Day # 168 Tribes

The English language is a funny thing.  Ask Professor Higgins.

 "There even are places where English completely disappears. 
 In America they haven't used it in years."


Somewhere in the course of the evolution of our mother tongue, some person or persons had to decide what to call groups of things.  Bananas, when finally encountered in the plural, were bunches.  Shoes, for the well-to-do what could afford, them came in pairs and donuts were by the baker's dozen.

Groupings of our non-human friends created all sorts of opportunities for naming and that opportunity was not missed.

Some groupings of the members of the animal kingdom seem less than imaginative, perhaps only by dint of common usage.  A pack of dogs is nothing out of the ordinary, nor is a school of fishes, regardless of their subject matter.  Herds of ungulate mammals do not raise an eyebrow and a gaggle of geese is quite common, especially here in the GreyNorWet where the Canadian geese have long since ceased to migrate and wander about in said gaggles hissing and pooping in every public park.

Pause, however, to consider that a group of gorillas, upland or lowland, are called a band.  There is also a band called the Gorrillaz.  A group of giraffes, should you be lucky enough to see one, are properly referred to as a tower and, of course, a bunch of whales in the same bit of ocean are called a pod.   A band I understand and a tower is evocative but I think that a pod is reaching somewhat.  What do peas and cetaceans have in common?

When you gather a group of goats together you have a tribe, complete with the bearded elders and thousands of bats add up to a colony (and tons of guano).  Should one be successful in an attempt to herd cats one would have a clouder, which has to be theoretical for the most part.

If you pass under a tree full of crows, a not uncommon occurrence hereabouts, you will have just seen, and likely heard, a murder.  The etymology of the term "murder of crows" is something of a debated item which you can research yourself but the term is still the correct one.

Yet when faced with a group of porcupines, our language creating forebears came to perhaps their finest hour.  In their wisdom they forever after dubbed a grouping of porcupines to be a "prickle".  This wondrous bit of linguistic charm would allow one to say "My God Bob, look out for the prickle of that porcupine!" or, alternatively, "My God Bob, look out for the prickle of porcupines!" and to be equally correct in doing so.

"But use proper English and you're regarded as a freak...."


There, there Professor.  It will all be fine and you will get the girl in the last act.

Day # 166 The Envelope

Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
Oh Frabjous day, Callooh!  Calley!

And I shall chortle in my joy.  The genetic envelope arrives this evening and will, once greeted, utter his favorite phrase:  "Food!"  And we shall feed him, for to do otherwise would be to deny his raison de etre.  He being an almost six foot three inch tall teenage boy this side of sixteen years of age, his two sole occupations in this world that I care to know about are eating and growing.

Of course, a time we will have.  Perhaps not at Pacific Raceways.  No matter that this is where I am supposed to be this weekend.  The microbes have robbed me of half of my brain and as such I may not be a benefit to the sport of motorcycle road-racing.  Consequently The Kid may be relieved of his Pit Bob duties.  We shall see, but a time we will have nonetheless.

Charles Lutwidge Dodgson saw publication of his book "Through the Looking Glass and What Alice Found There" in 1872.  At the time it probably did not occur to him that one of the words he coined, the word "chortle", would live on and become a part of the English language.  Other words used in the poem "Jabberwocky" were not so lucky and today one seldom hears "vorpal" or "brilllig" or even "frumious".  I suppose having even a single made-up word survive and become a part of the mother tongue is no small achievement.

While today the only thing that The Kid goes galumphing after are victuals, he certainly understands the adjective "beamish" although generally not without an eye-roll when he hears the word directed at himself.

In the meantime it is my strongly held opinion that the sooner we promote the wide-spread use of the word frabjous the better and happier a world it will be.

Callooh!  Calley!

Day # 165 Gore

OK, in my defense, I am delerious, my brain and body taken captive by tiny microbes bent on my complete destruction.  The little bastards have forgotten that if they kill the host, they die too!!!

Ok, ok, blog already:

In the early 1960's, Truman Capote had a famous rivalry with Gore Vidal.  What the prize was, no one has ever surmised.

In 1968 Gore Vidal and William F. Buckley (the "F" stands for Frank, by the way) were asked to provide political commentary during the party conventions of that election year.  During the commentary things got a little heated after Gore referred to Bill as a "Nazi" and Bill got pissy and called Gore a "Queer".  Fair enough on both counts.

In 1968 Allen Ginsberg sings "Hare Krishna" to Bill on Firing Line.

In 1969, on the air, William F. famously offers to punch Noam Chomsky in his "goddamed face" if he doesn't behave.  Conservativism in action I suppose.

1971 finds Gore Vidal, Janet Flanner and Norman Mailer on the Dick Cavett show.  It ends up with the crowd cheering for Vidal, Cavett and Flanner versus a somewhat inebriated and pugnacious Norman Mailer.   (I used to love the Cavett show!!  His interview with David Bowie is like a collision of two worlds, oh, but I digress.)

If we take this as a full circle conflict does this mean that Norman Mailer had a crush on Truman Capote?  Or, when Allen Ginsberg is chanting "Hare Krishna" to Bill Buckley on Firing Line, is it actually some sort of mating ritual?

