Meat Movement

So, I got to visit the Norton Simon Museum with new steampunk friends from Brass Goggles. It was a grand time, but we noticed something queer about the still-life paintings: despite the plethora of fruits and vegetables, almost none of the paintings showcased meat! It was distressing! Clearly, something needs to be done to remedy the lack of meat in still-lifes.

We need to begin the meat movement in art. I'm not much of a painter, but I'll do my best to convince others to start incorporating some nice cuts of beef and such into their works. Hell yes.

Man, I'm the best carnivore ever.

Viva...breadfruit?

I am jonesing for some breadfruit. This is a dilemma, because breadfruit quite literally does not exist at this latitude (a fact you may recall from a prior post, Viva Potato). There are many factors standing in the way of me getting fresh breadfruit in the comfort of my own home: climate, productivity, resource efficiency, economic soundness, and public awareness.

CLIMATE: Man, I wish I wasn't an uninformed pleb when it came to horticulture. Given enough time, horticulturists could solve the issue of temperature tolerance lickity-split. The Incas did it with potatoes, which formerly only lived in the chilly chilly Andes and can now tolerate warm, humid climes. Why can't we do the same with breadfruit, except backwards? It would probably take significantly longer than it did with potatoes, because breadfruit trees take more than a few growing seasons to come to maturity. However, this is only more motivation to get started right now!

PRODUCTIVITY: This is another horticultural problelm. Breadfruit trees produce fruit year-round, but there is one major growing season in which they yield far, far more produce. I dunno. There has to be some way to change the seasonality of the plants to make them produce lots of fruit year-round. An alternative route would be to buy breadfruit from the other hemisphere; that's how we manage to get succulent plums, cherries, and other super-seasonal fruits all year.

RESOURCE EFFICIENCY: How much water and soil will the breadfruit trees require? Most likely they will demand far more of each resource (compared to yield) than other produce trees, like orange trees or cherry trees. Of course, part of this is because breadfruits are so much larger than oranges or cherries, and the tree only produces a few at a time instead of dozens.

ECONOMIC SOUNDNESS: Will financiers rush towards this venture or will they balk at the risks? I have no idea; ask them, not me. Next topic!

PUBLIC AWARENESS: No matter how much I say, most of you are probably still wondering what the hell a breadfruit actually is. This is a problem. If I could somehow inform the world of the greatness of the breadfruit tree, then it would surely gain popularity and make this a worthwhile venture that will bring joy to people worldwide!

Holy crap, I can't believe I used the phrase "lickity-split." That's seriously weird.

Oh my god, it's finally happening.

Ladies and gentlemen, if I may, I'd like to direct your attention to what may end up being our collective doom.

Let's try to imagine a scenario where chimpanzees have basic rights, like owning land and collecting a paycheque. What happens next? Soon the gorillas (both mountain and lowland varieties) will demand their equal rights. Then come the other apes--orangutans, gibbons, and bonobos. And then the monkeys will start screeching for their justice! Spider monkeys, tamarins, macaques! Soon we'll be surrounded by angry aye-ayes pointing their creepy prolonged middle fingers at us, while they holler in protest of being put down by "The (hu)Man." Of course, by that time, the chimps will start to demand more rights, like voting and getting a driver's licence. THEN the others will start doing the same. Once all the primates can vote and drive, what's next? Pretty soon we'll have a sprig of parsley running for president. Hey, that's actually not a bad idea. It could certainly get on the Green Party ticket.

Kiwi!

There's a new baby kiwi at the National Zoo in Washington, D.C. You can see it on a live webcam here (I found that that the webcam only works in IE, unfortunately). This news excites me greatly, because I friggin' love those fuzzy apteryces*. This news also confuses me, because I don't know why I love those fuzzy apteryces*. Seriously, they're pretty ugly and gangly and not very entertaining. They seriously look like an oversized kiwi fruit with bug-eyes and too-big feet. So what's the deal? Why do I love them so much?

