In the Headlights

The Turtle

The turtle lives twixt plated decks
Which practically conceal its sex
I think it clever of the turtle
In such a fix to be so fertile.

-Ogden Nash

I like this little rhyme, as I do most of Nash's catchy ditties.

Most people do.  In 2002, he was commemorated by the U.S. Postal Service which issued a stamp that features six small poems in the background, including "The Turtle."

And if you are curious, as I was, about a turtle's shell, it is made up of bony plates that are covered with scutes made of keratin, the same protein that makes your hair and nails.

The Turtle Puddle tells us this and answers many more burning turtle questions...but not Nash's.

Nash was a humorist and poet, a lyricist, a radio and TV guest and a baseball fanatic.  He is most known for his limericks and poetic puns and world play.

We all know some of  his rhymes, the most famous of which is, I think:

Candy is dandy,
but liquor is quicker.

The Canon

I finally finished Natalie Angier's fine book, The Canon:  A Whirligig Tour of the Beautiful Basics of Science.

It took me some time, because I'd have to stop every couple of pages to digest the beautiful new insights I'd gained into the world around and within me.  The chapters say it all:  Thinking Scientifically, Probabilities, Calibration, Physics, Chemistry, Evolutionary Biology, Molecular Biology, Geology and Astronomy.  If it sounds dry, let me be the first to tell you that it's anything but.  You won't earn a PhD reading it, but you'll at least have a grasp of all these sciences.

The Canon is  lovingly written, and full of puns.  Explanations are simple and clear, yet elegant, possibly the most fun I've ever had reading something that was good for me.

Angier's mind is interesting.  It deals with the rigid rules of science (she is, after all, a science writer for the New York Times), yet pushing at the boundaries of thought and language, and arriving at some metaphysical concepts that stop you (me, anyway) in your tracks.

For instance, after establishing that life is written in DNA, and that every cell passes life on through it, and that therefore we are all descended from the first cells, witnessed by the fact that we are all monophyletic:  "Gunter Blobel, a cell biologist at Rockefeller University, Nobel laureate and fair grist for a limerick, sees the plain splendor in life's unbroken tenure.  'When you come right down to it, you are not twenty or thirty or forty years old,' he said.  'You are 3.5 billion years old.  Some people say how terrible it is, this idea that we come from monkeys.  Well, it's worse than that--or better, depending on your perspective.  Wecome from cells from 3.5 billion years ago.'

"'There is this tremendous thread of life that goes back to when the firs cells arose, and that will continue on after any of us die as individuals' he said.  'It's continuous life and continuous cell division, and we are all an extension of that continuity.  Reincarnation and similar themes are poetic representations of biological activity.'"

Or this from the chapter on astronomy after expaling the Big Bang and how the stars became huge fusion pits where smaller atoms like hydrogen and helium fused to make larger and heavier atoms while giving off heat and light. "'We are star stuff, a part of the cosmos' said Alex Filippenko.' I'm not just speaking generically or metaphorically here.  The specific atoms in every cell of your body, my body, my son's body, the body of yoyr pet cat, were cooked up inside massive stars.  To me, that is one of the most amazing conclusions in the history of science, and I want everybody to know about it.'"  I love that stuff.

The most fascinating for me, because it's something I know very little about, was the chapter on astronomy.  The explanations of the origins of the universe and the Big Bang almost made sense to me, but the formation of the starts, then their depletion, implosion, explosion...star, supernova, red giant and dense white dwarf.

The chaper on geology gives the same treatment to our planet, where it came from, how it seethes and breathes.  How we get tsunamis and volcanoes and earthquakes, and why the Earth is not just one huge festering mass of open fiery pits and fissures.

Somehow, realizing how we are all atoms and cells, yet tiny specks on a tiny speck of a world in a  non-descript solar-system of a middling galaxy...should, somehow make you feel insignificant, but it doesn't.  It's just awesome.

What a wonderful book!

