not scottsdale

I used to think Raspberry-Peach Snapple was the ambrosia of all beverages. It's true.

People used to come into the Great Harvest where I worked and ponder the beverific choices (of which there were many) and believing that it was my job to spread the joyful news, I'd declare, "You should try the Raspberry-Peach Snapple; it's the ambrosia of all beverages."...

Most of the time those customers didn't hear me. Or maybe they ignored me because declaring that something is the "ambrosia" of anything is a bit, well... presumptuous now that I think of it.

At any rate, it is the ambrosia of all beverages... or I thought it was until my first Christmas away from home. This Christmas.

And now, I have a new ambrosia-of-beverages. And it is ambrosia. I mean, look at me! I'm even risking sounding presumptuous!

And here is my declaration:

Freshly-squeezed orange juice made from freshly-picked oranges. And not just any oranges... oranges picked from the orange tree growing in the backyard.


A moment of reverence, please.


I'm not sure I need say more.



p.s. raspberry-peach snapple is still held high in my esteem... If you happen to find one, let me know, for they are few and far between.

ambrosia |amˈbrō zh (ē)ə|

noun Greek & Roman Mythology

the food of the gods.

• something very pleasing to taste or smell : the tea was ambrosia after the slop I'd been drinking.
• a fungal product used as food by ambrosia beetles.
• another term for beebread .
• a dessert made with oranges and shredded coconut.

ORIGIN mid 16th cent.: via Latin from Greek, ‘elixir of life,’
from ambrotos ‘immortal.’

and incidentally...

beebread |ˈbēˌbred| (also bee bread)
noun
honey or pollen used as food by bees.

And A Merry Christmas To You...

... From Snowman Teddy Roosevelt.

stonefly nymphs have two cerci

I am still a student teacher, but I haven't been teaching for the last week and a half. Today I made paper ornaments for our first Christmas tree, and filled up a notebook page with geometric shapes.

Yesterday I asked my mentor teacher and received permission to print the words "Kingdom, Phylum, Class, Order, Family, Genus, Species" on paper in 500 point font down to 150 point font and then pasted them onto poster board. After that I had them laminated... and then, just because I had time I outlined the words with Crayola marker. They're really cool markers, by the way, sporting colors like "iguana green" and "tiger orange". Then I put them up in the front of the class thinking I was contributing to the lesson and providing my mentor teacher with a service only to overhear another science teacher saying to my mentor teacher, "Hey, cool kingdom-phylum-class-order-family-genus-species... don't you already have a set of those?"

For five days before that, I had been grading assignments, putting them in alphabetical order (because... well, for no other reason than because I like them that way), and updating both the online grade book, and my own personal grade book just in case the computer grades get erased (which they did a week before that, and I was very grateful for my ol' paper and pencil method). I even tried to pass those assignments back to the students for them to rework for 100% credit. I found most of them in the recycling bin. (At least they care about Mother Earth, if not about their grades.)

From what I've heard about student teaching, this isn't what I'm supposed to be doing. Luckily, I have no other reference points so I can't really be frustrated and am therefore not. Ok, maybe slightly.

en-nui
noun
a feeling of utter weariness and discontent resulting from satiety or lack of interest; boredom: the lecture produced and unbearable ennui.

measuring cups

I teach seventh grade life science at a local public school.

Yesterday I attempted to demonstrate osmosis to the class by looking at a thin piece of red cabbage under a microscope (projecting to the class through video to the television) and letting salt water run through it using capillary action between the slide and cover slip (it's actually pretty cool and worth the time if you've got a spare microscope, slides, and cover slips at home).

I was having a bit of trouble getting the salt water to flow over the cabbage sample (by that capillary action I was telling you about) and, mildly frustrated, I let out a loud, yet controlled, "SCIENCE!".

And I thought, "Hmmm.... did I just do that? Yep-- yes I did. I did give a good 'Science!' just then..."

And I had to think fast to explain myself.

