Yo Mamma's Mitochondria

Not too long ago I read River Out of Eden by Richard Dawkins, and while the book was slow to start (I never can get too much into A's and G's and T's of DNA) it really did a good job of explaining how scientists know what they do about our evolutionary history.
One way specifically that process occurs is through examination of the DNA within our mitochondria.
You see, long long ago, waaaaaaay back before the dinosaurs mitochondria were a a self sustaining bacteria. That's why they have their own DNA. But somewhere along the way they teamed up with animals, and they've been happily living within us ever since. The cool thing about them is that they are only passed on from mothers to offspring. Whether you are male or female, your mitochondria came from your mother, and further back from your maternal grandmother and so on. It is an unbroken link (except for the occasional mutation) back through your maternal ancestry. As opposed to your normal DNA (which is mutated much faster due to the input by both parents, and thus more oppertunity for mistakes in copying), MDNA is much more stable, and easier to track. (The reason you don't get mitochondria from your father is because the there are none in the body of a sperm, There are a few in the tail, but they are discarded when the head of the sperm is enveloped by the egg.) The more differences between your mitochondria and someone else's, the longer ago it was that you were related. The smaller the differences, the closer to the present your and their ancestors diverged. It's kind of like the game "telephone" that kids play by whispering into each others ears. The further you pass the word along the more different it is likely to be from the original.
Far out isn't it? So next time you talk to your mom remember to thank her for your mitochondria. After all, if it wasn't for her you wouldn't have any.
P.S. Above drawing is by me. It is titled "Don't Talk About My Momma"

Please Pass the Lobster Piss...I mean Bisque

Quite a while back (I think it was February) I read a really great book about lobsters called The Secret Life of Lobsters by Trevor Corson. There were too many interesting things to write a summary here, so I thought I might just take one of the quirky things and expound upon that.

American lobsters are configured in such a way that when they urinate it doesn't stream out from their posterior areas as in most species, but rather shoots out in front of their face through two openings located just under their antennas. These openings are connected to two sacks (the equivalent of our bladder) that are located inside the head. Apparently they hold large volumes (relative to the lobsters over all size) of urine. The antenna wave the urine out ahead of the lobster in a cloud, to be tasted/smelled by other rival lobsters in enough time for them to retreat. The author says it's the same as us shouting "Is there anybody here? Because I've got a Swiss-army knife and I know how to use it." It's an announcement and a warning all wrapped into one solid stream of pee. Each time fighting lobsters attack each other they simultaneously release a squirt of urine at their opponent. It quite literally becomes a pissing contest.
Apparently lobster pee is also used as a signal to attract the opposite sex. In this case the urine is saying "I've got plenty of sperm, and I am one hot dude. Lets get you out of that shell and then make 3,000 to 5,000 babies." If the female likes what she smells (and apparently females can smell who of the males has won the most fights) she approaches the male and pees on him in affirmation. This takes the place of a nod, or a "thumbs up" we humans might do to convey our agreement. They then pee on each other several times in excitemnet before the female begins her molt and the actual mating occurs.
It's strange to think lobsters can communicate better by peeing on each other than some of us humans can through actual talking, but there you have it. They can, and do, and it works out great. They know who's boss, who's ready to get laid, and who to stay away from. That's a heck of a lot more than I know about my neighbors. Lobsters are awesome!

Quote of the Day

"Instead I would have to rely on myself if I wanted to prove my IQ was higher than a turnip's."

-Jean-Dominique Bauby

In the Blink of an Eye: Locked-In Syndrome

Last night I read this memoir published by the former Editor and Chief of French Elle Magazine. I came upon it a few weeks back while browsing at the local used bookstore.
Jean-Dominique Bauby suffered a massive stroke in December of 1995 that left him in what is called "locked- in syndrome" which means he was conscious, but could not speak or move his body except to turn his head and blink his left eye. Apparently the syndrome occurs when the brain stem stops working and can no longer relay information from the brain to the spinal cord.
The only way he was able to communicate was by blinking his left eye. He could not blink the right one so it had to be sewn shut to keep the eyeball from drying out. He managed, with the help of his speech therapist to work out a method of communicating, and was thus able to complete his entire memoir by blinking out each letter of each word. The book is not a long one, but when you consider the pains that were taken to compose each and every syllable, it seems impossibly long.
The way it worked was the letters of the alphabet were arranged on a card by most frequently used (in the French language). The therapist would slowly say each letter and Jean-Dominique would blink his eye when she reached the letter he wanted. She would then write it down and start the list again. The amount of patience he must have had to compose even the shortest of sentences leaves me speachless.
The human body is a remarkable thing, but the resilience of the human mind is almost miraculous. Bauby was trapped in his body with nothing but his thoughts and he was able, to not only survive under such horrifing conditions, but to create and sometimes laugh in them too. As he put it so elloquently "If I must drool, I may as well drool on cashmere."
Bauby's memoir is a lot like life; difficult, sad, funny, and over before you know it. Maybe the lesson is not so much in the words he wrote but in the book itself, and the way in which it came about. If anyone would like my copy send your address and I will mail it to you! It's not the happiest subject, but it was a one of a kind reading experience, that really made me feel grateful for the little things in life like being able to smile.

Terrafugia the First Flying Car!

Just read this article about Terrafugia cars that can actually fly! Not exactly the prettiest (or most aerodynamic) automobile on the road, or the fastest (they only go about 30 miles an hour), but considering it can FLY I think it's OK. All you need in order to get one is 20 hours of flying time and $200,000! If I don't think about the possibility of there being as many morons in the sky as there are on the road , it almost seems like a good idea to have airplanes for the average blue collar American. Almost.
I thought about adding it to my Christmas List but then remembered I hate flying.

M. Twain Does it Again!

As an addition to an earlier post on Mark Twain's short stories I thought I would add these to my list of must reads. I am even going to include a brief synopsis to entice you to check them out;

The Invalid's Story: Man mistakes carton of guns and wheel of Limburger cheese for dead friend in coffin while on a stuffy train ride to funeral. (One of my top 2 Favorites!!!!)

Mrs. McWilliamses and the Lightening: Mrs. McWilliams fears for her husbands life (as he is asleep in bed) during a lightning storm and directs him (from the closet) about what he must to save himself from being struck....

The McWilliamses and the Burglar Alarm: The McWilliamses get an alarm, but it doesn't work properly, and it ends up attracting burglars...

These stories are over 100 years old and still as funny as anything we'd see today on TV!

My Mojave (A Picture Tour) Part 1

Landmarks and other things. A driving tour through one of my favorite places in the whole world the Mojave Desert. (Above:Joshua Trees mark the limits of the Mojave.)


Abandoned gas station
My favorite sign along the highway

My Mojave (A Picture Tour) Part 2

Road sign in desert
Semi Trucks
Shopping opportunities
Amboy Crater (5,000 year old volcano)
Town of Boron, next to town of Borax

My Mojave (A Picture Tour) Part 3

Wind Mills outside of Tahachapi
Joshua Trees and Mountains
Worlds Largest Thermometer, Baker CA (Temp 109 F)
Pronounced "Zyzicks"
Sand dunes pushed up the mountain by wind

Viva Las Vegas!!!!

