Wednesday, August 02, 2006

What Do Coffee, Ginger and Green M&Ms Have in Common?


They are all aphrodisiacs! Since sex sells, the candy company Mars Inc decided to cash in on the tantilizing urban legend to boost sales of M&Ms. The ad campaigns featured teasers like "What is it about the Green Ones?" or "She Melts for No One". Since the green M&Ms character is essentially trying to seduce kids, does it make her a paedophile?

http://www.usatoday.com/usatonline/20010914/3632950s.htm

7 comments:

Anonymous said...

There’s nothing like the discovery of an unknown work by a great thinker to set the intellectual community atwitter and cause academics to dart about like those things one sees when looking at a drop of water under a microscope. On a recent trip to Heidelberg to procure some rare nineteenth-century duelling scars, I happened upon just such a treasure. Who would have thought that “Friedrich Nietzsche’s Diet Book” existed? While its authenticity might appear to be a soup├žon dicey to the niggling, most who have studied the work agree that no other Western thinker has come so close to reconciling Plato with Pritikin. Selections follow:



Fat itself is a substance or essence of a substance or mode of that essence. The big problem sets in when it accumulates on your hips. Among the pre-Socratics, it was Zeno who held that weight was an illusion and that no matter how much a man ate he would always be only half as fat as the man who never does push-ups. The quest for an ideal body obsessed the Athenians, and in a lost play by Aeschylus Clytemnestra breaks her vow never to snack between meals and tears out her eyes when she realizes she no longer fits into her bathing suit.


It took the mind of Aristotle to put the weight problem in scientific terms, and in an early fragment of the Ethics he states that the circumference of any man is equal to his girth multiplied by pi. This sufficed until the Middle Ages, when Aquinas translated a number of menus into Latin and the first really good oyster bars opened. Dining out was still frowned upon by the Church, and valet parking was a venal sin.



As we know, for centuries Rome regarded the Open Hot Turkey Sandwich as the height of licentiousness; many sandwiches were forced to stay closed and only reopened after the Reformation. Fourteenth-century religious paintings first depicted scenes of damnation in which the overweight wandered Hell, condemned to salads and yogurt. The Spaniards were particularly cruel, and during the Inquisition a man could be put to death for stuffing an avocado with crabmeat.



No philosopher came close to solving the problem of guilt and weight until Descartes divided mind and body in two, so that the body could gorge itself while the mind thought, Who cares, it’s not me. The great question of philosophy remains: If life is meaningless, what can be done about alphabet soup? It was Leibniz who first said that fat consisted of monads. Leibniz dieted and exercised but never did get rid of his monads—at least, not the ones that adhered to his thighs. Spinoza, on the other hand, dined sparingly because he believed that God existed in everything and it’s intimidating to wolf down a knish if you think you’re ladling mustard onto the First Cause of All Things.



Is there a relationship between a healthy regimen and creative genius? We need only look at the composer Richard Wagner and see what he puts away. French fries, grilled cheese, nachos—Christ, there’s no limit to the man’s appetite, and yet his music is sublime. Cosima, his wife, goes pretty good, too, but at least she runs every day. In a scene cut from the “Ring” cycle, Siegfried decides to dine out with the Rhine maidens and in heroic fashion consumes an ox, two dozen fowl, several wheels of cheese, and fifteen kegs of beer. Then the check comes and he’s short. The point here is that in life one is entitled to a side dish of either coleslaw or potato salad, and the choice must be made in terror, with the knowledge that not only is our time on earth limited but most kitchens close at ten.



The existential catastrophe for Schopenhauer was not so much eating as munching. Schopenhauer railed against the aimless nibbling of peanuts and potato chips while one engaged in other activities. Once munching has begun, Schopenhauer held, the human will cannot resist further munching, and the result is a universe with crumbs over everything. No less misguided was Kant, who proposed that we order lunch in such a manner that if everybody ordered the same thing the world would function in a moral way. The problem Kant didn’t foresee is that if everyone orders the same dish there will be squabbling in the kitchen over who gets the last branzino. “Order like you are ordering for every human being on earth,” Kant advises, but what if the man next to you doesn’t eat guacamole? In the end, of course, there are no moral foods—unless we count soft-boiled eggs.



To sum up: apart from my own Beyond Good and Evil Flapjacks and Will to Power Salad Dressing, of the truly great recipes that have changed Western ideas Hegel’s Chicken Pot Pie was the first to employ leftovers with meaningful political implications. Spinoza’s Stir-Fried Shrimp and Vegetables can be enjoyed by atheists and agnostics alike, while a little-known recipe of Hobbes’s for Barbecued Baby-Back Ribs remains an intellectual conundrum. The great thing about the Nietzsche Diet is that once the pounds are shed they stay off—which is not the case with Kant’s “Tractatus on Starches.”



