U of Chicago Faculty Blog

This website was helpful for understanding Libertarian Paternalism, and will most likely be a helpful blog for future assignments.

http://uchicagolaw.typepad.com/faculty/2007/01/libertarian_pat.html

Good VS. Bad Blogs

Good Blog

The beauty website Musings of a Muse mainly recommends readers different kinds of beauty products from different companies, not just from one. It has a lot of attractive pictures of models or the product itself, and the blogger writes in her thoughts or comments in each post about the product. Other than that, links to the recommended brand are provided, which makes readers' lives a lot easier because they don't need to Google them. Also, posts are categorized into different categories, for example brand or the type of product it belongs to.
http://www.musingsofamuse.com/

Bad Blog

The bad blog is called Erasers World. The layout did not attract me at the beginning, and when I clicked into the more specific categories, they are only facts and information about different erasers which is very disappointing because I expected something more personal about the blogger.
http://www.erasersworld.com/eng/razn2.htm

Caroline Good Blog/Bad Blog

Good Blog: http://www.travelblog.org/
I just found this blog in class. It is particularly fascinating for me because it provides multiple recollections from people about their experiences in a variety of places. The setup of the website is very easy to understand. There is an included sidebar so you can search a specific location that you want to go to, and it provides facts about the country or city, as well as more blog posts from people about their time spent there. Updated regularly.
Bad Blog: http://sparkss-flyyy.tumblr.com/
The title of this blog, "Flashy Not Trashy" gives a fair amount of insight into what this blog portrays. This personal blog consists only of pictures, and the author often refers to herself and her boyfriend. The display is overwhelming, due to the vibrant background and large pictures. It is also hard to navigate to the next page, and I get tired of her overall style very quickly.

Good Blog/ Bad Blog (Abby)

Good Blog: http://blog.ted.com/

This blog is well organized and updated regularly. It talks about things from Steve Job's death to a book called "The Magic of Reality" by Richard Dawkins. The posts can be read by anyone, as they are not focused on topics that only a small audience can relate to.

Bad Blog: http://willowscatblog.blogspot.com/

This blog is filled with pictures of a cat, "Willow", in different costumes. Some of the pictures are merely that, with no writing added in to give a description or an explanation. Updates are sporadic, and there are so many links to "related topics" on the side that it is hard to concentrate on the content. Not many people would be interested in seeing pictures of a random cat dressed up for the holidays, so the audience is small.

Dinner at Grandma's

by: Abby

Every week or every other week my family would travel up to my grandma’s house for dinner in Cobleskill. It was about an hour away, and in my view, it wasn’t worth the time to get there. We’d arrive, and for the next couple of hours my dad would help her organize her bills while my brother Sam and I would read in her living room. Her fat tabby cat glared at us from across the room until it was time for dinner. I was bored and uncomfortable and hungry. And it didn’t even get better when we left the sight of the cat in favor of the kitchen table for dinner. I was not allowed to eat freely like I could at home, with a furry dog at my feet ready for my scraps and a T.V. playing in the background. We didn’t really eat at the table for dinner at my house, because my mom would have brought home work and my dad worked late. So sitting down around a silverware-covered table at my grandma’s house was always a struggle. I had to use a napkin, keep my elbows off the table, and not tip back the bowl to drink my soup. They may seem like simple, easy corrections to make, but I just wasn’t used to it. I would be on edge the whole of dinner in order to refrain from slipping up. Conversation was limited from my end, because the adults were talking about things I wasn’t interested in and couldn’t comment on. My grandma would talk about the sports she played in high school and how, even though she had broken her nose in softball one time, she later went on to coach a team. I knew my grandma tried to join me in the conversation every now and then by talking about what we had in common, like playing softball, but it was difficult. My grandma’s speaking was almost as hard to understand as her barely legible cursive. Because she spoke the language of adults, talking about random stories from her childhood I usually couldn’t relate to with words I couldn’t understand, I didn’t look forward to the time we spent together at all. I never thought twice about really getting to know the story of my grandmother until I got to high school and could no longer make it up to her house for the dinners as often. Schoolwork is a weekend job and I rarely have the time. Now that I can’t go to them as often, I miss those dinners and the time I could spend with my grandmother. I have learned the manners required to eat comfortably with her and I have learned enough of the “adult language” to follow the conversation. The evil cat isn’t around anymore, so I don’t even have to give a wide berth to the cat’s favorite yellow and brown checkered recliner. Because of this, whenever I go to her house now, I can actually tune in to what she’s saying and be content to listen to the stories of her time in high school.

