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Birds, Herds and Turds

9 Jul

Any fashionable ideology quickly attracts its share of idiots eager to agree with its most outlandish propositions and be its Number One Fans, yessirree. The most obvious examples are religions: scratch the surface of any “Hindu”* and underneath you’ll find a moron willing to seriously entertain the possibility that Ganesh statues drink milk and Lord Krishna’s Pashupata Astra was really a nuclear bomb.

As annoying as Hindus can be when they get going on the subject of How Hinduism Anticipated Every Major Scientific Breakthrough Of The 20th Century, they’re nothing compared to the imbeciles I’ve just come across on, of all places, RichardDawkins.net.

Read this article on Psycology Today (dismembered at length under the “Read More” cut). Then look at some choice comments to the article from the members of RichardDawkins.net: this one and this one and this one… and oh, you’ll find loads.

Ugh. Ugh ugh ugh ugh ugh. I cannot believe this garbage is piggybacking on the name of science, that it’s put up on the website of a man whom I quite respected (in spite of his rantiness, but because of his innate sensibility), and that there are such MORONS masquerading under the honourable name of “atheist”. AAAARRRGGGHH.

Who’s in the mood for some dismemberment? For an Exclusive Edited Revised And (Snarkily) Annotated look at the original Psycology Today article, read on! (Warning: long.)

*self-described

Ten Politically Incorrect Truths About Human Nature
Why most suicide bombers are Muslim, beautiful people have more daughters, humans are naturally polygamous, sexual harassment isn’t sexist, and blonds are more attractive.
By:Alan S(hithead). Miller Ph(at).D(oofus)., Satoshi Kanazawa Ph(rickin’).D(oo-doo-head).

Human nature is one of those things that everybody talks about but no one can define precisely (who gave YOU a PhD?). Every time we fall in love, fight with our spouse, get upset about the influx of immigrants into our country, or go to church, we are, in part, behaving as a human animal with our own unique evolved nature—human nature (nature-human nature? As opposed to… clones? Robots? God’s intelligently designed creatures?).

(Yadda yadda yadda)… our thoughts, feelings, and behavior are shared, to a large extent, by all men or women (remember this, lads n’ lasses, remember this mighty ALL), despite … large cultural differences.

(Yadda yadda yadda)… evolutionary psychologists postulate wild theories on thin air see human nature as a collection of psychological adaptations that often operate beneath conscious thinking to solve problems of survival and reproduction by predisposing us to think or feel in certain ways. …

The implications of some of the ideas in this article may seem unsupported, divorced from “reality”, stupid, immoral, contrary to our ideals, or offensive. We state them because we had fun making them up they are true, supported by documented scientific evidence that exists somewhere other than reality. Like it or not, human nature is simply not politically correct.

Excerpted from Why Beautiful People Have More Daughters, by Alan S. Miller and Satoshi Kanazawa, to be published by Perigree in September 2007.

Men like blonde bombshells (and women want to look like them)

Long before TV—in 15th- and 16th- century Italy, and possibly two millennia ago—women were dying their hair blond. And that’s all I’ll say about blonde hair in this section. A recent study shows that in Iran, where exposure to Western media and culture is limited, women are actually more concerned with their body image, and want to lose more weight, than their American counterparts. (And Renaissance women apparantly wanted to be absolute COWS. Your point?) …

Women’s desire to look like Barbie—young with small waist (all right, that’s pretty constant all through human history), large breasts (small breasts are in fashion quite often, but go on), long blond hair (unheard of in more than half the world’s population), and blue eyes (again, unheard of in most parts of the world) — is a direct, realistic, and sensible (WHA-?) response to the desire of men to mate with women who look like her though, of course, in India and China and Africa, people are making billions of babies without the benefit of this very sensible desire. There is evolutionary logic behind each of these features and if you are from a non-white race that has no naturally occurring blonde hair or blue eyes, you’re just not evolved enough.

Men prefer young women… One accurate indicator of health is … is hair. Healthy women have lustrous, shiny hair, whereas the hair of sickly people loses its luster. …(All right! Logical assertions for once, even if they are only assertions.)

