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Archive for the ‘Miscellanea’ Category

Of the numerous ways we humans have botched our stewardship of the planet, it’s fair to say that the most egregious is our failure to address the global warming crisis. The Greenhouse Effect will turn the Earth into another Venus, but — oh, well.

Another of our monumental disappointments, although not at such a hair-on-fire level, is our use, overuse, and misuse of plastics.

Plastic is, literally, both a blessing and a curse. It proved to be adaptable, useful, and cheap, so we embraced it without reservation or caution. Now we are drowning in it.

Let me start with a definition. A polymer is a strong, elastic material consisting of long chains of molecules. It is common in nature; the cell walls of plants are made of cellulose, a natural polymer.

In 1869, American inventor John Wesley Hyatt created the first man-made polymer. He did so while seeking a $10,000 prize offered by a manufacturer of billiard balls. To its credit, the company wanted to find an alternative to elephant ivory.

Specifically, Hyatt treated cotton fiber (cellulose) with camphor. The result was celluloid, a partially synthetic polymer that could be molded into various shapes before it hardened. The substance was, in other words, formative. Plastic.

Hyatt’s discovery was groundbreaking. It provided an abundant new material to use in place of wood, stone, metal, etc. Although cellulose was only partly synthetic, the idea was celebrated as a way to preserve natural resources.

The first fully synthetic plastic, Bakelite, was created in 1907 by Leo Baekeland, a Belgian chemist. Bakelite contained no natural molecules. It was durable, heat-resistant, easily moldable, and ideal for mass production. The plastics revolution was underway.

Worldwide, the chemical industry invested heavily in developing more and better types of plastic. By World War II, the US military had switched from glass and silk to acrylic and nylon.

The production of plastics in the US tripled. Plastic soon replaced steel in cars, paper in packaging, and wood in everything. Plastic was a miracle — cheap, safe, and sanitary.

But soon enough, reality intervened. Plastic doesn’t conveniently biodegrade and disappear as do most natural materials. Plastic just piles up.

As early as the 1960s, an alarming amount of plastic waste was polluting waterways and accumulating in landfills.

Although we humans have acknowledged the problem, we have not dealt with it even remotely well. That’s no surprise, because plastics are crucial and profitable to business, industry, and government.

Accordingly, other than rolling out feel-good efforts at recycling, we have done little to rethink the production of plastics or to mitigate the waste problem.

Some relevant statistics…

A few years ago, a study by several universities found that, by 2015, humans had generated 8.3 billion metric tons of plastic.

For perspective, 8.3 billion metric tons is equal to the weight of 822,000 Eiffel Towers, 80 million blue whales, or one billion elephants.

Of that 8.3 billion metric tons, 6.3 billion has been discarded as waste.

Greenpeace says we have recycled roughly five percent of our plastic waste. About 79 percent is sitting in landfills.

Every year, Americans discard 35 billion plastic bags and pieces of plastic packaging.

According to the EPA, we recycle a mere 10 percent of the plastic bags we use.

Every year, an additional eight million metric tons of plastic waste finds its way into the oceans.

Since 1988, scientists have been aware of several massive and growing garbage patches in the oceans of the world. For the most part, the patches are comprised of bits of microplastics, plus pieces of larger plastic items — pens, toothbrushes, plastic bags — that are slowly fragmenting into microplastics.

The largest of the patches, the Great Pacific Garbage Patch, covers about 620,000 square miles. Some of the plastic floats on the surface in island-like clumps, but a far greater volume is suspended underwater, out of sight.

Why is the plastics crisis essentially in limbo and not being addressed intelligently? For the same reason the global warming crisis isn’t being solved: too many entities, primarily corporations and governments, profit from the status quo.

What to do? How should shrewd, enterprising, forward-thinkers — people with connections and resources — approach the problem of plastics?

For starters, they should take advantage of plastic’s pesky longevity. Find ways to use it to construct things that we want to last — highways, runways, sidewalks. Homes, schools, office buildings.

In addition, they should look for solutions that (a) make more sense than using plastics and (b) yield better profits.

In that regard, the British startup Pulpex may be onto something promising.

Recently, the UK alcoholic beverage company Diageo (Guinness, Johnnie Walter, Smirnoff) founded Pulpex, a “sustainable packaging” company that has developed a container made of wood pulp.