Source Cat Photo:

http://pusscats.com/Tabby_Cats-Face.jpg

Source Kid with books Photo:

http://www.clipartguide.com/_named_clipart_images/0511-0708-0214-0567_Stressed_Schoolboy_clipart_image.jpg

Good Blogs vs. Bad Blogs (Sarah)

Bad Blog: Reel_to_Reel Movie Reviews

This movie reviews blog is poorly designed; the text in the post is obscured by the background image - not only that, but the image itself has been deleted, so instead there is only an unattractive placeholder. The layout is messy and the colors of very dull. And above all else, there is no content!

Good Blog: Mark Watches

This is one of my favorite television blogs for many reasons; the author updates regularly and always makes insightful comments while keeping his commentary informal and fun to read. He uses images only when it adds to his comments instead of allowing them to overpower his entries.

Bad Blog/Good Blog (Jaye)

Good Blog: http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com

I read this blog as often as I can--the author has a unique concept and a well-conceived vision. I love that she puts pictures in. The stories are poignant, funny and entertaining. The author updates regularly.

Bad Blog: http://theotherfellow.com/

Though the author updates regularly, his posts are mind-numbingly dull. It's excruciating--who cares what version of Firefox the author feels partial towards? He says nothing interesting, and there are many grammatical errors.

Bad blog:

http://www.orlytaitzesq.com/

This blog is very disorganized. The design is boring and filled with almost only text. One of her only photos has been poorly photo shopped. She is also asking for donations.

Good blog:

http://johnnyvagabond.com/

His blog is interesting and well organized. He uses nice photos and has interesting information. I like that he tells what money he spends.

Comments:

http://www.nevblog.com/good-comments-bad-comments/

This blog talks about good and blog comments made on blogs.

Good blog:

http://www.moillusions.com/

I like this blog because its easy to navigate, and I like optical illusions I think they're cool!

Bad Blog:

http://truthabouttupac.com/profiles/blog/list?tag=thug

I'm considering this a bad blog because of its topic first of all. Also there is no content on it, and the layout is unattractive, and confusing.

The lunch line

By Maura Ebel

There was nothing more exciting to the eleven year old me, than when mom would forget to make me a lunch. It made me feel so grown up to go through the lunch line with all the big kids who paid for their lunches, and could make that daunting decision of juice versus milk, then the flavor, and don’t forget the ice-cream. It was like liberation for someone like me, I couldn’t get over the overwhelming feelings of satisfaction, and maturity I had for those 30 minutes that I got to show off to my other eleven year old friends who had brown paper bags, or the fancy lunchboxes with built in compartments, and an icepack. Even these expensive home made lunches could notcompare to my fantastic feat of choosing my own lunch! Clearly it was not as courageous as I make it out to be, but this is how the memoryhas formed and planted itself in my brain. The idea that this was the highlight of my day in elementary school is a bit disappointing, and the fact that I thought this was the makings of a successfulperson is displeasing as I look back on it now.

