Eating? It's Overrated.

At least, that is what you are going to feel like after reading this. There is some "colorful language" in there, but after what they tell you about orange juice I would curse too. 

To add to processed food horror, there is this charming story from 60 Minutes, going behind the scenes of the "flavorist" industry. You'll never want synthetic chicken soup flavor again. 

How To Date in Space

Sparrow recommended the author Lois McMaster Bujold, and I requested from my library Cordelia's Honor. The book opens as Cordelia's environmental research base on a strange planet has been annihilated, and she ends up teaming up with a mutinied-against captain of the enemy. Her origins are from the more chilled-out Beta Colony (ergo her "nationality" is Betan) while he is of Barrayar, a militant and duty-bound planet and society. 

Tromping towards another base, they have no choice but to get chatty about each other's cultures and dating practices. 

"They don't have arranged marriages on Beta Colony, do they?" 

She stared. "Certainly not! What a bizarre concept. Sounds almost like a civil rights violation. Heavens — you don't mean to say they do, on Barrayar?" 

"In my caste, almost always." 

"Doesn't anybody object?" 

"They're not forced. Arranged, by the parents, usually. It — seems to work. For many people." 

"Well, I suppose it's possible." 

"How, ah — how do you arrange yourselves? With no go-betweens it must be very awkward. I mean, to refuse someone to their face." 

Ha! An army veteran and captain of a battle cruiser is squeamish at the thought of breaking up with a girl. I don't think I could break up with anyone to their face. I would just say, "What the heck, let's get married. I guess I'll get used to you after a while." 

The two then tell over tales of their "friends," who had bad relationships with the cultures' system. 

"She was rather — socially inept. Everyone around her seemed to be finding soul mates, and the older she grew, the more panicky she got about being left out. Quite pathetically anxious.

"She finally fell for a man with the most astonishing talent for turning gold into lead. She couldn't use a word like love, or trust, or honor in his presence without eliciting clever mockery . . ." 

He eventually betrays her, turning her off from relationships, indefinitely. 

"So you see, I think your old Barrayarans may have been on to something after all. The inept — need rules, for their own protection." 

Then it's his turn, about an 18 year old girl marrying a 20 year old boy; he's not home much because of his army work, and she gets bored and makes new "buddies." 

"He had built up a false picture in his mind, and having it suddenly shattered . . ." 

There are pros and cons to almost every situation. 

While some think that the shidduch system should be frog-marched out and shot, I happen to think it is fine in its proper form. Which rarely exists today. I can firmly state that what often masquerades as a "system" is actually a perversion of the original intention (certainly not how my grand-folks operated in the old country). 

As for people meeting on their own? All well and good, providing they are mature and ready for such relationships. I don't think it is a good idea for teenaged boys and girls to mingle, since commitment could occur way too soon, before they have had any responsibilities or understand the import of their actions. 

So when is the magic age when boys and girls should be thrown together? How does a community segue from segregation to integration? Not so simple, either. 

Each version has its own merits and pitfalls. Mayhap, with a little evolution, something will come along to integrate the two.  

Don't Always Look on the Bright Side of Life

I remember it well. I was in fourth, maybe fifth grade. While I didn't always exert myself in school, this time I decided to study like nobody's business. I sat over the books, and really pounded the material into my brain. I returned the test paper with a dramatic flourish, knowing that I had aced it. 

I got a 67. I was crushed. 

From that day forward, I told myself, I would keep my expectations in check. I couldn't handle the letdown. 

"Oh no," some hippy will chirp at me. "You must always think positive." 

"I'm not against being positive," I respond. "But I'm more for being realistic." 

Oliver Burkeman discusses this in his article, "The Positive Power of Negative Thinking." 

According to research . . . visualizing a successful outcome, under certain conditions, can make people less likely to achieve it . . . Or take affirmations, those cheery slogans intended to lift the user’s mood by repeating them: “I am a lovable person!” “My life is filled with joy!” Psychologists . . . concluded that such statements make people with low self-esteem feel worse . . . Even goal setting . . . isn’t an undisputed boon. Fixating too vigorously on goals can distort an organization’s overall mission in a desperate effort to meet some overly narrow target . . . employees consumed with goals are likelier to cut ethical corners. 