Men also have a universal preference for women with a low waist-to-hip ratio. They are healthier and more fertile than other women; they have an easier time conceiving a child and do so at earlier ages because they have larger amounts of essential reproductive hormones. … (Yes! Conclusions drawn from real evidence… maybe there is hope for this article yet.)

(Yadda yadda yadda)… Harvard anthropologist Frank Marlowe contends that larger, and hence heavier, breasts sag more conspicuously with age than do smaller breasts. Thus they make it easier for men to judge a woman’s age (and her reproductive value) by sight—suggesting why men find women with large breasts more attractive. (Oh crap. Serves me right for speaking too soon.)

Alternatively, … a new study of Polish women shows that women with large breasts and tight waists have the greatest fecundity, [so that may explain men's preference for large breasts]. (Conclusions based on evidence: “alternate” theories. Conclusions based on wild speculation: mentioned first as the primary theory!)

Hmm, I wonder what the title of this section was? Oh yeah - Blond hair is unique in that it changes dramatically with age. Typically, [young women] with light blond hair become [older] women with brown hair. … It is no coincidence that blond hair evolved in Scandinavia and northern Europe, probably as an alternative means for women to advertise their youth, as their bodies were concealed under heavy clothing. (So how did Scandinavians pass on their evolutionary preference for blondes to ALL (remember that almighty ALL?) of us?)

Humans are naturally polygamous
(But I will immediately change the word “polygamy” to “polygyny”, watch for it!)

The history of western civilization aside, humans are naturally polygamous. Polyandry (a marriage of one woman to many men) is very rare, but polygyny (the marriage of one man to many women) is widely practiced in human societies, even though Judeo-Christian traditions hold that monogamy is the only natural form of marriage. …

(Yadda yadda yadda… about why polygyny means bigger males who are the best protectors have the most offspring.

In societies where rich men are much richer than poor men, women (and their children) are better off sharing the few wealthy men; one-half, one-quarter, or even one-tenth of a wealthy man is still better than an entire poor man. (Ah, you’re walking into dangerous territory… tread carefully. So far, so good…)…

Most women benefit from polygyny, while most men benefit from monogamy. (Aaaaand you blew it! Most women? As in, most women TODAY?!)) When there is resource inequality among men—the case in every human (current?!) society — most women benefit from polygyny: women can share a wealthy man (!!!). Under monogamy, they are stuck with marrying a poorer man because who’s heard of a woman capable of making her own fortune nowadays? Huh? Haha, what a suggestion.

The only exceptions are extremely desirable women. …They can monopolize the wealthiest men because for men to “share a wealthy woman” would just be icky; under polygyny, they must share the men with other, less desirable women. However, the situation is exactly opposite for men. Monogamy guarantees that every man can find a wife. True, less desirable men can marry only less desirable women, but that’s much better than not marrying anyone at all. (There is something just so wrong about that sentence, but my brain has exploded too recently for me to figure it out.)

Most suicide bombers are Muslim

Suicide missions are not always religiously motivated, but according to Oxford University sociologist Diego Gambetta, editor of Making Sense of Suicide Missions, when religion is involved, the attackers are always Muslim. Why? The surprising answer is that Muslim suicide bombing has nothing to do with Islam or the Quran (except for two lines) (Two lines? Has this guy READ the Koran?). It has a lot to do with sex, or, in this case, the absence of sex.

What distinguishes Islam from other major religions is that it tolerates polygyny.(I thought he said this had nothing to do with Islam?) … If 50 percent of men have two wives each, then the other 50 percent don’t get any wives at all.

So polygyny increases competitive pressure on men, especially young men of low status. It therefore increases the likelihood that young men resort to violent means to gain access to mates.

However, polygyny itself is not a sufficient cause of suicide bombing. … The other key ingredient is the promise of 72 virgins waiting in heaven for any martyr in Islam. (I thought he said this had nothing to do with Islam?) … the prospect is quite appealing to anyone who faces the bleak reality on earth of being a complete reproductive loser. (You have to hand it to them, though – they do have a sense of humour.)

