13 October 2012
Smart vice
And perhaps a bit of megalomania, too. Still, I was thrilled when my friend recently sent me this article, which refers to a study published in the reputed New England Journal of Medicine. It compared per capita consumption of chocolate with the number of Nobel prizes won per inhabitant, and found a very strong correlation between the two.
On the resulting graph, Switzerland ends up alone on the top right corner. It counts 31.5 Nobel laureates per 10M inhabitants, and its citizens each munch through a record 11.9kg of the prize-worthy sweet a year. QED, think the scientists.
But they go further, and speculate on the positive impact chocolate has on cognitive function. Specific flavanols found in cocoa have been proven to boost brain function - in aging rats, anyways.
The substance once reserved for Aztec emperors also produces a rush of happiness-inducing serotonins, although I'd like to think that it is really the sublime taste and texture that have long ago gotten me hooked. These days, chocolate goes anywhere I go, and anyone who has ever worked or studied with me will be aware of the strategic Schoggistängeli reserves in the locker. Deprive me of my after lunch coffee & choccy, and you make me antsy. Send me to a far-flung land, and after a few dry days, you will see me desperately wolf down the next best Mars bar.
Yes, addictions can be brutal, but I'm feeling much better now. After all, to get the Swiss average consumption to 11.9kg, some brave citizens have to come in substantially above that amount. So hej there, Nobel Prize Committee. Where do I put in my name?
Labels: education, food, Switzerland
# posted by Oli : 20:55
26 March 2012
Glory Days
What's in a decade? In early 2002, the Euro entered circulation. The Winter Olympics were held in Salt Lake City. The US invaded Afghanistan. And I graduated from high school. From this perspective, it seems an awfully long time ago.But in my own perception, it could have been yesterday, so present are the memories of the 6.5 years I had spent at KS Rychenberg. Only in recalling all the things that have happened since do I realize how much my life has changed from the day our headmaster (appearing on stage dressed as a Roman Emperor, no less) handed me that coveted matura degree. It certified me mature enough to ascend to universities and such. Back then, we thought that we would go out and conquer the world. This weekend, time had come to see how we did.
This 10th anniversary saw our class formally get together for the first time, and it was clear that I would not miss the occasion for the world (or, at least, the Atlantic Ocean). As I strolled down Winterthur's high street towards the café we had chosen for apéro, I found myself following a woman pushing a baby buggy. Turns out that this former classmate was not the only one to have progeny - amidst extatic greetings, questions on family life were the frst ones to be asked, and showed the most tangible progress. Two former high school sweethearts had even gotten married to each other just last month.
Transitioning to our dinner venue, we left behind not just a few empty bottles of prosecco, but also the verbal equivalent of swapped business cards. A surgeon and a lawyer, a banker and a theologian, a biologist and a singer, teachers and reportedly even a clown (no, not me!) today look back to the same secondary education. While we had obviously all grown up, the gathering produced an intense flashback.
For soon, we were right back where we had left off a decade ago: Joking, laughing, trading anecdotes, gossiping. It could have been any field trip or camp we'd had. The fact that we had all gathered again seemed to have turned back the hands of time, and I felt merrily immersed in a spirit of youthful camaraderie. Plus ça change, plus c'est pareil, as the French would have it. We were still all the same people, and it felt good.
A friend of mine recently quoted an article claiming that thanks to Facebook, everybody was up to date about everybody anyways, leaving nothing for reunions but bashing old teachers. But the article misses the point. It's not about finding out who's got kids and who makes the most. It's about letting yourself be taken back to a time when life was nothing but possibility, curiosity, and boundless optimism. Turns out matura is the pinnacle of youth.
Labels: education, leisure, Switzerland
# posted by Oli : 19:25
02 February 2011
UdM
When I first spent time in Montréal, many moons ago, it was under the pretext of a French immersion. To lend credibility to this claim, I attended classes at the Faculté de l'éducation permanente at Université de Montréal, the largest of Montréal's four universities. The month-long course gave me not just a handy degree and a student ID valid for three years (!), but also provided free access to CEPSUM, the university's sports complex. When I returned to Montréal to live here, I was happy to learn that CEPSUM's pool had just been renovated, and have been a regular user since.Whenever I come to CEPSUM, I feel a bit out of place (even more so than yours truly should at any fitness facility). Straight from the office, dressed in shirt and slacks and looking ever so slightly older than the 60'000 university students who get free access to the complex, I don't quite blend in with the others.
Not that those kids would all look the same. Today, CEPSUM hosted the annual open day for prospective students, and after doing my laps I was lured into the big forum by a charming girl handing me a documentation kit in a nice gift bag (whether she thought that I was a future student or the parent of one will remain her secret). As I roamed among the different stands presenting the various programs offered, it dawned upon me just how big the university really is. From Anthropologie to Urbanisme, virtually every subject can be studied. And as if to confirm every conceivable stereotype, each booth drew its typical crowd:
Black shirts and slim jackets for Architecture, broad shoulders for Kinésiologie, colorful scarves and the latest couture for Littératures de langue française, rugged jeans and flannel shirts for Géographie, turtlenecks and horn-rimmed glasses for Cinéma, and of course the inevitable poor shaves and red eyes for Informatique - I could not hide a smirk, given the scene.
No less interesting than what they wore was which stands the students decided to visit. Long lines formed for Criminologie and Médecine, both offering excellent job perspectives thanks to the Italian mafia in town. A good number of youngsters talked to the representatives for Histoire and Communication - this was the group I would probably best have fitted in with a few years ago, even their sense of fashion seemed palatable. A fistful of particularly daring candidates ventured out to the stalls for Etudes allemandes and that fascinating program with the catchy name Mathématiques, statistique et actuariat. And one lost soul even made it to Théologie et sciences des réligions. Among the abundance of options, which extended to social services, the university radio station and the elite sports team, there was only one booth which remained completely abandoned, both by staff and students. The lone banner for this exotic and entirely revolting subject read: Etudes anglaises.
Labels: education, fashion, sport
# posted by Oli : 22:10
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