The real memory of elementary lunch time comes into play when my six year old little brother, Jake, began kindergarten. Very nervous, of course, he began his first days as a student. Being 5 years older I viewed him as being too insecure, and needed to “learn something about growing up”. Constantly I was having to explain to him the ways of the big kids (very aggravating for a ten year old). All my aggravations came to a head the first day my mom forgotnot only my lunch -- but Jakes as well. There I was strutting my stuff through the lunch line tray,picking out my milk (chocolate of-course) bringing my $1.25 right up to the terror of the lunch lady. After basking in my glory, my class began again,soon those old catholic school loud speakers paged my name and asked me to find my way to the lunch room. So I head downstairs to find Jake, in absolute terror of the lunch line. He just couldn’t understand how mom could have forgotten him like that. Maybe it was because of mom, or maybe it was the partially illiterate lunch lady with no hair left because it fell into the food, I truly don’t know. But-- I do know that I was angry, the kid was crying and all I could say was your gonna have to grow up sometime.

For a short period of time it irrationally haunted me that Jake was not able to handle himself. I was scared he wouldn’t succeed like my older brother had in my eyes. Over time this grew into a curiosity about who he would be when he was 12 years old. At the time I was angry he was not like me, and didn’t experience things like me. Now he is 12 and is still nothing like me in the case of his interests, but he has so many talents and interests I could just never have excelled in. It’s amazing to see that little personality I was so angry with that day six years ago become something that I could never have.

Waffles for Lunch

Everyone has some sort of anecdote about school lunches. For public school kids, that anecdote usually has to do with how disgusting the lunch was. I don’t remember the gross food the lunch ladies served us, but I do remember the unusual food. Though my elementary school had a mix of low income and upper middle class students, lunchtime was where what you ate determined your cool factor. The lucky ones had parents who packed them a nice lunch that contained gems like gushers or swiss rolls in their nylon bags. Sometimes when their parents were on a health kick, there would be orange juice and multi-grain bread tucked away. For those of us who had to get “hot lunch,” stood in lines, waiting for grumpy lunch ladies with mustaches to serve us food.
There is one meal that stands out in my mind from elementary school: waffles. They were served once a week and were obviously prepackaged and delivered frozen. But somehow when the lunch ladies reheated them in industrial ovens, they always came out rock hard. This didn’t stop us from eating them though. What elementary school kid would turn down breakfast for lunch? There were two ways of eating the rock hard waffles. The plastic knives were too flimsey to cut them, so some of us would spear them on a fork and eat them ‘on a stick’ style. The other option was to wait for one teacher, the oldest at the school, to make the rounds with his steak knife and cut students’ waffles into bite sized pieces.
Waffles certainly wouldn’t be served at school for lunch now. The local, healthy, organic food movement has reached the public school system, but I still look back at the memory of those waffles with nostalgia. A simpler time, when the food was reheated and the lunch ladies were middle-aged women with loud, hoarse voices.

Memories of Ice Cream

by Hattie Cowles



Ice cream has always been my comfort food. I think I get it from my mother who also loves ice cream. Other kids would choose candy, cake, or cookies, but I have always wanted ice cream. I eat it when I am happy, when I am sad, when it is cold and when it is hot. It is what I eat when I work through things. I know it is a cliché that ice cream makes everything better, but it always makes me feel happy. There is something magical about the mixture of sugar and milk frozen into an ice cream mix. One of my favorite things to do in the summer is to make ice cream.

This summer, ice cream was a way to celebrate life with my old friends while grieving the life of a young student. We were almost half way through the summer, still at the fun part before school started, when a tragedy occurred in my town. A 6th grade student who went to my old school committed suicide. My previous school is a small public school with only 300 students K-12. The school is like a family to many people, everyone knows everyone else. Every morning when we walked in the door our principle would stand in front saying “I love you all.” He was trying to make school a happy and safe place for student who didn’t have that at home.

This tragedy ensued after being dumped by her boyfriend and bullied online by girls from another school. The young girl, Kasey placed a suicide note on Facebook and committed suicide. One of the worst things is that people liked her status, not understanding what it meant. The entire town was shocked and devastated after this happened. The day after, my town held a candle light ceremony in the memory of her life. Her family was there and the town came to support. We stood in a circle talking about the memories we had of her, with the glowing light of flickering candles all around. While I was not close to the young girl, the tragedy of her death effected the entire community.