The Pulpex container is a bottle made of paper. As such, it is biodegradable and easily recyclable after use. Assuming the manufacturing costs are suitably low, that makes it a potential replacement for plastic and glass.

Pulpex pressure-forms wood pulp into bottles of the desired size and shape, then seals the interior with a food-grade coating. Reportedly, Pulpex bottles are made of renewably-sourced wood and can be any shape, size, or color.

Among the first commercial products to be rolled out in Pulpex containers are Diageo’s own Johnnie Walker Black Label, Heinz Ketchup, and Castrol Motor Oil.

The Pulpex model is a simple and smart idea — a positive step.

On the other hand, it doesn’t address the 6.3 billion metric tons of plastic waste our species already has discarded.

Which, for perspective, is equal to the weight of 661,500 Eiffel Towers, 60 million blue whales, or 750 million elephants.

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Happy Endings

My hair stylist of the last dozen years has retired early, for interesting reasons. When I met her, she was in her early 20s and newly married, but her doctors told her she was unable to have children. Except — oops — she turned up pregnant.

But complications arose. She had several scares when her blood pressure tanked. She almost died during delivery, and the baby was premature. But mother and son eventually recovered.

Two years later, against the advice of her doctors, she got pregnant again. After a difficult time and another scary early delivery, she and her second boy rebounded, albeit slowly.

Two years ago, against the advice of doctors, family, and friends, she became pregnant again. But this time, the pregnancy was textbook normal. No health issues whatsoever. After a full nine-month term, she delivered a healthy girl without incident.

My friend is now a stay-at-home mom, home-schooling the two boys. I see the family around town sometimes. My back-up hair stylist is now the primary.

This story makes me happy.

Pandemonium

A dramatic incident occurred recently in my usually quiet life. It consisted of 10 seconds of utter chaos, an episode that is etched forever in my memory banks. I chuckle out loud each time I mentally replay the scene.

Not long ago on a morning walk, my dog Jake surprised a squirrel — surprised as in met it eyeball to eyeball as we rounded the corner of an old shed. The startled squirrel leapt into the air, bounced off the side of the shed, zipped across Jake’s back, and scrambled up to the shed roof.

But the metal roof was steep and slippery, and the squirrel’s claws found no purchase. Running frantically, but sliding steadily backwards, the squirrel fell to the ground, landing at Jake’s feet.

Barely eluding Jake, the squirrel bounded into a tree, ascended to the uppermost branches, flung itself into the air, and landed with a thunk on the roof of a nearby house.

Fortunately, the roof of the house was not metal, and the squirrel made its escape.

The Rest is Cake

Becca Lawton, a river guide at Grand Canyon during the 1970s and 80s, has written several books about life as a boatwoman. In her most recent, she nicely sums up life in the inner canyon and how being on the river can affect you. As I can attest, the influence of the place is real and powerful. Becca wrote this…

The Canyon may appear vast and overwhelming when seen as a whole, especially when viewed in the mere 17 minutes the National Park Service notes as the average tourist’s visitation time to the rim.

What the mini-visitor doesn’t grasp in that time are the pockets of sanctuary tucked everywhere in the Canyon’s recesses. Deep green waterfalls. Pockets of shade and cool. Pools in red rock. Ferns, monkeyflowers, cottonwoods, willows.

You only have to get them there,” Canyon guide Louise Teal says. “The rest is cake.” Get people to the river, earn their trust, and take them deep into what Louise calls the “zillion-year-old rocks.” She and I were passengers before we took up guiding. Then we never wanted to be apart from the Canyon’s soul-stirring sunsets, embracing rock walls, and endlessly flowing water.

Those we guided, too, found it a beautiful, intense, and, in Louise’s words, “completely fulfilling place.” It is — a place out of time and out of overwhelmed mind.

So take me to the river. Drop me in the water.

Experts say it usually takes about three days for a trip passenger to fully “arrive” on the river and mentally disconnect from their outside lives. Honestly, I don’t think it ever took me three days.

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Thoughts du Jour

Arlington House

In 1831, after Lt. Robert E. Lee and Mary Custis were married, the happy couple took up residence at her childhood home in Virginia: the Arlington House mansion, across the Potomac River from Washington, DC. The Lees lived there for the next 30 years.