[Image of The Milky Way via Celestial Wonders]

Crossword Blues

I finally got the results of my mail-in submission to the American Crossword Puzzle Tournament.  I felt good about it, it was the first time I managed to complete all the puzzles within the allotted time.

But the time pressure took its toll.  I made some stupid mistakes, and a few others that I would make again though in truth, I should have picked up the error by the perpendicular word. 

I wound up pretty much in the middle of the pack, but find solace that this is the middle of a pack of crossword mavens.

Here are my results:

344 out of 699 (Division A:  all contestants)

309 out of 663 (Division B:  contestants who have not won a Division A or B prize during their last seven tournaments.)

230 out of 583 (Division C:  contestants who have not finished in the top 20% during their last three tournaments)

53 out of 206 (Division D:  contestants who have not finished in the top 40% during their last three tournaments)

7 out of 109 (Division E:  contestants who have not finished in the top 65% during their last three tournaments)

Age group 50-59:  98 out of 292.

Region:  South. 23 out of 40.

I can't quite get a grip on the divisions, but those are my results.

I'll definitely do it again next year.  By mail, it costs $20 to compete.  Of course that way, you can't win any prizes, and you can't participate until after the live contest takes place.  Next year, after 30 years at the Stamford, Connecticut Marriott, the tournament is moving to a larger venue, the Brooklyn Bridge Marriott .

If crosswords aren't your thing, this year The Philadelphia Inquirer will sponsor the first Sudoku National Championship, hosted by Will Shortz.

Boy, I'm being pulled as by the gravitational force of a large planet.  I am seriously addicted to Sudoku, and do several every day. 

[Image from Cartoon Stock]

Well, That's a Deep Subject

Monday, Sandy and I head for Roan.  It never occured to me that my landscaping and now well project might actually run up to our time of departure.

(If this seems out of synch, it is because I am preposting, since I'm quite sure I won't have computer access at Roan.  A mixed blessing.  I'll miss it, yet it's nice to take a break now and then.)

It's been almost six weeks since the unhappy realization that I couldn't have it all:  a sprinkler system, air conditioning and running water in the house.

During the drought this spring, my existing well, a 20-year-old 2-inch rock well failed once, spewing black, sandy water through the faucets.  Then the muck clogged up the water-to-air air conditioner.  I had to have both repaired.  Then, in May, just before the end of the drought, I decide to have some landscaping done (since the front lawn resembled the surface of the moon, plus bull ants).  And when the sprinklers were on, I had almost no running water in the house. And a bit later, even when the sprinklers were off, I had precious little water pressure in the house.   The well company couldn't do much this time, and once again, I had to get the AC cleaned out.

So I got estimates for a new well.  A three-inch rock well, and an artesian well, which costs about three times as much.  Adding to the fun, just south of my house, the city is putting in city water and sewer lines.  I anticipate the next phase of the project will be my neighborhood.  If I could wait a bit longer I'd be on city water.  But how could I wait, and how long would it take?  Plus, how much would it cost now that I'm installing sprinklers...quite a few sprinklers?

So I decided to go ahead with the well, the artesian well, which should, by all accounts give me pure, clean, potable water for eternity.  The rock well would probably do as well, but the rock well would, like the one I had, deliver water with two parts per million of iron.  It may not sound like much, but the water comes out with a slight rusty tinge, and colors everything it gets on.  I have a water softener for the house, but the sprinklers would have the rusty water, and I expect that over time, it would clog up the sprinklers.  It would certainly discolor any part of the driveway or house that it got on, and even the grass. When we had hose-mounted sprinkler heads before, the grass would turn brown after a while.

The other reason for selecting the artesian well is that I've never had great water pressure in the house.  I've been promised that this will provide me with lots of pressure, and my first purchase after my account recovers from the twin insults of landscaping and well, will be a fancy, pulsing shower head.

Yesterday, I had two huge trucks on the lot to drill my well.  The huge drill worked all day, and by the end of the day, it had dug down 610 feet.  This has, naturally, made a mess of the rudimentary landscaping we had done in that immediate area.  The well company initially wanted to drill right in the middle of the new sod, on the other side of the azaleas.  That would have been real nice.

