Man Martin's Blog, page 126

Humans versus Critters

As a Child, I was Terrified of Meeting a Giant SpiderI just saw a trailer for something called Blood Lake: Attack of the Killer Lampreys.  Lampreys, in case you were unaware, are long snake-like fish with toothed, funnel-like mouth-parts for sucking blood from other fish.  They are moderately revolting to look at, but no lamprey has ever attacked a human.  The film, which will appear on Animal Planet, was produced by the same folks who brought us Sharknado, in which a town is laid waste to by a tornado which evidently picked up a school of understandably angry sharks.
All of us will naturally recall Piranha and Piranha Part II, about mutant flying piranha fish.
By no means is this sort of movie a new phenomenon - I still have occasional Jaws flashbacks when swimming in the ocean and have a need to swim to the beach as quickly as I can.  A movie about a giant spider living in a cave in New Mexico left me in intermittent terror as a child that I would make a similar find in Washington County, Georgia.  The list of scary critters in film goes back at least as far as King Kong, and in literature, at least as far back as Scylla and Charybdis in The Odyssey.   
Recently, I read that a woman is facing execution for having married a Christian.  Elsewhere, a woman was held prisoner for eighteen months by a sadistic crystal meth user.  Meanwhile, Russia is flexing its muscles in Crimea and Assad is committing atrocities in Syria; it seems odd we have to terrify ourselves with images of shark-infested tornadoes or flying piranha or even just plain old eighty-foot-tall gorillas.  
What we should be scared of is us.

Retirement Plans

Me in Retirement Seeing a Polar Bear
in Sunny, Sunny AlaskaOkay, so when I retire, I'll finally be able to afford a condo on Kiawah Island, except by that time, Kiawah will be underwater, so that's out.  I always wanted to see the Great Barrier Reef, but that'll be gone too.  I was never especially enchanted by the idea of an Alaskan cruise, which is a good thing, because by the time I retire, Alaska will be pretty much the same as Newark.

I might feel a little guilty jetting around to the few remaining natural wonders worth seeing, contributing to Global Warming, and thereby their destruction.  Instead I could stay put and raise honeybees, if there's any left, and maybe create a frog pond - frogs are endangered by a fungus pandemic.  I could use my retirement income putting solar panels on the roof, even though I'll never recoup the cost, warming myself in the glow that I've at least tried to make the world a better place.  While I'm at it, I could install a wind turbine in the front yard.  The neighbors might complain, but I'd say, "Hey, I'm least I'm trying!"On the other hand.
If Kiawah goes underwater, then maybe there'll be some new islands formed - I mean, as the water level rises, parts of the mainland ought to turn into islands, right?  And the Great Barrier Reef, I mean, I'm not that big into snorkeling anyway.  As far as I know, Australia will still have koalas, right?  I'd much rather see a koala than a clown fish anyway.  And Alaska.  I was never that keen on Alaska anyway, like I said. 
So screw the frogs and the honeybee idea.  I don't like honey that much.  And frankly, what's a frog ever done for me?  I won't have to hear my neighbors complaining about my wind turbine, and best of all, I can fly around the world, what's left of it, like I always dreamed.
I can hardly wait.

Now It Can Be Told. My Daughter is Engaged

Monday night,Glenn,  my daughter's boyfriend invited us for dinner for "the talk."

Not the talk where you learn where babies come from, nor the talk where they tell you that you need to lay off the booze or take more frequent showers, but the talk where someone asks if he can marry your daughter.

Of course the snappy comeback to this is, "Let me think about it, and I'll get back to you."  Nancy and I tried to pull that one off, but only a moment before giving the official parental okey-doke.  It put me in mind of when my other son-in-law Drew asked for Catherine's hand in marriage.  He'd called up and said "We need to talk."  Nancy and I knew what was coming, of course, and couldn't have been more delighted.

Frankly, there have been times I have been worried for my daughters.  They are, after all, my daughters, and it is not unreasonable to wonder if they might lack certain faculties of judgment and common sense; nevertheless, whatever else can be said of them, they have excellent taste in men.

It transpired Glenn had planned a minor masterpiece of subterfuge and split-second timing.  He'd made dinner reservations at the spot where he'd propose.  Meanwhile, unbeknownst to her, friends and family gathered on a rooftop bar above the restaurant waiting for them to come up with the happy news.