…(Big snip of many other ridiculous sections.)…

Men sexually harass women because they are not sexist

An unfortunate consequence of the ever-growing number of women joining the labor force and working side by side with men is the increasing number of sexual harassment cases. Why must sexual harassment be a necessary consequence of the sexual integration of the workplace? (Whoa! Take a step back. Read that sentence again. “Must”? “Necessary consequence”?)

Psychologist Kingsley R. Browne identifies two types of sexual harassment cases: the quid pro quo (“You must sleep with me if you want to keep your job or be promoted”) and the “hostile environment” (the workplace is deemed too sexualized for workers to feel safe and comfortable). While feminists and social scientists tend to explain sexual harassment in terms of “patriarchy” and other ideologies, Browne locates the ultimate cause of both types of sexual harassment in sex differences in mating strategies. Ha! Gotcha! I’ve now successfully diverted your attention to the following irrelevant blathering.

Studies demonstrate unequivocally that men are far more interested in short-term casual sex than women. In one now-classic study, 75 percent of undergraduate men approached by an attractive female stranger agreed to have sex with her; none of the women approached by an attractive male stranger did. Many men who would not date the stranger nonetheless agreed to have sex with her. (Okay, so men are sluts. Yawn. Your point? )

Feminists often claim that sexual harassment is “not about sex but about power;” Browne contends it is both—men using power to get sex. (All right, but how does this prove that the sexual harassment is NOT sexist? It’s all exclusively about gender, so far.)

Sexual harassment cases of the hostile-environment variety result from sex differences in what men and women perceive as “overly sexual” or “hostile” behavior. Many women legitimately complain that they have been subjected to abusive, intimidating, and degrading treatment by their male coworkers. Browne points out that long before women entered the labor force, men subjected each other to such abusive, intimidating, and degrading treatment. (Wait. When indulging in such “abusive, intimidating and degrading” treatment, men treat women EXACTLY like they treat men? So they grope and pinch one another? They express lewd admiration for each other’s bodies? And they repeatedly suggest having sex to “cool the sexual tension” between them? They compare each other’s man-breasts to fruit?)

Abuse, intimidation, and degradation are all part of men’s repertoire of tactics employed in competitive situations. In other words, men are not treating women differently from men—the definition of discrimination, under which sexual harassment legally falls—but the opposite: Men harass women precisely because they are not discriminating between men and women.
(Ladies and gentlemen, I rest my case.)

Parfumerie

19 Jun

RAGE (Diabolus)
Black amber erupting with a dark volcanic surge of fiery dragon’s blood and a burst of melati, rose geranium, mandarin and black currant.

A tug at my upstretched arm, and I step out of the relentless sun into the cool shade of the grocer’s awning. Incense, black tea and oil in the air. Grimy glass jars full of salty treats at my eye level – sweets are nowhere to be found. The grocer smiles with yellowing teeth, smooth brown head shining under the lone bulb.

“A block of jaggery,” Mother snaps from somewhere above.

Thud. The distant spice of cane fields tickles my nostrils. Then the rustle of old paper, the low whirr as the ball of twine unravels at the grocer’s command, scattering discordant particles of woody dust when he snips off a parsimonious length to tie the package off.

“Goodbye, child” he says to me, his tongue an unnatural red between his black lips.


Ulalume (Bewitching Brews)
Starry white lilies lend an eerie brightness to the deep black wooded scents of cypress and oak, layered with a touch of crushed dried leaves and the faintest aquatic note.

Ulalume was her name, and skipping rope was her game.

She was a little black child in a faded white sundress, maybe seven or eight years old – the dress and the child, both. She skipped in the most surprising ways through the most surprising times: sideways in the morning rain, high and floaty in the springtime, backflips through war and running skips when the bees chased her. Sometimes she climbed trees – the tall straight ones that only knew to grow straight up with no complicated networks of branches, and she stayed till past sundown to see if she could catch dew happening. But that wasn’t very often.

Ulalume was her name, and skipping rope was her game.

And when time came for her to go home, she left behind a mist of sundrops that condensed gently into the lake, each plop of each drop as clear as the thwack of her skipping rope.