The only possible explanation I can think of for my admiration of these flightless birds is that this is video games' fault. I am specifically blaming The New Zealand Story for the Sega Genesis**. The premise of the game is as follows: You are Tiki, a kiwi living a carefree life with all the other kiwis in your home on the North Island of New Zealand. One day, a walrus waddles into your village and kidnaps everyone, intent on sending you all to an evil walrus-run zoo. Somehow, you manage to escape, and you must chase the walrus all the way to the bottom of South Island to rescue all of your kiwi comrades. Also, you have a girlfriend named Phee-Phee.

It's a pretty fun game, and it involves some GTA-esque elements, like hijacking vehicles. Granted, those vehicles are hot-air balloons piloted by anthropomorphic cats who throw hatchets, but the idea is the same. The point is that the game is fun, and--since the main character is a kiwi on a morally righteous mission--it limns kiwis extremely positively. There is one major problem, however:

THIS IS NOT A KIWI.

Tiki (and all the other in-game kiwis) do not look like real kiwis. I am sure the game developers at Taito were aware of this, and had some motive for making their sprites look absolutely nothing like what they are supposed to represent. My working theory is that Taito was in league with the powerful Kiwi Lobbying Group, currently the only political machine to be comprised of flightless birds. The KLG knew that its members were ugly, and an accurate depiction of them in a video game would be less-than-stellar for their popularity in the always-critical youth market. Together, Taito and the KLG hatched a plan to convince the ignorant masses that kiwis were actually adorable yellow balls of fluff that fought evil monsters like walruses and aliens in order to keep the world safe.

YOUR SECRET IS OUT, KIWIS! I KNOW OF YOUR DECEITFUL PLAN! YOU CANNOT SILENCE ME, FOR YOUR PUNY, USELESS WINGS ARE INCAPABLE OF MANIPULATING COMPUTER EQUIPMENT! BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

And that is why I love kiwi birds. Awww, it's so cute!

* This is not the real, appropriate plural for "apteryx," a word coming from the Greek "a-" and "pteryx," together meaning "no wing." The plural I used is a Latin plural, not a Greek one. If someone is able to decipher this chart, I'd replace it with the legitimate plural.

** There is an earlier version of TNZS, called Kiwi Kraze and released on the NES, but that one was pretty sucky and I didn't actually play it until after the Genesis version. I don't know why I bothered explaning this to you putzes.

Catpennies!

Science has managed to quantify nearly everything. Heat, light, vibration, even colour hue and intensity. One thing that hasn't been quantified, however, is entertainment. It's never been done before. However, sometime last month someone finally made headway in this field. The entire body of research can be seen here.

Catpennies. IT'S BRILLIANT! Finally we have a way of measuring how much fun we're having. For example, the conversation I had about Luxembourg today was about 100 catpennies, or one decacatpenny. It would be easier to call that a "catdollar," but I can't do that. You'll see why two paragraphs down.

If we now can measure units of fun, how do we measure units of dullness? The obvious answer is something mildly sucky. It has to be about as sucky as a catpenny is fun. The best thing I can come up with is losing a quarter. One lostquarter is equal to negative one catpennies. Waiting at the baggage claim in LAX is close to 50 lostquarters (unless you have a Game Boy, in which case it is about 20 catpennies.)

Unfortunately, I suspect that science will be unkind to the names "catpenny" and "lostquarter." To make this system of measures accepted by science, the names must be changed. The easiest way to do this would be simple abbreviations, like "cap" and "losque." Sadly, this also means that 100 catpennies cannot equal one catdollar. If it did, then the unit of measurement would have to change to "cad" and that would make no sense. Instead, it will have to be a "decacap."

Actually, caps and losques might make more sense than the originals. If I were to use catpennies, catnickels, catdimes, catdollars, and so forth, this would cause great problems when converting to lostquarters. Since 1 catpenny is equal to 1 lostquarter, 1 catdollar is equal to 25 lostdollars. This would quickly become confusing.

Now, go out in the world and embrace this system! Make sure to live every day to the fullest! Try and have a million-cap day!

Bird cloning!

I'm lazy. Instead of getting a fresh post, you get my lecture that I delivered to nobody in particular in the #nerdparadise chatroom a few months back, which also happens to be a forum post I made about thirty seconds ago (Today's Saturday. Pretend this update happened on a Friday, okay?).

