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Why Software Engineering is not Engineering in the classical sense
I recently had some odd experiences with some software engineering firms that made me realize, poignantly, how different software engineering is from engineering in the classical sense (that is, mechanical, civil, elecrtrical, etc.).
(I'm not going to play word politics here and say that software engineers are not engineers . Software engineers can call themselves whatever they want, as far as I'm concerned. But regardless of what you call it, software engineering is not in the same job as mechanical, civil, electrical, etc., engineering.)
Anyways, I recently interviewed for two software positions, one of which I was extremely qualified for technically, the other borderline qualified . I was quite surprised to be rejected for both positions, not because of any lack of technical merit, but apparently because I didn't seem excited enough about the job. Even for the job I was only borderline qualified for, my interviewer's main objection was that he couldn't see any "passion". Coming from a background in engineering in the classical sense, it was inconceivable to me that it would even be a factor.
Now, I know for a fact that, at least in aerospace, many engineers walk around all day with about as much passion as a block of wood, and yet do their jobs just fine. I was one of them myself. But, apparently, software engineering is different. "Passion" or "excitement" is a common requirement for software engineering jobs (that is, unless you work for Microsoft, which is well known to be one of the most emotionless companies there is).
But is outward passion really necessary to do the job? At first glance, it seems that if aerospace engineers can do their job without passion, software engineers should be able to, too.
But first glances can be deceiving.
Compare the subject matter of the two fields. Computer programming has a subtle human warmth to it that classical engineering tasks (say, control theory or truss analysis) lack. There's a level of expressiveness in writing software that is utterly absent in truss analysis, and I believe that this expressiveness attracts passion. In other words, software engineering is inherently passionate. In this respect, it is a lot closer to architecture than engineering.
Whether passion is actually necessary or even helpful for software engineering is not so certain. Personally, I doubt it. Regardless, the fact that software engineering can even generate passion demonstrates what aa different beast it is. Though classical engineering and software engineering are both technical fields, the expressiveness of software leads to crucial differences between the two.
Bottom line is: Engineers in the classical sense don't get excited. Software engineers do. Therefore, software engineers aren't engineers in the classical sense.
Tags: engineering, software_engineering
Last Edited: 30 May 2007, 4:19 PM
Believe it or not, Scrubs is actually a good show
When I first saw Scrubs, I thought it was a stupid show. It seemed to be a bunch stupid characters incapable of making an intelligent decision, the kind of show that makes me cringe and shout at the TV, "It is inhumanly impossible to be that stupid!" Those kinds of show annoy me more than they make me laugh.
In fact, it reminded me a lot of Three's Company. Now, Three's Company probably had the stupidest, fakest, and shallowest characters ever known to man. It would be wrong to call Jack, Janet, and Chrissy one-dimensional caricatures; that would be an insult to one-dimensional caricatures. No, Jack, Janet, and Chrissy (and her replacements) completely lacked any dimension at all. They had no capacity to change or learn or grow. They were inhuman. They were (poorly) preprogrammed androids hopped up on speed, unable to adapt to anything.
The thing that made Three's Company successful was that it consistently kept the laughs coming, in spite of the shallow characters. To be sure, you were laughing at them, not with them. You didn't care much about the characters, because you knew that no matter what happened, nothing would ever change. But laughing at them still counts for something, and on that show, you laughed at them an awful lot. It almost made the cringing worth it. Almost.
Back to Scrubs. When I first saw Scrubs, I got the same impression as I got from Three's Company: these were stupid characters incapable of making an intelligent decision. Only Scrubs was a lot less funny. And if I can hardly sit through Three's Company, I'm certainly not going to sit through something much less funny. Thus, Scrubs went into my "not interested" bin pretty quickly.
Over the past few months, however, I couldn't realistically avoid watching the show without avoiding the telly altogether. These days, it's syndicated on about 50 different channels at any given time of the day. Plus, the blonde on it (Sarah Chalke) is oddly cute. Inevitably, I ended up watching it a few times.
