This morning, just after hitting the snooze button, I proceeded to have a dream in which I was staring at a piece of paper that read, “Thank you for returning to sleep, please check all that apply.” What followed was a checklist of several statements, including “I have pressed the snooze button on my alarm clock” and “I had an interesting dream I wanted to get back to.” There were several others that I checked, but I can’t remember them all.
I just got employed as a columnist for Apple Enthusiast Magazine, penning a small sidebar called “Tim’s Picks.” (Welcome to my website Apple Enthusiast readers!) Didn’t know I was qualified, did you? Well, last year I frequented the local farmer’s market and a nearby apple orchard to become versed in some of the finer points in Wisconsin apples. Apples — and the subtle array of flavors apparent in the many different varieties — might be the closest thing Wisconsin has to wine.
Actually, beer should earn that mantle. But whatever.
Here’s the column.
Well, late summer apples are dwindling in numbers and the early fall ones are starting to show up in the orchards of South Central Wisconsin. That means Macintoshes are making their first appearance. Personally, I stay clear of the early macs. They’re hard and bitter and leave your mouth slightly dry. I’m all for sour, but that’s not what I mean when I say bitter. I mean bitter.
Paula Reds are still going strong and they’re a very safe apple to use for eating or baking. In fact, Paulas are nice if you’re bored and you eat things when you’re bored — instead of chips or a candy bar, pick up a Paula Red. If, however, you’re looking for a metaphorical wild night on the town when it comes to apple tasting, Paulas are kind of prudish. They’re like Mary in Pride and Prejudice.
Tempting though it is to stick with the Bennett sisters comparisons for the rest of my list, I think I’ll refrain for fear of scaring off most of my readership. Actually, it’s just too difficult to say which early September apple has the beauty, intelligence, and spunk of Elizabeth. My favorite is the Zestar, which is an almost perfect combination of sweet and tart. It’s got some complexity of flavor that keeps your taste buds guessing long after that first bite. If you’re craving a more gingery spice, like what you find in Delicious apples, try an Akane. Personally, I’m not a fan of Delicious, but I’m not as opposed to Akane. I’ve been eating them with my Grape-Nuts every morning.
Miltons are just about gone, but they have a nice sourness also, with a touch of acidity and a dry feel. (I’m holding myself back from making more references to British Literature right now. Paradise Lost, the garden of Eden, John Milton — it’s just too easy.)
If it’s sweet you’re craving, I’m really not the man to tell you what to do since I tend to avoid sweet apples. But Red Frees are nice, and I just had a more obscure variety called a Summer Treat, which I claim is like eating the peelings from late fall Macintoshes, the kind that are leftover when mom makes an apple pie for Thanksgiving. Perhaps not the best texture, but the smell is divine.
Since I avoid sweet apples, I make the unpopular claim that Honeycrisp are too much. Gravenstein, however, have the texture of Honeycrisp without the same saccharine simplicity. They are still sweet, but not overwhelmingly so.
But if it’s the perfect blend of flavors you’re looking for (and who isn’t?) the apple you need to taste is Cox’s Orange Pippin. We’re talking about subtlety of flavor of wine-tasting proportions. And according to the grower who sold it to me, “more vitamin C than an orange.” There is actually a hint of oranges to the flavor as well, but it’s strength is that no one sensation overpowers the others. According to orangepippin.com, it’s the “best-flavored dessert apple ever.” I’m inclined to agree.
I’ve been using the final days of summer to delve into “vector art,” which is Adobe Illustrator’s unique way of drawing — a lot easier and more computer-oriented than hand drawing in Photoshop.
Yesterday, I decided I was comfortable enough with beginners’ web coding to create a simple page that utilizes a javascript effect and some cascading style sheets guiding the layout. (Whoa! Geek alert.)
Here’s my final product: Spout. It’s really lame.
What’s sad is the fact that it took me about five hours to create such a lame final product. Cascading style sheets, called CSS by those in the know, frustrate me more than the phone company and the IRS combined. Their whole purpose is to allow for quick-loading web pages, and they definitely accomplish that, but I’m not sure how.
I understand their basic functioning, but when it comes to more advanced things, it’s a lot like my relationship with math — I could always do it (even calculus and whatnot), but I never truly understood it. What, for instance, is an integral? Limits? Imaginary numbers?
I’m the same way with most web coding and design issues. I can decipher, but I can’t really create. I simply copy parts of other sites I see and add my own content, like I did with that telescopictext thing (I made a new one, by the way). I also rely on people like “wolfcry911,” who helped me out on some CSS forum I posted to last night. After letting my inquiry sit for a while, I returned later to a solution given to me for free by someone I don’t know.
Forums for these sorts of things are really valuable since you try to keep CSS out of most conversations. You know what I’m saying? When Eileen got home last night, I was really cranky, pulling out my hair over my coding issues. She asked what was wrong, and I reluctantly confessed that I couldn’t get two divs to remain centered while also overlapping in my CSS.
For some reason, I don’t think she had much sympathy for me.
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The other night, I woke up at 2:30 in the morning to what I thought was more bat chirping. You know how there’s a spectrum between asleep and awake (see figure 1.0) and how you accelerate rapidly along that spectrum once your brain registers real world trouble? (I have a theory that true adrenaline rushes don’t happen during sleep. But they can happen at even the slightest amount of awake-ness. And once they do, you travel the rest of that spectrum disturbingly fast. Hence the phrase “rude awakening.” See figure 1.1)
