Camera ubiquitous
December 2, 2009
I have always loved to take photographs. I bought my first film SLR as a senior in high school, and I still have it and it still works. But I haven’t used it in seven years. I went digital. And then I went iPhone.
I never thought of my previous cell phones as acceptable cameras for the simple reason that I’m a Mac girl and I didn’t have an easy way to offload the pictures. I also never used to do a data plan for my cell phones. Then iPhone came along.
Now I not only have a computer and the internet in my pocket, but I have a camera that is always with me. It couldn’t be easier to get images off of in any number of ways. With the ease of emailing and/or uploading from within apps such as Facebook, I have become an indiscriminate snapper of pictures. No occasion is too trivial. No subject is too insignificant.
It’s just too bad that on the first generation iPhone (which mine is) the camera is not of better quality. A good portion of my life is being captured in subpar pixels. But gosh, you just can’t beat the convenience. And with third-parrty photography apps for iPhone, its capabilities are extended. My favorite is Pano for iPhone which does all the heavy lifting for you to manufacture a pretty darned good panoramic image stitched together from up to 16 individual photos.
My favorite theme of iPhone photography has turned out to be self-portraits. Once I figured out how to hold iPhone in one hand and touch the shutter button with a nearby finger it was all over. Now I document the daily mundanity of myself and the universe I move through. It just wouldn’t work with my “big” camera.
I also use iPhone’s camera to make notes for myself. If I see a poster for something I’m interested in, if I sample a new beer or wine while I’m out, any number of things, it’s quite easier to just snap a shot of it to jog my memory than it would be to type a note (even though that’s very straightforward on iPhone, just like everything). And if I’m pressed for time or being particularly lazy, I will use it in lieu of my scanner to digitize something on paper, such as my handwritten notes from yesterday’s post.
Its constant companionship causes its overuse. This is the most recent photo from earlier this evening. I felt it necessary to preserve for posterity my joy at trying Magic Hat Brewing’s Black as Night Winter Lager.
iPhone is a constant companion, and I see I’m calling it iPhone like that’s its name, without any preceding articles or possessive pronouns. People name their cars. Do you other iPhone users name your iPhones?
Water, running
November 5, 2009
Since June 1, 2008, I have drunk 67,522 ounces of water. How do I know this? Because I keep track and measure up on a nifty little site called zeaLOG (shout out!). I didn’t set out to be a compulsive grapher of my water consumption (or any of the other things I keep track of there); it just happened.
My mom is always telling me, “Your grandfather would be so proud of how much water you drink!” (He was never proud of how I braked the car when he was riding along.) Although he was a big advocate of water drinking, I doubt he had in mind the quantities that I accomplish.
The most water I’ve ever drunk in one 24-hour period is 248 ounces. That’s right, two gallons (almost) of the universal solvent. I managed this feat twice in the past summer, on July 5th and September 6th. The zeaLOG also allows me to notice my trend of consumption over the course of a year. In the hot summer months I average almost a gallon and a half per day. In the cold winter months that drops to about three-quarters of a gallon. It’s a lovely little sine wave.
(Sorry for the delay—I was having a drink of water.)
I do not prefer ice, and I’m not picky about what kind of water it is or whether it’s cold. Plain old tap water is just fine, though at home I do have a carbon filter on my kitchen faucet. I keep two half-gallon pitchers ready in my refrigerator. That way I feel like I’m conserving the filter by not turning it on for each individual glassful. The literature that comes with the filter says it’s smart enough to wear out based on a combination of times used and quantity filtered. I don’t believe it.
I do the actual drinking in 24-ounce increments and for the sake of logging, I always finish a glass, even if I have to chug most of it. But often I do that anyway. Lately, I’ve developed the new habit of making sure that I drink a glassful as soon as I get up in the morning. It honestly helps me feel better as I start my day. I usually get up during the night, at which times I work on a glassful which usually is finished by the time I arise in the morning. After my shower, I drink a small 8-ounce glassful to wash down my multivitamin and calcium supplement. So by the time I leave for work, I’ve had 56 ounces since I went to bed. I have the same 24-ounce cup at work, where I don’t like to drink fewer than two during the day; three is better. I take a 24-ounce repurposed Diet Coke bottleful with me to work out. That gets polished off during the 45 minutes I’m there.