Hamadryad (Bewitching Brews)
Hamadryads are born into a tree that serves as both a home and an anchor for the creature’s soul. They are sometimes tricksters, sometimes seducers, sometimes helpful and benign, but they are always fierce and furious protectors of the natural world. Seven dry woods with mossy lichen and a gentle breeze of forest flowers.

…. I’m sorry, but this one smells exactly like Iodex to me. I tried to write a funny piece about it, but I can’t keep a straight face, and everybody knows the worst jokes are always told by laughing people. :)


I discovered BPAL scents through M-, who is ‘Alchemilla’ on the BPAL forums (I am Wendelin, but this information is useless to you because I haven’t posted even once yet). I am HOOKED, HOOKED, HOOKED on the perfumes. I’ve tried about 12 Imp’s Ears (the tiniest little bottles of oils with helpful little wands in them, probably less than 1 ml) – hated some, loved others – in case you can’t tell, I hated Rage and loved Ulalume while that Iodex one just makes me laugh. Interestingly, the perfumes change on you. I’ve just discovered that Shattered, which I thought smelled like rotting drainwater the first time I tried it, is a really pleasing light floral and aquatic scent that I want to buy. And apparently what smells like one thing on you will smell completely different on another person… which is giving me wicked ideas about finally putting Saurabh to good use. If he goes to work smelling like white tea, lilies, moss and sandalwood (ah, I see I have made my perfume tastes public) in the service of my own little private olafactory experiment, so be it. :)

Even more addictive than the scents, which drive you mad trying to figure out exactly what that little note of something-or-the-other in the background is, is the website itself. Is that heaven or what? It wakes up my inner Goth, it sates my hunger for all things mythological and literary, it pleasures my inner geek to a hundred little thrills. I mean, look at me, cooing about my inner Goth! I love that it’s not organised in a perfectly orderly, easy-to-locate fashion. BPAL’s website is Paris: it invites you come take a walk in it, discover its secrets, lose your way and just keep wandering simply to soak in the beauty all around you.

What Now?

8 Feb

While this blog will never go so far as to long for a ‘simpler time’ when there was less information around, it must confess to being serially flummoxed by dissent and controversy in the scientific community.

This isn’t about iffy new sciences like nutritionism. It’s impossible to coallate valid data and develop good theories on eating habits that have been around for less than a generation, so for most part I ignore the headlines (More Protein! No Carbs! No, More Whole Grains! OMG, Omega-3!!) and follow the Golden Rule of food: eat what your great-grandmother ate, and for heaven’s sake not that much, because she was a farmer.

No, this is about real science, the kind that’s been around for a while, or at least, has irrefutable data banks to draw on covering great periods of time that nobody can argue with and only need to be interpreted logically. Is that so hard? Is it really?

Why can’t this blog make up its mind about global warming (climate change, whatever), then?

This blog watched An Inconvenient Truth. Got all fired up, to tell you the truth, because yours truly is impressionable that way, and it’s irritating sometimes because this blog does not want to be a goddamned teenager with a new cause every week. But it was so convincing! Spiffy charts, low on the theatrics, no discernable corporate lobby behind it, and hard data mined up from prehistoric ice, I ask you?

But apparently it was bogus. This Canadian fella (Canadian! Immediately trustworthy!) who is a proper climatologist and all, PhD etc., thinks so. The worst part of it is, he says he’s tried to publish papers arguing his side of it and keeps getting rejected for no good reason, and to tell you the truth, one of the statistics Al Gore used to make his case was: there is a 100% consensus among climatologists on the issue of global warming, judging from the articles in peer-reviewed journals. So he was only telling a very convenient truth there?

There’s something missing here. Let’s think clearly for a second, shall we? We have evidence being chucked at us from both sides. One side is clearly better supported than the other both in terms of arguments and experience (hello, winter 2006/7?!!), but why would this supposedly scientific establishment simply refuse to publish opposing evidence? Very fishy. What we need, I think, are standards.