1831 plus 30 equals 1861; the Civil War began, and Robert was off to war. Mary, warned by a cousin that the feds planned to seize her property, went to stay with relatives behind Confederate lines.

In 1862, Congress imposed a special tax on property in “insurrectionary” areas, payable in person. For Mary, who suffered from rheumatoid arthritis, travel was almost impossible. Whereupon, the government seized her property for non-payment.

In 1864, the federal government created Arlington National Cemetery on the Lee estate. A new cemetery indeed was badly needed because of war casualties. But using that particular property would — and did — prevent the Lees from returning home after the war.

General Lee never saw Arlington House again. Mary Lee went back once, a few months before her death, but was too distraught to go inside.

Chief Noc-A-Homa

From 1966 until 1986, the symbol of the Atlanta Braves at Atlanta-Fulton County Stadium was Chief Noc-A-Homa. The chief wore war paint, danced around a tipi in the left field seats, and set off a smoke bomb when the Braves scored a run.

A stereotype demeaning to Native Americans? Well, from 1968 to 1986, the chief was portrayed by Levi Walker, a member of the Odawsa tribe from the Great Lakes region. That helped a bit.

Walker, incidentally, once set his tipi on fire when a smoke bomb went off inside. He claimed it was sabotage.

In 1982, when the Braves opened the season 13-0, Ted Turner ordered the chief’s tipi removed to sell more seats. The Braves lost 19 of the next 21 games. Turner put the tipi back up, and the Braves went on to win the division title.

The Braves and the chief parted ways after a falling-out in 1986. The team said Walker was missing too many games, and Walker wanted a raise. His salary was $60 per game.

The Cream Cheese Rule

The NCAA has a 400-page rule book that governs the behavior of student athletes in great detail, some of which spills over into the laughably ridiculous. For example, in 2008, a rule was enacted that athletes on full scholarship were not allowed to eat bagels adorned with any type of spread.

Plain bagels were allowed, as were unlimited snacks of fruit and nuts and such, but bagels topped with cream cheese, etc. were forbidden.

Why? NCAA rules state that student athletes on full scholarship are allowed three meals a day. In its wisdom, the NCAA decided that, while a plain bagel constituted a snack, a bagel with butter, peanut butter, jelly, goat cheese, or whatever amounted to a fourth meal.

The new rule was widely mocked and dubbed the “cream cheese rule.” Finally, in 2013, the NCAA relented and scrapped the rule.

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Funk and Whimsy

Being a single guy and having no one to stop me, I am free to do as I please when it comes to decorating the house.

My taste is decidedly whimsical. I like fun, funky stuff, so the vibe around here leans toward the offbeat and humorous.

That goes for the fan pulls…

…the suncatchers…

…the refrigerator magnets…

…and my assorted collections.

Which isn’t to say, mind you, that I lack couth and good taste.

Starting several years ago, I extended my whimsy/funky theme to include Christmas decorations.

My Christmas tree is a modest, artificial four-footer that I display on a table in the dining room. At first, the decorations were just the usual colored lights, glass globes, etc.

Then, at a craft show somewhere, I found an intriguing item: a dried okra pod, painted as Santa Claus with a long white beard.

This okra pod.

It was a revelation. It opened the door to exciting new possibilities. It showed me that a ho-hum Christmas tree could be transformed to embrace serious funk and whimsy.

Today, my tree is adorned with everything from Fisher-Price Little People to gnomes with pointy hats. And every year, I find fun new items to add.

Long live funk and whimsy!

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The Chaos of Evolution

Science, as you know, is willing to change its conclusions as new evidence warrants. Well, while I wasn’t paying attention, science made a whopper of a change about the nature of evolution.

As Darwin explained, evolution occurs through the process of natural selection. Namely, the fittest organisms survive, reproduce, and pass on their traits to the next generation. The idea also took root that the process unfolds as a rather neat and orderly progression, as if the species is changing by climbing a ladder, moving onward and upward.

That concept — that evolution is largely progressive — is now out the window. Instead, experts think evolution is less like a ladder and more like a big, gnarly tree, with lots of branches and numerous dead ends everywhere.

The new thinking is that a species evolves to adapt to a specific, immediate environment. For example, researchers once believed that the first horses had four toes, then evolved to three, then two, and finally to hooves.

More likely, toed horses evolved as more suitable in various marshy habitats, and hoofed horses evolved to navigate dry, rocky ground. Maybe one evolved from the other, maybe it didn’t. Think chaos, not orderliness.