I'm really interested in cloning extinct birds (and, for that matter, most creatures that come from a hard-shelled egg). The geirfugl, the dodo, the Rodrigues solitaire, the passenger pigeon, the moa, the California condor (there are fifty-something left...it may not be extinct but it needs all the help it can get), and all sorts of dinosauranoids.

Anyway. There are lots of reasons why we have yet to bring back extinct bird species. There are two extremely large reasons.

The first is that this reintroduced specimen will have no parental figures and, consequently, much of its behaviour will be drastically different than the original species and it may not know how to act in certain situations that would doom the creature in the wild. This is unavoidable unless avian psychologists make some amazing breakthroughs soon.

The second reason, which is the one I understand far less, concerns the eggs themselves. As far as I know, not a single avian has been cloned, because the eggs are a pain to deal with. Every species' eggs are slightly different, and many extinct animals (like the dodo and Rodrigues solitaire) have no living relatives close enough to act as substitute-egg-donors. Then there's the issue of actually inserting the extinct animal's genetic information into the nucleus of the egg cell before it starts to form a morula. Then there's the issue of successfully implanting the egg in a suitable foster parent (because, really, there's no way in hell you're going to have any modern bird lay a dinosaur egg) who will also care for the young hatchling if need be.

The only solution I can think of for issue #2 would be to invent several new substances that can act as artificial albumen, yolk, shell, and other stuff that goes into eggs. It would have to be pliable at times, to allow for gene-insertion as well as readjusting the levels of the fluids and nutrients in the egg, but it would also have to be rigid to mimic a proper egg. I dunno. Someone else can figure that one out.

Recommended reading: Digging for Dodos by Ian Parker, New Yorker Magazine, January 22, 2007. The link I provided is not the full text; it continues for many more pages. While you're at it, you might as well read Jurassic Park and The Lost World by Michael Crichton.

Several letters that I wrote while touring colleges on the east coast

An open letter to all residents of Baltimore, Maryland

Dear residents of Baltimore, Maryland:


This is a turn signal. Use it.

I am serious, residents of Baltimore, Maryland. This is a problem. You have this wonderful highway system, much better than L.A.'s. It's a highway system with a rational layout, one that doesn't look like it was designed by a blind chimpanzee, and you are using it irresponsibly. I am distraught by the lack of signalled turns. pI was watching traffic on the highway for over an hour and saw two people signal when changing lanes. TWO. Y'all signal turns at intersections, so you obviously know how to use your turn signals. Now it's only an issue of making you actually freaking use them.

Here's a primer: When changing lanes to the left, use your left turn signal. When changing lanes to the right, use your right turn signal. The end.

Seriously, how hard is that? I may not be very familiar with the East coast, but I know this isn't the norm. I did not witness anything this horrible when in Washington, or even in NYC. You've got to clean up your act. Think of the children, residents of Baltimore, Maryland. Thanks for listening. Please take my advice to heart.

************

A letter to the Baltimore World Trade Centre, Baltimore, Maryland

Dear Baltimore World Trade Centre:

I can't help but notice that you have a North Korean flag among the hundreds of flags in your lobby. Why is this, Baltimore World Trade Centre? I highly doubt you do any world trade with North Korea. Please either remove the North Korean flag or at least move it to a less prominent position than the middle of the flag-display. Thanks.

************

An open letter to all residents of Albany, New York


This is a car gas pedal. Use it.

I know your fine city is sort of close to Canada, but you have to remember that it's not in Canada. When a speed limit sign says "35," that number is not 35 kph. I know it is lamentable that we are still using the Imperial system of measurement, but we are, and you have to use the Imperial system while here. Please increase your speed by approximately 61% to ensure that you obey our speed signs. Thank you.

Mmmmmm...

Loaf of doughnut.

I said these words on Thursday when trying to (very inaccurately) describe brioche, a sweet French bread. Though my description failed, this statement was etched into my memory. It's heart-cloggingly awesome.

Imagine a doughnut loaf. For the most part, it would be little more than changing the shape of the doughnut. The only major altertion I can think of is that the icing/sugar/other toppings would have to be mixed in evenly because it'd be too messy to handle icing-covered bread in many situations.