I love going to Las Vegas. I really do. But I am pretty sure my vacations there are very different that most peoples. You see, I am cheap (out of necessity, not by choice), and I don't like to gamble. I also don't stay up late enough to go to the clubs, and I don't go out to eat very often. You might wonder why I even bother to go then. Well, there is a lot more to Vegas than expensive shows and the 1-800-babes cards that litter every street corner with erotic pictures of women.
There is Vegas the "normal" way and then there is Vegas "my" way. What's my way you might ask? Well, I'll tell you.
First stop is the Gyro place just across from UNLV. They make great gyros for only 5.00...Yummm...Then it's off to Vons (grocery store) on the corner of Tropicana Ave and Maryland for sandwich stuff, chips, and copious amounts of beer (usually Miller Light). It is a million times cheaper to get booze at the store than buy it at the hotel. (I know you get drinks for free when you gamble, but since I don't gamble it gets pricey.) Then it's check in at the hotel, fill the cooler with ice, throw on a swimsuit, grab a book, fill a backpack with beer and head down to the pool. The pools don't "allow" outside alcohol, because they want to rob you blind by charging 7.00 for a Bud Light. I am not a criminal kind of person by nature, and it makes me nervous to sneak contraband to the poolside, but I couldn't afford it otherwise! So like a deviant I shuttle my 97 cent beers in. In one afternoon I can save 70.00 or almost as much as my hotel room costs a night!
I read a lot, I swim, I drink, I listen to music, I get a tan, I drink more, read more, I start to sunburn but don't notice. I make several trips to the restroom and refrain from peeing in the pool like the little boy that I am sure has gone at least once since I arrived. That thought, and the impending heat stroke propels me to head back to the room to make a sandwich and watch TV while laying in bed. I might take a nap. At some point I assess my sunburn and my raccoon eyes tan line from my gigantic sunglasses. Neither is especially pleasing, or attractive.
Then it's a long shower, and time to get dressed up. I bring my nicest dresses, and take my time putting on makeup and accessorizing. Shoes are always a problem because I walk everywhere and heels are tiring and uncomfortable after the first mile. So my shoes usually end up being sandals which don't look as nice, but are waaay more comfy.
The backpack gets filled with beer again, and maybe a bag of chips stuffed in too. Then it's the hike to the Bellagio to spend the evening watching the fountain shows. After 8:00 PM (I think) they run every fifteen minutes. My favorite is Lee Greenwood's "God Bless the USA". I sing along shamelessly. At the top of my lungs sometimes depending on how many beers I have had on the walk over. Once a Korean family recorded me singing the whole thing and applauded afterward. I wonder sometimes about where that video is now. Anyway. In between shows I people watch. This is when I am most grateful I was practical in my choice of shoes. One in ever four girls in heels looks like they want to die. The tell tale signs of aching feet are shuffling pigeon toed, walking on the outside of ones feet, and of course limping. The people watching on the sidewalk in front of the Bellagio is second to none. It literally provides hours of entertainment, and all for free. I see some fantastic fashion "do's" and some even more spectacular fashion "don'ts". I have seen a 3' tall Elvis, a guy in a Jamarcus Russell Raiders jersey (I know, which one seems more rare?), a dude in a dress that I had at home, women in outfits that had way too little fabric thus exposing boobs and butt cheeks, all over the place, (and not in a good way either). Men in every shade of pastel golfing pants, man-pri's, short shorts, carrying accessories like fanny packs, man-bags, satchels, and I have even seen a legitimate purse or two. I have observed husbands and wives in matching cut-off shorts, and American flag jean vests and mullets, and entire families in coordinating ensembles. Oh, yes! Vegas is a cornucopia of fashion extremes and one of my favorite things to do is take it all in. I head back to the hotel around midnight when the fountains stop.
I pretty much avoid the dark and smokey casinos. They are creepy to me, and always remind me of the movie Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas (which I didn't like, and BTW I thought the book was worse (an old boyfriend gave it to me for my birthday...we broke up not long after.)) But I can't say that I never gamble. This year I spent a dollar on the penny slot machines. It seems hard to believe, but it took me an hour and twenty minutes to loose it all. I started betting five cents at a time because I was afraid I would be there all night.
I usually wake up pretty early and lay in bed and watch TV (something I never do and it feels so extravagant) until the pool opens, and then...I start all over again! Put on my swimsuit and...well, you know the rest!

I-5 and the San Joaquin Valley

The San Joaquin Valley is something to behold. Miles and miles of orchards and fields spread between the Sierra Nevada and Coast Range Mountains in a patchwork of unnatural green. I say unnatural because interspursed between the cherry orchards and vegetable rows are abandoned fields, yellow and dry as a bone. These anti-oasis all have one thing in common. They are marked with yellow signs that place the blame for their sorry state in four words: "Congress Created DUST BOWL". I am not sure exactly what that's all about (and maybe I should look it up and post a blog on it).
My most recent drive through the San Joaquin was just this past week, and in the summer it can be as hot in Wasco, and Kettleman City as anywhere in the Southwest United States. (And feels even hotter when you have to keep the a/c off because of car problems. I happen to know this from recent personal experience.) The humidity is much higher though than Phoenix say, so the air feels thick and heavy with plant detritus. It's very...organic. Speaking of Wasco, the wind (when you drive through town on Highway 46 in the middle of the summer) is saturated with the mixture of fresh and rotting flowers. It's a strange combination, and I am not sure if I like it or not. Mostly the flowers along the road were carnations but there were several other variety of flora in neat rows that flew past my window too quickly to be identified. It reminded me of driving through central Florida in the summer past the miles and miles of sugar cane plantations (except that in Cali the mosquitoes are much smaller (thank God!)).
The spring is the best time to head out through the Valley though. Once during April or May I was heading south down I-5 and I drove past a fruit orchard just coming into bloom and the little white flowers blew through the air, and collected on the roadside like snow. It went on for miles. It was so pretty on that cool windy afternoon, I have never to this day forgotten it.
The Interstate itself is pretty nice. Granted the exits are few and far between, and "points of interest" are non-existent, but I-5 has basically everything you'd want in an American thoroughfare, wide lanes, straight road, lots of trucks and truckers, pretty sunsets and a nice mixture of scenery (mountains to the west, fields to the east). The only flaw of the road in my opinion is the cow concentration camp near Coalinga. The smell is disturbing enough, but when I think about all those poor cows waiting to die...it makes me want to drive through the fence and set them all free. I love meat, but it makes me sad that places like that are why I can get it for 5.99 a pound. Eessh...anyway.
I like stopping for gas and seeing what the little convenience stores have for sale. Lot's of times they sell post cards for cities that are 100 or more miles away. I happen to know you can get a post card for Yosemite or Lake Tahoe at the Highway 152 interchange with I-5. Or a post card for Death Valley and Las Vegas on Highway 99 just north of Bakersfield. Sometimes they sell NFL stuff, or t-shirts for Route 66 (which isn't anywhere close by) or beer coozies that say "I don't get drunk, I get AWESOME" and so on. There is a Love's Travel Stop that I frequent at the exit for Lost Hills because they always have random stuff for sale that would not normally be of interest, but which I find irresistible when traveling. Once I stopped there and they had giant stuffed tigers for sale for 25.00. I thought to myself what a deal! and almost bought one! (I only refrained because I realized both myself and my tiger would not have fit in the tent that was to be my home for the next six weeks.) But since then I have purchased (at the Love's) bumper stickers, a cowboy hat, and an 80's Jams CD. This trip was no exception. Photo is of a couple treasures I acquired on my drive through the Valley on my way to Las Vegas this year (the lobster is a magnet, and his legs and antenna wiggle when you shake him). Enjoy!