Learning this made my head swim, but it makes sense. And it’s wonderfully objective.

I love science.

The Chase

My dog Jake sees deer all the time as they pass through the woods behind our house. It’s a thrill for him, but he’s inside a fence. You can bet he aches to be free, to give chase as nature intended, galloping in pursuit through the trees, unrestrained by fence or leash.

Not long ago, he got his wish. He and I went walking at Jefferson Elementary School on a Saturday, when he could go off-leash. The school property backs up to a multiple-acre woods.

As we walked along the edge of the woods, Jake suddenly froze and stared into the trees. Seconds later, a deer bolted and took flight. In a heartbeat, Jake was after it.

The chase lasted 10 or 15 seconds. Ultimately, 75 or so yards away, the deer leapt a fence into the safety of someone’s back yard. The drama was over.

When Jake came trotting back out of the woods, he was panting with excitement and exhaustion. A beaming dog smile was on his face.

Chickens

The chicken (Gallus gallus domesticus) is the planet’s most common bird and one of the most widespread of domestic animals. More than 50 billion cluckers are raised annually as a source of meat and eggs. They are a crucial and relatively low-maintenance food source worldwide.

The modern chicken is a descendant of junglefowl that evolved on the Indian subcontinent about 8,000 years ago. Man has raised domestic chickens since the time of the ancient Greeks and Egyptians.

Early ocean-going explorers, including the Vikings, helped introduce chickens to all parts of the world. Typically, live chickens were kept on ships as part of the crew’s food supply, and the birds often were traded in foreign ports for needed supplies.

The origin of chickens in the Americas? Christopher Columbus introduced them here on his second voyage in 1493.

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Ethics

Museums are wonderful things, except for their ugly history of acquiring artifacts through illegal or disreputable means. Countless items in museum collections were obtained by theft, coercion, bribery, deceit, etc.

Colonialism had a lot to do with it. For centuries, the European powers felt free to help themselves to the treasures of the countries they occupied, and regularly did.

But now, hopeful signs are appearing. Museums here are there actually are returning purloined artifacts to the rightful owners.

A new policy adopted this year by the Smithsonian Institution, the largest museum complex in the world, is especially welcome. The Smithsonian now is actively working to identify and return objects that were wrongfully obtained.

First on the list is a group of Nigerian plaques and sculptures known as the Benin Bronzes. Hundreds were stolen by the British in the 1890s, and over time, some found their way to the Smithsonian. The museum has identified 29 items as among those looted by the British and plans to return them to Nigeria.

Refreshing.

Booze of Choice

In 1994, on my first raft trip down the Colorado River through Grand Canyon, I observed that four of the five river guides drank alcohol, and all four drank the same thing: Jim Beam Original white label bourbon.

Not Jim Beam Black, or Jim Beam rye, or the bonded or single barrel versions, or any of Beam’s (yuck) fruity liqueurs. The guides drank Jim Beam Original white label.

I’ve now rafted Grand Canyon four times with two different outfitters. On all four trips, the pattern was the same: the guides who drank alcohol drank Jim Beam white label.

Every evening, after the passengers were fed and the chores were done, the guides usually gathered somewhere to relax, chat, and have a nightcap or three. The nightcap was always Jim Beam white label.

Although I didn’t inquire while on the trips, I can imagine how Beam became a thing. Maybe the alpha male guides preferred Beam — relatively cheap, fairly smooth, a reasonable 80 proof. Peer pressure kicked in, and, voilà, a tradition was born. When new guides were hired, they naturally followed the tradition.

I should mention, too, that after my 1994 raft trip, I switched from Jack Daniels Old No. 7 black label to Jim Beam Original white label. Which remains my booze of choice to this day.

Being Real

In the early 1800s, most runaway slaves in the US famously went north to freedom, but many fled south to Mexico, where slavery was newly banned. Mexico readily offered asylum, and Mexican troops were quick to confront slave catchers who pursued the runaways.

Back then, the Mexican territory of Texas was mostly populated by Anglos, and its economy was deeply dependent on slavery. Slaves not only worked farms and plantations, but also served widely as tradesmen and household servants. The economic importance of slavery was a key reason why Texas declared its independence from Mexico in 1836.