So I convinced my fourth period class that if you yell, "SCIENCE!" every now and again during a lab or experiment, you will find quicker results.

Soon thereafter, I heard one hesitant, "Science!"... then another, and before I knew it, several members of the class were cheering on the experiment with a "SCIENCE!" here and a "SCIENCE!" there.

And it was then that I realized that this teaching thing wasn't so bad.



semipermeable
|ˌsemēˈpərmēəbəl; ˌsemˌī-|
adjective
(of a material or membrane) allowing certain substances to pass through it but not others, esp. allowing the passage of a solvent but not of certain solutes.


but of course... you already knew that.

halloween candy taxes

What is your favorite Halloween tradition?

My older brothers used to make us pay taxes to them on our Halloween candy. That's right... TAXES! We used to try and get away with giving them Bottlecaps and root beer barrels, but we never got away with it. I remember one time having to give up a coveted Milkyway and really being peeved about it (darn taxes!). But it's actually quite a fond memory for me now. My older sister, younger brother, and I still in our costumes with our candy strewn out in front of us to make it easier to sort into piles of similar candies (whether it be by type or quality) and my brothers strolling in to evaluate our income. If they felt we had one too many excellent candy bars--you guessed it--we were taxed more heavily in that area. If not, they would pass your pile with a grunt of disapproval. In truth, it was the only time I was proud of the crappy candy I got.

I love Halloween.

how do you say Nastasya Fillipovna?

Right now I'm reading Dostoevsky's, The Idiot.

At first I thought I only liked Dostoevsky because I had the endurance to get through Crime & Punishment at the distracted age of 17 (I wasn't much into reading then). But after getting into this new book I think I have to say I like Dostoevsky. I do. I would go into a literary discussion about why exactly I like Dostoevsky, only I don't really know. Even now, I've written, "Perhaps it's the way he..." three times without successfully finishing that sentence.

I've heard that The Brothers Karamazov is one of Dostoevsky's best, but my book says The Idiot is "his masterpiece". And who can we trust if we can't trust the summary on the back of a book, eh?

Can anyone weigh in on this for me?

And now that I think of it, there is a picture that describes the reasons why I like Dostoevsky, but, again, I can't put words to it and for this I apologize. But here's the picture for what it's worth:

syn·es·the·sia:

-noun

a sensation produced in one modality when a stimulus is applied to another modality, as when the hearing of a certain sound induces the visualization of a certain color.

thee caken

i think we're almost to the top... no, really this time

Ok children, come gather around my big big big skirt, and I'll tell you a tale.

When I was young and naive, I used to think that I could go gallivanting about the open country with nothing to protect my weakly pink skin but the clothes on my back and the flimsy arm hair left to me after years of evolution and of course the consequences were sometimes dire.
I remember one particular occasion when I toasted my back after a day of body surfing at Huntington Beach. "It is cloudy..." I said. My logic was clearly poor (pronounced poo-er, a la Eric and now Trevor... has anyone noticed?) and I spent the rest of our vacation applying the cooling balm of alcohol free aloe and the like.
However, after years of maturation and growth I am pleased to report that I have since kept myself burn-free-- at least extreme burn-free-- until now.





It was a cool July morning when I woke up at the crack of dawn to travel to the base of Timpanogos mountain and attempt the 9 hour extravaganza to its peak and back. It was beautiful. Truly, after the last few wisps of the sleep demon had gone, I was glad that I was up where the sun had only come up "over there" and the mountains kept me cool and shaded. Ah, to hike.

And after four and 1/2 hours, we reached the summit.

Here's a view toward Heber where we waved to Dad (perhaps).

I was happy as a clam as we ate the traditional salami and cream cheese and contemplated the surrounding area below. Now, I fancy myself a fairly intelligent person, but on this day I neither proved nor provided evidence toward that fact. As I sat and feasted upon apples and granola bars I willingly forced the lingering feeling that I was getting burned (within an inch of my life) out of my mind*. I could feel it. I knew my skin was no match for the thinning atmosphere. But I decided to spend my time mapping out the valley below with my good friend instead of seeking the much needed (and scarce) shade.