Knight C3 to Wide Reciever

You might be wondering why I put football in the title of my blog when I've hardly discussed it. All I can say is wait until the season starts! As for right now it's kind of hard to write about it when nothing new is going on besides mini-camps and the fact that Adrian Peterson missed a mandatory Vikes practice to go celebrate himself in his hometown (isn't that nice?). But that's all part and parcel to being a football fan. You know the saying "you never know what you got until it's gone?" Well, the off season is our insurance that we never take the game for granted. I have gotten tired of a lot of things, but never football. In fact, I am feeling anxious for the season to start already!

Some people say football is "just a game", and with a roll of the eyes and a wave of their hand they dismiss it. This pisses me off. Of course football is a game, it's a super awesome game!
I think one of the things that non-sports people don't get is the complex strategy involved in every play of every game. Non-sports people are like, "What's the big deal? Some overpaid pretty boy throws a ball and 21 other guys run around like idiots trying to get it."
What's the big deal?!? I'll tell you!
Not only do players statistics, and injury status factor into the play calls, but so do things like match ups between players, wind speed and direction, ground conditions, which quarter they're in, and time left in the game. It's like chess in that each team tries several possessions in advance to predict what the other team will do, and circumvent the their plans. It's like war with positions and lines, deception and combat, except (happily) nobody dies. There is so much information taken into consideration for every play (for every player in every position) that I find it hard to believe those guys can keep it all straight and do whatever it is they are supposed to, and equally hard to think that other people are not fascinated by their ability to do so. There has been a stereotype that jocks are dumb, (the same stereotype has been applied to my own field of geology, and thus "rocks for jocks" became the unofficial title of Geology 101) but that is simply untrue. Football players may not unify general relativity and quantum physics but their reflexes are unsurpassed, their split second decision making skills are higher than most, and their observational skills would put Nancy Drew to shame. That's why it's so exciting!
I love watching how the game unfolds. I like figuring out why a play was called over another, I like to watch the fluidity of 11 guys all doing exactly what they are supposed to at the right time, and the (sometimes) fantastic results. I like when the quarterback or the defensive captain changes the play in reply to something they've seen across the field. It's like watching a choreographed routine where at any second the whole thing can change, but no one on the floor misses a beat. They all know what to do...they've practiced it a million times. I enjoy shouting at the TV when I think the coach or a player made the wrong call, and I could have done it better. I like when a risky play gets called and everyone knows the odds are stacked against it, but they go for it anyway.
Yes my friend football is a game...the best one there is.

I'll be God, You be Han Solo

Just in case my last blog was kind of depressing to anyone, I thought I'd throw this in to balance out the scales a little! Got it from Fail Blog.
(The fine print in the bottom says: "with his ??? AK-47 assault rifle (and) hallowed cloak of indivisibility.")

What Are You?

Animalia, Chordata, Mammalia, Primate, Hominidae, Homininae, Hominini, Homo, H. sapien. That's the easy answer, but what does that mean? I have found myself asking this question over and over in as many different contexts as you can imagine. I am coming to believe that until each of us finds our own answer this question, our personal sense of morality will be resting on shaky ground. It's such a difficult question to breach though. Where do I even start? It is becoming clear to me that whether religious or not, most people think we humans are "higher" or "separate" from all the rest of the animals on earth. Whether it be because we are made in the image of God, or because our brains evolved consciousness, there seems to be a common opinion that (for whatever reason) the rules that apply to the rest of biological life don't apply to us. And here I must confess the more I think about that the less I believe it's true. There are several reasons for this, a couple of which I'd like to explain here.

The first is that it is impossible for us to objectively view anything. We are 100% influenced by our consciousness, and our self awareness. There is no avoiding it. Everything I am writing is influenced by my ability to think about it, it can be no other way. Wolves cannot view the world outside of being a wolf, and although we'd like to think we could imagine what it would like to be a wolf, the fact that we can "imagine" being a wolf is the very reason why we could never really know what it's like to be one.
We think we have a responsibility to the planet and to all life on it, but we only do as far as it appears to us, through our own narrow paradigm. And what if our paradigm is wrong, or at the very least not as ethical as we think it is? That is where I pause, and find fault in the above argument. I am all for saving the polar bears and stopping global warming, but is driving my car less, and donating to the World Wildlife Fund really the moral thing to do? If the earth became hotter we might perish along with the polar bear and Emperor Penguins but the fact of the matter is there are millions of species that would actually benefit from the warmer climate and who knows what animals and bugs natural selection would favor then? Is it our moral (and ethical) obligation to save the bears (and ourselves) and deny a warm and blissful future to all the critters that would benefit from it? How can we even claim to have any idea what is best for nature, when we can only view it through our own eyes.
I wonder what if there had been "intelligent" life around during the time of the dinosaurs, and those conscientious beings (like us) had started a campaign to "Save the Dinosaurs!"? What if they succeeded in repopulating the earth with T-Rex's and Velocaraptors? Wouldn't they have felt like they were doing the moral thing by saving a species from the brink of extinction? Doesn't that sound familiar? But then where would we be right now exactly? Probably sleeping in a burrow surrounded by acorn shells and our own feces, that's where. Even if these imaginary beings were intelligent, they could not possibly foresee the consequences of their actions.
It surprises me we think we know more than nature. It surprises me that we really think we have any right or authority to alter things in any direction on purpose. We criticize ourselves for depleting the ozone, but we pat each other on the back for trying to rebuild it. What is the difference? In both instances we are changing somethingto suit ourselves, that left to it's own devices would be different. All animals leave their mark. Bears don't tidy up a moose carcass after they are done gorging themselves. They leave it behind and other animals and bacteria benefit from it. How is it that we think our brains know more about how things "should be" than three billion years of evolution? We say we are doing it for the planet, for all living things, but that isn't true. We are only doing it for ourselves, because the fact of the matter is the world would get along just fine without us. Actually it would probably get along better. The environmentalists shout that they are trying to save the earth. Being as objective as I can possibly be given my humanity, I would argue the best way to "save the earth" (in the way the environmentalists mean) is to get rid of us. And I'd also like to point out we are doing a good job of heading in that general direction. So maybe nature does know more than us after all. I could go on and on about this, but I think I have made my point, and if I ever want to finish this blog I'd better move on.

