Mystery #127 – Jell-o

Joey Presents: Great Mysteries of the Universe
Mystery #127 – Jell-o

When I was a kid I read a lot. Because of this, my vocabulary grew much faster than other kids my age. In the fifth grade, when asked to describe ourselves with one word, my classmates used “fun” and “athletic” and “smart”; I wrote “conservative”.

It was from a book that I first learned the word “congealed”. On its own it’s a pretty nasty word - just saying it forces your face into a disgusted snarl. It didn’t help, then, that the exact context of this introduction was in describing a corpse. I remember to this day reading “congealed blood”, scratching my head, and heading to a dictionary. What followed was a horrifyingly detailed mental picture. Admittedly, the book was probably a little mature for me (the back cover had a dragon on it and I had assumed it was a kid’s book. I didn’t yet understand that some grownups are still nine inside) but the damage was done. To this day “congealed” brings to mind rotting corpses, their jellied fluids pooling around them like animal fat put into the fridge.

Understandably, Jell-o was never my favorite. Most things you have to cook, but Jell-o prepares itself. How is that not dismaying to anyone but me? Anything that behaves like week-old bodily remains with only the aid of a refrigerator should never be consumed, period. It’s probably ironic or something that this detail grosses me out more than what gelatin is actually made of. Feed me bone dust all day, just make sure it doesn’t jiggle.

Mystery #128 – Pick your own rock!

Joey Presents: Great Mysteries of the Universe
Mystery #128 – Pick your own rock!

I don't know what it is about the Southwest, but a lot of souvenir shops down here have some strange stuff. Nothing, though, beats the "pick your own rock" experience for weirdness. For those of you from more, um, sane parts of the country, let's draw us a mental picture. Usually the stereotypical P.Y.O.R. setup consists of a cart designed to look like a tiny little prospector's wagon (either a tiny wagon for a prospector or a wagon for a tiny prospector, however you'd like to interpret that phrase) with a basket full of colorful rocks. To the side are several bags and usually some sort of key for identifying the assorted stones in the basket. Now, random bored tourist A is supposed to take a pouch and put a certain number of rocks in it to be paid for by parent B so they can be lost at the bottom of junk drawer C as soon as the family gets home.

I was always the kid who just didn't get it. My only thought was how disgusting those rocks must be. That's a lot of snotty kid exposure for my taste. "Forget that," I'd think, "I'll go with a t-shirt." Sometimes it's worth it to pick your own rock though, like in Harry Potter. If, on my family's road trip to New Mexico, they had been selling Sorcerer's Stones in the Albuquerque gift shop, it probably would have been a more interesting trip. Also, I could have made the Elixir of Life, which probably tastes really good. Like root beer. Root beer and magic. 

Mystery #129 – Martin Luther King Day

Joey Presents: Great Mysteries of the Universe
Mystery #129 – Martin Luther King Day

I wrote a blog about Labor Day and figured I should probably write one about today as well. It’s called equality, people, and that’s what this day is all about. That, and not having to go to my chemistry Lab.

I see a flaw in Martin Luther King Day, however, a tiny little flaw, an abbreviated flaw, if you will.

See, Martin Luther King Day is often written as MLK Day. This makes a lot of sense to me, as just now typing both versions I can tell you the second is much easier. But this isn’t a problem of writing; it’s a problem of reading. See, when I see “MLK Day” I don’t think “Martin Luther King Day” so much as “Milk Day”. Those are two completely different ideas. One is the celebration of a man who championed civil rights; the other is probably just a holiday for dairy farmers and a really sad day for people with Osteoporosis.

But worst of all, this situation shows me just how far we still have to go. When I think “Milk Day”, I think milk, and when I think milk my bigoted mind can only imagine white milk, “normal” milk. It sickens me that even I, in this day and age, can be host to such prejudices. I can only hope that someday the word milk will mean more to me: a harmonious spectrum of milks of every shade and hue. To me, that’s what today is really about.

Mystery #130 – The Tuck School of Business

Joey Presents: Great Mysteries of the Universe
Mystery #130 – The Tuck School of Business

This one goes out to Wikipedia's article of the day.