On the way down we traversed the glacier and ventured to Emerald Lake where our two liters of water each ran dry and we met up with our friends, the mountain goats.

After leaving that lovely oasis, however, the hiking adrenaline began to wear off, and the fact that we were tired, thirsty, and--yes--burned to a crisp began to sink in.

As we descended I could feel the eyes of fellow hikers upon me. A couple brave souls even ventured a, "You've been out in the sun, missy!" and I would weakly smile in return, and mumble some lame comment about, "white skin" and "making mistakes". And about a half an hour to the bottom of the trail a friendly group of hikers offered me some sunscreen which I thankfully, and sheepishly, accepted.

After a week of pleasant convalescence (I know I don't have the luxury to tell you how truly awful the healing process was. Suffice it to say, after many days of swollen ankles, aloe, cold baths, and vinegar... I learned my lesson) I spent the next week and a half leaving a nice trail of peeling skin in my wake and repulsing all who associated with me ("I think there's skin in these chips..." and the like).

*Come to think of it, I must have known I was getting slowly toasted because I forgot to sign my name in the log at the top... no one will ever know I made it to the summit... ever... hmmm... I suppose I'll have to make this adventure again, this time with 30 SPF in hand.

my three friends...

... are picasso.

the little symbols of your devotion

Blogs are for posting and I seem to be doing less than my fair share.

This could be for one of many reasons, the first being that I'm reading the book Jane Eyre (for the first time... yes) and underlining every word that I need to look up, whether it be for the definition, or for history's sake. Either way, my book, Jane Eyre, is covered with small green marks. The pen (of which I was complimented by kel, which, for those who know her, is a real compliment) even sits contentedly inside my book as my bookmark. There are just so many words and I want to carefully analyze them all before I choose one to use in my posts. I often picture myself pulling out a brand new notebook (the non-spiral kind with what seems like super thin paper... these may only exist in my mind now that I think about it) and a wonderfully fresh pen and carefully logging each word and it's definition or explanation; kind of like that man in the library back home I'd see almost every day taking some sort of library resource book and colorfully logging it's contents in a notebook full of graph paper. I secretly envied that man and I never knew exactly why. Perhaps it was the way he seemed so genuinely occupied and happily busy in his endless task of copying data from one book to his own. To be so satisfied seemed so foreign. But I digress.

Another reason might be that I work in a warehouse. This is not a complaint. I work for a wonderfully respected establishment, with excellent superiors, and extremely entertaining coworkers one of whom is a mildly obsessive compulsive twenty-something who taught me how to rip a phone book in half today ("...then you take a firm hold... and... if you get it just right... for some reason it's not wanting to... well it's supposed to rip, right down the middle"). But honestly, I can just see a post entitled "The Ins and Outs of Shipping" where I detail my daily duties, the frustration of running out of certain box sizes, and the wounds I incur from the tape gun (is that what their called?). See, I'm already losing interest.

I went to a rodeo. They had the usual. I felt the usual pangs of animal activism. I let out an involuntary, "Yeeeehaw!" however, which both surprised and pleased me.

I also spend a lot of time thinking about my next huge I'm-an-adult-now task--being a teacher. Ok, I'm going to be a student teacher, but I find it not only daunting but consuming. So, I think about it of course. It's actually quite fruitless because I rarely get past, "Ok, I'm going to be a teacher... wait... I'm going to be teacher! I don't know anything about biology! And I'm going to have to teach it! Ok, I'm going to be a teacher... wait..." and so on. But you'd be surprised how much time that swallows up during these hot summer days.

