Open Letter to Dr. Marc Schneider

Hi Doctor Schneider!

Or is it Doctor "Shneider"? Your email address in my in-box indicated the former, but your message steers me toward the latter:

Did you receive the e-mail which I sent to you recently (copied here-below)?
Please confirm since I have had problems lately with emails intercepted by spam-filters set too high.
Cordially,
Marc Shneider, Ph.D.

Maybe you should see what name is printed on your Ph.D. diploma! : )

Anyway, THANK YOU for writing again, for your original correspondence did end up in my spam filter, and I cannot fathom why. So I apologize for my delay in getting back to you. In your initial note, you said:

I am Dr. Marc Schneider and I work for Multilingual Search Engine Optimization Inc. in Washington DC ( Tel: 1 202 250-3645) - I would like to speak with the person in charge of your international clientele. Who is my contact? Who should I speak to??

In fact, after visiting http://www.saltinwound.com , I have noticed that your website cannot be found on foreign search engines (I tested it on Hispanic search engines, German search engines, Asian search engines, etc.) Our company is specialized in multilingual search engine promotions in 28 languages . From the Japanese Google to the German Yahoo, from the AOL in Spanish to the MSN in Chinese, we can show you how to develop a true international online presence by promoting your website on foreign search engines.

You goof! You went back to the "Schneider" spelling! Well, I just wanted to sincerely thank you for visiting Salt in Wound. I hope you were entertained, enlightened, inspired—or all three!—by our humble musings. And I am so grateful for your concern about our worldwide search results. But see, that's all part of the plan! Search engines are for squares, brother! We're like that über-hip bar in your town that doesn't have a sign out front. It's all word-of-mouth among the truly clued-in.

But don't worry, Marc! That doesn't mean we're not internationally known. Quite the contrary! "Salties," as they've lovingly dubbed themselves, routinely send fan mail from the four corners of the Earth: Schoolchildren in Uganda, adventurers in Estonia, and the Denny's staff in Guam are just a few of the "silent majority" who hang on our every post.

And they love that we keep 'em guessing! Are there 12 members of the Collective—or just 3? Is it based in Topanga—or Albany? We're irascible scamps, like that Pirate Radio movie! And the Salties wouldn't have it any other way.

So, Marc, thanks again for your generous offer to give SiW "the true international exposure which it deserves to have with foreign native online users!!" But the truth is, we're already there. Wherever you can look. Wherever there’s a fight so hungry people can eat, Salt in Wound is there. Wherever there’s a cop beatin’ up a guy, Salt in Wound is there. We're in the way guys yell when they’re mad. We're in the way kids laugh when they’re hungry an’ they know supper’s ready. An’ when the people are eatin’ the stuff they raise, and livin’ in the houses they build—we're there, too. Especially if there's a traffic cone out front.

I Have Magical X-Ray Powers!

I was at baggage claim at Newark Liberty International Jingleheimer-Schmidt Airport, and I thought to myself, "That's an amusing sign. I shall photograph it and post it on the blog." For in its listing of oversized items that could be claimed elsewhere, they'd duct-taped over the first item.


And I continued to think, but this time not within quotation marks, hmmm, that's curious. One could imagine that the first item was the object that initially inspired the sign's creation. And what was that item? It would be like one of those professional blog entries, that ends with a question to inspire reader comments! My guess was surfboard, and it was covered up when they realized very few surfboards were arriving in Newark.

But when I transferred the photo from my camera to my computer, I noticed something shocking. I could see through the duct tape!!!


It was "GOLF CLUBS" that had been taped over. Well, that certainly made the planned blog post less interesting. Though my new superpowers were highly interesting. It wasn't translucent tape, and the letters didn't appear to be raised. I hadn't experienced anything like this since I photographed Alexandra Kerry at Cannes.