For the record, I saw the title of said article and then decided to write this without any further information. A name, according to certain Verona youths, is super important (or was it the other way around… ah, well). That being said, we should be able to tell all there is about the institution based solely on its name, no? Yes.

The Tuck School of Business was founded by the Tuck family, making it the country's only immortal school of business. As far as eternal institutions of learning are concerned, it is second only to the Mt. Olympus Veterinary Academy in pure excellence.

This is about the part of the blog where I realize I hated Tuck Everlasting, and I really don't remember anything else from the book. I do remember that there was a girl named Winnie in it, which is worth noting, but other than that I'm empty.

Happy Weekend everybody.

Mystery #131 – My Birthday

Joey Presents: Great Mysteries of the Universe
Mystery #131 – My Birthday

Why is it so awesome? Why is it such a day of joy and celebration, on which untold masses the world over come together in peace and harmony?

Some mysteries are too great even for me to ponder.

Mystery #132 – The Light in the Pizza

Joey Presents: Great Mysteries of the Universe
Mystery #132 – The Light in the Pizza

This great mystery goes out to Caitlin Morgan, a great mystery herself.

Caitlin dropped by today after giving blood. Which is to say, she was bleeding for fun and the reasonable follow-up activity was to come see me. Awesome. She brought with her a CD, the soundtrack for A Light in the Piazza, which she had gotten for Christmas. I had heard of the show, but knew nothing about it. As she showed me her favorite song, she gave me a brief summary.

“They’re in love, but he doesn’t know that she has the mind of a ten-year-old.”
“Why? What’s wrong with her?”
“I’m not sure. I think she got kicked in the head by a pony or something.”

This intrigued me, mostly because I thought it sounded stupid and assumed she was wrong. However, the internet comes through yet again.

“she was kicked in the head by a pony at age 10”

The whole thing is a lot like the movie Jack, only that kid really was ten, and also he was Robin Williams. Instead we just have the typical love story formula: girl meets pony, girl meets mental retardation, girl meets boy, boy and girl live together creepily ever after, roll credits. My favorite part is the title. I don’t think “piazza” is Italian for “American tourist’s head”, but if it was I think it would be fitting. The lights are on, but nobody’s home.

Mystery #133 – New Year’s

Joey Presents: Great Mysteries of the Universe
Mystery #133 – New Year’s

This summer my family and I went to China to look for apartments. My dad had just accepted a three year position in Suzhou, a career-making opportunity. And so I found myself in one of the most exotic countries in the world, looking at real estate. Once I had to go with my aunt and uncle to look for apartments, and it was really boring. Part of me hoped the Chinese equivalent would at least involve ninjas, even one ninja would have made a difference. Alas, there were no ninjas to be seen (typical) and apart from the slippers we had to wear to go inside, the process was perhaps more dull than before.

During our trip we flew to Beijing to see the sights. At the Forbidden City gift shop, the Chinese zodiac got brought up. “Do you know what sign you are?” asked our tour guide, Becky. I told her I was a snake, but just barely because I was born so early in the year, and would have been a dragon had I not been late. Becky then pointed out that the Chinese New Year isn’t the same as ours, and sure enough it turns out I really am a dragon after all.

Right off the bat this invalidated a lifetime of staring at placemats in Chinese restaurants. I’d sit and read the entry under snake and try to identify. “Wow, I am a deep thinker. I really am self doubting (or am I?). Hey, elegant, that’s me alright… I guess” Now I had a whole different personality, at least as far as placematology was concerned.

But there was something more than just that. The calendar is something so basic we take it for granted, mostly because although it’s not something that ALL people use, most do. Some languages have different letters, others use different sounds, but most of them have our same twelve months to learn. I had known there was a Chinese New Year, but for some reason didn’t realize in China people actually thought the year started a month later. “No, friend, my calendar says you are mistaken. We had fireworks and everything. You and your big dragon puppet are late.”

I guess it’s all supposed to be a lesson in open-mindedness or something. You say tomato, I say tomato (Yeah yeah, they’re spelled the same. Keep the jokes to yourself Bozo). If not that, there’s certainly a lesson to be learned from the people my dad works with. In the spirit of Western civilization, they take off for both American and Chinese New Year’s holidays.

The land of the free and the home of the brave. Happy New Year, everybody.