Halloween candy in review (miniature candy edition).

Candy	Pros	Cons	Overall
Milky Way (Peanut Butter version)	I didn’t actually taste the Milky Way (Peanut Butter version). It just came in the big bag of Halloween candy, along with the Snickers. Pretty shiny wrapper?	Peanut Butter flavor anything is mostly gross.  Exceptions: peanut butter sandwich. Peanut butter icing on white cake. Peanut butter cookie.	C.  There’s absolutely no good reason to mess with the original Milky Way.
Almond Joy	So cute. Little oblong shape with rounded edges. One petite almond in the middle of the oblong. Suave.	There is literally nothing wrong with the Almond Joy, except that there should be two more almonds, and they should all be spaced appropriately, so that the almond per bite would be optimal.	B.  See notes re: additional almond redesign of Almond Joy.
Box of Dots.	Dots are not a good candy. They are sub par. That said, in the ‘fruit-flavored’ category, Dots are my favorites. That’s not even true. I actually prefer Jujy Fruits, but they are a dental hazard. Ergo: Dots.	Not actually ‘fruit-flavored.’ More like ‘fruit-colored.’	C- They’ll do in a pinch. They’re cute in their little boxes. I’m adjusting the grade to a C.
Kit Kat Bar	The break down the middle of the Kit Kat bar is its signature move, and it is a good signature. It resonates with good auditory satisfaction, as well as a formal sense of symmetry. The crunch aspect is also not bad, not bad at all.	I have not had a dark chocolate Kit Kat bar, although they are rumored to exist. The milk chocolate Kit Kat is edible, entirely edible, but it’s also a little insipid. Especially if you ate several miniature Kit Kat bars, one after the other. Why would you do that? Because they’re there, that’s why.	B- Fine, B.
Twix Bar	None of the satisfying symmetry or break-down-the-middle pleasure of the Kit Kat. But caramel. Whoever thought of that was doing some next-level thinking. The Twix Bar is better than the Kit Kat on a quantum level. That’s right: actual physics says that the Twix is better than the Kit Kat bar. (it’s physics when you just say the word quantum, right?)	No cons. Twix bar = excellent.	A. That is all.
Box of Milk Duds	Caramel plus waxy chocolate should not equal excellence. And yet it does. The caramel requires that the candy spend at least a moment in the mouth before chewing, because it’s hard, and you don’t want your candy messing with your fillings. While the caramel is softening, the chocolate is melting.  There’s timing involved. Timing and, let’s face it, artistry. Eating a Milk Dud is an art.  I am a Milk Dud artist.	The only thing wrong with Milk Duds is: NOTHING. Okay, sometimes, you get a box with only three Milk Duds in it. That’s basically foul play.	A+ It’s my favorite. —the mini box is so adorable.

Cleanliness.

--next to godliness, as we all know.

As I have heretofore whined about, dear reader, I'm currently wrestling with a big anaconda of a schedule--you know, like in the movie Anaconda?

 

--and I'm pretty sure I'm not going to be IceCube in the river with the anaconda popping up like a real bad dream, I'm pretty sure I'm going to be more like a super-smart character who *outwits* the anaconda by staying home and watching TV where no anacondas live, but that doesn't mean that the anaconda, aka my schedule, isn't running me around like a bad idea. Just four weeks of this, and then things moderate. Just four weeks. (is my new mantra, which I just typed 'moantra,' which is maybe more accurate and in tune with my current whiny mood.

ANYWAY. Today I had to wrap my mind around the fact that if I wanted to work out today, it would have to be in the morning, a realization that simultaneously resulted in the concomitant clarity that I  would thus have to take a shower, and get dressed, at the gym. And all that that entailed.

--oh the HORRRRRRor. (with extra Rs, as the situation clearly warrants.)

For your reference, here is what taking a shower and getting dressed at the gym, in the morning, for the day, entails, in my world:

1. consideration of the hair and the hair product.
2. consideration of the clothing, shoes and accessories.
3. consideration of the 'I need to smell awesome' accoutrements.
4. other crucial stuff I am forgetting.