Number two. Evolution may be unpredictable, but there are still patters that can be seen. One thing that stands out is evolution sticks with what works. If it ain't broke, evolution doesn't fix it. That's the reason most animals have bilateral symmetry, why there are only a handful of body plans in all of the biological world, and why all mammals have hair. Every once in a while natural selections tries something new, after all that's how we get change. If the "new" adaption works it proliferates, if it doesn't it goes the way of the dodo. Good ideas are expressed in multiples, bad ideas are singular. That is why I find it interesting that we are the only ones that developed intelligence. (OK maybe chimps and dolphins too, but not to the degree we do, and certainly not the environmental impact we do). Isn't that odd? Think about adaptive traits and how they spread among species. Teeth, claws, fur, big ears. All of those traits can be found on a number of animals. But our big brains are pretty unique. And more than that, (and more to my point) look what it has resulted in? Dinosaurs, with their little brains roamed the earth for over 150,000,000 years, yet in about 200,000 years we H. sapiens have evolved to the point that we can cause our own extinction. As far as I know, this has never happened before. And evolutionarily speaking that is a huge disadvantage. Our genes want to live and be passed on, anything that hinders that process from occurring constitute an unfit species. I am beginning to believe that our intelligence and our consciousness are an evolutionary failure. Stated simply our big brains are a bad idea from a purely evolutionary standpoint. I don't think we will be a long lived species because we are committing every no-no in the evolutionary book. We are outgrowing our resources, we are overpopulating our habitats, we are creating things that are harmful to ourselves, we are our own greatest threat. Just think about that last one for a second. Can you think of any other animal who's greatest predator is it's own kind? That's about as f*!ked up as it gets where nature is concerned. Right now humanity does not fit the criteria of an evolutionary successful species. If I had to guess I'd say we were at the bottom of the list. We might think we are "moving" ahead with technology and research, but I disagree. In a way I feel that everything that is happening in the world, from a scientific standpoint, is inevitable.

I know this sounds depressing, and I guess it is in a way, but that's not how I feel about it. The most comforting thought I have these days is that I really am a part of the world I live in. I really belong here just as I am, as much as the oak tree out my office window, or the snails that have eaten all my plants. I mess things up, and I make mistakes (like BP and the oil spill), but nature doesn't hate me for it. It will just exploit whatever it can from whatever happens as a result of my life. The proliferation of life on our planet is the closest thing to a miracle I have ever witnessed, and to know that I am a part of that process is humbling and exhilarating. The thing is I am not sure how morality and ethics fits into this view of the world. Can I even have a sense of morality if I think everything that happens (in the large picture) is OK? Am I replacing god with nature, and making up excuses for myself? It's a slippery slope. I think about all the children starving in third world countries, and I want to save them all. But at the same time the facts are if we actually succeed in saving everyone there would be too many of us and we'd all die of starvation. What is the moral view to take? If anyone has any thoughts on this I'd sure like to hear them. This is one of those topics that always leads me around in circles, and causes me endless hours of frustration....that and it's almost my birthday and I always get grouchy around my birthday.

The New and the Old

New Orleans: The French Quarter, broken levees , home of the reigning Superbowl Champs, and makers of some of the best jambalaya in the south. But if that's the "new" Orleans, where/who was the old one that the city was named after?

The old Orleans (or original I should say) was Philippe II, Duke of Orleans, who took over the throne of France in 1715 as Regent, because the next king Louie the XV was still a child.
Philippe relieved much of the oppression and religious intollerence forced on the French people by the previous king (good ol' Louis XIV, know for his enjoyment of high heels and appalling taste in furniture) and abolished censorship of reading materials going so far as to re-publish many works banned by the old king. He made the Sorbonne into a public institution and opened the Royal Library of France to the public. He was openly athiest, and I can't help but think he was one of the biggest influence in early 18th century France. He opened up stage for philosophers like Rousseau and Voltaire, who would been oppressed by earlier regimes. (That didn't stop them from criticizing Phillipe though.) Not that I am keeping score or anything but religion:0, athiests: 1.

The Philospoher's Stone

When we hear the word alchemy we think of wizards, lizard eyeballs, and magic spells. There is probably some truth to those claims, especially in the very earliest mentions of it. But there is another truth that is less well known and probably a good deal more accurate. Alchemy at least from the 1600's on was considered a true field of research. It was an accepted and legitimate science, practiced by such men as Sir Isaac Newton, Roger Bacon, and Tycho Brahe. In fact Newton wrote more about his study of alchemy than any of his more well known works. It was less mystical by then but no less sought after.
It might seem crazy to us to think someone like Newton would become involved in such folly as trying to turn base metals into gold, but if we take a moment to understand the context which led him to believe it was possible it really doesn't seem so far fetched after all. Let me give you an example.

At the time, there was no such thing as inorganic chemistry. In fact alchemy was the precursor to all study of chemistry. Scientists didn't know about or understand chemical reactions and crystal growth during Newtons time. Many alchemists believed, (Newton included) that gold could grow, like a tree or plant by adding the correct "nutrient" recipe of sulfur, mercury, and among other things a secret ingredient called the philosopher's stone . Why would the brilliant minds of the 17th century think that? Our first instinct is to think they were nuts. But we would be wrong. They thought gold could grow because they observed (correctly) that often times in veins of quarts, gold is found deposited in a dendritic pattern. They also noted (correctly) that most plants have adopted the same morphology, and in fact look strikingly similar. And since plants grow...


If you didn't know answer and someone showed you the above pictures and asked you if they were all made the same way what would you say? They didn't have microscopes that would allow them to see that gold didn't have cells like plants did. And it turns out when they mix mercury with gold it (I don't know the technical aspects of this) it can cause the atoms to re-arange, which the alchemist too optimistically thought was "growth".

Many of the other reasons for thinking that gold could be made out of lesser metals were along these lines. They weren't off the wall mutterings of lunatics (at least not before the mercury poisoning got to them). The arguments were sound at the time, and it was only much later when technology had advanced enough that scientists abandoned the idea. Before then, as far as anyone knew it might still be possible. We might think alchemy is a joke now, but we shouldn't forget it's scientific past. And just because someone somewhere might have tried to make gold out of chicken feet doesn't mean there wasn't (possibly) a good reason for them to think it might work.

