Grand gap in the living room since D. and I dismantled the Christmas tree
earlier today. Pulled it apart limb by limb by limb, crammed its
needle-shedding tangled-ness into the old cardboard box, smacked it all with
tape, then lifted it to the attic. Now I know artificial trees aren’t
supposed to shed needles, but this one’s recycled–the hand-me-down conifer
from D.’s former boss back in KC, who’d upgraded to something more grandiose,
tall, magnificent. Free tree. Tried to unload the tree at the garage
sale last summer: ten bucks? four bucks? Both yellow stickers still
mark the face of the box. Didn’t sell. (If interested, please send email.)
We’ll fill the space left behind by pulling up the exercycle from the
basement. Never been resolute enough to keep with all the habit-altering
involved at the first of the calendar year (although there was the time…), but I’ll
hop on the machine a few times throughout the winter, break a sweat, pretend
it’s not miserable outside. If not, the work of moving exercise
equipment makes up for extended periods of non-use. Up and down the stairs
a few times or across half of the U.S.–punch it in the calorimeter.
[8:46 p.m.] Whoa! Just about missed
Who’s Your Daddy? on the Fox Network. Nah, not really. I wasn’t
about to watch that crud. I’ve felt the hook of reality television at
times–rare times, and I know that for a fraction of the amount it would cost to
cast David Hasslehoff, the major networks can rustle up an enclave of real
people who’ll vie shamelessly for a chance at a pot of money. Dangle the
money, attach it to any of life’s vexation–housing, smoking, diet, extreme
careerism, fear, dating and now absentee parenting: film-edit-air: wine
and cheese parties over the ratings and ad revenue. Please tell me if it’s
way more complex than this. Please. Any more slop on the television
and we’re all going to need
these (via
worldchanging). Except that CNY’s been unusually balmy, we might need
them anyway (keep warning of winter weather around here…been calling it out
for months). Yet I remain skeptical that the gizmo–for $119–impacts the
shoveling of snow. Will hold off until I see the neighbors using one, then
borrow it.
tangent n: At the NS (aka work), D.’s planning an after school event
later this week involving
Shrinky Dinks. She’s got the authentic shrinks–the plasticine sheets for
drawing and baking, yields the warp-distort surprise every time! But have
you ever heard of make-shift Shrinky Dinks, the kind where you color on
styrofoam cups then bake-melt them into variforms? Sounded dangerous to me
(toxic fumes?). Anyone heard of improvising with styro-cups as low budget
shrinkies?
The make-shift Shrinky-Dinks idea should work fine. The styrofoam (polystyrene) has a glass transition temperature of about 105 degrees Celsius (221 deg F). The glass transition temperature is the temperature at which a solid crystalline polymer will begin to flow. The typical blowing agent (the gas used to make it into a foam) is commonly carbon dioxide, or occasionally, pentane. The majority of the volume of styrofoam is simply air.
And here I’ve been wary of styrofoam all this time. That’s exactly the answer I was looking for, even though I don’t have any immediate plans for shrunken projects. So keep the setting low and don’t peek your head in the oven door too often, right? Just let the flow do its thing.
I’m not really interested in reality TV in isolation. The narratives aren’t that complicated; the reality isn’t that real. But as a phenomenon I find it somewhat interesting, and the less overtly competitive or scripted shows (like “High School Reunion”) can be a fun guilty pleasure.
I think you’re right, Chuck. I’ve been hooked on Survivor for a few seasons. I’m interested in the way the production of the seemingly coherent narrative is both visible and invisible. In other words, some segments of the program make arrangement explicit, while other segments bury the controlling aparatuses, the presence of cameras, the convenience of splicing, and so on. I’m also curious about reality TV like The *Real* Gilligan’s Island that puts together an odd remake of old television. Didn’t watch much of TRGI, but what I saw was blaze (Thurston Howell III’s replacement won the dough!).