Do both sides agree that there’s more CO2 in the atmosphere these days? (hard fact)
Do both sides agree that it’s humans who’ve released this extra CO2? (dunno, but kinda obvious, isn’t it?)
Does extra CO2 cause global warming? (hard fact, or is it??)
Have we in fact reached the point where we can say there is extra CO2, more than there ever was before in the history of the world since the last couple of ice ages at least? (dunno, but Al Gore was very convincing on this point. The charts!)

The hostility point as made by that Canadian fella is bothersome. Why the rancour? How can rational debate not compel the experts to agree on one version of reality in this matter? What am I missing?

Eat Food. Not Too Much. Mostly Plants.

29 Jan

This remarkable essay by Michael Pollan in the New York Times argues we should ditch “nutritionism” in favour of plain old food.

It was in the 1980s that food began disappearing from the American supermarket, gradually to be replaced by “nutrients,” which are not the same thing. Where once the familiar names of recognizable comestibles — things like eggs or breakfast cereal or cookies — claimed pride of place on the brightly colored packages crowding the aisles, now new terms like “fiber” and “cholesterol” and “saturated fat” rose to large-type prominence. More important than mere foods, the presence or absence of these invisible substances was now generally believed to confer health benefits on their eaters. Foods by comparison were coarse, old-fashioned and decidedly unscientific things — who could say what was in them, really?

The article is often startling; don’t expect to only read a bunch of same-old injuctions (though that is the core of it, and why not?). Cogently argued, beautifully written and altogether essential reading.

Two Qs For Techies

12 Jan

Huddle up, technologically advanced perusers of this blog. Your brains look like they need picking.

1. Saurabh wants to know: is there a smart aggregator out there that can order items from various feeds chronologically?

2. I want to know: what’s a good server for an Invision Board forum that has about 200 active members? Is Esosoft any good?

Many thanks and lavish felicitations shall be showered on helpful responders. Really. Please help?

Blame the Freak Currents

7 Jan

It’s January in New England. Everybody knows what that means – lock your doors, turn up the heat and watch the snowfall through your window over a mug of hot chocolate.

Not this year. This year you bring out the summer clothes and head over to the golf course.

Yesterday the temperature here was a positively blistering 71 degrees F (21.7 C), shattering the previous record high for the day easily (60 F, 1928). 71F is probably higher than the average highs in May. The average high in normal Januarys, you ask? 31 F (-0.5 C). People were in tshirts yesterday. On the news they said the golf courses were packed. In January.

Experiencing temperatures 40 degrees above normal is not the only freakish thing happening this winter. Remember snow? Well, this is the longest we’ve ever waited in any winter ever on record for the first half inch of snow. Over here in Albany there’s been light dustings exactly twice. New York City just nearby has yet to see a single snowflake. Welcome to bizarro January.


Our local news, trying hard to remain “apolitical”, practically celebrated yesterday’s record high. They were all laughing and saying what a wonderful day it was (cloudy and dank and gloomy as hell, sure it’s wonderful), they brought in a new expert meteorologist to talk about the warmth, they interviewed people on the streets who all said what a great time they were having. Nobody even breathed the word on everyone’s minds: global warming.

In the print news, they at least are allowing that it might not be such a great thing to have warm days in January. But they blame the usual suspect: El Nino.

Sure, El Nine the warm Pacific current is causing this warmup, but how dumb (or Republican, same thing) are these meteorologists if they can’t look one step further: why is there an El Nino at all? Suddenly? Why no El Ninos in the 1890s? Or the 1910s? Why now? Dumbasses.

It’s the weather *shrug*. What the hell can I do about it? Well, one thing: I can tell you guys to watch An Inconvenient Truth, if you haven’t already. Pay close attention to the part where Gore describes how global warming causes small, puny currents to pick up extra warmth and spiral out of control as they blow over oceans superheated by atmospheric CO2.

That’s all.

Watching Birds

29 Dec


Every sixth DVD watched at casa de Wendelin these days is from a David Attenborough series called The Life of Birds. (I say every sixth: the number is precise because we’ve ordered our Netflix queue that way.) Now, why my dear husband looked at this DVD and thought, Just the thing for a snowy evening, I have no idea. I, personally, would have moved on to something with a title less soporific. I daresay any person with a normal-sized head would have.