Or were these all just folks with amazing, dangerous minds, capable of conducting discourse on a level we can only regard as endangered?  Well, Norman was dangerous a lot but that's a different story.  Discourse and content, even if they were calling each other names.  All of them gone now but Mr. Cavett.  Oh well, I guess I'm stuck with 2011 and the Tea Party folks touting "Atlas Shrugged"

Damn.  The microbes are staging a counter-attack.  I am going to retaliate with my Toshiro Mifune face!!!

                                                            Run you little bastards!!!

Day # 164 Treatment

There is only one thing to do when I am this sick:  poison the little microbes that are doing this to me.  Make them pay!!  I do this by pouring the hottest chilies down my gullet that I can stand.

Picture Ash in the immortal classic "Army of Darkness" when he pours a kettle of boiling water down his throat to kill one of the little Ash clones:  "Ok, little fella, how bout some hot chocolate, huh?!?"

Ash, my one true hero, I think I'm going to die.  Where is that 5-star curry stand?

Day # 161 PEEPS!!!

First off, let me come clean and say that I am sick and staying at home and inside during one of the only sunny spring days we have had so far this year.  If you were expecting insightful commentary from me, well, on virtually any day that would make you delusional, but particularly so today.  I am not even going to be able to work up a good rant.  So, given the circumstances, I am going to go all heavy-weight and talk about something of dreadful importance to us all:  PEEPS!!

Peeps are one of those things that sound really good until you actually bite into one.  Just like donuts, they are a great concept and a horrid reality.  Sort of like shellac for one's mouth.  While I will tear apart cake and pie with gluttonous glee, Peeps just aren't my thing.  But regardless of whether you hate the little bunnies and chicks, love them, or just want to buy a big ole 16-pack to do horrible things to them, its good to know that the little marshmellow critters come in green, blue, lavendar, orange, pink or yellow.  If you are really daring you can get them in dark or milk chocolate and even chocolate mousse.    

Peeps have become a cultural phenomenon.  I do not believe that I have ever eaten an entire peep, at least not since I've been sober, but each year I love the peep photos that are churned out in response to newspaper and online contests.  And for good times there is nothing like micro-waving a nice grouping of peeps into twisted alien blobs from hell.  

If you like a cleaner ending for your peep, here is what happens when you shoot one with a pellet gun:

                                                                       Pretty Cool, huh?

According to the website for the makers of Peeps, "In 1953, it took 27 hours to create one PEEPS® Marshmallow Chick.  Today, thanks to advances in technology, it takes six minutes."  Good thing too, what with all of the Peeps getting shot and made into dioramas and whatnot.

The popularity of the marshmallow critters should not be underestimated.  Again, says the website: "Just Born produces enough PEEPS® Brand Marshmallow Candies in one year to circle the earth twice."  That is a 50,000 mile long Peeps conga line.  Who wouldn't love that?

If you are a more vertically oriented human being, this might be of greater interest:  "If you had 8,000 PEEPS® bunnies, and you stood them in a straight vertical line, you could reach the top of the Sears Tower in Chicago."  Before you try this I would recommend having a large supply of toothpicks on hand to lend structural stability to your peeps tower.  Also, alternating colours will give it a pleasing visual aspect.

The true joy of Peeps, however, is their amazing ability to make a political statement.  My favorite in the last few years is the image that I will leave you with, Wide-Stance Peep, in honour of the  I-am-not-gay ex-Senator from Idaho, Larry Craig.  

                                                          This one's the Peep

                                                              This one's the Perp

Day # 160 The Bunny Day factor

Once again the time is upon us for micro-waving Peeps and watching very small children in cute clothes bumble about with small baskets lined with plastic grass.  One of the few holidays that does not have a fixed date, Easter is a moveable egg hunt with the roots of its strange flexibility in the distant past.  There is even a vestige of the Hebrew calendar in the mix.   Christmas and Halloween, while both pagan holidays co-opted by The Church, are firmly fixed on the calendar regardless of the day of the week they fall on.  Not Easter.  Easter can fall on any Sunday between March 22nd and April 25th.  Why?

Before the First Council of Nicaea, convened by the Emperor Constantine in 325 CA, the Christians were in disarray when it came to what day Easter actually fell on.  Originally the day of Easter was based on the Hebrew calendar because the scriptures say that Christ was crucified on the day after Passover.  The last supper was held on a Holy Thursday.  Passover is based on the Hebrew calendar which is a lunar system.  Given the difference between the Hebrew, Julian and Gregorian Calendar systems, its no wonder that early Christians were celebrating Easter almost willy-nilly.

In June of the year 325, the 300 odd leaders of The Church got together in Nicaea in what is now Turkey.  There were a lot of agenda items do deal with, including formulating the Nicaean Creed, the issue of self-castration versus castration by barbarians, keeping only women who are above suspicion and of course anathematizing Arius and his pesky blasphemous teachings and followers.  Also on the to-do list was establishing a system for determining the day of the Easter feast.