And so my friends, at long last, my final reason. My chacos of seven years, while still showing minimal signs of wear and tear (though used almost daily since the day I purchased them) have now reached an outstandingly fetid personality and can hardly be taken out in public without embarrassment. I am saddened to the point of despondency and cannot update my blog because of it. Of course, it's not that sad, really. But I could sense that this post was lacking some drama.

My friends! We dance!

fet·id

adj.

having an offensive odor; stinking.

and apparently our voices carried

Zion National Park.

We all went for Memorial Day weekend and, I'm telling you folks, it was a Memorial trip to top all Memorial trips.

Did you hear about their new shuttle system? Well, I guess it has been there for eight years now but it's quite sleek. It keeps down traffic and pollution while providing you a ride filled with witty informational tidbits and a not-so-subtle commentary on the gullibility of the press.

It was hot and wonderful.

Here's a view from Angel's Landing.

glaucous:

adjective
having a frosted look from a powdery coating, as on plants; "glaucous stems"; "glaucous plums"; "glaucous grapes".

a debut... of sorts

Where have I been? No, seriously.

I'm asking myself, really.

Anyway.

So this is what I've been doing.

That's right, as we speak I'm sitting there in front of a computer pretending like I know how to act. I don't, really, so I try. Still, it's pretty cool to be sitting there, "...set... rolling... rollin'... and... action guys".

Here, I think I'm saying something like, "This facial-recognition software isn't perfect but... we've got a match."

Thrilling!

So stay tuned. Perhaps you'll hear something about it. But chances are, you won't unless it's from me... or Donny Osmond.


I'm headed back to my trailer... if I had one.

McGuffin:
n. in film, a plot device that has no specific meaning or purpose other than to advance the story; any situation that motivates the action of a film either artificially or substantively; also written [MacGuffin]

"the planet has a fever"

Lately I've been doubting my decision to become a teacher. The teaching courses at this university (and I'm guessing any university) leave something to be desired for one thing. But for another, and probably the most important, I've been participating in what they call, "Observation Hours". This term speaks for itself, but it doesn't tell you exactly what you observe and I'll tell you what I observed. I was sent to a high school where the student's were supposed to be jolly and the teacher enthusiastic. And it was true. The students were jolly, and the teacher was enthusiastic... just not about biology. I've never seen a more interesting display of student disruptions and teacher retaliation.

"All right guys, get out your packets... now!"

"Mr. So-and-so, you're rude [sniveling chuckle]."

"Sit down Jane Q. Student."

"You can't make me sit down."

"That's true, you are a butch. Look at you... you're a butch."

Look of utter shock from me.

"He can say that... he's my neighbor."

I don't know and I don't care who your neighbor is, but that, for me, is slightly... how do you say... out of control? So you can imagine my panic when I realized, that's right, I might have to deal with Jane Q. Student and I'm not going to be her neighbor. And taking advise from Mr. So-and-so, who sat in the back of the room and chatted with the baseball players while I was trying to teach gene mapping, isn't my idea of a terribly credible source. Anyway... that all changed on Tuesday when I went and observed at a junior high. My friend, Andrew and I showed up during lunch (Hawaiian haystacks, in case you were wondering) but this teacher wasn't bothered. I looked around the room and from what I could gather, this teacher was a caver and... dare I say it... loved to scuba dive. As he sat explaining to Andrew and I that he was the coach of the local swim team I noticed that he kept switching which hand he was eating with. Then I asked, so, "do you cave dive then?" To which he replied, "Only after dead bodies." That's right, this teacher is a member of the search and rescue and a paramedic. He continued telling us about his experiences, where he's been, what he's done, how he fooled the entire class into thinking he'd caught a bat in the school hallway then used a paper bat to scare the daylights out of the brave few who came to get a closer look. "I'm not known for my honesty around here," he dryly explained. He started talking about the field trips his students participate in and all the other things that he had planned for the year. "THIS is what being a teacher is all about, " thought I. And my confidence in teaching began to restore. And continued when the students came in and happily contributed to a review for the state exam. I liked that teacher and his class. And now I'm thinking I want to teach middle school despite the fact that I've conveniently blocked out most of my experience there. Besides, teaching the water cycle might not be that bad after all...

mis·ci·ble
–adjective Chemistry, Physics.
capable of being mixed: miscible ingredients.

p.s. I'm a new aunt! Welcome to the world little Ash!

think about Le Chatelier’s Principle to answer this question

Apparently I've been dated. Seriously. And I'm not that old.