Questions Concerning Life

Do you ever find yourself stuck on a question you keep asking yourself, but can't ever find an answer to? That happens to me a lot. One that has been bugging me on and off for years is the idea of "living each day like it is your last". This has always made sense to me. I feel strongly that not a moment of our lives should be wasted, and if we want to do something we should just do it. But the fact of the matter is, it doesn't work. It only works if it actually is your last day to live. If you have another several thousand days ahead of you, the idea falls apart. If I had one day to live, I would sure as hell not spend it sitting here at work writing this blog. But if I up and leave and do what I really want to without worrying about tomorrow then I might find myself next month or next year living in a cardboard box. So should I stay and work (when I'd rather be taking my trip to New England), or do I go, and loose my job? I think about what is important to me. And you know what? Work, and paying bills are not on the top of that list. But I still have to do them right?
Is it possible to live a normal length life the way you would if you knew you were about to die? I don't think so, but I just feel like it should be possible. I want every moment and every thought, and everything to matter, because (at least I believe) this is my one shot at it all. But I find that when I think that way, my life becomes very frustrating to me. The saying is "carpe diem, seize the day!" But can you really do that if you have to worry about tomorrow too?

Love Your Guts, Don't Hate Them

It's weird to think that there are million (possibly billions?) of lives being lived right inside out own bodies. We carry around anywhere from 2 to 4 pounds of bacteria in our guts. Our bodies are an ecosystem, and that is really....OK, gross in a way, but awesome too! The best news is because of our bacteria we are never really alone. Think about it, if you were stranded in the middle of a desert wouldn't it be comforting to think you and millions of other living things were out there and not just you by yourself? It would make me feel better.
Bacteria is important in child birth too if you can believe that! I just read an article that says that babies born naturally tend to be healthier than babies born C-section because their first contact with skin outside the womb is what forms the base of their bacterial assemblage (for life). Normally when the baby passes through the vagina it picks up the bacteria from the mother, but when the baby is taken straight from the womb, via C-section the child can get the bacteria from the father, or even the doctor or nurses depending on who holds it first, which can cause problems later down the road. Isn't that something? A baby gets it's first does of bacteria before it takes it's first breath!
Our obsession with anti-bacterial everything is...well, not pointless, but at the very least it is over emphasized. Not that I dwell on it, but there is bacteria everywhere, in our bodies, on our skin, on every surface we touch. Some will kill us, and some we would die without, but that's life. What a cool and crazy world hu?

New England Shore

Sometimes I really get into the strangest things. Lately it's been reading about crustaceans. I read an awesome books a few months back about lobsters called The Secret Life of Lobsters (by T. Corson), and now I am reading Beautiful Swimmers by W. Warner, which is about blue crabs and that is turning out to be pretty amazing as well.
All of these have me itching to take a trip to New England, and see if I can't bribe a fisherman to take me along for a day. I want to help sort peelers and soft shells, and be able to see the discern the signals of an impending molt. I want to wear a big sweater, and rubber boots. I want to catch my own lobster (or crab, I'm not picky), and gorge myself on fresh seafood. I want to hear the old timers tell stories that start out with "It was back in the springtime of 62' and..."
In my reading it seems like another world, those little fishing towns scattered on the coastal islands. It's a grimy life and a hard one, but the fishermen and their families are drawn to it just the same. They themselves can't explain why they'd rather be knee deep in stinky lobsters instead of sitting in an office somewhere. That last part, above all the rest is what is most interesting to me. It sounds so awful, the pay isn't that great, the weather and the animals themselves are unpredictable, the hours are bad, the benefits are worse....but they love it. I don't get that. I must be missing something. That's why I want to go check it out.
One of these days I'll get there. Until then my books will have to do.

The Schwarzenegger of Cows

She ain't your typical bovine. Belgian Blues, like the ones pictured here, have a (naturally occuring) faulty copy of the gene that regulates muscle development causing their muscles to grow faster and much larger than normal cattle. They are now purposely being bred by farmers as meat cattle. Holy double cheeseburger!

Poor Lucy

Lucy Temerlin was not a movie star, or a human even. Lucy was a chimpanzee born in 1964 and part of an experiment conducted by Dr. Maurice Temerlin, and his wife Jane to see what would happen if a chimp was raised as a human child. The following might sound unbelievable, and sad but it's all true.
So Lucy was raised as a little girl, and lived with the Temerlin's for 12 years. She wore clothes, and was potty trained. She ate with silverware at the dinner table. She learned 120 signs in sign language. She would make tea (boil water, get tea bags out of pantry, the whole thing from start to finish) for guests that came over to visit her. She had a pet cat which she took care of. She loved gin and tonics, and mixed her own. She could lie, and did so frequently when she thought she was going to get in trouble. She watched TV, and liked to color and flip through magazines. Like a normal child she was terrified when they introduced her to another chimpanzee, and said she thought it was ugly. Lucy thought she was a human. When separating pictures of animals and humans she was 100% accurate except when she placed her own photo on the "human" pile. She was not attracted to chimps but rather human men, and she masturbated to PlayGirl magazine, and ads with attractive men in them. She was very perceptive to human moods and often tried to make people feel better by giving lots of hugs and being silly to "cheer them up".
She was, for all intents and purposes, a little girl with friends, hobbies and all the normal little girl things.
But after 12 years the experiment had run it's course. So Dr. Temerlin and his wife took Lucy to a chimpanzee reserve in Africa where they basically abandoned her. They stayed a week to help their "daughter" adjust to living in the jungle, and then went home and got on with their lives. Lucy who had been a raised as a human child, who lived in a house and slept in a bed, who had a mom and dad, who liked to have tea parties and watch movies, was literally dumped by her parents into the middle of the jungle all on her own. She was terrified. She didn't know how to forage for food and she was afraid of the other chimps.
Luckily there was a woman named Janis Carter who stayed with Lucy for several years and helped her adjust.
There was no happy ending for Lucy though. In 1987 Lucy's body was found by Janis. She had been skinned and her hands and feet had been cut off. And that's the end of the story.

When I read about this I was outraged. I still am. That poor little chimp. That a supposed scientist (a psychotherapist, if you can believe that) could be so cruel and heartless is beyond my imagination. How could they raise her like a child and then treat her like an animal afterward? It just boggles my mind. The traditional superiority that we have when we think about our place in the animal world is wrong. These kinds of experiments would never happen if we didn't incorrectly label humans and animals as two separate things. I don't know if this kind of experimentation still happens or not, but I certainly hope it doesn't. I'll tell you something, some days I feel privileged to be a member of my species, and some days I am ashamed of it. The day I "met" Lucy I was the latter.

What Great Men Aren't

I have noticed a pattern emerging in my readings about who we as a society consider to be "great" men (this whole discussion goes for women too). Who do I mean? Well, I am talking about scientists like Newton and Mendel, I am talking about adventurers like Ernest Shakleton, I am talking about sports icons like Vince Lombardi.
All these men accomplished something that makes them truly extraordinary, but what I have discovered is that it seems they had to really suck a lot at something else to become great. None of them was well rounded, none of them were well adjusted. They were brilliant in one way and absolutely ass-backwards in almost everything else. Want to know what I mean?

Isaac Newton: Described laws of gravity and died a virgin (of mercury poisoning) because he had a debilitating fear of women.

Gregor Mendel: Called the Father of genetics, did brilliant meticulous research and suffered from nervous breakdowns from things like taking tests. Spent years at a time bed ridden.

