A Sandwich For U

Perhaps the best sandwich I've ever had. Up there with the Bacon Turkey Bravo (man I love that sandwich and yes I am still a man for eating at Panera). Also, Eric, my sandwich won't leave you hungry afterwards.

2 slices of Whole Wheat Bread

Dijon Mustard

1 slice Pepper Jack Cheese

2 slices of Deli Turkey

3 slices of Salami

2-3 pieces of Bacon (4 if you want a piece to nibble on)

1 Kosher dill pickle, thinly sliced.

Garlic powder

Olive Oil

Onion Powder

Now here's the important part. I'm a firm believer that sandwich ingredients must be placed in the correct order to maximize the flavor of each. So this is of the utmost for the supreme enjoyment of this sandwich.

Spread the Dijon over the slices of bread. On one slice of bread place the Pepper Jack cheese. On the other place the pickle, diagonally across the slice. Place a slice of turkey on both pieces of bread. On top of that, on one side, place 2 pieces of salami, on the other place the final piece of the salami. Break the bacon so that you can lay it horizontally across the bread. Combine both pieces of your sandwich.

Heat up a skillet and in it place a liberal amount of olive oil. Add some garlic and onion powder and mix the oil around the pan. When it is nice and hot, place the bread into the skillet and oil. Fry to golden brown and flip to other side, toasting also to a golden brown. Press down on both sides as it is cooking to effectively squish the sandwich.

Eat and enjoy. I had two last night.

I woke up this morning wanting it again. At 6am. It is very good. I may call it The Q. Without the u because there's no sharing this sandwich.

Maybe I should call it something else.

The Letter Q

It's a fascinating letter. For starters, it always must be followed by another letter. It's contingent letter. Parasitic. A letter who's existence is permissible only by the inclusion of another letter. That's fascinating. Sure, there are words with q without u. But a cursory look shows that they are either obsolete spellings or foreign words taken a slight hold in the English language. Negligible at best.

It does have some proper function. There's the disputed Q document. Also, my favorite Star Trek character went by Q.

Q represents an interesting conundrum. Could it exist without U? Can humanity survive? Will we function without a U? We work well with silent letters. We work well with c sounding like k; g sounding like j. I think we could maintain our morality if we took away the U. But I am not a philologist. It's not up to me. Life will go on as it always has: with the U next to the Q.

Some of my favorite Q words in order:

1. Quixotic -- How often to you get and x and q in the same word. Not often. Plus it looks like it means. How often do you get that.

2. Quotidian -- Another word with an odd look about it. Ironic in it's meaning with relation to it's appearance.

3. Quantum -- The double U. It's a sleek looking work. Sounds great too.

4. Quasi -- Looks odd. Lots of vowels. And it sounds like there's a z in there. There's not. But it seems like there should be.

5. Quagmire -- Sounds thick. Heavy to say. Not too tough on the eyes though.

Honorable Mention:

Querulous -- Triple U!!! More vowels than we can count. How can we complain about this word?

Syntopical Syncretism

Call it the post-modern approach to reading, but I've been diligent recently in my approach to reading. I came across the former of the above terms while reading Mortimer Adler's How To Read A Book. Vaguely, it's about moving one's reading across like themes. It's a unique idea and I recommend it and the original book.

Now I've extended this in several ways. First I have tried to read books similar in writing style. This is one reason for my recent love of Catholic writers of the 40s, 50s and 60s. Barth, Bellows and Updike are also more alike in style than the themes of their novels belie.

Another way I've enacted Adler's idea is by researching the influences of authors I'm reading. Just yesterday I began to look into Umberto Eco's greatest influence, Jorge Luis Borges. He's quite a fantastical and unique and challenging writer. For O'Connor I've delved into Faulkner and read up on Hawthorne.

By doing this I've stumbled across another term: syncretism. O'Connor and Faulkner posses widely different world views. Borges and one of his more profound influences, Chesterton, differ exponentially in their respective world views. Not that I am trying to reconcile these authors but it's certainly challenging to recognize the different approach that is at once alike and different. Like seeing an object from all sides simultaneously and managing to maintain a sense of wonder about it.

Pretty sure none of this makes sense, that it's just ramblings. I'm piecing the idea slowly together. Combining it and, at times, justifying it I suppose. The bottom line is that I notice I am drawn to the syntopical syncretism in Art. From Springsteen to O'Connor, Borges to Chesterton.

Not sure if Adler had this in mind, but I have him to thank for issuing that first challenge.