That's when I saw that the stupidity of the characters was all an act. The Scrubs gang really does have a lot of depth; their outward shallowness is only something they project as a defense against a stressful work place. In fact, the way their true character manifests itself is very interesting, and goes a long way toward building sympathy and making the characters believable.
So when someone on Scrubs does something stupid, we don't have to roll our eyes or cringe; they're not acting that way because they're manifestly compelled to always do the absolute stupidest thing possible. We understand why they did it (somewhat). And when something funny happens, the joke is more heartfelt and enjoyable because we can sympathize with the characters.
Needless to say, I am converted. Sure, it's cliched and relies on stereotypes too much (that'll probably date it a few years down the road). But overall, it's really a good show. Although it doesn't hold a candle to some of the great sitcoms of the 70s and early 80s (All in the Family, Good Times), it's probably the consistently funniest non-animated show that's been on TV for at least ten years.
The Real Story Behind the Iliad
A cheap pub in Corinth, on the coast of Greece, BC 876.
About 20 low-ranking Greek warriors, having just made landfall after having sailed back from a war with a small city-state on the coast of Asia Minor. They had names such as Agamemnon, Odysseus, Aias, Menelaus, Nestor, and so on.
A bartender by the name of Calchas.
Three whores named of Helena, Chriseis, and Briseis who sat in the company of the warriors.
A young poet by the name of Homer.
Everyone in the room is drunk off their ass on cheap wine and mead.
[Dings his glass with a spoon.] Friends! I'd like to make a toast in remembrance our departed comrade, Achilles, who fought and died valiantly for us! To Achilles!
To Achilles! [They drink.]
Achilles was the best warrior in the Greek army! He brought down Hector, I tell you!
Hector? Who's that?
Hector! Why, he was leader of the platoon we faced off with. Big scary guy.
You mean Achilles got the platoon leader? No way!
He got the platoon leader, I say! In fact, I'll tell you the whole story. [Downs a cup of mead.] It began about three months into the war when Agamemnon and Achilles got into a little argument over who got to rape this little Trojan girl they captured first. Agamemnon won, and Achilles got real pissed and went to the sick tent for a few hours.
Yeah, Achilles was a good warrior, but you gotta admit, he was also a big priss.
He didn't come out till the boy who used to always tag along with him—what was his name? Patrolcus?—got killed. Meanwhile...
[The story rambles on, including stories such as the time Menelaus grazed the brigade leader's lieutenant Paris with a spear, or the time when someone from behind hurled a spear that wounded this crazy guy who was standing next to Hector.]
...but then he found out about Patrolcus and went berzerk, and flew into battle. He even had body armor.
Oh, shut up, he couldn't afford any body armor.
I think it was probably bandages he got from the sick tent. Probably didn't help him any but it looked awesome. He flew in a rage and killed about five Trojans and stood right there facing Hector. Hector should have layed him flat with a spear but he flat out missed. Then Achilles was on top of him.
Achilles was a lucky guy, eh?
No, not really. Soon after that, that Paris guy came in and stabbed Achilles on the ankle with a spear. Turned into gangrene and he died of it. That's another story, though. Still, better to go out in glory than to die a coward, and if Achilles was anything, he was brave.
And a priss.
[Approaching the group of drunk warriors] Hey guys, that was a really interesting story. Mind if I make an epic poem out of it? I'll give you guys each two drachmas for the rights.
[Look around at each other.] All right! More wine and mead! Woooo!
Um, I'm gonna make a few changes.... [His words are drowned out in the ruckus.]
My family's dogs just woke the neighborhood taunting a possum
In my family, We have this arrangement concerning the dogs. The arrangement is: I do not take care of the dogs. I don't feed em, I don't walk em, I don't put em in and out, etc.