So, here is how it works.  In a nod to the Jewish lunar calendar, Easter falls on the Sunday after the Paschal Full Moon.  Simple, no?  The Paschal full moon is the first full moon after the Spring Equinox in the Northern Hemisphere.  The equinox falls on either March 21st or 22nd depending on the mood the sun is in that year.  So now, blending the lunar and solar calendars, you simply find the next full moon after the equinox and then the following Sunday is Easter.  Voila'!

Well, not quite.  While the system adopted by the Fathers served fairly well for the Western Church, what we now call the Roman Catholic Church, it is different in the Eastern or Orthodox Church.  The churches split off one from another in the Great Schism of 1054.  But that's a whole 'nother blog.

Because the Orthodox Church uses the Julian Calendar (not to be confused with julienne fries) and the Roman Catholic Church uses the Gregorian Calendar, the dates for Easter got all muddled again.  So, for anyone reading this who is from the Orthodox side of the Christian line, the system as described above does not work and you will just have to look it up.  For anyone on the Western side of the great schism, you will find that this year is remarkable in that it is the penultimate date that is possible on the late end of the Easter spectrum.  April 24th it is.  Enjoy, because Easter will not fall on a later date until the year 2038.

I'll be 79 years old on that Easter and perhaps my choices for Peep art will be different.  Who's to say?
Since I am not yet quite fully into Geezerhood, I look forward to the Peeps being deformed in the beams of the microwave, even at this late date.  Good luck finding those eggs!

Day # 158 On a clear day

Once again I have taken to the skies, leaving and returning on a jet plane.  The more I go through the TSA lines in US airports, the more I get the giggles.  I am relieved, however, that the TSA screeners are still cooking up little tricks to trip up the evil-doers.  Thursdays it seems, at least at SeaTac, are the days when shoes still come off of our feet but they don't go in the convenient plastic bins.  On Thursdays the shoes ride down the conveyor belt and into the maw of the x-ray machine all by themselves.  That will show the bad guys!  I can only imagine the consternation that will occur in a well trained terrorist faced with the prospect of sending his possibly deadly footwear down the conveyor.  In the infidel manufactured box or no?  The ensuing confusion will surely cause a breakdown of the bad person's will to do harm, leading to an immediate surrender.  Hallelujah!

In an even more confusing move, the Office of Homeland Security has revised the way that they communicate the daily threat level to the populace.  I did not have to watch the news to know this.  People talk, I listen.

             The old system looked like this.  Why does Red always get the bad rap, anyway?

I cannot remember what the terrorist alert level is.  I don't think about it.  I don't think about it at all.  In fact, one of the last things I worry about on any given day is the possibility that some fanatic from another country will hurt me.  I wish I had my own cool alert system so that the things that actually worry me could be neatly categorized so I would know just how much energy to expend on each.  Should I be worried about my son's education, or just concerned?  Should I be guarded about the possibility of squandering, before he has the chance to do it himself, the natural resources of the world that should be his legacy?  Is there an elevated risk that some over-zealous Teflon-coated bullet toting maniac with an NRA card in his wallet will bring about a sooner-than-expected end to my temporal existence?  A simple to use tool for prioritizing my daily concerns would be so handy.  Alas, I ain't got one.  I guess I will have to worry free-style.

Now, instead of the confusing colour chart that denotes the threat levels, there is the much easier to use descriptive system.  It goes like this:

Imminent Threat Alert

Warns of a credible, specific, and impending terrorist threat against the United States.

Elevated Threat Alert

Warns of a credible terrorist threat against the United States.

Sunset Provision

An individual threat alert is issued for a specific time period and then 

automatically expires. It may be extended if new information becomes available or the threat evolves.

What is remarkable is that there is nothing else.  There is no non-threat, only a level of assumed threat.  The threat is either elevated, or worse, imminent.  Either of these levels may have a sunset provision to provide specific parameters.  That's clear right?  

In my life, when something is a constant threat, it ceases to become a threat and becomes a daily part of living.  It has no immediacy.  When I ride my motorcycle, people make it a point to try to kill me.  They usually do this while talking on a cellular phone which is illegal unless it is a hands-free device.  Either way, if they succeed in killing me, they won't spend a day in jail over it.  It is a daily, elevated and imminent threat without hope of a sunset provision.  As such, this threat has ceased to be anything more than a fact of life.  If I am riding a motorcycle in America, from the moment my ass hits the seat I know, without a doubt, that everyone is trying to kill me.  It is not a threat or an abstract concept.  It is daily life.

Terrorism, in the sense that the Department of Homeland Security describes it, is a threat of violent action directed against the citizens, legal or not, of the United States.  Despite a colour coded system or vaguely worded threat alerts, I do not feel threatened in anyway.  I think that the Homeland Security folks should come up with a new system.  I could perhaps offer suggestions.  Here is what I think the levels of security should be:  Ring Number One, Ring Number Two and the Center Ring.  Watch out if the action gets frantic in the Center Ring.  That will be the time the Circus is most trying to distract your attention from what is going on in the clown-cars.