This weekend I was rockin' out to some excellent Howard Jones (thanks brooke) tunes in my nifty rental car with an excellent sound system when my passenger said to me, "Howard Jones? I don't recognize him."


I must admit that this was shocking to me. I mean, people don't have to listen to Howard Jones but I thought that they'd at least know him.


And then today, I was writing the word "granular" which reminded me of "glandular" and then "Angeler" and my brother's impression of Tony Danza on Whose the Boss? came into my mind, "Angeler, it's glandular!" Sheer hilarium.


So, in keeping with tradition, I turned to the person next to me to share the hilarity. She asked me what I was laughing at, so I began, "So, you know Whose the Boss? Did you ever watch that show?" And her reply was equally as shocking: no. My goodness! So I continued, "Well, you know Tony Danza?" And again!: no, I've never seen that show. Confused, I mumbled something about how I was laughing about somethingfunnybrotherimpressionerumfbllm... and trailed off before it became abundantly clear that I had been dated!

I don't know how I feel about this. What's next? A generations who knows nothing of Bill Nye the Science Guy?!?! It must not be! kel and I are on it though. Never fear.

a·nach·ro·nism

1. The representation of someone as existing or something as happening in other than chronological, proper, or historical order.

2. One that is out of its proper or chronological order, especially a person or practice that belongs to an earlier time: "A new age had plainly dawned, an age that made the institution of a segregated picnic seem an anachronism" (Henry Louis Gates, Jr.)

"i've still got it"

I love conversation. I do. I frequently blame it on the fact that I am a member of my family and that's the way the genes crumble (somehow I feel like that phrase only works with cookies). Still, any way I try to explain it I come back to the unmistakable fact that I love to talk and more importantly, I love to talk with other people (notice that I'm cleverly excluding the obvious fact that I talk to myself all the time... wait... oh shoot...).

And as you all know, I can rarely keep a good conversation, especially when the person I have talked with is worth being quoted, to myself.

And, for me, this is why life is worth living, because there are people like this in the world.

Enjoy:

"I'm just a big, dumb, hot guy."

This one was just as good in context as it is out of context.

"Coconut smell is like nuclear weapons. It should be outlawed."

The jury is still out on this one.

And some dialogue of a conversation on Valentine's Day:

"For example, I ask people, 'If you were a blueberry, what would you like to be in?'"
"Easy. I'd be in a pancake."
"Well, I give them certain options, of course."
"Oh... sorry."
"Would you be in a muffin, pie, or cheesecake?"
"Bleh, cheesecake... definitely a pie."
"Pie?!? No, no, no, a muffin. I would be a muffin."

And I've asked several other people that question since then and can you believe it?!? Everyone has wanted to be in a muffin! I would love to hear a good argument for that one! Come on, people. Pie! (And no, I wasn't thinking of Bette Midler's Sesame Street featured song when I answered the question in case you were wondering).

"Welcome to Snome.
In Snome you'll find such creatures as the Bi-icorn and the Diclops. In fact, I saw a Diclops riding a Bi-icorn through the meadow the other day.
I can see that you are a visitor here.
I'll let you digest that while I play the pan flute."

And this one... well, I guess this is what comes out of my brother and I trying to spell words with only 12 Scrabble tiles to choose from. He almost got away with it too.

la·con·ic
–adjective
using few words; expressing much in few words; concise: a laconic reply.

how exact do we have to be on these things?