The mindset of those who lived way-back-when, before modern medicine and deep freezers, preferred the path of the "OMG, OMG, we're all gonna die." 

The Stoics recommended “the premeditation of evils,” or deliberately visualizing the worst-case scenario. This tends to reduce anxiety about the future: when you soberly picture how badly things could go in reality, you usually conclude that you could cope. Besides, they noted, imagining that you might lose the relationships and possessions you currently enjoy increases your gratitude for having them now. Positive thinking, by contrast, always leans into the future, ignoring present pleasures.  

Focusing on the positive, funnily enough, leaves one hoping for that yet to be had, rather than basking in the bliss of the already gained. "Be positive! You'll find 'the one' soon!" That's not being positive. That's reminding me of the fact that I am soulmate-less. Being positive should rather be complimenting me on my shoes. At least those I found already.

From this perspective, the relentless cheer of positive thinking begins to seem less like an expression of joy and more like a stressful effort to stamp out any trace of negativity . . . A positive thinker can never relax, lest an awareness of sadness or failure creep in. And telling yourself that everything must work out is poor preparation for those times when they don’t.  

Constantly expecting the worst (like the other week, when I was a telephone standby juror, I dialed that number every evening with a shaking finger and a grim sensation of impending doom), and not having it happen, brings such a wave of gratitude one cannot believe. "Oh, thank You, Eibishter, that it all worked out!"   

I'm Over Here

"Are you texting us? Because we're the ones talking to you."

Oh, snap! Courtesy of Law & Order: Criminal Intent "Rispetto." Detective Goren said this while trying to get information from a business associate of a suspect, who was blandly flipping through his emails while being interviewed. 

The episode was named for the Italian word meaning "respect." Certainly when I am sitting at a table with another person I would prefer if they didn't whip out their toy while I am telling them a story and proceed to have a texted conversation with someone else while emitting unconvincing "uh-huh"s to prove they're listening.  

I would also like to express my belated condolences upon the demise of Criminal Intent. You will be missed. 

Oh, Bobby . . . (As in Robert Goren, not my grandmother). 

Cradle Robber

"He wouldn't tell me his age," she said, "but I know he is well into his thirties." 

I translate that as pushing 40. 

She continues. "He goes out with 21- and 22-year-old girls. He says he is very open."

Pardon?

He is very open? 

Let's rephrase that, shall we?

Mommy's Skin Knows Best

As I mentioned in my very first post, my obsession with skincare is genetic. My grandmother, to this day, loves a skin cream, yet even way back when was skeptical of companies' claims. 

My grandfather was a very prudish man, and fathered prudish children, so my mother was shocked when in her twenties, Bábi told her, "All those fragrances and advertising they do, it's just to make the cream sexy." 

I fell over when Ma told me that one. I didn't even know Bábi had heard the word before. But she was right to be suspicious; in the end only a few ingredients have been proven to reverse damage (more on that later). 

In any case, I emulated Ma when it came to a skin routine. Her counter was always littered with jars and bottles. She washes off her Face at night (although she usually lets mascara and eyeshadow accumulate). She applies RoC every evening. My sister who was never as interested in skincare has now observed, "Ma, you don't have wrinkles!" (Pooh pooh)

But surprisingly enough, it would seem that once I was the learner, now I am the master. Ma is always happy to hear something new, and thanks to my internet research and keeping my ears open I am able to explain to her in what sequence products should be applied, which anti-aging ingredient is better than another, what she should use for her dry skin compared to my combination. 

My nighttime routine takes longer than hers. She is certainly happy about that, although she can't believe I'm so diligent. 

Elizabeth Dosoretz observed how her young boy was excited to go to Grandma's house because her skin is soft and she smells good. Apparently her mother has begged her for years to take up a skin routine, but she has never bothered.