An artesian well, in contrast with a rock well, digs to water that is trapped between rock layers and is under pressure, and reaches the surface under pressure.  (Another plus is that I am told that even in the event of a hurricane or massive power outage, even if the pump does not work, there will be enough pressure from an artesian well that I will have running water in the house.  I've spent a few days without running water, and this is a big plus.)  It seems that the water table is supposed to be higher than where the well comes out, but I don't see how this is possible.  (I understand that the highest elevation in this town is a landfill).  There is no high land around this area, though I guess that is all relative.

While a pump may not be required, one will be installed in my well.  Apparently if a lot of wells are dug into an aquifer, it can decrease the pressure and a pump may be required. 

Anyway, I hope this project finishes tomorrow.  Otherwise we're into the weekend, and I have no intention of postponing my trip for a damned well.  Original estimates were that it would take three weeks, next Monday will be 6 weeks since I made my 50% deposit.

Jeez.  I can't wait to get out of town.

[Image of artesian well from Duane Moyer Well Drilling, Inc.]

I've Got the Right to Sing the Blues

LC sent us these "Rules for the Blues."  I think they're great.  I like listening to the blues, and have done a few posts about this genre.  In fact, reading this had me humming "Saint James Infirmary" for the rest of the afternoon.

Despite the title of this post, the truth is, by these rules, I not only don't have the right to sing the blues; I should probably be slapped for my impertinence.  Or maybe, we each, in our own way, has the right to sing the blues, but not if you follow the rules.  Which is as it should be.

You decide.  Here are the rules.

1.  Most Blues begin with "Woke up this morning."

2.  "I got a good woman" is a bad way to beging the Blues unless you stick something nasty in the next line, like "I got a good woman with the meanest face in town."

3.  The Blues is simple.  After you get the first line right, repeat it.  Then find something that rhymes, sort of.  "Got a good woman with the meanest face in town.  Yes, I got a good woman with the meanest face in town.  Got teeth like Margaret Thatcher and she weigh 500 pound."

4.  The Blues is not about choice.  You stuck in a ditch, You stuck in a ditch.  There ain't no way out.

5.  Blues cars:  Chevys, Fords, Cadillaces and broken-down trucks.  Blues don't travel in Volvos, BMWs, or SUVs.  Most blues transportaion is a Greyhound bus or a southbound train.  Jet aircraft and state-sponsored motor pools ain't even in the running.  Walkin' plays a major part in the blues lifestyle.  So does fixin' to die.

6.  Teenagers can't sing the Blues.  They ain't fixin' to die yet.  Adults sing the Blues.  In Blues, "adulthood" means being old enough to get the electric chair if you shoot a man in Memphis.

7.  Blues can take place in New York City, but not in Hawaii or anyplace in Canada.  Hard times in Minneapolis or Seattle is probaboly just clinical depression.  Chicago, St. Louis and Kansas City are still great places to have the Blues.  You cannot have the blues anyplace that does nto get rain.

8.  A man with male pattern baldness ain't the Blues.  A woman with male pattern baldness is.  Breaking your leg 'cause you were skiing is not the Blues.  Breaking your leg 'cause an alligator be chomping on it is. 

9.  You cannot have the Blues in an office or a shopping mall.  The lighting is wrong.  Go out to the parking lot or sit by the dumpster.

10.  Good places to have the Blues:  highway, jailhouse, empty bed, bottom of a whiskey glass.

11.  Bad places for the Blues:  Nordstrom's or Macy's, gallery openings, Ivy League colleges, golf courses.

12.  No one will believe it's the Blues if you wear a suit, unless you happen to be old and black, and you've obviously slept in the damned thing.

13.  Do you have the right to sing the Blues?  Yes, if:

     a.  You are older than dirt.

     b.  You are blind.

     c.  You shot a man in Memphis.

     d.  You can't be satisfied.

You don't have the right to sing the Blues if:

     a.  You have most of your teeth.

     b.  You were once blind but now you can see.

     c.  The man in Memphis lived.

     d.  You have a 401K or trust fund.

