Fugato

Consolidated supply of music picked by project.ioni.st, that discriminating bastion of good taste:

project.ioni.st.m3u

(Yes, this will stay up-to-date.)

I wandered around Capitol Hill in Seattle and tried out several wi-fi-enabled cafés reputed to serve good espresso drinks. Here are my thoughts, with the caveat that I visited each place only once and had one or two cappuccinos at each. (Except the one I liked best, which I revisited to have about eight more.)

I am no connoisseur. What I consider the ideal cappuccino is a very smooth-textured uniform mix of a shot of espresso and steam-frothed milk, with a brown-white leaf picture at the top; the beans are high-quality, freshly-roasted, and not ground until the moment you order; the milk is likewise frothed on-demand, not a several-minutes old frothing used for several consecutive cups. This ideal is what I know from Kaffitár and Te & Kaffi and Segafredo in Reykjavík, the cafés where I first got into drinking cappuccino; I don’t know if their style is an aberration from some established “norm” — I just know that for me it’s the holy grail of cappuccino.

Many places simply serve coffee with milk in it and some milky or creamy foam at the top, sometimes garnished with chocolate sprinkles. Thankfully none of these places tried to serve me such an abomination today.

Bauhaus Books & Coffee

Cappuccino was okay but no more than that. The milk was shovelled in with a spoon, never seen that before; I wonder if this causes sub-optimal mixing of coffee and milk? No latte art, just a solid white top. Ambiance fine, baristas okay though not too cordial, pastries blah. Wi-fi was flaky for me; it may have been my laptop since other computing patrons seemed unperturbed, but mine was fine in all other cafés that day. Crowd was a blend of normal folks and try-too-hard hipsters.

Fuel

Cappuccino was good, though not the best. No latte art; almost solid white top. Barista (a very friendly, pleasant guy, bearded beyond his age) said latte art didn’t really work on cappuccinos because of the foam on top. Hm. Ambiance was good, music good (Magnetic Fields and other good picks). The café is in a residential neighborhood away from the busier streets of Capitol Hill. Crowd was agreeable normal folks, and a pug.

Victrola

Cappuccino was just the way I like it! This was the first time I got that anywhere outside Reykjavík. It had modest latte art on top. Crowd was normal folks. Area is residential-ish, near Broadway.

Vivace

Cappuccino even better than at Victrola — perfect for me! And really nice latte art on top (see picture above). Mellow, soft texture. Baristas were nice and jovial. Crowd was fine, mostly college-ish young people, agreeably retro decor (see picture below), laid-back atmosphere and music.

With the possible (but not certain) exception of Bauhaus, the free wi-fi access was fine at all places. None of them was bad, but Vivace is where I would (and did) go again for a really great cappuccino.

A vertically-oriented flame sandwich.
Note how the unpleasantly hot flame is almost
completely obscured on both sides by fibery goodness.
This illustrates the value of the flame sandwich approach.
I was out of bread so I used Finn Crisp^®.

Sometimes you are obliged to make children eat something that tastes bad, e.g. a medicine they need. How do you do that? You sneak it into food they like.

Sometimes you feel obliged to tell adults something that they don’t want to hear, e.g. the truth about their singing or their body odor. (Some people are overly eager to feel thus obliged, but that’s a subject for another blog entry.) How do you do that? You feed it to them in a flame sandwich. Stick a good thing before and after the bad thing.

You:	Hi, you’re looking swell today.
She:	Hehe, well yeah, I …
You:	Too bad you smell so enormously bad.
She:	!! Wha—
You:	I love what you’ve done with your hair!
She:	—

Okay, the implementation still needs some care. But the idea is useful.

In fairly unrelated news, I just realized that the phrase “give up the ghost” exists in English. There is even a hardcore band with that name (link leads to an interview where the band leader pretentiously answers almost all questions with nonsense). I thought that phrase was Icelandic only; we have it as “gefa upp öndina,” which confuses everyone because “önd” is (I suppose) an archaic word for ghost/spirit/soul/breath but it’s the modern word for a duck.