While I am still in my 20s, I can say starting a skin routine now will certainly pay off later on. Damage can accumulate, and suddenly one day you will look in the mirror and see it, whereas now it is below the surface. Protection and maintenance will do wonders down the road; plastic surgery rarely looks natural, so please don't rely on it. 

The biggest rule? SPF. Every. Single. Day. You don't have to wear makeup, but many cosmetics has SPF built in. Sun is the primary cause of skin damage, and shielding skin will prevent that. (Just make sure that oxybenzone isn't an ingredient; there's been some chatter that it can be carcinogenic.) 

Regarding anti-aging, only two ingredients matter: AHA and retinol. It doesn't have to be insanely expensive, or come in great packaging, or be recommended by a celebrity. Only those two ingredients have been proven to actually work. Apply them at night, since they can make skin sensitive, and retinol, unless formulated otherwise, will degrade in sunlight.

Along with washing your face daily, you should be good to go.

Take the long view, and check out your mother's skin. Either you want yours to look the same, or not. 

Plan accordingly.  

Freakin' Foundation

When we last saw our heroine, she had finally discovered a liquid foundation that seemingly matched her neck, and sped off into the galaxy, thereby ending her quest.

But, instead of finding closure, our heroine's choice was too dark and not sufficiently long-lasting. She would find herself in the Millennium Falcon's—I mean, office—bathroom, her face tinged with orange and the redness of her cheeks visible. Oh, woe! 

She fished out the box and receipt for her purchase from her garbage, and went to do battle with the exgorth saleswoman to accept her return. 

Sigh.

She consulted the Force—um, internet—seeking reviews and recommendations for her impossible-to-match skin. After prior experiences with semi-matte and dewy foundations left her with a shiny face by midday, along with grooves around her mouth, she concluded that her new journey would consist of strictly matte finishes. 

I'm going to quit now with the third-person narrative, but after dealing with mineral makeup I just cannot find any pros to liquid foundation. With a few effortless strokes of mineral makeup, my face is pristine and glowing, whereas liquid foundation requires brushes and stippling and water-soaked sponges and buffing . . . 

Yet I hear so much about it I feel like I am not giving liquid foundation a fair chance. I drew up a list of possibilities, and I am off to make some "beauty consultants" very miserable. 

1) Clarins Ever Matte Skin Balancing Foundation. I had my fingers crossed that this would match, but no. The lightest too light, the next too dark. It smells so nice. Sob. 

2) Lancome Teint Idole Ultra 24H Wear and Comfort Retouch-Free Divine Perfection Foundation SPF 15. It supposedly lasts for 24 hours, which means it could be a good Shabbos foundation. "Velvety matte finish"—yay! Non-comodegenic—yippee! Also tested for sensitive skin, and for all skin types. 

I went to the counter and was greeted with an amazing array of color selections, and compared it on my hand to the one tinted moisturizer that ever matched me perfectly. I dubiously selected Ivory 110, and this time, to spare myself frustration, I asked for a sample. She grumbled a bit how she'll check to see if she had any small bottles available, and grudgingly coughed up a little jar of the stuff. 

Pro 1: It is incredibly easy to apply. Using my fingers, I got a practically immediate streak-free finish, unlike other foundations that demanded buffing, stippling, and whatnot. 

Pro 2: It feels lovely on the face. I brushed my fingers against my cheek by accident, and my skin felt so soft. 

Pro 3: It is awesome with oil control. My t-zone is usually glaringly obvious at mid-day, despite the fact I put on a mattifier first; while my nose was shiny (nothing can keep that matte), my chin and forehead were perfectly matte. 

Pro 4: It lasts. How it lasts. After 12 hours, my face looked as though I had just applied it. 

Pro 5: My skin felt great after taking it off. 

It's too good to be true. Maybe it is?

Possible cons:

Con 1: Orange. I'm starting to wonder; how can it be that nearly every foundation I try ends up orange? Does it oxidize? Is my skin color too particular? Am I choosing colors badly? On the website it says that 110 Ivoire also has "C" in its name. With Lancome (unlike other brands), "C" = pink undertones. Not yellow or neutral, which is what I need. 

