I do not know why it took a media source so long to report on this topic, but thankfully, the Washington Post finally did.
When the Magic Wall made its premiere with the 2008 Iowa Caucuses, Wolf and the rest of CNN put on a total uninhibited show of their new toy.
"This is how regular voting works!" Wolf chided us, and with several over-animated hand flourishes, little poker chips (representing voters) fell onto playing cards (representing candidates) and then tallied themselves up. "You see? Now you understand."
Thank you, Wolf. Thank you, Magic Wall.
At any rate, this fancy toy costs upward of $100,000, and more of them will gracing the studios of other news networks in the near future. I haven't tuned into MSNBC or Fox News's coverage of the elections, and I don't think I'll start now. For Super Tuesday, I need a Super-Magic Wall. [Washington Post]
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
SUPER TUESDAY REVELATIONS: CNN's "Magic Wall" Touch Screen Board Finally Explained!!!!
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Digitips
Thanks to the handy lil’ eco-newsletter, The Ideal Bite, I got an especially useful tip today .
All those digits stuck on your bananas and avocadoes turn out to have some meaning beyond the Jewel-Osco and Kroger checkouts. According to the Ideal Bite:
- A four-digit number means your produce was conventionally-grown
- A five-digit number beginning with 9 means your produce is organic
- A five-digit number beginning with 8 means it was genetically-modified
Although some list tells me I apparently eat nearly only genetically-modified foods right now, B and I discussed signing up with the all-local and all-organic grocer in Rogers Park, Newleaf Natural Grocery. For what you get it's pretty cheap--15 bucks gets you all this:
2 peaches
6 simka plums
4 oranges
1/8 watermelon
3 gala apples
2 kiwi
2 ears of corn
2 tomatoes
1/2 head romaine lettuce
1/2 bunch spinach
1/2 bunch broccoli
1/3lb. green beans
3 yukon gold potatoes
Um, awesome.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Arrested Development Movie Would Be Unequivocally Best Thing To Happen Ever
I meant to link to this a while ago, but it's all the more pertinent since J and I have been obsessively watching Season 2 of Arrested Development. Keith Olbermann doing a GOB impersonation is also pretty great, but the potential for an Arrested Development movie is even better.
But seriously, if you somehow missed this show over the last five years, you missed out. However (!!!), many episodes like the pilot, Bringing Up Buster and Amigos! (among my favorites), and more are available to watch online.
It's tired in here!!
EDIT: Chicagoist just posted a story about some guy suing Blue Man Group for their esophagus cam hijinks. Aside from that ridiculousness, they posted a video of Tobias in his blue man group paint! YES!
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Easily the best thing Jerry O'Connell has ever done with his career
Who knew Jerry O'Connell could improve what Tom Cruise already said?
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Chicago is literally crumbling beneath me
Thanks to the god-awful freezing Chicago weather, there’s excitement down the block from my office.
A water main explosion on Montrose late last night has the street in dirty shambles today. Apparently water reached the four foot mark at some points on the street (probably under the Metra tracks). I haven’t been by yet to see the chaos, but CNN has a video of the craziness and various Flickrites have images, like this one.
Friday, January 18, 2008
Roadkill on a Plate
One of the latest plates from Moto features a rare specialty meat--raccoon.
Not just any raccoon, either. A Marengo, Illinois raccoon, baited and trapped, frozen and then fileted. Monica Eng from the Trib reviewed Moto's roadkill plate and seemed to love it, but I'm still skeptical. The Trib's article on raccoon meat says, 'A largely word-of-mouth raccoon meat market stretches from southern Illinois to Chicago's suburbs, spilling into Wisconsin and Missouri, according to hunters, trappers and self-proclaimed "coon-eaters."'
Coon-eaters? I may be the only one, but more than just raccoon comes to mind when I hear that.
New Year, New You
In the spirit of the new year, I redesigned! Exciting news, I know. For the record, that is me in the header. But I'm in Mexico--not Ohio. Or Chicago. Or New York. Not really anywhere in the United States, but whatever.
In other news, this video is my new favorite thing. Backstory: Australian 15-year-old throws massive party that gets way out of control. Guests rampage on neighbors' properties, police cars, and damages total in the range of $20,000. Here, we get to see this young Australian Tom Cruise (a la Risky Business, pre-Scientology while channeling the same self-importance), his nipple ring, and his famous sunglasses.
Thursday, January 10, 2008
Campaigns and Such
Barack Obama reminds me of a girl who ran for student council to represent our class as we moved from fifth grade and onto the middle school. Kara, with her rose petal ribbed turtleneck and Jennifer Aniston-inspired haircut, was a tour-de-force at 11 years old. Her look was embued with sophistication—middle school sophistication. She looked like our future; she was our future.