14.  Blues is not a matter of color.  It is a matter of bad luck.  Tiger Woods cannot sing the blues.  Sonny Liston could.  Ugly white people have a  leg up on the blues.

15.  If you ask for water and your darlin' gives you gasoline, it's the Blues.  Other acceptable Blues beverages are:  cheap wine, whiskey or bourbon, muddy water, nasty black coffee.

The following are not Blues beverages:  Perrier, Chardonnay, Snapple, Slim Fast.

16.  If death occurs in a cheap motel or a shotgun shack, it's a Blues death.  Stabbed in the back by a jealous lover is another way to die.  So are the electric chair, substance abuse, and dying lonely on a broken-down cot.  You can't have a Blues death if you die during a tennis match or while getting liposuction.

17.  Some blues names for women:  Sadie, Bessie, Big Mama, Fat River Dumpling.

18.  Some Blues names of men:  Joe, Willie, Little Willie, Big Willie.

19.  Persons with names like Amber, Jennifer, Tiffany, Debbie and Heather can't sing the blues, no matter how many men they shot in Memphis.

20.  Make your own Blues name Starter Kit:

Pick a physical infirmity (Blind, Cripple, Lame, etc.)  Add a first name (see above) plus the name of a fruit (Lemon, Lime, etc.), and last names of a President (Jefferson, Johnoson, Filmore, etc.)

Examples:  Blind Lime Jefferson, Jackleg Lemon Johnson.

21.  No matter how tragic your life, ifyou own a computer, you cannot sing the Blues.

[Image of Dan Aykroyd and John Belushi from Search.com]

The Cat

by Lawrence Ferlinghetti

from These Are My Rivers

The cat
licks its paw and
lies down in
the bookshelf nook
She
can lie in a
sphinx position
without moving for so
many hours
and then turn her head
to me and
rise and stretch
and turn
her back to me and
lick her paw again as if
no real time had passed
It hasn't
and she is the sphinx with
all the time in the world
in the desert of her time
The cat
knows where flies die
sees ghosts in the motes of air
and shadows in sunbeams
She hears
the music of the spheres and
the hum of in the wires of the houses
and the hum of the universe
in interstellar spaces
but
prefers domestic places
and the hum of the heater

*    *    *    *

Me too
my cats too
by the heater
in the sun
they can do it all
but why bother
to prove anything

{Via The Writers Almanac]

[Image via The Paw Path Cat Blog]

Eggsactly

I was reading The Canon by Natalie Angier last night, and this fact boggled my imagination.  It had never occured to me before, which further boggled.

We all know that a sperm is a single cell, and an ovum is a single cell, but I'd never translated that into other types of ova.

So when she mentions, almost casually, that a chicken egg is a single cell, well, my jaw dropped.

In Angier's words:

"Yes, believe it or not, an unfertilized chicken egg of the kind you buy at the grocery store is a single cell, although strictly speaking, it's the cheery, marmalade-colored yolk of the egg that is bounded by the plasma membrane and thus qualifies as the cell proper."

She adds that the egg white and the calcium chloride shell are added later, as the yolk descends down the cloaca.  The largest egg in the world, and thus the largest cell in the world, she goes on to tell us, is the ostrich egg, which weighs abut three pounds with it's shell.

Elaborating, she goes on to say that for all its size, the ostrich egg is the smallest relative to the size of the mother.  Kiwis and hummingbirds, on the other hand, lay eggs which are 25% as big as they are.

Whew!

[Image by Tony Northrup.  He takes Pictures of Everything.]

Sign Language

Where would I be without my friends and their ideas. 

Somewhere lofty, no doubt.

L.C. sent us this link.  The next time someone makes a gesture at you that you don't understand, go here for clarification.

If you really want to know, that is.

Many of these are pretty universal.  Others have dual (or more) meanings depending on where you are.  That's the hard part.  Are you expressing admiration or administering a gross insult?  It pays to know.