Obviously, a sample must be made. I'm going to buy a whole bunch of old doughnuts from the grocery store and compress them into a dense cube. Then I will proceed to slice and enjoy my doughnut loaf. Later, I will be found dead on the floor. Maybe I died from cardiac arrest. Maybe I died from a caloric overdose. Maybe I just collapsed out of sheer ecstasy because I just ate a loaf of doughnut.

¡Los Fidelistas tienen un líder una vez más!

Díos mio, I may have to admit that Fidel Castro is finally fully recovered from his exploded colon. This is a mixed blessing for me--it's bad because I've been talking about how sure I am that he's going to die, but it's good because it means his actual death will be totally hilarious. If you understand my logic, that's good. If you don't, continue reading to learn about the Castro Comedy Corollary Proposal, or, as I like to call it, the Soviet Union. If you don't get that joke, then there may be no hope for you.

The basic theory behind Soviet Union says that Fidel Castro's injuries have gotten progressively and linearly more hilarious since the 60s.

Let's consider some important points.
1960s to 1980s: Various leaders, beginning with Kennedy, use unsavoury methods to attempt to kill Fidel Castro. These methods included: making underwater mines that looked like clams, because Fidel enjoyed diving; send Fidel cigars laced with botulism; hiring Ian Fleming (famous for writing the James Bond novels) to come up with ideas; encouraging disgruntled peasants to rise up in rebellion; convincing one of Fidel's old flames to come back, re-seduce him, and slip him poison pills; the infamous exploding cigar; filling his SCUBA suit with myotoxins; and possibly the most direct route: hiring mobsters to gun him down. None of these assassination attempts succeeded (obviously), so they aren't very high on the hilarity scale. They do become funnier as time goes on, however. This phenomenon is known as the Making My Graph Look More Like It Justifies My Original Claim That Fidel's Injuries Have Gotten Funnier On A Linear Scale Effect.

After that, there's a gap in my chart. This too is a result of the MMGLMLIJMOCTFIHGFOALSE.

October 20, 2004: Fidel Castro speaks in front of a crowd of art instruction students, about to graduate. On the way towards the stairs, he loses his footing and slips. He falls perfectly on his face while dozens of cameras record the incident. Totally hilarious. At least a seven on the hilarity scale.

2006: Fidel Castro complains of intestinal pain. Doctors discover inflammation in the large intestine, near both the appendix and the rectum. A surgery is botched, and Castro's large intestine ruptures, filling his abdomen with blood and faeces (<eofpi> So...Fidel Castro is literally full of shit?). Surgeons manage to staunch the bleeding and end up replacing about two feet of his intestine with an artificial one, as well as giving him a prosthetic anus (<Ushanka`s_Dad> That must have been a pain in the ass.). Prosthetic anus, people. That's a 9 on the hilarity scale without a doubt.

Since his injuries have gotten progressively funnier and his last injury was a 9, it stands to reason that Fidel Castro's next injury will be close to a perfect 10. After that, it would be nigh impossible to continue having progressively-funnier injuries, meaning the next hilarious wound will be his last. Predicted manners of death include, but are not limited to: Being struck by a meteor, choking on a pretzel, falling down a flight of stairs, spontaneous combustion, playing chicken in his private jet, or accidentally listening to a Donna Summers album. Also notice that none of the past injuries were funny to Fidel. They were funny to ME. I am the judge of the hilarity scale. If you disagree with any of my judgements, I will chalk it up to the MMGLMLIJMOCTFIHGFOALSE.

Enjoy your time on earth, Fidel. Though I incorrectly predicted your demise in late 2006 and early 2007, I shall not fail again! The Soviet Union does not lie!

Viva potato

I talked about Bob Woolmer on March 20th. In the days that followed, his death received significant news coverage all around the planet. The only logical conclusion is that I am responsible for this. I have the touch, I have the power and whatnot. Unfortunately, I'm sick of Bob Woolmer, which means the news is going to shut up about him tomorrow. So sayeth me.

Okay, time for the actual blog post: Starch.

