I had a couple conversations recently about the possibility of A Great Cosmic Joke. In both conversations (I'd these conversations with two different people), we came to the same conclusion that it seems quite unlikely, with our limited view, to determine whether such a thing could exist.
Why would The Creator design a universe in order to run through an exercise, the result of which that Creator already has knowledge? If Time indeed does not exist for The Creator, then the outcome of any experiment is already known, for The Creator knows all. So the question becomes: What is the entertainment value of a joke when one has foreknowledge of the punchline? Perhaps it's the running of the experiment, the telling of the tale, that gives it value, if it is to have any value at all.
I typically read books, especially fiction, once. I know people who have favorite books that they enjoy reading over and over (not consecutively, but occasionally). To my combined joy and detriment, I enjoy the discovery of a book the first time I read it, and that is its value to me. Once I've extracted that joy of discovery from a particular piece of literature, I find it difficult to go back and truly enjoy it all over again in the same way. I guess there are all those details that are not gleaned from a work the first time around (or so I've heard), and it's those details that I am failing to gain, I suppose.
I read dreadfully slowly. I'd like to think that I read comprehensively, that I'm getting what I can out of a written work the first (and, for me, the only) time around, making rereading either redundant or merely wasteful. And I hate waste of all kinds. But that is another topic altogether...
That is the fate of having a memory that actually works when it comes to gleaning the gist of a written work. I would be hard-pressed to remember minutiae, both to my advantage and dis-, because I'll tend towards valuing things along their theoretical, general lines and less on their practical application.
So unlike an architect! Maybe I would ne'er've made a decent architect, after all. At least outside of Academia. There are plenty of projects that are pleasing to the eye, perhaps, from a certain point of view (ie, Dr. Seuss imaginations), but the more impossible (as in architectural projects that require a "skyhook") things are, the less engaging and meaningful they are to me. Much of the beauty of Great Architecture is its great economy. When I see something that serves multiple purposes well, that element becomes an object of beauty to me. Finding an example of this is escaping me at this very moment, but you know what I mean. It can be a kitchen tool that can be used in multiple ways, as opposed to single-purpose tools. A simple fork can be used to fold a batter, to lift, either by spearing or spooning, food to one's mouth. Any number of single-purpose gadgets are sold in shops such as Williams-Sonoma and (as a dear friend likes to refer to it) "The Surly Table." Don't take that as a knock: I appreciate both of these businesses, because there are times when I am looking for something, and they'll have it, whereas more general-goods stores, like Target or CVS, will not (I flatly refuse to shop at Wal-mart for reasons I will go into at a later date).
I just thought of an example: chopsticks. They can be used to whip up eggs, stir those eggs in a pan as they cook, dish them out, and bring those eggs to one's mouth (if one is adept at using them, that is). I remember once, when I was using chopsticks to flip bacon in a pan, my companion (a man who now lives on the island of Maui) commented that he'd ne'er thought to use chopsticks for that operation. Perhaps it's coming from a household that was very frugal in (perhaps) a very "Chinese" way that made me think of using tools, in and out of the kitchen, in applications that might seem novel to others. At least to others unfamiliar with the ease with which certain tools can be used...
This week, San Diego's Educational Cultural Complex is on Spring Break, so no Pastries and Desserts class. That means, hopefully, we'll be making cheesecakes next week. That turns out to be okay, because Peter'd forgotten to bring his smaller-than-full-size Springform pans to our place the other night. I've put the pans aside and will bring them home to take with us to class next week. It's just a shame that their Spring Break coincides with Kat's, as I'd hoped she'd be able to attend one of the classes with me. She is, after all, one of the reasons I enrolled in this class.
The class, Pastries and Desserts, is fun and informative.
I hadn't known that the difference between the terms "dough" and "batter" was the leavening: dough is leavened with yeast, whereas batter is leavened chemically, most likely in the form of sodium bicarbonate (baking soda) or baking powder, which contains both sodium bicarb and tartaric acid.
Baking soda needs to have an acid added to work as leavening. That acid is often found in the form of fruit juices, vinegars, or Cream of Tartar (baker's name for tartaric acid). I suppose it's still a batter if the leavening is merely the trapping of air in the mixture and prevented from escaping prior to baking: genoise and meringues are examples.
It is high time for me to get to the gym to improve my corporeal self. Thus, I shall close up the house (I'm at Peter's) and go.
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