But readers, what do you think? I don't own golf clubs. Beyond a half-semester class in college, I've never golfed. So I have no clue why golf clubs would be removed from the list. New streamlined packaging? Reclassification by the TSA as a weapon? That "sporting equipment" was a good-enough catch-all category? (But then, why not skis?) I want to know your thoughts! But I want to know them right here, not as some Facebook comment which the Salt in Wound board of directors never see and thereby don't realize I sometimes have more than two readers. Wait, now I'm way too far removed from the question. OK, OK. Here's how the real bloggers do it.

What do you think the reason for the duct tape is?

Not That I'm a Conspiracy Theorist or Anything…

But come on—that old salt from Gorton's sitting directly across from the salty little Morton miss, forming a perfect isosceles triangle with that Planters' nut-job? Something vaguely Last Supper-ish about it, if you ask me.


Oh, and they're all having a great laugh at my expense! Well, we'll just see who laughs last, advertising mascots. I am onto you, and we will see who laughs last.

Sea Salt in Wound

I've become rather adept at viewing TV shows that I've recorded on the DVR. I'll zip through commercials at the two-little-triangles speed, or if I'm in a big hurry, three little triangles. So it's all the more impressive when an advertisement catches my eye, forcing me to be kind (to sponsors), rewind, and watch at standard speed. Is this the reason why commercials are getting increasingly surreal? Or is it that creative departments at ad agencies are now populated by the all-grown-up ecstasy generation? Whatever the case, I certainly pressed pause last week when my screen was filled by a sword-fighting Mr. Peanut on the high seas:


The point of this nuttiness? To proclaim that Planters products are now made with pure sea salt. That's right, pure sea salt. Now, if you're like me, you're thinking, "I have no idea why or if I should care about that." As I've previously said, I last purchased salt in 1992. I haven't been closely following any trends or innovations in the industry. I know that a wonderful but hopelessly pretentious local movie theater puts out sea salt to sprinkle on their critically-acclaimed popcorn. But does that mean it's better? Is sea salt of an inherently higher quality than, uh, land salt, or, uh, salt scraped off a cooled-down big fat sweaty guy? I simply do not know.

The Planters website was no help. No press releases on the positive impact of sea salt on the...human body? environment? exploitative world of child labor? So I then turned to our old friend Google. And apparently was not the first to do so.


The first legitimate-looking link that cropped up was from the esteemed Mayo Clinic, who generally debunked the "sea salt is better" philosophy with statements such as:
• "Sea salt and table salt have the same nutritional value."
• "There's no evidence that the additives in table salt are harmful to your health."

Even the pro-sea-salt comment in there ("Many people prefer sea salt to table salt because they claim it has a more subtle flavor") seems like they want it taken with a...you know...grain of...something. Then again, perhaps some place named after mayo shouldn't be getting all high-and-mighty about sodium.

My curiosity sated, I was able to once again focus on more pressing matters. Mr. Peanut on a sailboat...big yellow body...shilling sea salt...it was staring me in the face all along...could he possibly be...
the love child of the Gorton's fisherman and the Morton salt girl?!?

Salt Not in Wounds

We've had a bit of snow and ice here in the Northeast of late, so there's a container of rock salt inside my apartment building. I guess I shouldn't have been surprised that the manufacturer was the Morton company. What with their association with salt and all.

I looked at the label and thought, "Oh, that's clever, they've altered the trademark logo so the little girl is spilling salt on the sidewalk in inclement weather."

Well, color me ignorant, but apparently that's been the corporate logo all along. Because I have a lot of free time, I went to the Morton website, and learned she's been that way—with just a few alterations—since 1914. And the concept has nothing to do with melting ice. In a bygone era, salt that would flow freely in damp weather was kind of a big deal. It was the iPhone 3G of its day. Hence their slogan, "When it rains, it pours."

I suppose I'm glad I never really looked at the Morton girl before. As a kid in Northern California, knowing nothing of icy streets, I would've just thought, "That sassy little girl is a litterbug! Somebody call Woodsy the owl and that crying Indian." And as an adult, I haven't really given salt very much thought. I never read that book about it. And I think I only purchased salt once in my life, probably in 1992. I was earning very little money at the time, and always made note of products that were absurdly cheap, such as salt and matches. (I guess you can't charge too much for anything that's given away free in fast-food joints or bars.)