Raising Kids: A Divine Comedy

You want to instill in your children certain things. You want them to possess good manners, morals, a sense of perspective. You want them to be well-rounded and read; athletic, mature, smart and be good. You want them to love God. You want them to love others. You want them to honor and respect everything and everyone in the creation around them. You also want them to be funny. At the very least, not un-funny.

But how do you foster humor in a child?

Kids have a sense of the funny already. I think it's because they see things simply. Not in satire, not in nuance or entendre. Not in sarcasm or in wit. Things are funny in and of themselves. Of course they do things that are funny unintentionally. Call it the comedy of omission. I've got nephew stories to prove it right now. A co-worker has kid stories that top those.

Their sense of what's funny, their appreciation of intentional comedy progresses. And it starts at the slapstick stage, which perhaps, if you're a fan of the Stooges, stays with us no matter what (I contend that walking into a wall is at all times, by everyone considered funny). This is where Isaac is at currently. Yesterday he stood on the ottoman, pretended to lose his balance and fall headlong onto the chair and back for 20 minutes. He laughed hysterically the entire time. So did I. Then there's this.

But I really do think it's because they see things simply. Everything is new and amazing. Being able to grab a toy or ask for the tooth brush is a grand achievement. A sense of the wow permeates it. So it is with humor. That Isaac walks into the table and laughs while we cringe delineates our current world views. Exactly what his is I have not an inkling. But I know he talked to himself on the way to the sitter this morning breaking in with uncontrollable laughter. He gets the punchline. It's simple and it's funny. And a child's laughter, unadulterated, is easily the simplest, purest and most breathtaking joy imaginable.

Missing: 33 Pages

So I'm in the midst of a book the other night when I turn the page. The proceeding sentence makes no sense. Maybe I missed something. I did not. It still doesn't make any sense. Turns out (ha!) that the next page is not in fact the next page but some 33 pages into the book's future. A quite unfortunate turn of events that required me to start a completely new book. Seriously, who just removes 33 pages? Because they were removed; no obvious tearing, fraying, just meticulously extricated from the book.

So I'm looking for 33 pages. From 120 to 153. Love in the Ruins. If anyone's seen them.

But hey, at least I'm not missing this.

A Room With A View

Do scientists get excited about a movie that gets science right? A movie or book on the Uncertainty Principle? Do they applaud it? Give a resounding "Yes" and a golf hi-five? What about people who work in cafeterias? Are they thrilled when an art form gets their job right? Were glove manufacturers excited about American Pastoral?

It behooves the artist to get these things right. It substantiates their work while reverberating to the job or task or hobby itself. It illumines all.

Now I get excited when God is mentioned and mentioned correctly. Not pigeon-holed or hyberbolied or stereotyped. But mentioned with a sort of awe and enthusiasm and appreciation and respect. I get quite excited about correct theology in literature, film, song, poem.

Here's the thing about artists: they build houses with their materials. Rooms, hallways, stairwells, kitchens of words, lyric, song, shot. They set it all up and have an open house. I'm in the field, maybe nearby, staring up at the clearest and most open of skies. The sun is shining and I could never be warmer or cooler or want of anything. So when I go into the house, it's refreshing and assuring and hopeful to have a room, with however small a window, looking out onto that same sky and warm sunshine.

Sometimes that's all you can ask for. And you'd be surprised how much light can shine.

So There's Some Uncertainty

ATOMIC PARTICLE COLLIDER COULD DESTROY WORLD.

That was the byline on cnn.com yesterday. Uh, click. Come to find out there's this particle collider, and it could destroy the world. Seems it's rather large at 17 miles across and 330 feet below the surface. Seems it cost almost $10 billion dollars. And it seems it could destroy the world. Have you heard of the Large Hadron Collider?

Needless to say I've been reading up on strangelets, micro-black holes and every other wiki accessible theory applicable out of quantum mechanics. So what are the odds the world could get sucked into a black hole or turn into a lump of steaming space poo a la Vonnegut's Ice-Nine scenario? Well, there's a nonzero chance.

What exactly is a nonzero chance? 1 in 50 million. The odds of winning the lottery. But, uh, people win the lottery. Here's another breakdown of the odds.

Of course, in a brilliant piece in the NY Times on this, there's also a chance for Don Quixote to make a return. You have to love the Uncertainty Principle.

Aside: I'm reading the NY Times article last night and what does the first line encompass? A quote from the book I'm about to read that I quoted from yesterday. It's an obscure book, so referencing it is quite random. Coincidences like that... well... it's always a little fascinating.