So, a few months ago somehow plans were made such that neither my mom nor my sister would be around to feed their respective dogs for one day. They were talking about leaving the dogs with someone. I told them, don't be ridiculous. It won't kill me to feed them one day. So I fed them. And that was that.
No, of course that wasn't that. We've had this arrangement for about 15 years. I bend to feed the dogs once, and they decide that I'd be perfectly happy to take care of the dogs for two weeks while moving my sister to San Diego. Stupid women don't know the difference between an inch and a mile.
So for two weeks I've experienced the ennui of feeding dogs day after day. And with no one else home to distract them, they are bad and clingy. I can't take a stroll without the small one following me (have to tether him, which is a PITA; they're not allowed inside). They don't even let me walk to my car in peace. And they bark all the time. A couple weeks of this was worn on me. But tonight the demonic beasts went too far.
Anyways, because oft the ennui, I expected that sooner or later I'd forget to feed them. Tonight it happened, and I think I paid for it.
At 3 am I hear them barking like crazy. I figured it'd go away in a couple minutes, but 3:15 it's still going on, strong as ever. So I go down to see what they're barking at (and heard the phone ring as I headed out, obviously a neighbor complaining). The little imp-dog is on the road barking his head off at a possum not much smaller than him. Apparently, the little dog had been circling and charging possum for 15 straight minutes without actually attacking. The big dog was standing in the yard restrained by an electric fence, barking his head off. (My family has long since given up hope that the electric fence will ever keep in the little dog.)
Now, I don't remember when I had my last rabies shot, but it's been awhile, so I don't exactly want to get near the possum. After calling them in expectedly failed, I ran in and got a broom and starting chasing the dogs towards the house with it. The little dog was too quick for me, but he got the hint eventually. The big dog refused to leave until I got him with the handle (which felt really good).
Meanwhile the possum's just being stupid. He wasn't playing dead, because he was gnashing his teeth at the imp-dog. But you'd figure the possum would head for the bushes whenever I chased the imp-dog away, but it just stood there waiting.
Oh well. Once I got them away I fed them (only about 7 hours late) and they're being pretty quiet now. I figure the dogs picked this fight in the first place because they were hungry, so I won't be forgetting again. And after my mom comes home in a couple days, I will never, ever accept this job ever again.
Having been through all this, I just don't get what is so great about dogs that makes people willing to go though all this crap.
Bad Classroom Experiences
This is a rant about some bad classroom experiences I've had. This isn't a list of personal grudges or gripes about teachers I hated (that would fill a small encyclopedia), but a rant about people I who think perverted their role as an educator, and would do the world a service if they never taught again.
I once had a total wuss-bag of a thermodynamics professor. This guy thought he was totally unique and cutting-edge because he was an oh-so sensitive guy who did things no one else did, like assign people to do homework in groups (no one except every single other professor on campus did that...). One day he decided he would indoctrinate the whole class with a video about sexual discrimination, which all men (except him) were perpetrators and all women victims of. The scenarios in the video were so ludicrous it was hilarious. I mean, even the women in the class agreed that the video was only marginally relevant... for 1940.
Naturally, the guy knew shit about engineering.
In my last semester as an undergrad, I had Technical Writing with the amazing Ms. Fisher. This woman ran the class like a kindergarten. One day when I slept through class, she decided that I didn't understand the importance of the subject (actually I was pretending to sleep, trying to avoid the kindergarten stuff), and gave my name to the composition office director. The composition office began calling me every day to offer me their "help" (read: beat me into submission); I resisted. Finally they threatened me with probation if I didn't go to talk to them, so I went. They beat me into submission. I obediently participated in Ms. Fisher's kindergarten fun for the rest of the semester. In fact, I behaved so well that it convinced Ms. Fisher that they had "gotten to me" and made me into a good automaton, so she reversed some of my disciplinary markdowns and I got an A in the class.