But order that very title my husband did, in his typically giant-headed way. The first DVD in said series landed up in the mailbox unannounced (to me). I might have done an actual double take upon reading the title. I looked at its jacket, the blurb confirmed my worst fears.

Researchers traverse the globe, exploring 42 countries and examining more than 300 species of birds using a variety of techniques.

I mean, seriously! I hid the disc at the bottom of the to-be-watched pile, but the day finally came when there was nothing to do but pop it in the player, grit my teeth, prop my eyelids up with matches and prepare to watch The Life of Birds.

It was good. *gulp* Really. That Attenborough fellow may be a tad effeminate (and gay as the day is long) but he’s brilliant. And what do you know, those birds turned out to be just the thing for frustratingly non-snowy evenings, at least, if not actually snowy ones.

Birds are creazy weird. Some, like the Shoebill Stork, make you wonder why there aren’t any shoebill storks in horror movies, because, you know, you hear a name like “shoebill stork” and you think, aaah, a stork. Cute.

See, now that is the picture in your head when you hear “stork”.

This, however, is what the shoebill stork looks like.

This picture does not even begin to convey the sense of ancient menace you get from a moving, hunting shoebill stork. Its eyes are beady, focused, calculating. Its gigantic beak doesn’t even have the decency to be a blunt instrument; it ends in a deadly hook. You watch this “stork” open its beak to swallow an enormous lungfish whole (after crushing its skull first as a courtesy)… A bag of skin opens down from its lower beak, and suddenly you realise what this bird reminds you of: a T-Rex straight out of Jurassic Park. The resemblace, believe me, is uncanny. *shudder*

Fortunately for our mental wellbeing, the programme does not dwell on Creepy Evil-ass Dinosaurs in stork clothing for too long. It moves on to other birds that amaze in much pleasanter ways, like the Lyrebird, whose repertoire is 80% mimicry. This mad, weird creature (I mean, it’s got twin bison-horns coming out of either side of its butt) began to imitate the sounds it hears in the forest: the calls of other birds like cuckoos and whatnot, animals, the gurgling of streams, and then – wait for it – the clicking of cameras. Even different types of cameras – whirring, mechanical droning, shutters, you name it. Perfectly imitated.

We were absolutely thunderstruck, and kept rewinding the disc to listen to it again. And then that crazy bird began to imitate a chainsaw. And then a car alarm. Wikipedia now tells me it can imitate rifle shots, barking dogs, crying babies, all kinds of machinery, explosions, and musical instruments.

In 1969, a park ranger, Neville Fenton, recorded a lyrebird song which resembled flute sounds in the New England National Park near Dorrigo in northern coastal New South Wales. After much detective work by Fenton, it was discovered that in the 1930′s, a flute player living on a farm adjoining the park used to play tunes near his pet lyrebird. The lyrebird adopted the tunes into his repertoire, and retained them after release into the park. Neville Fenton forwarded a tape of his recording to Norman Robinson. At first, the tune sounded jumbled. But because a lyrebird is able to carry two tunes at the same time, Robinson filtered out one tune at a time and put it on the phonograph for the purposes of analysis. The song represents a modified version of two popular tunes in the 1930′s: “The Keel Row” and “Mosquito’s Dance”.

I’ll let you catch your breath, now, but after that you people have got to watch this series somehow.

Bail Me Out!

7 Nov

My need for self-flagellation is immense. Must be. Why else would I do this? Climb mountains just because they’re there, get inspired by the words “One giant leap for mankind”, dream up stupendous air castles and then try to build them. I put the Priori of Scion to shame.

Ah, who am I kidding? I’ve gotten so lazy these days that the least effort sends me on these flights of self-pitying fancy.

You guessed it, I’m in trouble with my book. Bloody book. Stinking, mucky, pathetic, pretentious, sorry-assed excuse for a book which isn’t worth the electrons it burns out as it sits on my computer screen. Oh, shitty book.