As the school nurse spoke she talked not just about her, but she said “let this light represent the light inside you do not let it extinguish. You must let your light shine bright for Kasey and enjoy what she cannot.” Looking around I saw her family, friends and members of the community there to support, and show how much she was loved. At the ceremony I stood with old friends most I had known since kindergarten. After the ceremony I wanted to celebrate Kasey in the best way I could think of - going out for ice cream with friends. I decided we did not want to be alone. We wanted to do what the nurse said and enjoy a little thing in life, ice cream in her honor.

We drove to a local ice cream shop a few miles away. It was just about to close, but they still served us. As my friends and I sat outside on the picnic bench eating our ice cream and watching the cars drive by, I started to think about the different ice cream flavors and how a different ice cream flavor could resemble a memory or mood. When I am sad, I enjoy eating cookies and cream it has a nice combination of ice cream and cookies. That night I had cheese cake flavored ice cream. In the ice cream there were chunks of what I think was cheese cake. When I have cheese cake ice cream I hope to be reminded of Kasey and the memory of her life.


Some names have been changed.

Work Cited:

http://www.free-extras.com/images/ice_cream_cone-2230.htm
10/03/11

Food: Social Tool?

Food: Social Tool?

by

Karen Kao

Other than stress relieving, food also acts as my social tool.

Since I was in elementary school, food has been playing a big part in my popularity at school. I was one of the few people in my whole class who brought our own food for lunch, and other people were jealous to see me eat good food every day. My lunch was always the hot issue of the day and everyone was eager to see what I would eat that day. They would surround me like ants attached to honey, due to their interest in my food. That evolved into interest in me as a person and hence food acted as an icebreaker between my classmates and me. It is probably at this time I learned that food was a way of developing my relationship with people. When I met someone for the first time and I did not know how to break that awkward moment, I always began our conversation with food and we gradually found our common aspects simply by asking of their favorite food.

Moreover, I found that eating with people bonded us together. Sharing our interest in food and exploring for delicious food became a common hobby I frequently enjoyed with my friends. It was clear that food was not only a fantastic initiative but also a wonderful factor that developed my relationship with those I loved. There was an article I read about a scientific experiment performed by the professors of psychology. It was shown that the level of friendship between two people correlated to the amount of time they spent together eating. After reading this article, I realized that the reason why I have been able to have many friends and form deep relationships with them, was because of the time I invested in eating with them. I was also aware of the fact that as much as I developed good feeling about one person through food, he or she would do the same for me. The more I eat with a friend, the increasing chance that he or she will develop a good feeling about me. Knowing this useful fact, food has been a tactic of mine to initiate, develop, and further enhance my relationship with people. When you want to be friends with someone, you can simply invite them to a meal – I guarantee that after this meal, you will be much closer than you were before.

Works cited:

http://chriskohatsu.wordpress.com/

President

President

by

Emily Morley

Emma Willard in the spring is one of my favorite times of the year. Crew finally gets to go out on the water, traditions like May day and Graduation happen and everyone is full of joy because they are free to frolic through inner campus after a long Troy winter. On this particular Friday evening, after a long, strenuous crew practice, the Jester rowers were full of energy. The dining hall was slowly emptying out for the weekend, but the junior rowers wanted to start the weekend off right. Instead of dispersing and tending to a planner full of homework, nine of us squeezed around the wooden dining hall table and played a game of President. This game would have not been complete without eating Ben and Jerry’s ice cream as a reward for our hard week in the classroom and on the Hudson River.

The cards were dealt out one by one while cartons of “Phish food” and “Half Baked” were juggled around the table. Everyone sorted their cards and the competitive race to be the president was off. Finishing your hand of cards first is the only way to win. Girls around the table started accusing others of cheating and waved their spoons towards the pit of cards, being president meant having an advantage over every other player. For the next round people who lost must give their best cards to the president as the presidents gives them her worst.