Oh boy, did I let her have it on the student evaluations. It was the foulest, most insulting thing I'd ever written. I mean, I said I'd do stuff like get her name tattooed into my anal sphincter. I made it very clear that they hadn't "gotten to me".
Payoff came sometime later, as a grad student. While walking around I saw her catch sight of me. She looked down and tried to pretend she didn't see me.
I was a TA for this instructor. Until I met him, I didn't really have a good sense of what, exactly, it meant to be a "prick". But this guy was a first class one.
The defining moment came late in the semester. While checking a homework assignment, I noticed there was a lot of confusion on a certain problem. I notified Tim, and immediately regretted it. You see, I told him this so that he would know that it was a weak point and could then spend more time on it; perhaps by going over it again in the next class or something. However, he didn't do that. The first thing he said after I told him was, "Oh my God, how could they not get it?" He actually seemed offended and disgusted that they didn't understand it. I was totally taken aback. I told him they were really tired from the long semester, and he shouldn't get too upset about it. (This, by the way, was "Hell Semester": fall of the junior year of aerospace engineering. It was a long, grueling semester, with four relentless nitty-gritty classes, and everyone was totally fried at the end of it.) He said something like, "Ok, fine," and I left him.
Now, if that was all that had happened, it would have been no big deal. I probably would have chalked it up to him being pretty fried himself. But it was followed up by something so cold I couldn't believe it.
When checking the final exams, there was a problem on it that was ridiculously hard for undergrads. In fact, it was so hard I took the unusual step of emailing Tim urging him to drop it. His response? He was punishing them because no one had asked for any further help after I told him they were having trouble with it. The problem would be counted, and they deserved it.
WHAT THE FUCK: YOU'RE A TEACHER, NOT A FUCKING CORRECTIONS OFFICER. If they're having problems, your job is to help them with it, not to dole out extra punishment for it.
A little later he had the nerve to criticize me for taking so long to check the tests (you know, maybe if you hadn't put Ph.D. level problems on it, I wouldn't be). I took my grand old time with them after that.
Looking back on all this, Timmy here is the one guy I always regretted not giving a piece of my mind to when I had the chance. I wouldn't even have suffered (it was my last semester as a TA). At the time I thought it was best to keep your mouth shut in such situations. But if anyone ever deserved to get a tongue lashing from me, it was Timmy.
The One I Do Not Name
In order to put the sins of The One I Do Not Name into context, let me tell you a little hypothetical story. Say you have two third graders, Jack and Jill. Jack sleeps through class, doesn't behave very well, and is inconsistent in doing his homework. Jill never misbehaves, always does what the teacher asks, and always does her homework. And Jack consistently outscores Jill on tests. Now who is Mrs. Jane Third-Grade-Teacher going to say is the better student?
Jill, of course.
But why? Jack evidently knows the material better. Jack is better educated. If education is the point of grade school, why is the better educated person considered a lesser student?
The reason, simply, is that education is not the point of grade school. The point is to teach obedience. Education is indeed a goal of school, and also the justification for it, but it's not the point. The point is obedience. For this reason, I often facetiously refer to grades K-6 as "obedience school".
Generally, teachers at least give lip service to the idea that education is the point and not merely a goal, which is better than nothing: it gives you something to hold them to and bargain with. However, I once had a teacher who didn't even do that. Guess who that was.
Yes, The One I Do Not Name actually claimed right to my face that schooling was about obedience (in Its words, "developing self-discipline", because in Its deluded mind we really wanted to do whatever the person claiming to be an authority told us to, we just didn't have the discipline). This came out in a conference with my parents, while discussing the purpose of homework. I was questioning the value of them forcing me to do homework, seeing that The One I Do Not Name, my parents, and I all knew very well that, from an educational standpoint, doing it would be useless to me because I already knew the stuff. But in this case, The One I Do Not Name openly acknowledged that obedience was the whole point, which pretty much nullified my whole argument.