The four most widely-grown crops are, in this order: rice, wheat, corn, and potatoes. All of these crops are starch. The only problem is that rice, wheat, and corn are all terrible, terrible crops in terms of efficiency. The effort needed to cultivate these three crops is significantly greater than the noble potato, which lives by Ron Popeil's motto, "Set it and forget it." In addition, it takes far less effort to prepare. Let's consider the bare minimum requirements to eat these crops:

Rice: Pull out a few dozen plants, remove the chaff, boil, eat.
Wheat: Pull out several dozen plants, remove chaff, grind, boil, eat.
Corn: Remove husk, dry, remove chaff, steam or boil or pop, eat.
Potato: Pull out of ground, brush off dirt (this step is optional), eat.

Like peanuts, potatoes have undergone a renaissance that has shown the world their many uses. This amazing tuber can be baked, fried, boiled, mashed, steamed, deep-fried, exploded into strings and compressed into panels (this is how both Pringles and hardwood floors are made), whipped, foamed*, or just eaten raw. Potatoes have been selectively bred for centuries and can grow effectively in nearly any region, be it their native Andes or in that kooky place Ireland. They can withstand freezing temperatures and, as tubers, are damn good at storing water during dry spells. Geneticists have engineered strains of potatoes for rural villages that help combat diarrhoeal outbreaks, as well as ones with built-in vaccines for polio and (in the near future) hepatitis B.

Potatoes. Preventing. Polio. If that hasn't sold you on the mightiness of the potato, you are a lost cause.

There is only one starch that I respect as much as the potato and that is the breadfruit. This thing is versatile. I have not had the pleasure of eating a breadfruit, but people who have describe it as capable of tasting like bread, fruit, vegetables, or any combination of the three, depending on how it's prepared. This could change the food industry as we know it. Imagine a fruit tart, with the exact same plant producing both the crust and the fruit filling. Imagine a peanut-butter and jelly sandwich with breadfruit bread. When you open it--*gasp*--there's no jelly! The delicious moistness came from the bread and the bread alone! Even better, picture a thanksgiving plate. A nice, plump turkey, surrounded by breadfruit stuffing, breadfruit casserole, breadfruit jam, breadfruit soda for the little ones, and breadfruit wine (or as I would call it, "brodka") for the adults. Then mom comes out with the desserts. Oh, heavens! It's breadfruit pie, with a breadfruit crust! And it's à la mode! There's breadfruit ice cream too!

Man that sounds good. Unfortunately, breadfruit has not experienced the years of cultivation that made potatoes and other starches so versatile. Consequently, breadfruit's domain is limited to tropical areas like the South Pacific and the Caribbean. If geneticists can make potatoes that prevent polio, I think we can make some hardier breadfruit trees with a little tolerance to cold, no? Ladies and dudes, it is high time for the Breadfruit Renaissance.

I wrote this entire post while listening to Andrew W.K. My head hurts. A lot.

*Those last two were borrowed from ElBulli's menu. I doubt anyone else would make foamed potatoes.

Soda snorting

I said I'd update this every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. I should have waited to make that cricket update, huh? Now I need to think of something else....

I'm sure anyone who's had a soda out of a glass bottle has noticed that, immediately upon opening the beverage, some condensation forms, suspended above the surface of the liquid? If you haven't noticed before, go and try it now. Watch your own tiny fog-storm swirl about its bubbly domain. See? I didn't make it up.

Now that you know I'm not crazy, I need to ask you if I'm crazy. Does anyone else out there put the soda bottle to their nose and inhale the fizz-fog? I suspect it's an idiosyncrasy shared by precious few. This saddens me, for it is a fun and entertaining past-time.

Cricket Update!

Pakistan trounced Zimbabwe, but it wasn't enough to keep them in the World Cup. From their bracket, the West Indies Team is advancing, as is Ireland. Inzamam-ul-Haq has now officially resigned from tournament play.

As for Bob Woolmer, the British (I know, I said American in the last post) coach of the Pakistani team, he's still dead. No surprise there. Police are saying the death is "suspicious" and further investigations will follow. Apparently they do think it is possibly a homicide. Scandal!

In the news this week...

Sports fans are insane. This is pretty logical, considering "fan" is nothing more than an abbreviation of "fanatic."

In the news last week, some sports fans went crazy-go-nuts over the results of a match.