Should going to the gym on the way to work be this hard? Should I have so many considerations and requirements? Perhaps not. But on the other hand, should working out in the morning mean I should look less splendid than I want to look on an ordinary work day? The people, I submit to you that it should not.

So I went to the gym, packing all of the considerations and requirements and my dedicated gym towel. I worked out like the righteous, and thereafter got clean, including washing my hair, which is a project unto the highest degree of project-iness.

May I say, as I evaluate my performance:

• I got all the things I needed into my bag. (25 points.)
• maybe I forgot just one thing, but it was of no consequence. (Minus one point.)
• well, of little consequence. (Minus 3 points.)
• I was expeditious in my workout-to-dressed time. (25 points.)
• I left the gym with damp but not dripping hair. (which is my usual, anyway. Curly hair, you guys. It is bossy.) (20 points.)
• I wore super cute shoes and a sophisticated outfit composed of summer-to-fall neutrals, in linen, and forgot nothing, so that my outfit was complete, including earrings and a bracelet. (25 points, plus five points for the bracelet.)
• I was not late for my first appointments at work. (10 points.)

In conclusion, I give myself a solid A for this performance, because I did not let my loathing for the morning workout deter me from doing it, and because I accomplished a satisfactory level of dress and grooming, AND because I did with without whining to anyone, except maybe to this blog, and thus to you, my readers, but nonetheless delivering a triumphal conclusion, TA DA, the end.

(p.s., I am so sorry about that angry looking anaconda, but I think you'll have to agree, it was necessary, if graphic, to make my point about my schedule.)

Idaho ≈ Heaven? An Inquiry.

According to the godweb, "There are at least four major strands of thought in the Bible and in Christian tradition contributing to contemporary notions of heaven," the four strands being: heaven is the sky, paradise, eternal life, or the kingdom of God.

Idaho has big skies and is paradisaical. I would be happy to spend an eternity near the Snake River. Idaho is arguably God's own country, and I don't mean the Republican god, either.

According to Wikipedia, "The term [heaven] is used to refer to a plane of existence (sometimes held to exist in our own universe) in religions and spiritual philosophies, typically described as the holiest possible place."

Idaho, or more specifically, Island Park, or more specifically even than that, the family cabin, is clearly a plane of existence we can designate as a holy place. Okay, the holiest possible place, I am willing to go that far.

In a class I took at BYU, we read Mircea Eliade's The Sacred and the Profane, which talked about the idea of religions having a sacred place, a world-navel, the original place. Island Park is, for me, that place. From the chapter called "Sacred Space: Making the World Sacred":




(click on it to make it bigger)

I am pretty sure I have seen a burning bush or a water equivalent of it up here, around sunset.

In other news: it can be a challenge to figure out what kind of food to buy for a short trip. We always stop at Dave's Jubilee Market in Ashton for this and that and snacks and soda and a watermelon, and always end up buying plenty more stuff (M&Ms, pistachios, Doritos, Coke, blueberries, rice). The dilemma is this: on the one hand, you want variety, but on the other hand you do not want to have to schlep too much of store-bought cookies home, nor do you want to take home the food you brought all the way from home, such as garlic scapes, beet greens, oak leaf lettuce, and spinach, because bringing food in the car is already stressful to the food, and taking it back home is cruel and unusual punishment.

Nonetheless, the historian and I had a delightful cabin dinner of brought-from-home potatoes mashed with sauteed garlic scapes, a hunk of cambazola cheese, a little butter and some whole organic milk (since we're at the cabin, fat doesn't really count--it's the altitude! and the air! we'll sleep better!). Also, broccoli, and tomatoes with a little olive oil-basil-pecorino garnish. Also, toasted pain au levain bread. Also, store-bought cookies for dessert. It was heavenly. Ergo, Idaho ≈ heaven. Or, if you like, heaven aspires to the condition of Idaho.