Recently coming back from crew practice where the team spirit and competitiveness exceeds peak power, this simple, relaxing card game turned into a serious, ambitious war zone.

The Ben and Jerry’s cartons soon were empty and the amount of energy was dying down due to

the fact that the same person won over and over again. We ended up slapping our cards onto the table and sliding back into our chairs laughing. Looking around at the people I was placed with, the food and jokes that were shared, I instantly realized that anything is possible when a group of people come together and enjoy something simple.

Shortly after the cleaning staff came by with their mops, cueing us to separate our own ways. I now know that cards, a group of competitive spirits and dessert can bring the busiest of people together with the first scoop of ice cream.

Copyright 03/10/2011

Works cited:

http://www.google.com/imgres?q=hand+of+cards&um=1&hl=en&client=safari&sa=N&rls=en&biw=1276&bih=612&tbm=isch&tbnid=C4LBpA3mEY3XTM:&imgrefurl=http://mathbits.com/mathbits/Java/arrays/InsertionSort.htm&docid=Lpj3JTnZ3r8_2M&w=202&h=206&ei=yfqJTtLcC6XX0QHus5jUDw&zoom=1

http://www.google.com/imgres?q=ben+and+jerrys+phish+food&um=1&hl=en&client=safari&sa=N&rls=en&biw=1276&bih=612&tbm=isch&tbnid=-c-B5rVWB63L0M:&imgrefurl=http://risenshine.mybigcommerce.com/products/Ben-%2526-Jerry%27s%250B-Phish-Food-Ice-Cream%25252dpint%250B-16oz.html&docid=iA7NXlPAZFNzwM&w=500&h=500&ei=CvuJToLCGOm60AGH96TqBA&zoom=1

The Longest Breakfast of the Year

I look forward to eating coffee cake more than usual. Not just normal coffee cake, but Entenmanns crumble cake that comes in a blue and white box, and has its own shelf in Price Chopper. It is so valued in my household that my sisters and I will swap chores in order to get a slice. The reason that this particular baked good is so rare for me is because my family only eats it on Christmas morning.

Aside from the conventional stockings and presents that happen on Christmas day, one of the biggest traditions in my house is that we have a huge breakfast feast. The table is cramped with an overwhelming amount of plates, bowls, and platters, stacked high with heaps of pancakes, bagels, sausages, eggs, waffles, and of course, the famous coffee cake. My mom, dad, and grandparents all ravenously dig in once the table is set. Meanwhile. my sisters and I jealously ogle at the gleaming presents torturing us from the next room, desperate to open them. The catch to this meal is that everyone in my family has to finish eating before we can continue to the next part of our morning, present-opening. The excruciating pain of waiting for them to be finished extends into what seems like hours, and even the beloved coffee cake loses its appeal. Right then and there all of our willpower is tested. We have to smile and nod while they keep refilling their plates over and over, completely aware of what they’re doing. After what seems like a century, they lean back in their chairs and simply give us a look, and we know. Everyone stands up and we race to the tree, anxiously waiting for the next stage of Christmas to begin.

While breakfast during Christmas may seem like a tedious, boring meal at times, it actually brings my family together. Because for that prolonged hour or so, we are all in the same place, enjoying the same food, and laughing together about the silliest things. Surprisingly, it is one of my favorite family traditions.

Works Cited:

http://www.shopwell.com/entenmanns-crumb-cake-coffee-cake/pastries/p/7203000225

http://free-extras.com/images/christmas_stockings-2957.htm

Apple Polishing

Apple Polishing

by Jaye Melino

My mom tells a story about how her stoic father used to polish every apple until it gleamed before giving it to her. That story had always stuck with me, and I never really got why until I contemplated that same phenomenon in my grandmother. My grandmother is a sweet, thoughtful and well-meaning woman. She is the quintessential ‘sweet old lady’. I love her for her Boston Cream Pie, Vegetable Soup, her macaroni and cheese, and her meatballs. There was always food in her refrigerator, a reflection of her so-called “well-stocked larder.” My grandfather was sent out nearly daily to do grocery shopping. Despite her incessant stomach problems, my grandma is a woman who appreciates food to the full extent of her ability, but appreciates even more the act of giving it to someone.