In her two-minute speech, Kara promised to eliminate the inefficient transportation system. Instead of buses, everyone would ride to school in hot air balloons. Sub-par meals of square pizza and hot turkey specials would be cut. Our lunch ladies would prepare us ice cream and popcorn every day. When her speech ended, two hundred Lebanon Intermediate School fifth graders erupted with applause and cheers. The effect of Kara's speech clearly left the remaining candidates quaking. Hastily, each following candidate endorsed Kara's ideas and promised other Great Ideals—elephants at recess, more hot air balloons. But it was Kara, the archetype, who captured the fifth grade electorate's hearts.
After we each checked two names out a list of hopefuls on a half-sheet of paper, the cafatorium (yes, cafatorium.) murmured quietly with excitement as we fell into single file to return to our classes. "I hope my hot air balloon is pink!" "Maybe there will be caramel popcorn too!" By the end of the day, our principal announced the two winners over the intercom. In a landslide, Kara had claimed the senior position.
June arrived, and school let out. Three months passed, and by the time Kara arrived for her first student council meeting as a sixth grade representative, her starry-eyed ideals had been forgotten in the haze of summer. As student council meetings gathered in the middle school's auditorium, Kara perched with the "popular" crowd, using her opportunity to bring popcorn to the lunch room instead to propel her social life as a sixth-grader forward.
I am not blaming Kara for her rise and fall in the world of middle school politics. (She opted not to run for reelection.) But I can't help but notice some similarities between her campaign and that of Barack Obama.
The notions of change and unity that Obama delivers in his spine-tingling speeches are, I agree, inspiring. The man has a way with words (words like "No more school buses!" come to mind) that dazzle the general populace—if only because they're left scratching their heads while simultaneously slapping their hands together in applause.
Take, for example, the AP Newswire's campaign quote of the day: " In the unlikely story that is America, there has never been anything false about hope."
The "unlikely story?" Seriously? How is America any less likely than any other nation? And as far as I am concerned, hope isn't false where it's reasonable. But Obama's theories about how, "There's not a liberal America and a conservative America - there's the United States of America," are beyond quixotic. They're dangerous.
Should Obama receive the nomination, riding on this wave of idealism, I do not see how he can deliver on his promises of unity. Whatever good he achieves in four years—and I do believe he could achieve good—will be annulled in the wake of a vicious Republican campaign in 2011, pointing out how Obama's pie crust promises of unity crumbled and the real America lies with the conservative party. (I'm shuddering already.)
What's more, isn't the essence of our country our disagreements? The United States of America have never been been perfectly united, never been a mass of common-minded entities. The essence of this country is our differences. And really, shouldn't we have more? The disparity between the pro-life Dixie boy with a Bible in his hand and the African-American lesbian from Queens cannot be resolved in the first term of even the most inspiring of presidents.
Tenuous harmony has embodied this nation from its fragile beginnings. To elect a Don Quixote president whose only campaign pitch turns the essence of this country on its head and promises to change it would be a folly—one that would open the doors of the Oval Office to a Republican candidate another four years down the road.
Don't believe me? Try an I'm Feeling Lucky Google search for "starry-eyed idealist." I promise it's not Kara who comes up.
(Full disclaimer: I am not anti-Obama. I only hope that if his campaign continues as it is now, he stops circumlocuting on ideals and constructs some more concrete ideas about how to improve this country beyond "uniting" it.)
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Have a Very Merry Fresh Aire Christmas.
My office has a penchant for the lite station's merciless, nonstop holiday music extravaganza. After the end of my 56th hour of this stuff, I can swear that I've never listened so attentively to Bing Crosby's "White Christmas" or Celine Dion's "O Holy Night." My head is spinning. Because really—no one should have to listen to so much Christmas music until, oh I dunno, say, Christmas.
And while there is no escaping the relentless holiday cheer, I cannot tune it out. Instead, I dwell on lyrics—How do I properly deck the halls, and who IS Parson Brown? Or I simply get swept away by the rocking strains of Mannheim Steamroller. (WAY better than Trans-Siberian Orchestra, by the way.)
Speaking of Mannheim Steamroller, J and I entered a treacherous impass in our relationship the other night as I YouTubed away."YES!" I cried as I stumbled upon this raging video of Mannheim Steamroller in concert. It wasn't just the puffy sleeves of the percussionist or the electronica strains mixed with French horn--herein this music lies my childhood holidays.
