Evidence, Analysis, Results.

Before telling my latest disturbing celery story, I want you to know that I'm currently in a computer lab disguised as some sort of beach-resort-meets-pop-art-space-station-type situation. Think all white, with a translucent blue cube (a.k.a. meeting room) suspended from the ceiling at one end, and a fake pool. I'm reclining on a mod white lounge chair on an elevated wooden platform, my laptop resting on the swiveling stand (built into the chair) just above my lap, looking up at screen-printed palm trees above a shallow square pool set into the platform and lined with gymnastics-style blue matting. It is SURREAL. I'm in nerds' paradise as imagined by Andy Warhol. And...I love it. Computer lab as luxury resort is fine by me. I just need a tiny white minidress and a bubble helmet.

To put this into context, I'm taking a breather from my first day at design school. I've already seen jillions of fashion Dos and Don'ts, but will try to hold off until I have more days under my (vintage, leather, empire-height, of course) belt. The crowd of carefully accessorized and coiffuered mademoiselles stalking around on their brand-new platform cork-heeled stilettos is more intimidating--or I guess just disconcerting--than I'd expected, so here I am trying to soothe my overmascara'd senses before my lecture on "Concept to Consumer" (yesss!).

ANYWAY: Last week I got to spend a few days in San Francisco, and after taking me to hug redwoods, my uncle said that we had to visit Yum. It's an adorable shop full of exotic or hard-to-find foods, and a lot of quaint/local/retro/etc. brands. You must go, dahling. I love old-fashioned glass soda bottles (I even smuggled them back from Kenya, where they're the norm), and I stood transfixed in front of their rainbow wall o' bottles; my uncle was excited to find Moxie, the soda he'd been looking for for years. It's kinda yummy--like root beer, but more subtle and spicy. HOWEVER, in my perusing I came across another cute glass bottle that turned my happiness to dismay:

OH. MY. GOD. You've got to be kidding me. Celery not merely as an unfortunate addition or sidekick to other stuff, but actually distilled and intensified into 100% noxiousness? Apparently so. My uncle saw my horrified face and I had to explain; he then said, "Oh, but you've got to try it now, right?" Excuse me? Take something that I know is guaranteed to induce gagging, and consume it willingly? If someone offered him a beverage made from essence of human sweat, would he feel the need to sample? Methinks not. I couldn't understand its continuing popularity (rutabaga soda, anyone? Right.) and wondered if perhaps it didn't actually taste of celery. According to reviews of Cel-Ray, I was sadly wrong. "Just like the name and ingredients imply," raves the lady who loves this crap enough to spend time writing on the internet about it, "it tastes like celery [and] smells exactly like celery. It is fresh and clean and really tasty...I really like it, and I used to drink it back in college all the time." She even goes on to say that "If a deli in New York City did not offer this to drink, it would lose its deli license, I'm sure." OK, so let's construct a little mathematical proof here.

Given: Cel-Ray tastes and smells exactly like celery. Celery is inherently disgusting.

Claims: Reviewer loves Cel-Ray. Said reviewer drank it constantly as a college student. New Yorkers regularly swill down their giant bagels and droopy pizza slices with it.

Conclusions: 1. This woman is an idiot with no taste buds. 2. College kids are idiots with no taste buds. 3. New Yorkers are idiots with no taste buds.

And with that, I'm off to learn about, like, concepts.

> r r <