Every time we visited, my mother and I would be sent away from their house on Sunday evenings with a paper bag full of snacks for our trip and for restocking our empty refrigerator. Everything would be carefully and exquisitely packed. Two tuna fish sandwiches wrapped in perfect plastic bags, bags of chips that she had specially collected from Panera for us. But what struck me were the bananas—two or three of them would be placed in a plastic bag that was tied to leave it full of air so that the bananas would remain perfectly yellow. They were the most flawless Chiquita bananas that I had ever set eyes on.

She always included desert for us. This was another aspect of her generosity that I had never pondered before; the desert she included wasn’t even her own cooking. This was a huge sacrifice for her. They were Wegmans chocolate cupcakes—full of Trans fats and wonderful, wonderful sugar. My grandparents froze them and unthawed them specifically for me. My grandfather bought licorice because he knew that my mother and I enjoyed it, and they made lemonade together for our short trips to Syracuse.

Until I puzzled over these small but poignant details, I never understood how much my grandparents cared for me. I realize now that these small offerings of food were the most emphatic ‘I love yous’ ever uttered by grandparents to their grandchildren. Though not outpourings of familial affection or bequeathing priceless family heirlooms, apple polishing and cake baking can be the grandest of gestures when performed by those who love you.

Mix It Up

By Sarah Berry - October 3, 2011

Once every year, the lunch aides decide to play matchmaker. In other words, they suddenly come to the conclusion that not everyone is friends with everyone else, and that is just NOT acceptable. So they host a “Mix It Up” day. Instead of sitting at the usual tables, everyone in the seventh grade is forced to pick a number out of a hat and sit at that table instead. It’s a day everyone dreads.

The seventh grade is huge, 200 students in total; the chances of drawing the same number as one of your friends are slim. In the days leading up to the horrible Monday, I imagined several different horrifying scenarios, the worst of which was pulling out a number nine, only to discover that my new table was home to The Plastics from Mean Girls and a group scary guys with beards who look closer to 30 years old than 12. “Mix It Up” day is so incredibly stressful for most students that many resort to emergency solutions; some convince their parents to stay home, while others fall seriously ill (by lunchtime, the nurse’s office is filled to the brim, overflowing with “sick” students). When the day finally arrives, after much chatter and bemoaning in the weeks prior, the lunch aides order pizza in order to up morale. Students who weren’t lucky enough to dodge the event shuffle into the empty cafeteria. The tables are decorated with overly cheerful tables cloths and a sheet of discussion questions in case the conversations become so painfully awkward that it becomes too much. I am one of the unlucky few. I stick my hand into the bag reluctantly and slowly pull out my number. Number nine. This is not a good sign.

I take my time going through the lunch line, trying to avoid my table for as long as possible. Finally, I sit down. I can barely tell who is at my table because everyone is eating with their heads down in complete silence. For the entire 20 minutes, the table is silent save for a couple of coughs. Judging from the silence that envelopes the cafeteria, the other tables aren’t doing much better. There’s no eye contact. After what seems like hours, the bell finally rings, signaling the end of the torture. As the cafeteria empties out, I run ahead and cling to my friends. “Mix It Up” day absolutely did not help me meet new friends, but it certainly made me appreciate the ones I already have.

Works cited: Mean Girls, Lunchroom

MUSINGS ON FOOD, ON MEALS, ON "TABLE"

Welcome, Reader.  We invite you to enjoy these personal essays, all wrapping themselves around food and mealtimes . . . and family, and friends, and events that impacted us, whether or not we knew it at the time.  -Ed.