There are many ways to flip someone the bird.  Other gestures are more positive:  "V" for victory, thumbs up (or down...not so good if you are in the Colosseum with the lions), or the OK sign.

Others have multiple meanings.  The cuckold sign (index and pinky extended) looks a lot like the University of Texas "Hook 'Em Horns" sign.

There's the Vulcan salute, and the wanker, the benediction, crossed fingers and the cuckoo sign.

And many more.  You'll know most of them, but it's still a fun read.  The ones you don't already know, you can learn.  Think how well-versed you'll be then.

[Thanks to L.C. and Wikipedia (article and image)]

Rollerman

Stryder sent us this link with a video of this thing in action.

Rollerman is actually Jean-Yves Blondeau whose suit is outfitted with wheels on the back, sides and front.  In other words, no matter how he lands, he's going to keep on rolling.

The video showws Blondeau racing a motorcycle down a winding mountain road.  It was filmed for a South Korean TV show, in which the viewers get very involved, probably because some of them bet the farm on the outcome.

Blondeau's skate-suit has no motor, just gravity, but the momentum carries the day, and the fact that he hugs the ground lets him take the curves faster than the bike.  Even at that, the comments at the bottom of the post show that a lot of people think the motorcyclist threw the race.

Check it out and make up your own mind.  I've ridden, and sometimes, as in a car, you rely on your motor to slow you down on steep roads.  I'm not sure the bike couldn't have gone faster if he'd just put 'er in neutral and coasted.

Anyway, I don't think the rollersuit is the transportation mode of the future.  Imagine hitting a bad bump in the road, or a curb, or a pile of dog poop.  Bad news.  And wait until he decides he wants to go home...back at the top of the hill.

[Via Gizmodo]

On The Road Again

I'm so tugging at my leash.

Tomorrow, Sandy and I head off for Roan Mountain State Park in Tennessee.

Today, we plan on loading the car with suitcases and stereo, books and games...anything that won't spoil.  Tomorrow, I'll load up the food I've been tasked with bringing, drive to Sandy's, load up her food and we'll hit the road.  Hopefully we'll be on the road by 0630, 0700 at the latest.  It's about a 500 mile drive, and we should be able to make it in eight hours, plenty of time to be unpacked and sitting on a rocker on the porch with a cool drink by sunset.

Guess I'd better dig out the GPS unit, though there is no doubt that Sandy will have Mapquested every possible permutation of this trip. The GPS will be a curiosity, to see if it takes us along what has been predetermined to be the best route. 

One thing we might use it for is a side trip to the Biltmore Estate in Ashville, North Carolina.  When Sandy said she wanted to visit the Biltmore, I thought "Biltmore Hotel", of which there are many.  But she meant the prototype, after which all the swank hotels were copied...in name, if not in appearance.

The Biltmore Estate was George Washington Biltmore II's display of conspicuous consumption (or erection, whatever metaphor for dominance you prefer) in an age when you could be a multi-millionaire, and it meant something.  Before Uncle Sam took his share in order to display his own dominance.

Anyway, in 1887, Vanderbilt built his dream chateau in the Blue Ridge Mountains, on a modest lot:  125,000 acres. The floor-plan is measured in acres (four of them).  At least it's easier that way.  It is 175,000 square feet in area, making it the largest privately-owned home in the U.S.  It boasts 250 rooms, some with 70-foot ceilings, including 34 bedrooms and 43 bathrooms.  The walls are covered with 1600 works of art, making it an art museum as well.

The landscaping was done by Frederick Law Olmsted, who designed Central Park in New York City.

The project was so costly that Vanderbilt spent most of his fortune, and after his death, his widow sold most of the acreage to the federal government, which added some of its own acres to make the Pisgah National Forest.

Unfortunately, we'll miss the beauty of the Biltmore at Christmas, when it is decorated with 35 huge evergreen trees and 10,000 feet of evergreen swags. 

Wow.  Can you imagine keeping that place clean?

I'll take pictures if they don't take my camera away.

[Image via ATPM]