Ernest Shakleton: Natural born leader of men and Antarctic explorer who couldn't hold a job (his wife supported herself and their children) cheated on his wife (with sometimes 3 different women at a time) and was a terrible father figure to his kids because he was never around and was depressed when he was home with them.

Vince Lombardi: One of the top football coaches of all time, and a pitiful husband. He treated his players better than he treated his own wife. She became an alcoholic and his kids were terrified of him until the day he died.

You see what I mean? I am coming to the conclusion that "great" men generally don't make good friends, husbands and fathers. They might be awesome coaches, or leaders, or scientists but they are shitty spouses and dads. And realizing that has changed they way I think about my own ambition. I used to want to be one of those people who did something big. But now I am not so sure.
I am not writing this because I think we need to take our hero's down a notch, I guess I am writing it because I think we need take our opinion of "average" men (and women) up a few.

Quote of the Day

"Clothes make the man. Naked people have little or no influence on society." -Mark Twain

Learning the Lingo

The new book I am reading is all about blue crabs, and it's really interesting so far. I thought I'd pass along a little crab terminology, just in case you ever find yourself talking to a waterman on Chesapeake Bay and don't want to sound like an crustacean novice.

carcinology

the branch of zoology that studies crustaceans. — carcinologist, n. — carcinologic, carcinological, adj.

Sook
Female blue crab that is mature

Jimmy
Male blue crab that is mature

doublers
When during mating the male carries the freshly molted female under his body.

autotomy
the spontaneous casting off of a limb or other body part, such as the tail of some lizards or the claws of lobsters and crabs when the animal is injured or under atack

Ohmigosh!

This is quite possibly the cutest animal I have ever seen! What is it? A Cama of course! A hybrid between a llama and a camel! I WANT ONE! I think I might add this guy to my Christmas List.

Would Big Foot Make a Good Linebacker?

Would Big Foot make a good football player? I'd like to take credit for this awesome question, but alas I cannot. It was my brother who proposed it, and I think he meant it as a joke. At any rate I am sure he wasn't expecting me to take it seriously (well as serious as you can take any question involving Big Foot). But after some digging around on the Internet, here is what I came up with.

Most people claim that Big Foot is around ten feet tall, and one website indicates that witnesses have seen a BF pick up a bucket of rocks weighing 250 lb. It isn't clear why he (or she) wanted a bucket of rocks, and my guess would be that the bucket and not the rock was the prize, but I digress. Based on this information it seems likely in theory that BF would rule the football field in athletic prowess. But the same site claims that they rarely (if ever) leave the shade of the forest and allow themselves to be exposed in wide open.(That's why there are no Big Foots in Arizona or Iowa.) Extrapolate to football and their height would be an obvious advantage in blocking passes (and possibly in throwing them), and they'd be great on a special teams squad to bat down field goal attempts, but their fear of being out in the open might trump their height advantage on the traditional treeless football field. It's hard to say for sure, but I don't think Biggie is destined for the NFL.
There are several other reasons why I don't believe Big Foot could play football though. Most "researchers" think that BF is one of our cousin primates like gorillas, although one site claimed that BF might be a retro-evolved Neanderthal. (That means it might be able to break a nut open with a rock, but it probably couldn't work the Gatoraide cooler on the sidelines). It is possible that the Neanderthal might possess the brain power to play a simple game (like run from the sabertooth tiger) but it is much too optimistic to think they could remember what "52-34-19-Omaha-right flat-on three" meant.
The above linked website also says that the brain of Big Foot is small for the size of it's body, and that's never good news. While it's true the most football players look like their heads are also too small for their bodies, this is only an illusion. Their heads are the right size it's their necks that are too big. Buy anyway, it appears that BF does not have space in it's hairy head to house the rules and strategy required of a football player. It's literally too dumb. But even if he was smart, there would still be problems.
Another roadblock to BF playing ball is that most "witnesses" indicate that they smell terrible, (like rotten rhinoceros intestines covered in drunk person throw up, jock strap sweat, burnt hair and garnished with a dollop of dog diarrhea ) and thus induces involuntary vomiting by all humans within smelling distance. So that would also potentially be a problem for the BF's human teammates, as well as the fans sitting in the first several rows which could result in a decrease revenue for teams, and (in Green Bay) the retiring of the infamous Lambeau Leap. This could possibly be circumvented with sponsorship by Old Spice plus shaving/ and or waxing BF from head to toe, although I don't know what the upkeep would be on something like that. And I definitely wouldn't want to be within 100 yards of Bigfoot when he is getting his ass waxed. It would probably be a full time job and require an extra (very brave) staff member as well.
Another problem is that BF eats a LOT. A normal BF requires about 5,000 calories a day, but a buff-tastic football playing BF would probably require about 10,000. If you combine the amount of time (and skill) required to hunt squirrels, small foxes, rabbits, moles, chipmunks, birds and the occasional skunk (which are BF's favorite foods) and the time it would take BF to consume ten thousand calories of them daily, plus the time for the above waxing and add to it the cost of shotgun shells, plus vitamins and supplements, it's just not economical.
The final problem would be what to do with BF's supposed 4"x 3' long logs of feces, that it might not be able to hold until an appropriate time. Shocked?!? Oh yes, I was too. The length and diameter of BF excrement has apparently been "documented", and for once I thank god the website didn't have photos. Not only would it be a plumbing disaster in the locker room, it could also be a tripping hazard should he have an accident (which gorillas and orangutans often do) on the field. The only solution I can think of is a zamboni-like pooper-scooper, and a portable incinerator, but that would just be silly, not to mention a turn-off for fans as a precursor to all those Budweiser and Chili's commercials they play on TV. 
So the (long) short answer to the question of whether or not Big Foot would make a good football player? No, he would not.

Interesting Big Foot "facts" (taken from above website)

• It would be ideal for a human observer, in an unanticipated encounter, not to stare at the animal, but to sit on the ground, scratch him or herself, "groom" a companion, or "eat" anything within reach in order to convey as benign an impression as possible. In one instance, in which this behavior was followed, the sasquatch tarried long enough to be "talked" to.

• Their feces are sausage-shaped, up to 4" inches in diameter and up to three feet long, forming a folded heap. They are replete with numerous intestinal parasites, including hook worms, as well as small bones, hair of prey and ample vegetal matter. A sasquatch has been observed to wipe itself with its hand and lick its fingers briefly, a decidedly simian gesture.

• the nutritional needs of an average sasquatch can be calculated to amount to about 5,000 calories per day.

Quote of the Day

"She dreams her champagne dreams, strawberry surprise, pink linen on white paper. Lavender and cream, fields of butterflies, reality escapes her." -Fuel

Shadows of Our Ancestors Part:1

I have been putting off on writing my summary of Shadows of Forgotten Ancestors by C. Sagan and A. Druyan because I wasn't sure how I should approach it. I have decided not to try to re-tell the story, but instead list some of the brief interesting facts I have come across while reading the book. I will save the longer passages for further blogs. Ok, So here I go!