Note that, at the time, I wasn't actually trying to weasel out of my responsibility. And in fact, I was more than willing to accept the bad grades that would result from doing homework inconsistently, and even the occasional scolding. But The One I Do Not Name believed that it was positively immoral to care so little about your homework (that it was utterly useless was irrelevant); It treated this as a behavioral problem in me, which meant involving my parents. That's what I didn't want. (Fortunately, my parents either saw through Its bullshit, or were too lazy to keep up with It on it.)
This was a poignant example of The One I Do Not Name's total chauvinism for teaching "self-discipline", but it permeated my whole experience with It.
I got the satisfaction of returning the favor once, and making It accept an issue on my terms. At my school we had to do those stupid Christmas pageants, and they made us practice like hell for them. I was able to learn the words and music after about a week or so of daily practice, with about two weeks of daily practices looming. So, being uselessly herded off every day to practice singing a bunch of songs I already knew, for a pageant I knew I wasn't going to (my family managed to remember to go it maybe once), I naturally started goofing off and being generally silly (though not bothering anyone else) during the practices. I would have died of boredom otherwise. The One I Do Not Name evidently decided that It would punish my behavior by filming my silliness and showing it to the whole school.
After the practice ended, The One I Do Not Name and the music teacher stopped me and asked me why I was goofing off, and told me that It had filmed it and would show it to the whole school. After playing dumb for a bit, I told them I didn't need the practice, because I had already learned the lyrics, and I was just acting silly because I was bored. Now, The One I Do Not Name was very familiar with my protests on educational grounds, and I think It thought It could catch me in a lie here, thus proving I didn't really care about education and was just trying to weasel out of work. So It challenged me on the spot to recite the whole Christmas pageant right there. I did it. The music teacher was amazed; all The One I Do Not Name could do was apologize and send me off to lunch. Thenceforth no one talked to me about acting silly in practice.
Comparing Cooking Appliances to Computer Operating Systems
The range and oven is the Unix of cooking appliances. It is powerful and versatile. It cooks almost anything. But, it's hard to learn and there's a lot to think about. And messing up with a range and oven results in disaster, whereas messing up with other appliances is much more forgiving.
The Foreman Grill is the Mac OS of cooking. It is easy to use, quick, effective, and, most importantly, stylish. However, it's not very versatile: there's a lot of food you can't cook in it at all. Plus, it's highly polarizing: lots of people hate the Foreman Grill just because it's different from what they're used to, though it does more than an adequate job.
The microwave is the Windows of cooking. It's good for thawing and reheating, and very easy to use. However, it's woefully inadequate for real cooking, and unless you're very careful, you are constantly plagued by improper heating. Additionally, there are an awful lot of people who don't know how to cook anything without a microwave, there are a lot of people who think the microwave is the best thing ever invented, and still quite a few who don't even know there are other ways to cook.
The deep fryer is the Plan 9 of cooking: it cooks everything the same way.
The charcoal grill is the Palm OS of cooking. It's not as fast as other cooking. But it's sexy, portable, and works anywhere. The need to carry around the power source is a tad annoying, though.
The open flame is the VxWorks of cooking: it's the absolute minimum you can cook with, and one normally only does it in specially designated areas.
The convection oven is the OS/2 of cooking. It's really a nice appliance that can produce nice meals, but no one seems to have one, and very few have heard of it.
Why movie scores these days annoy me
It seems to me that more and more directors (especially but not exclusively in high-budget blockbuster-type movies) are using the score to bully you into feeling a certain way, when they should be using the score enhance the mood that the picture and story give you.
For example, to force you to have a "grand" feeling, the director will choose music played by an orchestra, emphasizing the strong instruments (trumpets and timponis), playing fortissimo at a slow tempo and using lots of major fifths; on top of that he'll crank the volume up to 11. It's so loud and forceful that it pretty much makes anything happening on the screen irrelevant. The characters on the screen could be walking down a tunnel to certain death, sleeping, playing in the grass, or having sex, it doesn't matter: you will feel grand because of the score.