I went back to the counter and got a sample in 140 Ivoire N, where "N"=Neutral, but the orange was even worse. 

Con 2: The dreaded parabens. But I may cast such principles aside for this miracle of foundation. 

Con 3: While reading online reviews, one woman drew my attention to the fact that a primary ingredient is denatured alcohol, which has a rather checkered past. It can dry out the skin, which is not really my issue, but for those with dry skin types it may be too harsh. 

I decided to look around a little bit more before I commit myself, but this has an addictingly not-normal finish.

Next! 

I decided to head to Sephora, but instead of buying full size bottles that I may have to return, I asked for samples of a few. Which they happily gave me. 

3) Nars Sheer Matte Foundation. I brought home samples in Gobi (which for some reason is not on the Sephora website) and Mont Blanc. The latter is for pink undertones, but for some reason it looked like a good match on my hand. 

I tried the Gobi one morning, and while it was a good color match, I was annoyed; due to my current dependance on retinoids, my skin gets distinctly red after cleansing (which dies down pretty soon) but I expect a foundation to cover everything, and this one didn't. My red cheeks were all too obvious, no matter how much I slathered on. If it doesn't offer foundation-like coverage, then why would I bother?

4) Hourglass Immaculate Liquid Powder Foundation Mattifying Oil Free. I know, I know, I did this one already. But I took a swipe of Porcelain, which looked absolutely perfect on my hand, containing that elusive hint of yellow.

After reading a few reviews, I noted their methods of application. This stuff dries nearly instantaneously to a powder finish, meaning one has to blend quickly, and the easiest way to do that is in segments. The first try I overapplied, leaving hideous streaks all over my face; I attempted again the next day, this time taking only a little and using my fingers to buff it gently into the skin, one area at a time. 

It leaves a magnificent matte finish, but too matte for me (I never thought such a thing would happen!). I have combination skin, so some dry flakiness was made more obvious, and it really amplified my pores. I would say that this is better for oily, rather than combination, skin. It matched so prettily. I shall mourn it. 

5) Amazing Cosmetics Velvet Mineral Liquid Custom Finish Foundation SPF 15. Chock full of vitamins, it claims. But nothing remotely matched my skin and I found the consistency to be too thick.

6) Estee Lauder Invisible Fluid Makeup SPF 15
    Estee Lauder Double Wear Light Stay-in-Place Makeup SPF 10
    Estee Lauder Double Wear Stay-in-Place Makeup SPF 10

How is it possible that the lightest of every one was brown?   

7) Bobbi Brown Long Wear Even Finish Foundation SPF 15. Bobbi's products lean on the yellow side, so I have high-ish hopes. I was debating between Warm Ivory 1 and Sand 2, but after some squinting under their insufficient lighting I asked for a sample of the former (the latter looked quite orange on me). 

Bobbi Brown doesn't believe there is such a thing as pink undertones, so all of her foundations are yellow-based. Just what I need.  

The foundation somewhat matched (yes!) and did not appear to oxidize as the day progressed (woo!) but I made an unpleasant conclusion (after all that effort). 

I just don't like the finish liquid makeup gives me. 

For instance, right now I use the now discontinued Sephora Collection Mineral Foundation Compact in two colors, D25 and D10. My skin looks ravishing; it glows, it hums with health, it has life and zest and verve. With liquid foundation my skin looks flat and glum, with all the few milia still not yet extracted hilighted. 

Why tamper with success? 

Except I went and spent $23 on a liquid foundation brush that will now go dusty. If one digs the liquid makeup, this brush certainly applies it beautifully, and the bristles are really soft.

The Well-Adjusted Lone Eater

My household has never been into family dinners. As the youngest, I got home earlier than my siblings, and in turn my father arrived later than anyone else, sometimes around 8 or 9 during the busy times of year. 

So Ma fed us in a staggered mode, whenever we shuffled through the door burdened beneath oversized knapsacks. Shabbos, of course, we all ate together, but due to my youth I rarely found the conversation scintillating, and I would go off to read. 

Where my siblings and I prone to a life of crime or drug abuse? Ha. We were the most nerdily straight kids ever to cross a yeshiva threshold. 