After attempting to have a philosophical conversation (and wishing to high heaven that I sounded like one... a philosopher that is... no success) my philosophy major friend threw out the word "fiat". He was talking about (I would say "we" only I think that would give me much too much credit for the random poorly articulated comments I was making) whether or not there was an absolute ethic or not and whether God was the instigator of that ethic or merely another being that followed that ethic. Is there an ultimate good and bad? My friend believes that there is an absolute ethic. But he explained to me that whether or not God was the creator of this ethic or simply has an obedience to this ethic was something he still had to think about. A wonderful question and one that does not shake my understanding of God in the least. In fact, by trying to understand God in this way and considering such a question, I find that I can come closer to God. Is it strange that it doesn't matter to me what the answer to this question is? My friend thinks that that it is, and that such an attitude is the basis of one of the major flaws of having philosophical discussions at all: that my opinions and actions won't change as a result of the discussion. I felt powerless when I tried to respond to this and my rebuttal sounded something like, "Yeah, but in the end... does it really matter if we change or not? Is that our goal?" What? What does that mean? Anyway... Needless to say, he looked at me strangely and said, "And that is why we don't ask these kinds of questions in church."

Well, perhaps my aspirations to become a philosophy graduate student are proving to be more difficult than I first believed.

Still, I found one man who has a possible philosophy on one of my biggest soap boxes. And my friends, perhaps he is right? His is the philosophy I feel is the closest to mine so far. I'll share:

"...miracles cannot be in contravention of natural law, but are wrought through the operation of laws not universally or commonly recognized..."
-J.E.T.
(let me know if you would like a full citation)


And so, without further ado,

fi·at

1.	an authoritative decree, sanction, or order: a royal fiat.

2.	a formula containing the word fiat, by which a person in authority gives sanction.

3.	an arbitrary decree or pronouncement, esp. by a person or group of persons having absolute authority to enforce it: The king ruled by fiat.

[Origin: 1625–35; <>fierī to become]

these things take forever

Not to complain, but to complain. I'm a little weary of students saying, "I'm no good at biology." Seriously, folks it couldn't be further from the truth. I mean, I can understand saying, "I'm no good at remembering the Kreb's Cycle perfectly" or "I'm no good at sequencing the genome of a nematode." But seriously folks, you're no good at biology? You ARE biology. I hate to break it to you, but that means you were born "good at biology". Biology is intuitive no matter who you are. Really, I'm not joking. So! What do I tell the student that says, "I don't know... I'm no good at biology"? Seriously... what do I say? Today I said, "No, I won't have that said in this discussion section. If there is anything you learn from me this semester it is going to be that you are good at biology. Folks, if you are struggling with a biological conundrum, just relate it to yourself and think, 'What would I do in this situation?' and 90% of the time, you'll do the same thing that a bear, deer, or fish would do. We're all the same. What makes sense to you will make sense to them." And it's true. If I find myself without food the food that I normally eat, I'm going to find the next best thing. If in fact there is nothing with which to replace my food, I'm going to go look for a place that does have food. And if I never find food, I'll go extinct. Intuitive. Anyway, that's all I have to say about that.

And I said "caveat" today... I couldn't help it... it kept coming up in my head. After I said it, I apologized to the class. I think they were a little confused to be honest.

"don't change your plans for me"

I was sitting in a forum about art. Normally people don't go to forums but ash got me started and I haven't been able to break the habit. Admittedly, some of them are worthless, but most of them are actually very good. I learn a lot of things I wouldn't learn if I stayed near the biology building all day, so I'm glad. The woman that spoke, Marilyn Chandler McEntyre of Westmont College, read from a poem of her own creation about Van Gogh's painting The Sower. She read, "...vesper song over the hum of the wheat field...". I had no idea what that meant, and granted, her poems about some of Vermeer's paintings weren't my particular favorites. But this poem seemed to make a lot of sense to me and I liked where it was going especially because even though I didn't know exactly what the word "vesper" meant, I got the gist. I liked that. Poetry and I get along only sometimes and this was one of those times. So I celebrate.