You know what, I don't need a fascist director using the score to shove emotion down my throat. You want me to feel a certain way? How about using the story to do that? Use the score to enhance the feeling, not create it.
One movie that really irked me was the recent Narnia film. Take the scene where Lucy finds herself in this magical, serene, snowy land for the first time. Now, if I were choosing the music for this scene, I'd have an empty-souding score using maybe piccolos and chimes, no percussion, and maybe with a violin playing something ominous silently. That would convey curiosity, wonder, serenity, and a bit of danger.
What did Narnia have? A bunch of trumpets playing fortissimo. Yeah, real serene. There was absolutely no reason for any sort of grand feeling at the point in the story. But guess what? That's what the score conveyed: grandness. Guess what else? That's how you actually felt because it was overbearing and it didn't really matter that the picture and story conveyed something totally different.
Another thing: scores are way too cliche. Ever notice how every battle scene these days has a choir singing in 3/4 time? I mean, come on, do something original.
I confess I haven't seen many high-budget blockbusters lately, but I do know that in the past not every blockbuster had obnoxious scores.
A good example I can think of is Back to the Future. That movie knew that not every scene needed a loud, obnoxious score; in fact, the little ring of the chimes when something weird happened was better than any orchestrated piece of music could have done. And where the score did get intense, it was enhancing the intensity of the story. You could turn the sound off and still feel the urgency as Michael J. Fox was rushing to catch the bolt of lightning. The score wasn't creating the excitement.
Lots of successful high-budget movies in the past seemed to get by without fascist scores. Ghostbusters. It had music that was either ominous or light to set the mood, but nothing obnoxious.
Go back further. The Godfather. After Vito got shot, was there some orchestra wailing out a depression-filled dirge when we saw the family grieving? No! It wasn't needed: the camera did more than enough there. The music was sad but not overbearingly sad.
Further still. Casablanca. The night after Ilsa came back, we see Rick upset and drinking. The music? It was just Sam playing If Time Goes By. If Casablanca were made today, it would be depressing wailing song with lots of violas and French horns.
So why does it seem like so many big movies these days have obnoxious scores? I don't know, but I don't like it.
It's too bad Mr. T wasn't around when Jesus was born
We'll have to examine the situation at the time of Jesus' birth to explain why it's too bad Mr. T wasn't around then.
Right around Jesus' due date, Mary and Joseph go to Bethlehem for the census so they can be numbered among the house of David, and they get there only to find out the inn lost their reservation, so now they're forced to stay in a stable (or rather, a cave doubling as a stable). While they're there, they give birth to the Messiah, and a new star appears in the sky. So we have this child, laid to rest in Mary's lap, shepherds are watching him, angels are singing to him, people are hasting to bring him laud, etc., etc.
Meanwhile, these wise guys in the East see this new star in the sky and believe that it means a new powerful king has been born. So in a major feat of ass-kissing unparalleled to this day (well, at least until Harriet Myers came onto the scene), they decide they're not going to wait around till he ascends the throne, they're gonna pay him homage now, before the rush. So they get their slaves and harem packed up and on the road to Bethlehem to meet this new infant king. (Well, actually, first they stop in Jerusalem to visit Puppetking Herod: an event that would end up casting serious doubt onto the appropriateness of the label "wise men", but never mind that for now.)
Now, when the wise men finally find the infant king, what do they see? Not some wealthy aristocratic family, but rather these destitute young parents who were sleeping with the animals (not that way, you sicko).
Here's my question: these (dubious) wise men were obviously very wealthy. If you're very wealthy, and really want to pay homage to a newborn king in such a deplorable situation, instead of giving gold, frankincense, and myrrh, how about putting them up in a nice place for the night?