I break out of the 24s when I go to bowling. Then, I pack a green, 32-ounce Nalgene bottle. A couple of years ago I had the unoriginal idea to make an ice plug in the bottom of the bottle so the water would stay cold. In the winter, I freeze 200 milliliters. In the summer, 300. That’s just about right for the two-and-a-half or three hours the bottle is in service. Shall we talk about a huge advantage to drinking a lot of water while bowling? That’s right, I feel less fuzzy the next day from the beer if I’ve also kept up with the water. If I can finish a second Nalgene during the evening, I know things won’t be as bad in the morning. As I pay attention to the trend, I see it works best if I roughly match water ounces to beer ounces.
(Just a sec, I’ll be right back.)
You may wonder if I am always running for a ladies’ room because of all the water that goes into me. No, not always. Oh, I know I go more than the average person, but I am beyond thinking about it. The benefit is worth it. Okay, it’s inconvenient if, say, I’m in the middle of the row at a Minnesota Twins game, however my need to excuse myself in that situation is just as likely to be because of all the fresh, cold Summit Extra Pale Ale that I’ve been enjoying. And buying another one. But I digress.
When I travel, I have to pay attention to the situation. On driving trips it sometimes gets tricky because I like to stay off the interstate as much possible, and U.S. and state highways don’t have the same shiny, fancy rest areas—or any, usually. And if you stop at a gas station or fast food joint, you do feel as though you should make a purchase in exchange for the use of their facilities. Yes, I’ve been known to buy just one banana. In England, the 20 pence coin quickly became my good friend.
(Time to refill my glass.)
Try taking a big drink when you get up for the next couple of days. See if you don’t think it helps you feel just a little bit fresher.
Pearly whites
November 3, 2009
Toothpaste. I couldn’t do without it. Yes, it freshens your breath. Yes, it contributes to mouth health. But the real reason I couldn’t do without it is because I had braces for four and a half years.
When I was about 10 years old, my then dentist (a former Army man with hands the size of frying pans) apparently recognized that I had a small jaw. He recommended that I have four of my permanent molars pulled to make room for future endeavors in my mouth. The deed was carried out by an oral surgeon whose office was in a single-storey, red-brick building on the south side of the boulevard. When they put the gas mask over my nose and mouth to knock me out, I made it to 93 counting backwards from 100.
This was in the day when surgeons still used cloth thread to tie wounds closed. I can’t tell you how much mileage I got grossing people out with four spots of thick, black thread in my mouth. It was even better if I had just eaten lunch.
When I was 13, I became Metal Mouth.
The orthodontist confidently said, “Oh, it’ll take one year, maybe a year and a half.” Although he was a tooth professional, he was apparently unable to recognize that mine were rooted in cement. We began the ordeal. And when I say “we,” I include my parents, usually my mom. See, it wasn’t just going to the orthodontist. It was driving the 20 miles to the next largest city where that single-storey, red-brick building on the south side of the boulevard was located. This was the same city where my dad worked, so frequently we’d make a day of it, all of us driving over in the morning—my mom and I doing my time at the orthodontist’s, then spending the long rest of the day at my dad’s store. He sold pianos and organs, and as I was years into piano lessons, if nothing else, I could practice. Sometimes I goofed off and shakily rode a skateboard around the smooth-floored basement of the store.
Then, when I was 15, we moved to a different state. The metal bands still securely encircled my teeth with no sign of coming off. We had to find a new orthodontist. Now, the next largest town was 35 miles away. My mom and I engaged in orthodontic carpooling with an unfortunate classmate who was enduring the same trial as I. This went on for a couple more years. Every six weeks, my gums would ache for a week as I adjusted to the pull of the new configuration of tiny rubberbands. I knew I’d have a perfect smile one day.
Finally, when I was 17 and during my senior year in high school, it ended. The braces came off, and so did the glasses. I did have a perfect smile, I had become the swan.
But one thing that didn’t go away was my by then well-developed compulsion to brush my teeth for little or no reason. Thirty years later, it is still an overpowering urge.
It is as almost a postscript to all of this that I have realized what was maybe the more important benefit of having had those four molars removed at age 10—I am the proud owner of all my wisdom teeth. They never needed to be pulled because there was room for them to coexist peacefully with my remaining teeth. And in fact, I have a supernumerary fifth wisdom tooth in my upper right jaw which I am kind of proud of. I figure that’s why I’m so smart.
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