She was very articulate and it was a great juxtaposition to the "That's the same thing how science does," from a professor the day before which was equally as fascinating. What causes us to make those kinds of mistakes? Maybe we're just going too fast. Really, maybe we should just slow down (advice I can give but can't apply). Sometimes I wonder why I didn't study linguistics. Really, sometimes I wonder why I didn't study art history, sociology, psychology, English, or philosophy. Not that I'd excel at any of them, but I feel like I'm missing out on so much.

Anyway, here's the definition for your information if you're like me and need it.

ves·per

–noun
1. (initial capital letter) the evening star, esp. Venus; Hesper.
2. Also called vesper bell. a bell rung at evening.
3. vespers, (sometimes initial capital letter) Ecclesiastical.
a. a religious service in the late afternoon or the evening.
b. the sixth of the seven canonical hours, or the service for it, occurring in the late afternoon or the evening.
c. Roman Catholic Church. a part of the office to be said in the evening by those in major orders, frequently made a public ceremony in the afternoons or evenings of Sundays and holy days.
4. of, pertaining to, appearing in, or proper to the evening.

"i'm objective like that, you know?"

What is the love affair with the word caveat? As someone who delights in the use of interesting and unusual words, you would think I might like this kind of thing. But I'm actually confused.

Don't get me wrong, I like the word caveat. And when I heard it the first time I vowed to use it whenever I got the chance. But I find that the chance comes less often then everybody seems to think. Still, I must have heard it three times yesterday in rapid succession (if you can count going from a meeting, then to a class, then to another place rapid succession). I wouldn't even turn my head if it wasn't such a posh way to say "warning" or "caution". For example, "We assigned them this topic with the caveat that they may have to alter their understanding of their own religion and other religions alike." I have a feeling that we might be doing us all a favor when we keep it simple, saving ourselves from having to translate this word each time it is used: "ok, so 'caveat', right... ok, that's Latin for 'cavere' which literally means 'let him beware' which we interpret as 'warning' or 'caution', therefore, the students should beware of the fact that their paradigm might be altered... got it!" and by that time everyone has moved on. Perhaps they decided to log that word away for future analysis. I know that's what I do.

Watch. Tomorrow I'll use this word and I'll like the way it sounds and have to reevaluate my opinion. Hmmm... Well! Until then.

But upon further analysis, this post sounds pretty snooty. So, let it be known, if I could use words like "caveat" and "paradigm" correctly without having to look them up first, I might have room to talk.

ca·ve·at

–noun

1. a warning or caution; admonition.
2. Law. a legal notice to a court or public officer to suspend a certain proceeding until the notifier is given a hearing: a caveat filed against the probate of a will.

kettle corn and 5 am

I have a good friend leaving this good country for a short sabbatical in England. In answer to your question, she isn't going all the way to England to be a nanny on Berkeley Square only to get tied up in all sorts of nanny nonsense. No, no my friends she is not. But in light of her leaving, I went to visit her before she goes away. And as I walk in, I see another friend of hers and mine putting the finishing touches on a delicious looking sandwich-on-a-roll (they're always the perfect size). The look of the sandwich was fantastic and prompted me to say, "My, that looks like a delicious sandwich." And as our friend lifted the sandwich to his mouth with a confident nod, my England bound friend's mother replied, "Uh, well. I don't know about those antiquated rolls. They've been in the refrigerator for who knows how long." The sandwich hesitated there just before the bite; I could see the wheels turning inside our friend's mind. But in the end, bite he did.

I laughed. But I have no qualms. Sometime ask me about boiled pizza and the like.

an·ti·quat·ed
–adjective

1. continued from, resembling, or adhering to the past; old-fashioned: antiquated attitudes.

2. no longer used; obsolete or obsolescent: The spinning wheel is an antiquated machine.

3. aged; old: Feel free to eat the antiquated rolls.