“The Ignorance Map,” by Marlys H. Witte, Ann Kerwin, and Charles L. Witte, The University of Arizona College of Medicine.

I learned from my cousin last night (she brought the topic up by coincidence, she does not read this blog) that my antipathy towards astrology simply stems from not knowing enough about it. She recommended that I read up on real astrology (as opposed to the fortune-cookie-style mumbo-jumbo they print in tiny columns in the newspapers), and claimed that after doing so with an open mind I would inevitably conclude that there was something real to it.

It’s a fair enough point. I like to point out to my ideologically-convinced friends in both the far-left and far-right camps that they do themselves a disservice by reading only the work of those they already agree with; a rightie should seek out the best arguments of the leftists and study them, and vice versa. This is something I believe in rather strongly: keep challenging your assumptions, or your mind will end up stagnant. There is always the chance, however remote, that my take on astrology might fit in one of the areas of “The Ignorance Map” (see image), and if so, then failing to read about it will perpetuate that situation. So my cousin is right to challenge me to read some substantial text on astrology with an open mind.

But I still will not do that.

The reason, of course, is that my time on this planet is limited (can you smell a hint of upcoming-thirtieth-birthday angst? ☺ ) and there is rather a lot to read and acquaint myself with. I have to pick and prioritize according to the estimated personal gain/growth/entertainment to be had in each area I explore. And in that prioritization, astrology inevitably ends up so low on the list that I will almost certainly be dead long before I get to it.

“Ends up low on the list” means sure, I could give it a chance, challenge my assumptions, look for that kernel of truth and wisdom, etc., and it might yield something very interesting for me, but I judge it far less likely to do so than zillions of other things I could spend my time looking for a kernel of truth and wisdom in. Why do I judge it far less likely? Because:

1. while I do not know its details, I do know the overall principle as manifested in “western” astrology (that the positions and motions of stars and planets are significantly correlated with our personalities and the events of our lives), and I find that principle preposterous — a.k.a. fundamentally incompatible with my existing world-view and beliefs. And while radical, abrupt changes in world-view and beliefs do happen in adult life, they do so more often by a loss of mental health than by a gain of wisdom :) so it makes sense to go by the expectation that my world-view will evolve for the most part in baby steps from now on.
2. there are far less astounding explanations for astrology’s prevalence, popularity, and perceived effectiveness, than the idea that there might be real truth in it. When I have a choice of two things to believe, one of them mundane and rather boring, and the other exciting and romantic and mystical … well, obviously my mind wants to believe the latter. My mind is a nifty little bugger, but treacherous: it tends to weigh credibility by desirability. I recommend that you suspect yours of the same!

So I hereby make the conscious decision of staying astrologically ignorant — “life’s too short!” — and in my ignorance, stay vigorously convinced of the invalidity of this field I am ignorant about. :)

And the day the validity of astrology is proven to me — just like the day I die and arrive at the Pearly Gates and St. Peter greets me with the words “well well, somebody must be feeling like a bit of an ass today” — I promise I will gorge myself with humble pie as if it were Malín’s vanilla-and-white-chocolate ice cream (a phenomenon that, by the way, has changed my world-view more than astrology ever will).

Freyr — “it begins with an R” was enough encouragement to send me off on a divine mission to resolve The Freaky Fruit Inquiry.

I spoke this:

“obscure fruit” red

into our Lord and Savior, the recently-publicly-offered Great Oracle Of Geeks, Loiterers, and Everyone, and the fifth result had an inviting little R-word in it.

Here’s almost certainly more than you ever wanted to know about rambutans, including the names of their many varieties, such as “lebakbooloos.” The Malay word “rambut” means hair. Makes sense. More sense than “lebakbooloos” anyway.

Freyr, what store was that? I want one of these!

Yeah. What is this?