1. Mitochondria have their own DNA (separate from our own which is why we know they were once an independent organism).
2. The flame (from a fire) is not a gas, or liquid or solid. It is a fourth state of matter called plasma.
3. There is no living ancestor of humans alive on earth. (This seems obvious but many people think when evolutionists say we evolved from apes, they are referring to existing species.)
4. At the time of the Cretaceous impact event the entire earth was consumed with fire. (Evidence is a worldwide layer of soot.)
5. It takes two hours for 16,000 beetles to devour a pile of elephant poop. (This one is kind of random, but I thought it was cool.)
6. Individual asexual organisms die by mistake (i.e not of "natural causes" as we phrase the term.)
7. Sexual organisms are designed to die. It is literally programmed into out DNA.
8. The trade off for being destined to die is a hereditary line of individuals that can quickly adapt to change.
9. Not only can dogs hear better than humans so can sharks and cicadas.
10. In canine behavior a dog that rolls on it's back and exposes it's chest is basically saying "Hey Boss, you can rip out my internal organs if you want, but I'd prefer to be friends."
    
11. The tradition of waving as a friendly greeting began as a sign to others that you (the approaching person) were unarmed and had nothing in your hands.
12. If a human talks to a duck egg during incubation the duckling will peep from inside of the egg, and assume the human is it's mother once it hatches. (So cute to think about!!!)
    
13. Culture is the result of early learning and prolonged childhood. Only species that display such a tradition are capable of culture.
    
14. The sex pheromone 5-alpha androstenol is found in pig saliva, truffles and the human male armpit.

I am going to stop there for now. Look for the next installment soon.

Stud Muffin Defined

Stud Muffin: stud·muf·fin [ stúd mùffin ] (plural stud·muf·fins) A category of male attractiveness where stud refers to the anatomical equivalence in stature and form (often exaggerated) of the male reproductive apparatus to that of the Equus genus (See: "hung like a horse"), which implies a higher than average sperm count and a lower than average chance of unsightly offspring. And where muffin is utilized as a metaphore for the (generally erroneous) belief held by females that the stud can be persuaded, primarily through sex, into culinary domestication, foot massages and discussions of personal feelings.

The Tale of Kale...A Scientific Inquiry

(Note: This short story is directly inspired (in general idea, and writing style) by my recent infatuation with M. Twain)

You are never going to believe me, but I swear this is the truth, and I will recount it just as it happened, and as best as I remember, leaving out no thought or detail.
Way back yesterday I came across a recipe for baked kale chips (the leafy green veggie) while aimlessly cruising the Internet. How I arrived upon it is something of a mystery (like the lost colony of Roanoke, or where Jimmy Hoffa is buried). As best I remember I followed a link from one page and then another and then three to five more after that until there was no hope of ever finding my way back to the Google home page by the route I'd come. However I managed it, suddenly there before me was the recipe. It was most unexpected (and both my eyebrows shot up accordingly), kind of like walking down a dark alleyway, and finding an old man smoking a pipe and reading a paper in a purple and green polka-dot recliner. It was just that strange. Ironically, if someone had asked me moments earlier what was the least likely thing I thought I might come across on the Internet I feel certain I would have answered, "A recipe for kale chips." And if someone had asked me what was the least likely thing I thought I might find at the end of a dark alley I would have said a old man smoking a pipe and....well you know.
Normally at this point I would beat a hasty retreat since I find "vegetable"chips (excluding potatoes of course) of any variety among the most frightening things I can think of (along with high heeled tennis shoes, people who name their babies after characters from Lord of the Rings, and airplanes made out of wood) but with a morbid curiosity not unlike peeking out behind a pillow when watching a horror film, I read on.
Anyway the author of the recipe said she ( I am just going out on a limb and assuming the lady is a she. I could be wrong but most ladies are not men, and men don't eat diet chips and so you see the clear line of reasoning here...it all adds up to the lady being a woman. I'm not saying that guys and gals don't equally like to have our cake and eat it too (as the saying goes) it's just that we women seem to like our cake without any calories, no matter what the cost. Speaking of cake I tried a "diet" cake once, it was like eating a cracker of wheat flour and sand with a dash of Splenda sprinkled on top....but I digress.) So where was I? Oh! Of course. The author of the recipe said she used kale chips as a substitute for potato chips. Impossible I thought. That poor woman must be delusional (the sort of mad person that wears a dirty bathrobe all day and mutters to herself in the mirror mistaking her own reflection for that of the "crazy lady" that she is certain is always staring at her). I could just see her eating radishes and telling herself they were strawberries. In my mind I watched her piling them on top of her "diet" shortcake, and writing a recipe for that too. As lovely as it would be, I told myself, there is just no way a bland, nutritious, healthy, green vegetable could possibly supplant the deliciously salty, cholesterol laden and fat saturated euphoria produced by that dream within a dream: the potato chip. There is just no way. I rolled my eyes but diligently read on, all the while thinking this was one of those ideas that needed to be trashed, thrown away and forgotten along with soy hot dogs, vegemite, spray on hair, skinny jeans and reusable toothpicks.
Anyway being the ever vigilant scientist I am it occurred to me that it would be unforgivable, never mind unscientific, to state the above as a fact without a rigorous experiment to prove the truth of it. How many sorry people have made false claims based on nothing but opinion! On of my most awful nightmares is to become so confused. I had (in the past, although I cannot recall the date exactly, April or May 1995?) vowed never to become one of those lost and ignorant souls so I knew even though it irked me, I needed to test my hypothesis. My culinary sensibility sighed in annoyance while the scientist is me cried "Sally forth my brave girl!"
So I "sallied" (in my car of course) to the grocery store after work and purchased a bunch of kale, which to my regret was not on sale. The cashier raised an eyebrow when I went through the line, as it was my only purchase. "What is this for?" She asked with a smile. "I am making chips." I responded solemnly. My comment was followed by an awkward silence as her smile pressed itself into a frown. For the rest of our brief encounter her eyes darted back and forth like balls in a pinball machine in every direction but mine. She didn't speak to me again either as though any further verbal contact might expose her to whatever mental illness I had inadvertently contracted. (Who was I to criticize her hypothesis? I had only read the words of Crazy Recipe Lady, and look where I was?) Even so, I squared my shoulders and lifted my chin, as she silently handed me the receipt while staring at my left ear.
The perils of scientific inquiry are often difficult, I told myself. More than once a scientist has been looked upon with skepticism, and this situation was no different. I was not the first scientist to be viewed as "a little cream cheese short of a shmear", and it was very unlikely that I would be the last. "She probably eats radishes on her strawberry short cake." I think she mumbled under her breath as I walked out of the store.
When I got home I set to work. I put my hair back in a ponytail, wrapped my apron securely around my waist. Took it off and got a different one because the first one was dirty and needed to be washed. Then washed my hands. I laid out all my ingredients on the counter. This was going to be a lot of work and from my best guess I calculated I would dirty approximately two bowls, a whisk, a spoon, and one baking sheet. That was no good as washing dishes seriously cuts into my evening reading time...besides I decided it was too much work for an experiment I was sure was going to fail. Then I was struck by a thought. Call it genius, or brilliance, (or whatever other word you want to use that implies superior mental power focused to produce a better than average idea). It shot through my brain like an invisible bullet with no mass, whereupon it lodged itself in the front of my consciousness. I quickly put everything away, including the whisk. The recipe called for apple cider vinegar, oil, and some other stuff. But, as we all agreed, I am a genius and on top of that I am lazy (we'll we didn't actually discuss that I am lazy, but I am sure you would concur were all the facts laid before you). So I just decided to coat the leaves in a light layer of Italian dressing (with my hands over the sink). It took me longer to tie my apron than it did to prepare my kale. I turned the oven on to 350 and waited until it warmed.
While I was waiting I eyed the kale suspiciously. Not suspiciously like i thought it was going to leap off the cookie sheet and try to kill me, but suspiciously like why would the Crazy Recipe Lady choose kale and not..oh I don't know, cabbage or rhubarb? Just then it occurred to me maybe she didn't eat all the chips afterward, maybe she smoked some of them too. Who knew? If kale could get you high that would explain why she thought the chips tasted so good, and why she was often inclined to eat the whole batch. It made scientific sense. At any rate I decided I would leave the experimental smoking of vegetable produce for another day. I took a bite of the raw kale, just out of curiosity. It was really tough and kind of bitter, just as I expected. If brussel sprouts and a head of lettuce were somehow able to break the rule of extra-species mating and have a baby, I am sure it would closely resemble kale. I spit it in the trash. I thought to give up on the whole experiment right then, but I told myself I'd come this far, and my reward for finishing the process would be a totally justified and scientifically based scathing review of the recipe on the authors page (that is, assuming I could ever fine the web page again, which was unlikely, but I suppose at least theoretically possible). So I popped the kale in the oven and baked it for...oh 12 or so minutes...then I pulled it out and waited for it to cool. It looked like it did before, but dryer and more shriveled up. It looked like stuff I had seen growing on rocks along stream beds.
I poured myself a large glass of water and opened a beer before I tested my first piece, just in case I needed an emergency mouth rinse. I reached for a tiny piece, and sniffed it. It didn't smell like much and it was very crumbly, like a thousand year old piece of parchment. Hopefully it doesn't taste like one I thought as I took the plunge, and set it on my tongue. I began to chew before I could change my mind. It was too late to turn back now! I chewed vigorously. The cold brewski in my hand was my only comfort in the following moments of uncertainty.
The crispy green leaf was gone (probably half way to my stomach by the rate at which I was swallowing) before it registered in my brain that my tongue actually enjoyed the experience. I stopped. Could it be? Had I lost my mind?!? Why, it was delicious! Not exactly a potato chip mind you, but something close and yummy, and just as addictive. And it was good for me? I almost fainted in disbelief. It was too much. Who would have thought I would live long enough to see such a miracle? I ate the entire tray, stopping only briefly to take a breath and marvel at my discovery. Even my accidental pairing with Miller Lite ended up being what some might call divine inspiration.
I certainly learned my lesson. You becha. It goes to show you ( and me, and everyone else for that matter) why experimentation is so important, even when we are so sure what the outcome will be. Most of the time we will probably be right. But those few times we are wrong (and pleasantly so) make all the process of discovery worth while.

