Unofficial

Sitting at my desk, it occurred to me that I actually have an unpaid, unofficial, part-time job: I am an unemployed web surfer.  I hired myself for the job.  No resume, references or cover letter required.  Spanish wasn't even mentioned.  As a "freelance" web surfer, I get no benefits, no vacation or sick days, and no 401-K.  The job is not without perks, however. I get a collection of web sites that uplift, inspire, and waste lots and lots of time.

I'd like to share one of my favorite websites.  The site speaks for itself, as it's a daily snapshot of a Brooklyn photographer's breakfast.  (If only it were brunch...) There's something about the early-morning simplicity of her photos that sheds light on how morning people must see the world.

Now, web surfing can become your part time job, too: Simply Breakfast.  Enjoy!

Pons, Brought To You by Tampax

Neuroscience has started.  From what I gather, the class covers anatomy and physiology of the brain and nervous tissue.  I've never learned this stuff before.  As a former mental health professional, I've clearly given much thought to the mind, but I actually know very little about the brain--the noodle itself.  When studying the brain, I find it easy to have meta-moments: using my brain to understand the brain.  Whoa.  Dude.

At this point, I haven't learned too many brain structures or functions.  So, after two days worth of lectures, I'm mostly enjoying the funky names given to various structures.  First off, the pons.  It's from the Latin for "bridge," and, without it, we wouldn't have the signal to breathe. Kind of important.  It's also a fun word to say with a Midwestern accent: "paaaahnz."

Other fun names for structures:

• olive (pronounced just like the little Italian fruits from which we get our good oil.)
• gyrus (pl. gyri--these are the wrinkles on your brain.)
• cerebellar peduncle (sounds like a card game.)
• red nucleus (that's what I'd want my code name to be if I was a Cold War spy.)

I'll try to dazzle with more posts about the brain.  It's really my way of trying to stay engaged, in the hopes that whoever reads this will humor me as well.  Or pity me.  Or whatever, I'm going to go use my gyri and engage by cerebellar peduncles.  

Over and out, 

Red Nucleus. 

I Sprung Forward...

...and landed on my face.  School started today.  

Mt. Motherflip

A few days ago, I picked up lecture notes for the next two months of school.  I didn't put anything next to the pile of paper to give it scale, but for those of you who need scale, the pile is 10 inches, or 1,500 sheets of paper, thick.  So, that's about up by my waist, or actually I think it's taller than me, probably the size of a house, or a small apartment building.  Yeah, that's how much I have to read in two months.  About as much reading as Moby Dick, Anna Karenina, the Bible, and one People Magazine combined.

Brunch: The Corky of Meals

I was first introduced to brunch culture while living in New York.  There, brunch is an institution.  Combing the streets and avenues, you find restaurants you wouldn't dream of going to for breakfast, lunch or dinner, but come Sunday morning, there's a 3-hour wait.  There are restaurants designed to be ideal for brunch.  They have the perfect late morning light, the balanced sweet-savory menu, coffee, mimosas, waiters who understand it was a late night, a late morning, let me bring you a cup of joe to ease you into the last day of the weekend.  Because tomorrow is Monday, I'm so sorry.  In New York, brunch plans are almost as important--and often more enjoyable--than Saturday night plans.  Brunch is one of the few weekly NYC institutions that requires and perpetuates leisure.  

Sadly, Detroit is missing a quality selection of brunch places on Sunday morning.  Detroit is missing many hallmarks of leisure, brunch being the least important by far.  There is, however, a critical mass of diners for greasy-spoon breakfasts, great lunch places, and a wonderful organic cafe/bakery down the street.  But, where can I get eggs benedict? I know I sound spoiled--not hugely snobby, but lightly sprinkled with snob pepper.  I'm okay with that.  I reserve my right to long for what is not in Detroit, even if it is because Detroit's population could not support a fancy brunch place.  But maybe it could.  I'm here.  I know at least 50 other people in Detroit who share my demographic and love of goat cheese omelets. (Maybe with some roasted asparagus, side of potatoes, wheat toast with raspberry jam.  Just a suggestion, a thought.)

But it's not just the food that's great about brunch.  It's the idea that an entire meal has been created for those of us who opt to sleep in on Sunday morning.  It's a meal for people who take it slow.  In New York, most brunch places begin serving at 9am and don't stop until 6pm.  It's not breakfast, lunch or dinner.  It's the three-square meals' lazy, slow and friendly little brother.  With a special menu.  I don't know the history of brunch, where or when is started, or by which enterprising culture.  Because to research something like brunch is similar to looking up "fun" on Wikipedia. It doesn't matter. 

Today is Sunday.  And while my morning was relaxing and slow as molasses, something was missing. That cling and clang of silverware, coffee cups and newspapers.  The din of weary weekenders, the brunch community gathered for their weekly ritual: leisure made manifest.  But, as I sipped coffee in my apartment this morning, I thought of my New York counterparts, brushed some snob pepper off my shoulder and shrugged and the thought of getting elbowed  in line, waiting an hour for overpriced eggs.