And while I'm in the supermarket: You know what would be good cross-promotion? The Morton girl and the Gorton's fisherman:

Whether you're a girl in yellow with a big umbrella
Or you wear a yellow slicker and are an old fella
Fishsticks are better when they're salty
And the cost for the seasoning sure is paltry.
Morton and Gorton's, hooray!

That one's on me, Mad Men.

Jack Silbert, Friend to All Creatures Great and Small

If a respectable record label will donate 5 dollars to a wonderful animal-rescue organization, Best Friends Animal Society, and all I have to do is post a link to download the new single from the excellent Neko Case, who am I to say no?

Promo cone

I didn't have any great expectations for a local planning conference I attended recently. Not only did it turn out to be pretty good, the state Department of Transportation was giving away these. "Everyone in my blogging club would love one of these," I thought. But, the limit was one per customer.

No one cares

When I googled "I haven't been blogging," yes, in quotes, I got 162,000 hits. There is an exploding genre of people apologizing for not blogging and a sub-genre of elaborate explanations for why they haven't been blogging.

What I'm saying is I'm sorry and I'll try to do better.

Where does salt come from?

I typed in "where does..." this morning, and got this interesting list. This confirms yet again that there is a lot of interest in salt out there.

You Know the Housing Market Is in Trouble

...when real estate offices are available for lease.

Promoting Your Blog

After photographing the traffic cone the other day, my eye was drawn to a Post-It note affixed to the light pole. The Post-It note advertised Proscar® (finasteride), currently the leading medication to shrink one's prostate. There is questionable marketing value for any drug that appears to be promoting scarring, but I believe the name was a portmanteau formation of PROSTATE + NASCAR. Written on the Post-It note in shaky, loopy cursive was the message: "Go to allreligions.blogspot.com. You will be benefitted (sic)".

Unfortunately, I failed to take a close-up photograph, and the blog name that I remembered does not seem to exist. When I went back the Post-It note was gone. I believe they are only rated for 5 mph wind shear, enough to handle most office environments, but not the outdoors.

Overall, an unsuccessful promotional effort in so many ways.

UPDATES

Time for some updates on your most pressing unresolved Salt in Wound topics!


So how did that spelling bee turn out?


Did I mention that the previous one - the one I won - was held at a hipster bar? By 2008 adult spelling bees had become passé, replaced by Guitar Hero contests.

How about the trip to Estonia?

I have it all planned out, but I have yet to make any actual reservations. I've concluded that Estonian will be an impossible language to pick up over the next 4 months, and that I'm not nearly as good at the sport of rogaining as I thought I would be. Last place is a very distinct possibility. Should still be fun, though.


Has Keenan gotten to hear any Backstreet Boys tunes yet?


No. I was able to tell him they were quite literally just a swindle.


Did anyone ever pick up that sand?


Nope. The other day when no one was home, I sliced open the bags and shoveled all the sand into an inconspicuous spot amongst the brambles, from whence it came.


What about the traffic cone?


Wait, I haven't posted about the traffic cone yet? That will be my next post, I promise.

But the 15-year-olds will love us!

That's not my opinion... I'm just reporting our scientifically-derived blog rating as calculated here. That puts us a rung above Paris Hilton on the reading level ladder, but, alas, a rung under Perez Hilton.

What can we do about this? I, for one, intend to ameliorate our valuation via articulating my suppositions by the usage of a higher number of obscure, arcane, and enigmatic words.

Oh - have I mentioned that Wikipedia now claims that the Schur multiplier is usually defined as the second homology group of a group G with coefficients in the integers?!? Come on, Wikipedia - give me a break!