Mexico’s opposition to slavery and willingness to protect runaways isn’t well known, but it had consequences. It prompted more slaves to escape, and it aggravated friction in the US between north and south. The Civil War probably came sooner as a result.

I didn’t learn all that in school, but I know it now because I’m curious and open to the facts.

As we all should be. Conservatives get apoplectic when anyone challenges the comforting myths about America’s exceptionalism, superiority, and glorious history. As usual, the conservatives are full of it.

Fairy tales are a waste of time. Better to view the past honestly and try to understand how and why things happened. If it hurts your feelings, that’s probably a sign you learned something.

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Thoughts du Jour

Mummies

Humans have a habit of believing preposterous nonsense — embracing ideas that defy evidence and common sense. I could point to the behavior of today’s conservatives, but instead, consider the ancient Egyptians. They decided that the soul could not live on in the afterlife unless the body of the deceased was preserved. Seriously. Hence, their obsession with mummies.

The Egyptians traditionally buried the dead in the desert sand, which conveniently mummified the bodies. It was fine just to drop common folk in a hole, but it was inappropriate if you were important. So, for the rich and powerful, the Egyptians began building monument-style tombs.

The first such tomb was a mastaba, which in ancient Egyptian means “eternal house.” Mastabas were rectangular structures with inward-sloping sides and flat roofs, constructed of bricks made from mud. They protected the body from animals and grave robbers, but the absence of sand meant no mummification and — drat — no soul living on in the afterlife.

So they developed artificial mummification. For bigshots, of course. In time, the bigshots also concluded that mastabas weren’t elaborate enough, and pyramids became a thing.

In summary, the concept arose that your soul is doomed if your dead body decomposes as nature intended. Egyptian society seized on that idea and focused on it for several thousand years. You can’t make this stuff up.

The Island

For four years in the 1950s, my dad was stationed at Tyndall AFB, Florida, and we Smiths lived in nearby Panama City. In 1956, Dad got a one-year assignment as base commander at Thule AFB, Greenland. No dependents live at Thule, so Mom and us kids remained in Panama City.

Dad called, wrote, and sent photos regularly, which kept us up to date about life at Thule. One fact about the place that got a snicker from my 14-year-old self was the story of a small island within sight of the base named, in the Inuit language, Iganaq.

Due to its appearance in profile, people at Thule called the island the Witch’s Tit. Dad got a snicker, too, from telling us that.

In 1958, Greenland changed the name of the island from Iganaq to Dalrymple Rock. This was to honor Dr. Paul Dalrymple, a geographer and meteorologist who spent a good part of his career in Greenland.

Despite the name change, I’m sure the island remained Iganaq to the Inuit. And to the people stationed at Thule, it’s probably still the Witch’s Tit.

Unexpected Journey

When I stopped for lunch in Commerce recently, I had no way of knowing I was about to drive a mom and two preschoolers to the next county.

As I arrived at the Wendy’s parking lot, a female voice called out, “Sir! Sir! My car broke down, and my boys are with me, and my phone is dead! Can I borrow your phone to call my Nanna?”

The mom was in her late 20s and understandably stressed. I handed her my phone. She called Nanna, who didn’t answer, probably because it was from an unknown caller. So the mom sent a text. Still no reply. Nanna was MIA.

The mom thanked me and told me to proceed with my lunch. She said Nanna probably would respond soon. So I proceeded with lunch.

After lunch, I checked, and still no word from Nanna. I couldn’t just leave them stranded, so I told the mom I would drive them to Nanna’s house, which was about five minutes away. The mom protested feebly while transferring the boys and their car seats to my car.

She spent the drive trying to set me up with Nanna, who was described as healthy, active, attractive, and a widow. I was politely noncommittal.

Nanna was home, working in the garden. The mom wanted me to give Nanna my phone number, but Nanna (indeed a handsome woman) steered the mom away while waving a thank-you over her shoulder. I drove back to Commerce, where I bought some dog treats at Marshall’s.

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All in the Family

Among the memorable early Romans was Julia Agrippina (15-59 AD), described by history as smart, ambitious, and calculating. Not to mention lethal, allegedly.

Agrippina was the daughter of Germanicus, a Roman general, and the granddaughter of Augustus, the first Roman emperor.