I don’t have writers’ block, OK? Read this post. Hullo? I am writing. OK? These are words and they are coming out of my fingertips. My left brain is not suddenly bereft of words or barren of thoughts. Bereft! Look at that! I haven’t used that word in years, but it just dripped off my keyboard … effortlessly. Like rain from a thundercloud, only with a clattery sound rather than – you know – thundery.

This is clearly not writers’ block.

What this is I don’t know, but you gotta help me. I don’t know what to do next with my novel… I am completely stuck, and so you have to pick something for me, and I will write it into the book and that will give me a way to move onward. Vote on something in the column on the right – this is stuff I have mined randomly from the dares flying around on the NaNoWriMo forums.

Ready? Set… vote!

A Halloween Plea

29 Oct

A week ago – Diwali (belated wishes, y’all) – I was on the phone with my dad when a lull in the conversation led me to make small talk with the question, “So, what did you do today?” He’s temporarily living by himself in Calcutta, see. Between us, my dad, mom, sis and I have our feet in three countries and four cities. Social creature that he is, Diwali this year was not a cheery one for dad. So I ask him, “You didn’t stay home all day, did you?”

“No,” he says, “I got invited to a Kali puja in the area.”

I paused. My eyeballs ricocheted off the walls, and by turning my head to just the right angle, I was able to catch them with my sockets again. “Kali puja? Like, with legions of dancing women with junglee hair?”

Dad laughs. “No,” says he. “And look who’s talking about junglee hair -”

Fair point – though these days the hair of yours truly, somewhat tamed by low atmospheric humidity, almost never scares the neighbourhood kids. I chuckle. “It would’ve been fun if it had been. Did anybody at least have neem leaves in their hands? Which they might have shaken -”

Dad sputters.

- discreetly, appa,” I add hastily. “Maybe you didn’t notice.”

“No,” he tells me firmly and changes the subject. Bah. Just like him to ruin my delicious fantasies.

My life is lamentably devoid of the sort of weirdness that seems to be routine for TV characters, and I have always felt it as an acute loss. Nobody has ever told me he’s being chased by the KGB (happened to my husband, the lucky dog). No childhood friend of mine has turned into a flaming lunatic who makes prank calls to my home for a year and a half, pretending to be a besotted stalker in true Ki-Ki-Ki-Ki-Kiran fashion (happened to an old classmate, the lucky pig – the best I’ve had is a disappointingly untenacious actual blog-stalker). Nobody has ever spoken to me while simultaneously exhibiting even mild insanity – say, swotting at invisible flies around their head.

But what do I know, right? I’m fairly unimaginative and unobservant. I take a book with me everywhere I go, and since I have often not noticed cars swerving dangerously to avoid me I might well have missed all manner of street weirdos – streakers, homeless women talking to lampposts, maybe even talking mice. When somebody says something absurd, I take it for granted they must be joking, depriving me of the opportunity to question god knows how many actual loons further.

This has to change.

On the eve of Halloween, this blessed celebration of strangeness and outcasts, I resolve to translate my hunger for wackiness into action. I will open my eyes and look. I will question all jokes. If you say, “that’s what she said” I will faithfully ask you who, exactly, is the female nutjob in question, and could I get her phone number please. I will helpfully point out that my chosen monicker on this blog is Wendelin the Weird, thus encouraging you to let loose your inner madman while you are here, or at least share any stories from your life that might conceivably evoke the response, “That’s mental.”

So share. In the name of All Hallow’s Eve, share!

Donate Some Marrow, Yo

24 Aug

No do-gooder am I. Total charitable contributions: less than $50. Community service: only under compulsion. Almost-Objectivist. Last on Abou Ben Adhem’s list, that’s me.

But I’m doing this, and so should you. It’s verrry simple, actually:

  1. Call 1-800-593-6667. (USA only, sorry.)
  2. Say, “Yo, put me on the bone marrow donor list, yo.”
  3. Give them your name and address.
  4. Open your mailbox a couple of days later to find the home test kit.
  5. Stick a piece of cotton in your mouth to get inner-cheek cells on it.
  6. Put said piece of cotton in the baggie provided and mail it back in the stamped envelope, also provided.
  7. Feel good about yourself.

That’s all. No cost involved. More importantly, no needles involved. Come on.

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