A Salt In Wound Game

Lately when I read new posts (not comments, just posts), I keep the name of the author scrolled off the bottom of the screen. When I finish the post I try to guess who wrote it. Frank, your Gazetteers post was easy, but that's because Bernie loaned me your CD's (which I like very much). Chris, I'd thought John had written your Ringo post.

From this point forward, for a little while at least, I intend to comment on every post, saying who I'd thought wrote it. I'll do this until it becomes so obnoxious that I'm asked to stop, or until I get bored. You're welcome to join me!

The State of Salt in Wound

Right now, we have eight registered "posters." Of those, Frank, Robert, Bernie and myself have been posting fairly regularly. Chris has been posting more lately (thanks, Chris!) and Paul teased us (and I hope will tease us again soon). Elizabeth is lurking, waiting for just the right moment (you'd better not be fucking with us, Elizabeth) and Becky clearly has no intention of ever posting. Unfortunately, I can't cut her, because Bernie is a man's name, and then it would look like we only had one woman (when nothing could be further from the truth). We're not losers, and why should it appear that way?

There are currently no invitations to new posters outstanding. I would like to have four or five more, writing on a variety of subjects, preferably from different parts of the country (or world). Robert is here because he's my friend from high school. Frank, Paul, Chris, do any of you have friends from high school or college who'd have something to contribute? If so, have them read a bit, and then, if they're interested, I'll send an invitation. Ken, I can't in good conscience ask you to post about extinct birds in Arkansas until you're done with your dissertation.

We're getting a decent number of hits--it's been growing every week--peaking on the day Bernie forgot to filter me, and I counted myself dozens of times. We don't know who a lot of our readers are, so if you're here and have never commented, please take this chance to say hi.

And if anyone has any suggestions for how things could be done differently, this would be a good thread to put them in.

The Morning Paper

I still subscribe to the local daily newspaper, the Albany Times Union, in spite of (or perhaps because of) its increasingly anachronistic nature. For example, our comics page contains at least five deceased authors: Charles Schulz, Dik Browne, Abigail Van Buren, Bil Keane, and Isaac Asimov (Isaac Asimov's Super Quiz; ironically, today's topic is 'people who died in 2007'). Johnny Hart and Hank Ketcham have only just been replaced, and Mort Walker and Jack Elrod are not long for this earth.

Anyway, as part of an effort to attract a more youthful demographic, the paper has been featuring blog excerpts on the front page of its local section. They are devoid of context and often cryptic, possibly appealing to no one at all. Here is today's excerpt:

"This year, for the first time since I became single, I am going to get a Christmas tree. After all the stuff that's happened the past two months, I need to. Plus, my parents are coming up to my place for Christmas. So, I kind of have to get a tree. I accept right now that I am not going to like this process one bit"

I am sparing you the link.

meta-ing of the minds

While we're disappearing up our own assholes, I wanted to practice doing a link.

A Meta-post

Three things that bug me about blogger, our blog editor/host:

Forced Astrological signs. Take a look at this guys profile. See how it lists his sign(s)? This isn't because the guy believes in astrology, it's because if you want to list your age on your profile, Blogger forces the star sign on you too. So if you see an age in a profile, you'll see the astrological sign too.

What do all the hardcore skeptics do? I haven't searched for a skeptic tag yet, but I'd bet you don't find a single person listing themself as a skeptic who also displays their age. The forced Zodiac sign is why.

No automatic email notification when comments are added to a post. Blogger, if I ask you to, you will automatically send me email when someone else makes a comment to a post after I've made a comment to the same post. Why can't you extend the same privilege to me when I'm the poster? After all, I'm hosting that party. I'm a big boy, Blogger. What is it you're trying to protect me from?

(This isn't about blogger specifically, but still...) The word blog. It's a little better than tofurkey jerkey but way worse than even chunnel, which is saying something. Every time I use it I think it's more suited to a context like I got so drunk last night that I blogged all over Nancy's floor. I hated this word from the start; for a long time I insisted on using the longer, and way more pleasing weblog instead. But I lost that war. Now I use the word, of course, but it still grates.

Feel my red-hot fury.