Sculpin

In an off-topic comment on ButterfliesandWheels, Ophelia Benson explains why drivers of large vehicles so often do stupid, dangerous things such as barrelling into a crowd of pedestrians and cyclists at Blakeley and 25th. “It’s The Majesty of the Car, you see - the sacred car must never be made to stop for the mere human. The bigger the car is, the truer that is - more big, more majestic, is why.”

Occurs to me that if this were literally true, then one strategy for pedestrian safety would be to appear to be other than merely human.

I’ve been thinking about ordering some more parasols. If I got an orange one and painted enormous eyes and claws on it, maybe it could function as a sort of Terror-Eyes, fooling bird-brained SUV drivers into believing that I am not a mere disposable pedestrian but a huge, dangerous predatory bird.

Also, it would look cool.

Actually, I bet it would work. I have noticed that drivers are more likely to see me and allow me my right-of-way if I’m carrying my little white parasol. I was just thinking yesterday that it’d be a good idea to buy a really garish umbrella for pedestrian safety in winter months.

I’ve often gazed in the eyes of this rooster, wondering if I could eat the whole thing. One bad idea led to another, and the blog was born.

The rooster in question is the one on a bottle of Asian hot sauce — you probably know the one — and the blog is The Smoking Tongue, one man’s documentation of his attempt to consume a bottle of hot sauce every day. For the Rooster Sauce challenge, he ate the entire contents of a big 28-ounce bottle. I’m impressed.

I had the chance to wail, “Oh no! Hedgehog!” at a telephone pollster just now. (Dire, dire hedgehog!) I paused between “Oh no!” and “Hedgehog!” just long enough to hear mental gears grinding at the other end of the line.

Every time we pass a toddler dressed in a silly hat or ridiculous boots, I say, “That’s great!” and Josh says, “I’d totally wear something like that!” With that in mind, I wonder if I could get Josh to wear one of these hats.

“Everyone loves the quiet charm of pandas, and now you can wear it on your head!”

“This beaver hat features shiny button eyes and adorable buck teeth!”

Silly hats in action.

The one thing all these fresheners and perfumed atmospheres have in common is a sickly oversweetness: not honey, not the pale vanishing sweet scent of wild primroses, not the energy of burning sugar, but a thick, bland, saccharine fug, like putting your head into a jar of lollipops. Or like the taste of old stomach medicines, masking the nastiness that was good for you with floury emulsions. Or like the banana or strawberry gels that you gag on at the dentist’s, when he takes an impression of your teeth with something slimy green or sticky pink.

– A. S. Byatt, “How we lost our sense of smell”, Guardian Unlimited Books 2001/9/01.

I grew up having to eat terrible canned beets regularly. They’re even worse after they’ve been sitting in the can in the fridge for a while. I was sure I loathed beets. But now I love them, thanks to Terri’s roasted beet recipe.

Roasted Beets

Select a bunch of beets — the small ones are generally better than the really big ones. Cut off all but an inch of the stem, scrub them clean, and place in aluminum foil or a little roasting dish. Spray with a little olive oil.

Roast until tender. About an hour and a half at 325 is good for medium-sized beets.

Let the beets cool. Put on some gloves, unless you don’t care if your hands turn bright pink. Make a slit in the skin of each beet and slip off the skins.

Slice or chunk them and marinate in olive oil, red wine vinegar, salt, and pepper. Refrigerate and eat cold.

I have some in the oven now. Yum.

Scientists believe they have pinpointed biological markers of chronic fatigue syndrome which could help develop a test and treatment for the condition…

The researchers compared levels of gene expression in the white blood cells of 25 healthy people and 25 who had CFS using DNA chip technology. They found differences in the behaviour of 35 of the 9,522 genes they analysed. Further genetic testing showed 15 of the genes were up to four times more active in people with CFS, while one gene was less active.

Several genes the team pinpointed play important roles in mitochondria, the “powerhouse” of cells. One of the products of these genes is EIF4G1, which is involved in the protein production in mitochondria… Other genes are involved in regulating the immune system or playing important roles in nerve cells.

– BBC News, July 21 2005

It was strongly suggested to me yesterday that my CFS/CFIDS was due to my failure to completely shrug off the less pleasant aspects of my childhood, and that when I “stop carrying that burden” I’ll be all better. I’d like to suggest that that’s bullshit.

What really annoys me about that stuff is that it’s pretty much unfalsifiable. Sure, you can say, “If that is true, then XYZ, but not XYZ, therefore not that,” and what you’ll get is a pitying look. You poor dear, in so much denial. You can’t reason it out with them, because they know.

At heart it’s a kind of religious view, as removed from argument and evidence as any bizarre religious doctrine. (Even the language used reminds me of that of evangelical Christians pitying, chiding, and hassling those who haven’t accepted the Good News.) If you’re going to base your opinions on unfounded speculation and ill-conceived “poetic” notions, you might as well go all out and embrace the idea that illness is caused by karma from previous lives.

ETA: What I should have done is invoke Flying Spaghetti Monsterism. Perhaps it was my years of studying evolutionary biology that caused Him to reach out His noodly appendage and put me on a different path. Praise!

Josh and I have made a pact: next time we answer the phone and it’s a telemarketer or pollster, we are going to yell, “OH NO! HEDGEHOG!” and hang up.