That's a really vague statement. I could be talking about any sport, in any part of the world. However, I am talking about cricket, which is a terribly dull sport, and the crazy-go-nuttiness of which I speak involved one death, several resignation-tenderings, and the leader of Pakistan.

Yes, Pakistan is pissed because their national team shockingly lost to the Irish team on Tuesday. Now I'm going try and relay what happened to you folks. This may be difficult, because honestly I have no idea what the hell happened.

Anyway, on Saint Patrick's Day, Ireland and Pakistan played a game of cricket for the Cricket World Cup. Pakistan is a dominating force in cricket, and the entire nation takes the game very seriously. Pakistan's leader, General Pervez Musharraf, is even one of the people on the team's board of directors. Ireland's team, meanwhile, is made up of plucky, mildly inebriated dudes, most of whom only play cricket as a hobby. Seriously. This is the first world cup Ireland has competed in, while Pakistan has competed in all of them, which is like a billion games total. As cliché as it sounds, there was some Luck of the Irish that day. Pakistan lost. To Ireland. And then, overzealousness kicked in.

Protests broke out around the city of Islamabad. Citizens burned effigies of players, coaches, and the chief of the board of directors (not Musharraf). Letters and phone calls poured into the team management, news agencies, and the government, demanding that heads roll for the shame. Consequently, the board of directors asked for letters of resignation from their own chief, Nasim Ashraf; team captain, Inzamam-ul-Haq; and team coach, American-born Bob Woolmer.

Let's look at some oversimplifications that I made. Here's what the teams and nations are probably saying right now:
Ireland: "Woo! We won! Let's get smashed!"
Pakistan: "Ireland sucks! This defeat is shameful! If I were Japanese, I would be committing hara-kiri right now! Our entire nation is shamed by Ireland. Shame! Shaaaame!"

Next, let's imagine what would have happened if Pakistan won:
Pakistan: "Ireland sucks! This victory is shameful! We only won 300 to 70! We should have won 300,000,000 to 70! Shame! Shaaaame!"
Ireland: "Woo! We gave it our best shot! Let's get smashed!"

I forgot why I wrote those. But they're funny, so I'll keep them in the story. Anyway, next point.

Needless to say, heads did roll in Pakistan. Board chief Nasim Ashraf resigned soon after, and captain Inzamam-ul-Haq says he will step down after his next game (Pakistan v. Zimbabwe, Wednesday March 21st. I'll tell you the results in another entry). That's two of the three people I mentioned earlier. What happened to head coach Bob Woolmer, who was in Jamaica, relaxing, while the game was being played?

He died.

Yep, Bob Woolmer was found unconscious in his hotel room a few hours after the game ended, in a situation very similar to Anna Nicole Smith's. Unlike Anna Nicole Smith, however, I seem to be the only major news agency giving any attention to the late coach Woolmer.



I'm still waiting for the postmortem to find out how he died, but I've got my suspicions already. Stress from the game's outcome may have caused him to swoon, leaving him half-dead. After that, the potent aroma of Jamaican jerk chicken wafted in from the kitchen, which killed the other half of him, leaving him fully dead. Either that, or angry fans in Pakistan were transmitting hateful brainwaves, which caused an aneurysm. The point is, his death had to do with the outcome of the game. And maybe jerk chicken too.

Games stop being games the moment that fans start being hateful bastards. Like that one Colombian guy from the 1994 FIFA World Cup, who scored an own goal and made his team lose. When he returned to his home country, he was SHOT TWELVE TIMES and left for dead (which he was). Pakistan needs to lighten up when it comes to cricket. Maybe they could borrow a page from Ireland's book. Actually, that's a bad idea. The price of cashmere would plummet if all the cloth reeked of Guinness Draught and sourdough bread. Forget I suggested that particular example, Pakistan, but please do consider being calmer about sports games. No one else is going to be ashamed of your country because you lost a single cricket match to Ireland. Seriously, no one will care. These resignations? The death-brainwaves? Uncalled for. Relearn to enjoy the game, dudes!

And now, the tl;dr version for people with ADD: crazy people, a dead guy, shaaaame, drunk lucky Irishmen, Anna Nicole Smith, jerk chicken. Mmmm, jerk chicken.

Link 1, link 2, link 3, link 4.

I got a slide rule.

Sexy.