Tyler Uebele

To counter the tone of my recent postings about hardship, I would like to rant and ramble lightheartedly to ridiculously about how we express time.

This past weekend the USA ended it's annual observance of Daylight Saving Time, apparently one week after most of the observant northern hemisphere. Many rumors run rampant in our intellectual garden about why we ever started this time of shifting daylight. The one that I hear the most is about farmers, as though they were somehow so disconnected from nature (like us city folk spreading the rumor) that they needed a clock to tell them when there was enough light to work the fields. Wikipedia, on the other hand, credits Daylight Saving Time to George Vernon Hudson, who apparently just wanted more daylight after his shift job to collect insects. The further explanation of its implementation in the United Statesis a bit more practical:

In my home I have some simple paper blinds.  In order to "open" them I have to tediously fold the paper back and forth a few dozen times.  I imagine this used to be easier when they were fresh and un-crinkled, but they aren't new anymore.  Because they are so inconvenient to open, we usually don't.  We have been talking about replacing them with something equipped with a draw-string, but new blinds are so costly.  Before we sunk money into new blinds, I wanted to see if I could make better use of the paper we had.  I wanted to add a draw-string.

The plan

... was simple:

1. Run a string through each fold of the paper
2. Fix something at the top to act as a pulley
3. Leave enough slack to pull on

Recently, while preparing a lasagna dinner for some friends, I thought of a new way to build it which would prevent the hard, crusty, edges that plague so many otherwise great lasagnas. The problem is, in the time it takes the innermost depths of deliciousness to thoroughly bake into ooey-gooey-goodness, the outermost edges (and especially the corners) of most lasagnas will completely dry out. This leaves the edges, and sometimes even the whole top layer, as hard as an uncooked noodle. You can't stab it with a fork. You can't cut it with a knife. All you can do is beat it into brittle submission (or peel it off), which gets messy.

Not wanting to serve my dear friends less than perfection, I pondered this problem a moment. I could cover it with aluminium foil, but this technique has often yielded watery, runny, lasagna. A lasagna should stiffen up a bit as the sauce cooks and the cheese sets. Sure, much of this setting occurs during cool-down, but a watery lasagna won't set right. So, I'm back to crusty-edged lasagna. If only there were a way to make an edge-less lasagna. There is (almost)!

Recent items of Interest, Click on picture for story