if you never had a photo booth picture taken at a Woolworth’s or like venue, I should explain this process. There’s a booth, with a curtain, and you would get three or four photos for 25 or 50 cents. For years they were always in black and white, though the latter years had color. It didn’t take very long to process, although the three minutes waiting seemed like an eternity.

And the pictures were unique. “There are no copies, no negatives. Photo booths use a direct positive process, imprinting the image directly to the paper — creating a one-of-a-kind artifact.”

I understand that there are photo booths that are currently for rent at parties.

This is me with Cecily, a few blocks from the high school. What the heck was I carrying? The setting, undoubtedly, was meant to be ironic. This is a picture I once DID own, but was lost for decades.

Finally, a page from my high school newspaper, in which I had a column as Pa Central. There were various people who were Pa Central or Ma Central before me.

I think I wrote four columns, the first three in which I took myself far too seriously, I realized even at the time. The last one, which is shown, was lighter in tone. To that end, I snatched this pic from my mom and asked them to run this instead of what I usually used. It is POSSIBLE that I have a copy of this periodical in my attic, but I would be hard-pressed to find it.

Thanks, Steve.
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WOMEN TAKING PHOTOBOOTH ‘SELFIES’ FROM THE 1900S TO THE 1970S (AND BEYOND)

E is for expiration date

With the exception of infant formula, the laws that the FDA administers do not preclude the sale of food that is past the expiration date indicated on the label.

Recently, the Wife threw away some baby aspirin I was taking because the expiration date on the package had passed six months earlier. I knew instinctively that it was not necessary to toss them, but I wasn’t sure why. Then I came across this letter to Mark Evanier from a reader that shed some light:

Reading about… the bit about the expiration dates on the low-dose aspirin you found there, don’t worry about it. Most pharmaceuticals do not go bad (note I did not say all). Many drugs including aspirin never go bad unless the various ingredients somehow precipitate out and separate themselves from the other ingredients…

Stable medications like aspirin are still effective for years after their “expiration dates.” Aspirin (just to keep it on topic) didn’t have an expiration date at all until it became a requirement.

Yes, requirement. The Food and Drug Administration back in the late ’60s or early ’70s issued a requirement that all medications have an expiration date, usually five years after a drug is manufactured or packaged, unless the medication itself warranted a shorter time span. In many cases the five year timeframe had nothing to do with the effectiveness of the medication. My late father, a pharmacist for 50 years, jokingly speculated that it was simply to force him to replace old pills and keep the drug companies in business.

The Wikipedia article on shelf life touches on the topic as well.

WebMD took on Do Food Expiration Dates Really Matter? Perhaps not: the FDA notes : “With the exception of infant formula, the laws that [it] administers do not preclude the sale of food that is past the expiration date indicated on the label. FDA does not require food firms to place ‘expired by’, ‘use by’ or ‘best before’ dates on food products. This information is entirely at the discretion of the manufacturer.

This post explains the difference between expiry date (the UK English term) and Best Before date. The former tells “consumers the last day a product is safe to consume. You should never consume food after the expiry date.” Whereas Best Before date is designated by the manufacturer when “the product reaches peak freshness. The date does not indicate spoilage, nor does it necessarily tells you that the food is no longer safe for consumption.”

This is not just an academic observation. From The Atlantic : “In 2010, U.S. supermarkets and grocery stores threw out 43 billion pounds, or $46.7 billion worth, of food, according to the U.S. Department of Agriculture (USDA).” And much of that food was edible.

This item about the dates on store-bought eggs, which went viral, created more buzz than insight.

“Food that is tossed out is a meal that a hungry person will never be able to enjoy. The UN’s Food and Agriculture Organization reported… that [there are] 795 million people without enough food to eat. For reference, about one in seven Americans lack reliable access to food, and an extra 15 percent in saved food could feed over 25 million Americans…”

Another factor in this calculation involves how food is stored. The folks and Groom+Store have put together Your Guide to Food Storage for Healthier Eating. To cut down on food waste, check out the section Ways to Rescue Foods that Are About to Go Bad.

ABC Wednesday – Round 18

Movie Review: Room

I heard people sobbing for joy halfway through the movie Room.

The Wife and I saw the movie Room more than a week ago at the Spectrum Theatre in Albany. Yet I have had a difficult time writing about it.

One reason is that the less one knows, going in, the better the story. What I will say is that the film is based on the 2010 novel by Irish-Canadian author Emma Donoghue, though it does not adhere entirely to the source material.

I had thought, incorrectly, the story was derived from the Cleveland captivity story that came to light in 2013. I believed that in particular because Room, the movie, takes place in Akron, and I recognized those Ohio license plates.

While I’ve seen only three of the five nominees for Best Actress, I’m willing to cede the Oscar to Brie Larson, who was excellent as Joy, kidnapped for seven years. Just as good, though, is young Jacob Tremblay as Jack. The movie falls apart if one doesn’t believe that the boy was born in captivity, living in Room that his mother tries to make as “normal” as possible.

Room has been nominated as Best Picture, and rightly so. It has understandably reviewed extremely well.

I’m glad I saw the movie in the theater. While the subject matter was tough, it never felt exploitative. I thought the way the film compared the impact of the captivity on the captives, versus how it affected Joy’s parents (Joan Allen, William H. Macy). The black woman cop, played by Amanda Brugel, was great.

I came out of the film feeling exhilarated that someone could put together two disparate sides of a coin and make it work so well. I heard people sobbing for joy halfway through the movie. The Wife, conversely, thought it was too intense for her taste, though she thought it was very well made.

My feeling is to see Room, preferably in one sitting, optimally on the big screen, for I believe watching it in pieces will alter its impact negatively.

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