I mean, we all know Bethlehem was inundated with people who wanted to flaunt their "Official Member of the House of David, as recognized by Caesar" certificates, so they could go around holding their head high while saying, "My kid could be the Messiah". But, come on, I'm sure a couple rich wise guys could swing some accommodations in a nice upscale hotel even then.
Balthazar, Caspar, and Melchor need to take a lesson from Mr. T, a true wise man, speaking about Katrina victims: "They didn't want diamond rings or new houses, they just wanted water, and they couldn't get any." I think Mr. T would pity these "wise" fools. Too bad he wasn't around when Jesus was born.
I admit it: I am not the easiest person to shop for on Christmas. Because of this, it was inevitable that sooner or later, I was going to get a Chia Pet. This Chirstmas, my sister Alexis got me Chia Professor
Here are the results.
As you can see, it worked quite well; Einstein has a full coat of hair.
There are a couple things I hope to improve for the next time, however. The most notable problem is that the watering is uneven. You see, the planter is very porous so that water inside teh planter can osmose to the outside and keep the seeds moist. Unfortunately, very soon after filling, the level in the planter goes down as water seeps out, meaning that the seeds near the top of the planter are not as well watered as the ones at the bottom. This had the effect of giving Einstein a mullet as the seeds began sprouting:
What I plan to do it work out some sort of automatic watering device. Probably nothing complex, maybe just a plastic cup with a small hole in it dripping slowly into the planter, to keep it at a high level. This will also mean I don't have to water it as often.
Second, emptying the drip tray of the planter was a pain. It was kind of flimsy and I had to move Chia Einstein out of the tray to empty it. I will probably concoct some sort of platfrom for Chia Einstein to rest on, with a removable drip tray underneath.
Finally, the seeds took a long time to sprout. I'm guessing the frigid conditions of my apartment didn't help. Therefore, I think I will take the offical Chia Pet advice and use a plastic bag greenhouse to promote sprouting.
I don't want any freaking tartness in my bottled tea
Note to stupid beverage makers: when I buy a bottle of unsweetened tea with no lemon, I don't want any citric acid put in there for tartness. Ok? If I wanted tartness in my sweetened tea, I'd just get it with lemon.
Let me explain.
Like many people, I like the convenience of bottled drinks, especially for when I'm on the road. And like many people, I like iced tea. And, as it turns out, iced tea is a common bottled beverage. So, one would think that this would be an ideal situation for me: I get a conveniently bottled drink that I like (and has a lot of caffeine).
Unfortunately, the situation is far from ideal.
You see, I find that acidic flavors conflict very inauspiciously with the pleasant natural flavor of tea. In particular, lemon can really overbear the delicate tea flavor, so I very much dislike tea with lemon.
"Ok," you say. "Fine. You don't like lemon in your tea. So why don't you just buy bottled tea with no lemon? I mean, there is bottled tea with no lemon on the shelves. Right?"
Yes. Unfortunately, every single freaking bottled tea manufacturer that I know of adds citric acid to their tea. Why? Get this: it's for "tartness."
Now, maybe I'm missing something, but wouldn't people who want tartness in their tea just get tea with lemon? Isn't the whole point of not putting lemon in the tea because you don't want tartness? What purpose does omitting the lemon serve when you're going tartness right back in?
What bugs me about this is every single manufacturer seems to think that "tartness" is a required element of tea, and that they are "helpfully" enhancing it by adding the citric acid. Well, they're not. All they're doing is making a half-assed lemon tea.
Fortunately, there is a reasonably palatable solution: Trade Winds. Trade Winds does add citric acid to its sweet tea; however, two things make the tartness rather mild. First, it appears to use somewhat less citric acid than other bottled teas. Second, the tea flavor is much bolder and less prone to being overpowered by the acidity (evidently this is due to its kettle brewing).
Still, I'd prefer a completely untart Trade Winds, or any bottled tea completely untart for that matter.
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