The second Roman emperor was Tiberius (brother of Augustus, uncle of Germanicus). Germanicus hoped to succeed Tiberius, but instead, Caligula (son of Germanicus, brother of Agrippina) was named emperor three.

Caligula was assassinated, and Claudius (brother of Germanicus, uncle of Agrippina) became emperor four. Claudius then married his niece Agrippina and adopted her son Nero, whose father Domitius had died suddenly when Nero was two.

Claudius, incidentally, was Agrippina’s third husband. Her second husband Passienus had died a few years earlier, by some accounts poisoned by Agrippina.

Agrippina wanted her son Nero to succeed Claudius so she could retain her power and influence. Soon — oops — Claudius was poisoned, and Nero became the fifth Roman emperor at age 16.

As Nero matured, Agrippina’s influence waned. Ultimately, a nasty power struggle ensued between mother and son, ending in Agrippina’s death at age 44. Nero almost certainly was responsible, but conflicting historical accounts make the truth elusive.

To sum up, Agrippina was at various times the granddaughter, great niece, niece, sister, wife, and mother of the first five Roman emperors. Plus, all three of her husbands died early and mysteriously. Wow.

Equine Slumber

If you’re a horse, you have a unique sleep problem. Namely, you aren’t built to lie down and get back up easily. You do so with great difficulty and are left vulnerable to predators.

As a result, horses have evolved special sleep behaviors. First, they take naps several times a day while standing. This is made possible by specialized tendons and ligaments that allow the horse to lock the major joints of its legs, so it can snooze without toppling over.

But horses also need deep sleep — REM sleep — just as you do. For that, they lie down and recharge for real, usually in short intervals totaling several hours a day.

Yes, they are vulnerable while lying horizontal and unconscious, but other horses always remain awake and on sentry duty.

Whack

Most of the time, my dog Jake is calm and mellow. He gets excited, of course, on such occasions as our morning walk, or when he lights out after a cat, but otherwise, his world is pleasant, and life is good.

There are, however, exceptions. Occasionally, a local redneck goes hunting in the woods, and we hear gunfire in the distance. In which case, Jake’s happy face disappears, and he retreats to the back of my bedroom closet. He won’t come out until the noise stops.

His reaction is the same with fireworks and other loud noises. At the first boom, he heads for the sanctuary of the closet.

Furthermore, he dislikes/fears my flyswatter. If a fly lands somewhere and I whip out the flyswatter, Jake exits the room as soon as he sees it. Apparently, he is upset by my display of violence and the loud whack as I dispatch the fly.

I usually can conceal the flyswatter from him, but the telltale whack can’t be disguised.

Although I feel bad for Jake, the flyswatter is here to stay. And frankly, I find the whack to be oddly satisfying.

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Mystery Pig

File this story under “stranger than fiction.”

One recent Saturday, Jake and I went walking at Jefferson Middle School, where he could go off-leash and perform zoomies. Before long, we came upon an unoccupied pickup truck parked on the grass. Next to it was a wire pet cage, empty, door open.

And under the truck, cowering next to a wheel, was a piglet. It was a tiny thing, about six inches high and a foot long. A rope around its neck secured it to the truck.

Jake danced around and snuffled the piglet with great excitement, but didn’t hurt it, because, well, Jake loves all living things. The piglet seemed confused about being licked by a large animal.

Did the truck and the pig belong to someone working inside the school? Was the pig left outside because it wasn’t housebroken? A baffling scenario.

I tried to get Jake to continue our walk, but he wasn’t going anywhere. I allowed him a minute more of snuffling, then hooked up his leash and led him away. Poor Jake. So disappointed.

Why a piglet was tied to a truck next to an open pet cage on the lawn of the middle school that Saturday, I’ll never know.

Tuaregs

The Tuareg people of North Africa, nomads of the Sahara Desert since the 4th Century, are unique among Islamic ethnic groups.

Unlike in most Muslim societies, Tuareg women have high status. They control most of the property, and the lineage of families and clans is traced through the women.

Further, Tuareg men, not women, wear veils. When Tuareg men reach adulthood, they wear the tagelmust, a veil that reveals only the eyes, for the rest of their lives.

The Tuaregs believe the veils protect them from being possessed by evil spirits that enter through the nose and mouth. Why women don’t need the protection, I can’t say.

The concept of evil spirits and veils is, of course, preposterous nonsense. I rank it right up there with belief in a God who is omnipotent and benevolent, yet is okay with widespread starvation, disease, war, and suffering. That should strain anyone’s credulity.