My family listened to Mannheim each Christmas for as long as I can remember. The decking of the halls, the trimming of the tree. It all took place to the soundtrack of Christmas 1984 and Fresh Aire Christmas 1988.
And here I was in reverie, sitting at J's computer and relishing those big chunky headphones and jamming out to Carol of the Bells, when I heard an audible gag come from J.
"This. Is. AWFUL," he retched.
"What?! No, it's not!" I cried, stunned. "Just listen! It's not amazing, but it's great."
J seemed to reconsider for a brief moment. After all, he and I have relatively similar tastes in music. He tolerates my forays into indies like m. ward, even enjoys Feist and Imogen Heap to some extent. I have always loved his house music, and I have a special place in my heart for some Metallica like the S&M concert. But here, we had found ourselves, much like little penguins, separated by splitting and cracking slabs of ice--once united, only to be separated forever in the cold unknown. Except in our case, this ice slab was musical taste, and I was drifting off toward 1980s Christmas Pop Island alone.
"...it's awful," J declared, scrunching up his nose to prove his point.
I was totally unprepared for this blow.
And it's not surprising. I realized that no one had ever listened to Mannheim with me, except of course for my family. Here J was, my first boyfriend to listen to my prized holiday music tradition, desecrating its sanctity.
"It is NOT awful," I snapped. "YOU don't UNDERSTAND."
But something inside me changed. I listened to the keyboard like I'd never listened before. The music suddenly sounded dated, kitsch. Composer Chip Davis's genius crumbled before me, amounting to no more than a late-night VH1 holiday special on those crazy 80's musical trends like keytars where someone like Pauly Shore might be commissioned to make fun of my favorite songs. Oh, Lord--please show Mannheim mercy!
Despite my inner turmoil, I let the subject drop, moving onto more holiday light-and-music synched videos, pretending to be steadfast in my love of Fresh Aire. I would not let on that my foundation was shaken.
Today, our lite radio station rang out Mannheim Steamroller's Carol of the Bells. At first I cringed, embarrassed for my admiration of those electronic church bells and breathy digitalized voices. Then, from across the room, "This is awesome! Who is this?"
"It's Mannheim Steamroller!" I offered, "And it IS awesome."
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Birthdays, Christmas and the Gift-Giving Blues
So, yesterday was my birthday. (Example of one of many conversations I've had at work: Thanks!... Yup, 23 now... Oh, you. You know, I actually HADN'T yet heard a joke about how young I am! Good one!)
My day started out with J giving me a bottle of my new favorite wine (that is impossible to find anywhere but Saratoga, CA and Cincinnati, OH for some reason) and a gift certificate to a Lincoln Square cheese shop, The Cheese Stands Alone. This boy knows that the fastest way to my heart is getting me liquored up and then stuffing me with dairy.
What made this gift all the better was that I didn't want anything this year for my birthday. I couldn't think of a single reasonable thing I wanted. The list of unreasonable things (tickets on Emirate Airlines to Dubai, an all-winter vacation back to Puerto Morelos, a personal massage therapist...)--that was easier.
Things seemed simpler when I was younger and things were black and white: I want this, I don't want that. I still have these vague recollections of my childhood and the things I wanted:
- a yellow teddy bear
- chili soup made by Mom
- Tinkertoys
- Winter Ball Barbie 1991 (I got three--one from my parents and two from different friends at my birthday party. Talk about awkward.)
So, now I'm facing a big problem. I signed up for the Chicago Sun-Times Santa Helper Program. Aayliyah, age 9, "good scheduet at school" and avid chore-helper at home, has written the following:
Dear Santa,Underneath, she drew a picture of six kids singing around a fireplace. Really, this picture is what got me. It's just what my coworker calls "North Shore white guilt"--this girl is really sweet, an artist, AND (the ultimate!) she edited her writing. Underneath the scraggly words are more, slightly-erased, scraggly words. It is cute.
I am nine year old. I have been a good girl. I have been very good scheduet in school. I have done all of my chores at home. Santa would you please have some dolls and a doll house. And can you give me biary you can put a password in so nobody but me can read it. And a doll cars.
After a brief search on Toys R Us, I found this Password Journal by Radica. It's $22, has got the password, a diary inside AND secret compartments. Perfect, right?
NO. The overall user rating is 2.5 stars, with one of the most recent reviews threatening to strangle the guy who made the toy.
So here is my dilemma: Do I get this girl what she wants, regardless of what crap it may be? Regardless of how soon it will break? Regardless of the fact it may not work at all? Or do I get her a regular old lock-and-key diary? Or do I scrap it all and just go for the doll stuff? Advice welcome.