The event was a perfect success, Glenn came up with Spencer wearing his ring, and she was thrilled to see all of us there.  The evening couldn't have been better.

During the festivities I was sharing my wisdom, as is my wont, with some whippersnapper or other, and I imparted the only genuine insight I have about anything; Time is a real phenomenon, and it is relentless.  It takes away so many things from us - it takes all things, in time - but it gives us gifts as well.  It gives us adulthood, it gives us love, and marriage, and babies.

Last night was one of Time's gifts.

Pat Sajak has Found Out

Pat Sajak sending historic tweet,
(Artist's Recreation)"Wheel of Fortune" host Pat Sajak is very active on Twitter. Among other topics, he tweets about climate change. A lot. His latest tweet on the subject on Monday evening prompted dozens of replies: "I now believe climate change alarmists are unpatriotic racists knowingly misleading for their own ends.  Good night." James Gerken, Huffington PostDamn it.So Pat Sajak saw GL__L  __RM_NG f R___STS and solved the puzzle: the answer was GLOBAL WARMING RACISTS all along.  Leave it to a damn polock-mick bastard.  Everyone pretty much knew we were unpatriotic.  I mean, that pretty much goes without saying.  Clearly anyone who wants to bring down the fossil fuel industry, which made America great, is unpatriotic.  But the piece of that no one guessed at was that we're racists.  No one until Pat Sajak blew the whistle on us.  Damn polish-sausage-eating shamrock-wearing half-breed bastard son of a bitch.Now all our plans are in jeopardy.  For years we've stymied the growth of the coal industry - and America has more coal than anybody!  Ha-ha!  We could be energy independent tomorrow! - not just because we hate America but to grind our boot in the face of coal workers, most of whom are of Irish-Polish descent and are bent on the mongrolization of America.But now the cat's out of the bag.  And knowing what a polock-mick bastard Sajak is, he'll make a pierogi out of it.  I hope he chokes on it.

Help! Common Core is Turning Me Gay!

Van Zant giving a clarion call to the nation's concerned parents.State Rep. Charles Van Zant (R) said the American Institutes for Research, which has been assigned to develop Common Core-based tests for Florida, "are promoting as hard as they can, any youth that is interested in the LGBT agenda." These people that will now receive $220 million from the state of Florida, unless this is stopped, will promote double-mindedness in state education and will attract every one of your children to become as homosexual as they possibly can," Van Zant said.  - Huffington PostMy name is Billy Preston and I am in Third Grade, Ft Pierce Elementary.  I believe Common Core is turning me gay.  I have told my parents and they don't believe me.  Then I showed them this math problem."Jim has eight people coming to his house, but he has only five apples to share with them.  Jim has wavy brown hair and dark moody eyes that seem to say, "Don't hurt me, please!"  His hands are strong but gentle.  His skin is wonderfully smooth.  You want to touch it don't you?"Dad didn't believe me.  "What are you talking about?  All he has to do is cut the apples into eighths and give each kid five eighths so they'll all get a fair share."  But Mom said, "No, honey, can't you see?  It's a trick question.  You forgot to count Jim himself.  Jim should cut the apples into ninths."  Dad chuckled, "Ha-ha, you're right.  Pretty tricky.  Still, I'd like to meet someone like Jim with his wavy brown hair and touchable skin."Then yesterday, there was this question on a Civics quiz:Who can propose a new law?A. A member of the House of Representatives, provided he is already gay.B. Any gay citizen of voting age.C. Anyone at all, because that's the miracle of democracy, where we will all become gay as fast as we possibly can.Then there's my Spanish homework.  I have to learn to pronounce the following sentences.Es usted homosexual?Si, soy homosexual.  Y usted?No, no soy homosexual, pero quiero apprender ser homosexual.Apprende ser homosexual rapidemente.  Esta importante!I don't know what it means.  Our teacher says we'll find out tomorrow.  But I'm worried.

View from a Height

On this day was Man Martin born.  I am fifty-five.  The double-nickel.
From this vantage point of age and experience, I am ready to dole out the wisdom of my years to the younger generation, which is pretty much everyone who's been on the earth less than half a century.
What have I learned?
Whatever it is you believe, brace yourself for the possibility the exact opposite is true.
Time goes by.  This is a real shocker.  I still haven't gotten used to it.
Cook beans thoroughly before putting them in tomato sauce.
It is amazing what you accomplish by working steadily at something, a little every day.
Try not to think about all the things you will never accomplish.
Loosen the lug nuts before you jack up the tire.
People are mostly kind and helpful, thank goodness.
If you're ever asked a riddle involving the color of a bear, the bear will be white.
Well, that's about it.  Come back in another fifty-five years and I'll be ready to dish some more.