Greek to Me

A while back, on a lark, I bought a copy of Georgia Outdoor News (GON), a monthly magazine about guns, hunting, fishing, and guns. I wanted some reading matter that was different, and GON certainly is that.

Frankly, I detest guns, and I strongly object to hunting and fishing. Guns are an abomination, and stalking and killing animals is making a special effort to be cruel. The articles and ads in GON confirm how callous and sadistic people can be toward other living things.

One particular tip that made me wince was a suggestion to fishermen: slice open your live bait so the blood in the water will attract fish.

But I digress. It was fascinating to get a peek at the world of hunters and fishermen as they talked to each other. For example, a “Fishing Reports” article gave tips on when and where to fish on various Georgia lakes. This is what one guide reported about West Point Lake near Columbus:

The herring population seems to have exploded this year. Try fishing riprap around bridges with spinnerbaits, small crankbaits and Zoom Super Flukes. Try an unweighted merthiolate Zoom Trick Worm or an unweighted Zlinky.

One other pattern is to look for fresh blowdowns with the leaves still on them. Try a Jerkbait or Zoom Super Fluke worked around the outer limbs. Lots of spotted bass are caught by casting Spot Remover heads loaded with Ultravibe Speed Craws.”

I know what riprap and blowdowns are, but otherwise, that’s just word salad. An experienced fisherman probably would get the message loud and clear.

I hope so. Better to use a Jerkbait or Zoom Super Fluke than to slice open your live bait.

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Thoughts du Jour

Business As Usual

My county school board doesn’t have a very good record. Some years ago, it built new schools in East Jackson County, and — oops — West Jackson grew faster. Then the board built a new county high school for $69 million that — oops — required portable classrooms the day it opened.

The old county high school became the “college and career center.” I’m not sure a career center needs a campus the size of a shopping mall, plus multiple acres of abandoned football, baseball, softball, soccer, basketball, and practice facilities, but it has them anyway.

Then there’s another matter that smells to high heaven. The old high school was a handsome two-tone brick structure. Brick — the stuff that lasts forever and is wonderfully low-maintenance. This is the old high school:

But before the building opened last fall as the career center, the school board had the entire school — all of those attractive and perfectly serviceable brown bricks — painted. All gazillion of them. This is the career center today:

The old high school — excuse me, the career center — is big and sprawling. Painting it took the contractor all summer.

I would love to know which government official that painting contractor is related to.

Survivor

In Montana in June 1876, General George Armstrong Custer’s 7th Cavalry was steamrolled in the Battle of the Little Bighorn by warriors of the Sioux, Cheyenne, and Arapaho tribes. Five of the regiment’s 12 companies were wiped out. Custer and 273 soldiers died.

Two days after the battle, Comanche, the horse of a slain 7th Cavalry officer, was found in a ditch badly wounded. Comanche was hailed as the sole survivor of the battle, but probably wasn’t. Some 100 cavalry horses are thought to have survived and were claimed by the victors.

Comanche suffered seven bullet wounds, but recovered and became a hero to the 7th Cavalry. The unit commander declared that the horse would live out his life in comfort and “will not be ridden by any person whatsoever, under any circumstances, nor will he be put to any kind of work.”

Comanche lived an easy life at Fort Riley, Kansas, until his death in 1891. For some grotesque reason, his body was stuffed, and, also for some grotesque reason, it remains on display today at the University of Kansas Natural History Museum.

Viral Agent

I avoid zombie movies because the idea of zombies is so trite and silly. People get infected, spazz out, cause chaos, and maybe eat brains. Eventually, an antidote is discovered, or they all get killed, or whatever. So tiresome.

A key concept of most zombie stories is that the victims were exposed to some kind of awful new virus. And it made me wonder if maybe, just maybe, something similar might explain the behavior of today’s Republicans.

Imagine an insidious viral agent that infiltrates the brains of conservatives and causes them to ignore facts, deny science, embrace nutty conspiracy theories, hate black and brown people, admire Nazis, praise dictators, and always vote Republican, thus dooming us to an unending succession of wretched scumbags in public office.

The concept of a medical explanation for right-wing behavior makes sense, except for the part where normal people are immune to the virus. I’m still trying to puzzle that out.

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