P.S. The author would like to apologize for calling the above mentioned Crazy Recipe Lady crazy.

Quote of the Day

"The invisible and the non-existent look very much alike." -Delo McKown

What in the Hell is a Spandrel?

Spandrel: 1.) is the space between two arches or between an arch and a rectangular enclosure.

What does that have to do with anything you might wonder? Well, for some reason I have heard that word crop up again and again in discussions on evolutionary theory. In it's technical sense, spandrel refers to the space created (unintentionally) when the actual physical structure of an arc is formed. But what it represents when used in the context of evolutionary theory is more along the lines of:

Spandrel: 2.) a trait created unintentionally, as the result of some other trait which has evolutionary value. (Note: This is not an official definition, it is just the definition as I understand it to be.)

Using the architectural example the spandrel (space between wall and arch) has no value, and doesn't do anything besides allow the arc to be the shape necessary to form it's function. The evolutionary parallel is a trait/quality that was seemingly developed "by accident" or as a byproduct of some more useful trait. For example, the brain did not evolve to a larger size to accommodate language. But as a result of a larger brain (i.e. the arc) language (the spandrel) was able to develop.

Need A Laugh?

I spent the weekend, well, half the weekend, reading several of Mark Twain's short stories. And let me tell you something. I can't remember the last time I laughed out loud while reading! The stories range from hilarious to ironic, and the majority of them would be considered "tall tales" on the grounds that they often recount events which could never occur, like having conversations with skeletons, or cats that are experts in placer mining.
But I thought I'd pass along a couple of the stories that I believe would truly improve your day, if not your whole literary life. So if by chance you have a few moments to spare (perhaps over a cup of coffee and a scone?) give these a read!

A Day at Niagra

Political Economy

(Note: In Political Economy the funniest part is toward the end, so don't give up half way through!)

The Heart of California

When most people think of California images of girls in bikini's surfing, or maybe Brangalina and the Hollywood scene come to mind. Or I guess some people might think of the Golden Gate Bridge, El Capitan in Yosemite, or Highway 1 at Big Sur.
But in reality, for the most part California is none of those things. I have lived here long enough to know that. I also know that while interesting an/or beautiful, none of the above mentioned images is unique to the state. There are things though that separate California from the rest of the Union and conicidentally they are also my favorite things about living here. And they are abundant from San Jose to L.A. and beyond. In a way they comprise the core, the heart, the "essence" of California if you will.

It's the smell of the dry grass in the middle of the hot, parched, summer. When it is briefly wet with dew in the morning is when it is most addictive, and you can't get enough of it. It smells like life, like the old west, like adventure, like nature. If I didn't know any better I'd say that noses evolved just so we could appreciate this perfect smell.
It is the empty, treeless, yellow, hills that stretch for miles and miles, their smooth and gently rolling crests upolstered in gold shag carpet, and siluetted against a bright blue cloudless sky. These are the hills of Steinbeck, dusty and unforgiving in the heat of the day, barren and desolate under a full moon, but somehow still beautiful.
It is the scent of the redwoods, lodgepole pines and sequoias that drifts down from the higher mountains on the back of cool breezes that refresh your nostrils and cause you to gaze upward imagining a cool stream flowing gently through the rocks above. Images of pioneers, 49ers, Saloon Girls, and whiskey hover in your subconscious for just a moment and then vanish.
It is the mountains themselves rising up from the valleys in every direction like islands shrouded in a purple mist, framing the horizon, beckoning you to join them, to explore them, to break free of it all and run away to them as you sit in your car on the freeway locked in rush hour traffic.
This is the California I think of. This is the California I love.