Dear Writer

Dear Writer,

Congratulations!  We have selected your piece.

Ha-ha, just kidding.  We wouldn't print this mess if our lives depended on it.

While we would never consider using this, you certainly gave the interns here a good laugh to think anyone would even bother typing this, let alone submitting it somewhere.  This is not to say your work was without merit.  For example, your headings were all that a good heading should be.  We believe it is safe to say, your headings could take their place alongside the best heading-writers of today: Margaret Atwood, Francine Prose, and what's-her-name, the woman who wrote Hunger Games.  If the rest of your manuscript lived up to your page headings, we'd have no hesitation about publishing this.

Typically, when looking for stories to publish, we like to find ones that have a plot.  This is not to say other publishers wouldn't touch it, but we don't know of any.  Your story begins with a ticking bomb that will detonate in a few minutes laying waste to a crowded city blcok unless the hero can unravel the clues to the secret code that will defuse it, clues cleverly planted all around Manhattan.  Then it goes on for twenty pages as you tell us what the hero made for lunch, including a detailed recipe for prosciutto quiche.

We tried the quiche recipe and it sucked.

Characters are also a good idea.  This does not mean that the hero should break down weeping at the sight of an injured squirrel.  (Parenthetically, the interns do not believe this aspect.  They have seen squirrels that were in fine fettle, full of vim and vigor, and they have seen dead road-kill squirrels with tire tracks running though them, but none of us can recall seeing a squirrel hanging to life by a thread.  That's the way it is with squirrels - they are either in obnoxious good health or they are dead.  There is no in-between.)

By all means keep on sending us your "work," and we'll keep on sending it back to you.

Me vs the Humanists

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Stephen Fry narrates a charming video extolling the humanist approach to happiness and the meaning of life, and I recommend you watch it.

Stephen Fry: How Can I Be Happy?

He says theists look outside themselves for meaning whereas humanists look inside.  In the main, I think this is true, although I might qualify it by saying theists search for meaning outside as well as inside themselves.  Fry goes on to explore some of the meanings a humanist can find - for the humanist, he says, there is no single over-arching meaning.  Everything Fry says is humane and persuasive.

But I remain a theist.

To explain, I'll share a couple of incidents from Hugo's Les Miserables.  I never saw the movie, but I listened to the unabridged audio version during my daily commute over a course of several weeks.  Anyway, let's look at two characters Fantine and Thernardier.

After being seduced and abandoned by a no-good, Fantine unwisely entrusts her daughter Cosette to the Thernardiers and goes to work in a city.  There, she is besieged by Thernardier's demands for additional money - for clothes, for medicine.  She loses her job when it comes to light she's an unwed mother.  She resorts to prostitution, and eventually sells her front teeth to a dentist to buy "medicine" for Cosette.  She winds up in a charity ward, universally despised (save by Jean Valjean and one nun) as a slut who got what was coming to her.  Her only joy through this ordeal is the hope of being reunited with Cosette.  The moment she learns that she will not see Cosette again she dies in a paroxysm of despair.

Thernardier, meanwhile, abuses Cosette emotionally and physically the whole time.  She is basically the slave of the household from a tender age.  The money Fantine sends, enriches himself.  Thernardier is bad every which-way.  He robs corpses at the Battle of Waterloo, is an extortionist, kidnapper, forger, and thief.  He blackmails Marius, one of the heroes, who pays him on condition he never darken the streets of Paris again.  Thernardier goes to America to be a slave-dealer.  The novel doesn't say, but I'm convinced Thernardier does quite well for himself.  Everything in his resume suggests he would be an excellent slave-dealer.  I'm sure he ends up with a big fine house filled with expensive furniture and that moreover he is happy.  In time, he becomes an elder statesmen, and young people ask his advice, which he dolls out in a liberal fashion.  He eats and dresses well and lives comfortably.  He has a beautiful mistress.  He dies at a fat old age in the middle of a pleasant dream with a smile on his face and is respected and mourned by his community.