Breakfast
Orange juice
2 strips of bacon
Profiteroles
Baked clams
Toast, herbal tea



The juice of the orange is the very being of the orange made manifest, and by this I mean its true nature, and that which gives it its “orangeness” and keeps it from tasting like, say, a poached salmon or grits. To the devout, the notion of anything but cereal for breakfast produces anxiety and dread, but with the death of God anything is permitted, and profiteroles and clams may be eaten at will, and even buffalo wings.



Lunch
1 bowl of spaghetti, with tomato and basil
White bread
Mashed potatoes
Sacher Torte



The powerful will always lunch on rich foods, well seasoned with heavy sauces, while the weak peck away at wheat germ and tofu, convinced that their suffering will earn them a reward in an afterlife where grilled lamb chops are all the rage. But if the afterlife is, as I assert, an eternal recurrence of this life, then the meek must dine in perpetuity on low carbs and broiled chicken with the skin removed.



Dinner
Steak or sausages
Hash-brown potatoes
Lobster thermidor
Ice cream with whipped cream or layer cake



This is a meal for the Superman. Let those who are riddled with angst over high triglycerides and trans fats eat to please their pastor or nutritionist, but the Superman knows that marbleized meat and creamy cheeses with rich desserts and, oh, yes, lots of fried stuff is what Dionysus would eat—if it weren’t for his reflux problem.



Aphorisms:



l Epistemology renders dieting moot. If nothing exists except in my mind, not only can I order anything; the service will be impeccable.



l Man is the only creature who ever stiffs a waiter.



[Thus ate Zarathustra by Woody Allen; The New Yorker]

Ajaira Pechal said...

I love Woody Allen! Check out his new tongue-in-cheek movie "Scoop".

By the way, I will be happy to add you as a contributor on the blog if you want. You're great at ajaira pechaalpara :-)

Anonymous said...

…to love is to suffer.

To avoid suffering, one must not love.

But then one suffers from not loving.

Therefore, to love is to suffer.


Not to love is to suffer.
To suffer is to suffer.

To be happy is to love.

To be happy, then, is to suffer, but suffering makes one unhappy.

Therefore, to be unhappy one must love, or love to suffer, or suffer from too much happiness...

I hope you're getting this down.

I never want to marry.

I just want to get divorced.

Oh, look. It's Boris.

Boris, what happened?

- I got screwed.

- How?

I don't know. Some vision said I was going to get pardoned, and they shot me.

You were my one great love.

Thank you very much. I appreciate that. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm dead.

- What's it like?
- What's it like? You know the chicken at Tresky's restaurant?

- Yeah.
- It's worse.

Worse than the chicken at Tresky's.

Oh, well, life must go on.

The last traces of the shimmering dusk are setting behind the quickly darkening evening, and it's only noon. Soon we shall be covered by wheat.

Did you say wheat?

Wheat.

Wheat. I'm dead, they're talking about wheat. The question is, have I learned anything about life?

Only that human beings are divided into mind and body. The mind embraces all the nobler aspirations, like poetry and philosophy, but the body has all the fun. The important thing, I think, is not to be bitter. You know, if it turns out that there is a God, I don't think that he's evil. I think the worst you can say about him is that basically he's an underachiever. After all, you know, there are worse things in life than death. If you've ever spent an evening with an insurance salesman, you know exactly what I mean.

The key here, I think, is to not think of death as an end, but think of it more as a very effective way of cutting down on your expenses.

Regarding love...You know, what can you say? It's not the quantity of your sexual relations that count. It's the quality. On the other hand, if the quantity drops below once every eight months, I would definitely look into it. Well, that's about it for me, folks. Goodbye.


[The Wheat Scene from LOVE AND DEATH (1975) by W.A.]

Ajaira Pechal said...

that short-circuited my brain :-) i try to avoid thinking on fridays.

Anonymous said...

Schlemiel says:

Oy vey! Meshugganeh! So much for my (ill-fated) humor. You may want to rescind your earlier offer(to contribute); otherwise the future of this blog may be a sealed deal (i.e. impending doom). By the way, Woody A did make a movie about ME (aka real-life Virgil Starkwell).

Anonymous said...

I'm "great at ajaira pechaalpara?" Is that a pseudo-compliment or are you being sarcy? Sheesh! I can never tell...

:o)

Ajaira Pechal said...

Well Mr Starkwell 90% of my "ajaira pechalpara" remark was a backhanded complement and the remaining 10% was a half-hearted insult ;-) The offer to split the role of court jester with me still stands.