A step back in time

Henry Ford was a complicated man. He was undoubtedly a genius in logistics, managing to create a streamlined process for building an automobile that made it affordable for a growing middle class in America. He had the forethought to pay his workers enough so that they too, could afford to buy one of the cars that they built. He was fascinated by Edison's work with electricity. He was drawn to inventors and innovators.
On the downside of that was his well-documented antisemitism, hatred of unions, and his support for the dubious "science" of eugenics.

But certainly one of the more unusual aspects of Henry Ford is the existence of Greenfield Village. Ford began creating what became Greenfield Village by collecting bits and pieces of American history in buildings and machines while he was still alive. It took an enormous amount of money, of course, but the prescience and ego involved are staggering. He was building an homage to his time on Earth in essence and then enshrined his childhood home.

He also purchased or was gifted and moved to the site a number of buildings belonging to famous people of the time, in addition to generic farmhouses, and a single slave cabin that was "similar to that which George Washington Carver was born in." The Village boasts:

Noah Webster's Connecticut home, the Wright brothers' bicycle shop and home, a replica of Thomas Edison's Menlo Park laboratory complex, Henry Ford's prototype garage where he built the Ford Quadricycle, Harvey Firestone family farm, the Logan County, Illinois courthouse where Abraham Lincoln practiced law, William Holmes McGuffey's birthplace, Luther Burbank's office, Ackley Covered Bridge --a 75' wooden covered bridge built in 1832, Cape Cod Windmill --also known as the Farris mill and considered one of the oldest in America.

Not to mention a train, at least a dozen working model Ts and a merry-go-round --with chickens.

Ah, the good old days...

Do you remember taking a shoebox to class and pasting it with pink and red construction paper hearts and doilies, then cutting a hole in the top just the size of a valentine card? We labeled our boxes with our names and there were no rules dictating that everyone in the class must receive a valentine from every other classmate.
I distinctly recall agonizing over whether to give one to the gross boy who liked me and, no matter how viciously I rebuked him, would not stop pursuing me. I thought if EVERYONE else got a card from me, and he did not, he would get the message. I did feel badly about it. A little.
I also recall getting a lot of cards, not because I was popular (I was not.) but because we weren't socially advanced enough to be so passively-aggressively hostile to each other. It was Valentines Day. Everyone got a card. (Except Steve. Ugh.)
Anyway, prep time is underway for moms and dads. Get those Valentines together. I believe now they must reference Beyonce, social media and include at least $4.00 worth of candy to be acceptable in 5th grade.

In honor of the Valentines Day release of the (dreadful) 50 Shades of Grey, (or is it Gray? --Who cares?) I found this old Valentine card. What were people thinking back in the day? I hope this dates from the era PRE- decorated shoebox in 5th grade. I'm fairly certain this is inappropriate for 10-year-olds.

Things we can learn from nerds and geeks

You know what the best thing about the geek community is (as witnessed this weekend at the Great Lakes Medieval Faire)?



They are so openly accepting of everyone.

MAH-SRUME!

I was all jazzed up today to write about the origin of the word mushroom. Mush + room? I will grant you that it's a bit mushy when you cook it, but in it's natural state it resembles styrofoam more than mush. And room. There is no room in a mushroom unless you count its gills. And there isn't much room in those anyway.

I thought such a contradictory and interesting word would have an interesting history. I was right in that no one can agree on its origins, but all of the theories put forth are mediocre.

• "[P]erhaps from Late Latin mussirionem"  
• "might as well be borrowed from French."  
• "of uncertain origin."   
• "a word of pre-Latin origin, used in the North of France;"  
• "usually is held to be a derivative of French mousse"moss" 
• "properly 'applied to variety which grows in moss'" 
• "nothing in common" with moss

I call bullsh*t.
So, let's say instead that one day in the 11th century (this is a very old word!!) Gervase (I have always wanted to write about a Gervase) is walking in the woods in Burgundy (why not?) and trips on a branch and falls on his face into a (as-yet-unnamed) mushroom patch at which time he curses, "MAH SRUME!" because he has broken his nose and the ancient Burgundian word for nose is NU (not really), but he can't say "my nu" correctly because his nose is broken. His friend who is looking on unhelpfully, makes note of the fact that the little umbrella-shaped (which he is familiar with since umbrellas were invented in 21AD) items growing on the forest floor are mushrooms.

Pass it on. (If enough people say it's true, it becomes true. I learned that from Fox News.)

Mobile

Composing a blog post on your smart phone is not simple for someone over the age of 28.

But I type out entire words spelled correctly. And I can have a telephone conversation that's longer than 2 minutes and not completely awkward. 

It's a trade off. 

Zap

I know this is hugely environmentally incorrect of me, but I really miss the electric bug zappers. I've mentioned my nostalgia for one of the quintessential sounds of summer before, but allow me to expound on that.
The bug-zapper is a purely American device. Only here would we decide to electrocute our insects. If I recall my youth correctly, they were all the rage in the late 70s and early 80s.
Knowing that bug zappers kill mostly beneficial insects and that they "can spread a mist containing insect parts up to about 7 feet from the device," is preventing me from reliving my youth, but I still miss the sound of their little winged deaths.
They are part of that perfect summer. The summer when I wasn't a kid anymore. When I finally had the word "teen" at the end of my age. I was sooooo mature.
We would go out riding our bikes after dinner through the woodsy bike paths and suburban streets of the precious little town I lived in, sure that we were on the brink of something momentous. And long after dark, we'd arrive back home and I'd climb into bed thinking that just around the corner was the mythic High School. That magical summer all the wonder was still imagined and the reality hadn't dampened our flights of fancy.

The Dzzzzt...  dzzzzt    ...dzzzzt of frying insects serenaded the summer nights when we would take our long bike rides to nowhere or play kick the can until it was so dark you couldn't see the can.
We'd fall asleep to their sound as the jerky rhythm section for the symphony of crickets and tree frogs that whirred and chirrupped through the night.

Discuss

I am in a hotel room that is only slightly larger than my living room at home. There are three phones in this room (not counting the iPhone I brought with me). Why?