The thing is - and I wouldn't want to be either one of these people - I think it would be better to be Fantine than Thernardier.  Mind you, Fantine blames herself for her woes; whereas Thernaridier thinks quite highly of himself, and - if my conjecture's correct - people around him end up thinking highly of him, too.  I still think it would be better to be Fantine, which I cannot justify without resorting to some meaning outside myself.  So I remain a theist.

A Gluten-Free Bakery Reconsiders Its Options

Peter Gibson published a study that found gluten to cause gastrointestinal distress in patients without celiac disease, one of the strongest pieces of evidence to date that  gluten intolerance is genuine.  Gibson wasn't satisfied. With this new study, Gibson found that each treatment diet, whether it included gluten or not, prompted worsening pain, bloating, nausea, and gas even when the placebo diet was identical to the baseline diet! The data indicated a nocebo effect, the reaction that prompts people to get sick from wind turbines and wireless internet, was at work. Gluten wasn't the culprit; the cause was likely psychological. Participants expected the diets to make them sick, and so they did. The finding led Gibson to the opposite conclusion of his 2011 research: “In contrast to our first study… we could find absolutely no specific response to gluten." The rise in non-celiac gluten sensitivity seems predominantly driven by consumers and commercial interests, not quality scientific research. - Ross Pomeroy, Real Clear Science
To start with, let me say that Peter Gibson is an utter and complete fraud.  Not his first study, the one that confirmed gluten sensitivity, that was great.  He should've gotten a medal.  His early work was terrific.  He should've quit while he was ahead instead of going on and contradicting himself.  He's clearly sold out to the massive Pro-Gluten Industry out there.  I suggest we look into his funding.Where would we be if scientists went around correcting themselves.  What if Columbus had gone out and said, "Wait a minute, maybe the world is flat after all?"  What if Newton had said, "On second thought, the whole gravity thing is bunk?"  Fact is, if scientists go back and check out all their research and then start blabbing from the rooftops if it turns out they made a mistake, we're going to have chaos out there.But it won't do any good moaning.  What's done is done.  Now we got to consider what we're going to do with an warehouse of gluten-free bagels, donuts, cookies, and cupcakes that taste like cardboard.  Partly, of course, we can rely as we always have on the unspoken slogan: "Anything this unappetizing must be good for you."  But we must re-brand ourselves.We need to start putting on labels that advertise our products were not baked near high-voltage power lines, or that our employees don't use cellphones.They do?If we can't claim those things, then we just have to claim something else.  Our products contain no rat feces.  Our products contain no genetically modified foods.They do?Then we'll claim our products contain no feces from genetically modified rats.  Hows that?We have to come up with something, people.

Blake Randall Wardell, a Reminiscene

“Anderson County Deputy Coroner Don McCown said Blake Randall Wardell was hanging around with some other people in a garage at that location when he put on a bullet proof vest they had found.” Wardell asked the others in the garage to shoot him, and the shot from a small caliber weapon went above the Kevlar of the vest and into his heart, killing him, according to McCown. - FreakOutNation
Yeah, I grew up with Blake Randall Wardell.  Some people called him Blake, some called him Randall, we always just called him Blake Randall Wardell.  The first time I met him, I'd just moved into the neighborhood, and he came over and said, "Hey, I just got a new bike helmet.  Let's try it out."  He was wearing that bike helmet and had a big old sledgehammer in his hand.  Blake Randall Wardell ended up in the emergency room, natch.  Concussion.  I gotta hand it to the manufacturers, though.  That helmet took about five or six slams from me before it finally cracked.
But you couldn't keep old Blake Randall Wardell down.  He was always up to something.  Irrepressible, that guy.  Like the time he invited all the guys over with lighter fluid and matches to try out his new flame-resistant pajamas.  Or when he got that watch that said it was waterproof up to 1,000 feet.  Blake Randall Wardell said he couldn't imagine anything being that waterproof.  So naturally he hitch-hikes down to Florida, stows away on a charter boat, and throws himself overboard with a cinder-block tied to his ankle.  That guy.
We were all real sad to hear what happened to Blake Randall Wardell.  Not surprised, exactly, but sad.  He should have known that vest wasn't no good.  Take for example those hand grenades he found.  If those were duds, why would he expect the vest to be any better.  But that was old Blake Randall Wardell.  He had to try out everything for himself.  You couldn't tell him nothing.