But "they" insist that family dinners is the only way to ensure happy and well-adjusted children! 

"They" messed up again. 

It's not about the dinner itself, this article claims. It's about quality time in general, which could be while in the car, for instance. I believe that is where all of our deep conversations took place.

There is no criteria for what qualifies as having good interaction with kids.  

In other news, here is a response to the brouhaha over politicians "daring" to paddle into the Sea of Galilee in the buff. The fun part: When the author references Resh Lakish.  

Featuring the Off-Key Talents of Babysitter

I was babysitting for Luke. The house was blissfully silent, the three big(ger) kids snoring peacefully. I had just tucked myself in when his youngest began to kvetch in his crib. I would have preferred to ignore it but I pottered over into his dark room, squinting without my glasses. 

He was sitting up, and did not know that his folks had gone out for the evening. He then casually glances up, looks away, then does a double take. He peers in the dimness. And then realization dawns. 

"MOOOOOOOOOOOOMMEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" 

Oh boy. 

"DAAAAAAAAAAAADDEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" 

When my first niece was born, when I was 12, she promptly turned purple in fury at five hours of age. Frankly, what that kid put me through has placed every child after that in the ho-hum category. 

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" 

Amateur. 

Meaning this: A two year old violently rattling the sides of his crib and emitting air-raid siren shrieks is nothing much. I start off by listing all the creatures that went shloofie, from the cat to the dog to the bird to the various animals in the zoo. He was somewhat mollified, sniffling into my shoulder. 

Now, for the musical numbers. I began with a Hungarian nursery song that is disturbing on the level of "Rockabye Baby." I am not fluent so I got most of the words wrong, but since it is about a squirrel that keeps climbing up a tree and breaking his leg, then the doctor won't give him medical treatment since he's not being very smart, I suppose that's ok. 

Then, the Rabbi's Sons "Rabos Machshovos." It's usually a good choice for nighttime since it is slow and soothing. Then Matisyahu's "For You," since it's my favorite and I know most of the lyrics, although not while I am half asleep. 

Of course, "Sounds of Silence." Simon & Garfunkel were made for bedtime.  

I ended with Dude Fisher's version of "Exodus," but at that point the kid had gone back to sleep out of pure depression.

(He starts singing at the 35 second mark). 

I tiptoed out of the room, slowly turning the doorknob back to its place; I took long, exaggerated strides, like Wile E. Coyote, praying the floor wouldn't creak. But when I collapsed into bed, I spectacularly whacked my head against the wall. THUD. I froze, my terror that he would cry outweighing the ringing in my ears.    

Silence. Thank God. Next it would have to be showtunes. 

Cheese Latkes Update

I wrote previously how my gluten-free application of Busy in Brooklyn's cheese latkes were a big hit amongst the kinfauna. 

I've made them quite a few times since then, messing around with different types of gluten-free flour. One thing I noticed is that while everyone else loved the bean flour, I hate it. There's an aftertaste that makes me terribly nauseous.

Out of insanity, I made the latkes on Tisha B'Av for the visiting kinfauna. But this time I used a mix of corn and buckwheat flours. While I used proportionately less buckwheat to corn, it turned my batter quite brown. 

Well, you know kids. "They're brown," they kept telling me. "Yes, I know," I said. "But they're brown," they insisted. 

Since I wasn't able to taste these, and my usual audience was less than enthusiastic, the latkes ended up in the fridge, with me bummed out over the wasted ingredients. The next day I popped one into my mouth, yes, cold. 

It was delicious. There was some sort of sweet flavor in there like maple syrup, even though I didn't use any. Despite the fact they were chilled through, I inhaled these for dinner.

I offered one to the two year old. He ended up having five, even though he had supper already. I then tackled the scrawny six year old. "They aren't cheesy enough," he grumbled (yes they are!) but I managed to shove three down his throat. I cheerfully fried up the remaining batter (carefully dabbing off oil from the resulting product), and Ta had to be restrained.

Moral of this story: I am now a big fan of buckwheat. And never try making anything new on a taanis.