Reverse Darwinism

July 15, 2011

“I look busy, but I’m just drawing pictures.”

Huh. So, having been discussing animal collective nouns with my darling male companion last week, it caused me to remember I had once given conquistadors a collective noun classification. So, in search of the reference, today I stumbled across some old blog entries I had drunkenly or hungoverly pecked out back in those years, before I started keeping this blog, on a site no one ever visits anymore *coughMyspacecough*. Oh, I’m sorry, something in my throat. On Myspace, which no one ever visits anymore.

Anywho, if you’ve read these already several years ago, both of you, feel free to be excused to go have a smoke outside until I’m finished. All the rest of you must staaaaaay. 

Until then, I’ll post one a day for the next few days. Good? Good.

Note: it is entirely appropriate to accuse me of laziness for not wanting to write anything new right now. I actually have a good rant sort of worked out in my head, and also another ongoing bloggity project that’s been sitting dusty on an invisible shelf (that apparently collects real dust) for months. But, again–lazy. I’m getting there.

In the meantime, I give you Reverse Darwinism. Me, circa 2007. You lucky person, you.

Ahem.

“Hi!”

“Sources claim that Henry J Heinz began making ketchup in 1876. The recipe has remained the same to this day. Heinz was neither the inventor of ketchup nor the first to bottle it commercially. The tomato is a native of the Andes, and early in the 1500s, while living in Mexico a group of Spanish conquistadors discovered it, and the tomato followed them back to Europe.”

Evolution rears its ugly head yet again, apparently. Here I am looking up the history of ketchup (as one spends one’s time doing during one’s lunch break), only to read here that the first tomato ever discovered apparently had the ability to follow (and keep up with) a group of conquistadors… (Shit. is that right? Myriad of conquistadors? Gaggle of  conquistadors? An invasion of conquistadors? Let’s see….murder of crows, pride of lions, school of fish, silliness of Republicans, herd of sheep, bellowing of bullfinches, flock of camels…)—we’ll say ‘disco of conquistadors.’ Why? Because it amuses me.

BABY! My heart is full of love and desire for you!

Moving on… I believe this suggests that the original tomato had, at least, legs, and then certainly arms for balance, likely opposable thumbs for wielding weapons (so as to survive when conquistadors get into a scuffle, as conquistadors tend to do), and a prehensile tail (clearly for hanging onto branch and limb when attempting tough terrain). Which just makes you wonder, I think, how we as humans have affected the evolution of the tomato so much that we have simply caused its appendages to fall out. Clearly our global footprint is deeper than we thought. This concerns me very deeply.

Pow!

My message to you is this: before we can inflict any more harm on the state of the world’s vegetation, quit pulling the vine off the tomato, or else someday—if evolutionary history repeats itself—our tomatoes will simply be red, round balls, inherently vineless and incapable of forming their distinctively pleasing shape. For the love of god, people, do it for the Earth. Okay? Who’s with me?

This is all true, by the way. Don’t bother looking it up.

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Wow. This video amazes me. Mainly because it is nearly indistinguishable from the scene if you were to record me sleeping on my parents’ couch just as their one of their small dogs decided to use my midsection to joyously springboard itself from the top frame of the couch to the ground. This video is exactly what it looks like, that is my precise reaction, everything. And like the video, just as I’m about to go back to sleep, the other dog lines right up to do the same thing.

To be brief, if I were a sea lion, I would totally tear the flesh off a penguin. And you can quote me on that.

Pure, Concentrated Spite and Malevolence

[Note: I do not condone the trapping and killing of penguins … if you are a human. However, if you’re an animal being badgered by a (notoriously antagonistic and scientifically-proven evil-scheming) penguin, when all you want to do is sleep—I can totally understand. Have at.]

I mean, as my darling male companion has pointed out every time we go to the zoo, look how they stand around with their arms out like that, all “What, man? You wanna come here and say that to my face? What?!”

Jerks.

“What? What? Come on, bring it!”

…Okay, truthfully I can’t keep this up forever. Penguins are actually so completely adorable, every time I look at them I explode into hearts and kittens. Their adorableness is actually their only natural defense. True story. And for those of you in the pro-penguin camp (and it must be really cold where you camp), here’s a little bone I’ll toss you after maligning their character so ruthlessly above. Prepare to melt into a puddle of cuddly cherubs and Precious Moments figurines.

There. You happy? Jeez.

Hair of the Dog

November 12, 2010

Being a creature of habit, I note that I shower every morning from 6-6:20. I then towel dry my hair and go about the business of my morning, arriving to work at anywhere from 8-9 AM, depending on what I have to do that morning before work. And even if I get there at 9, my hair still hasn’t fully dried by the time I get into the office. This generally leads to a scene of me drying my hair on the hand blow dryer in the ladies’ loo when no one’s looking (and also every once in a while when they catch me, which always is a little awkward). How is it that my hair takes three hours plus to dry? I propose that each strand is made out of a long, absorbent piece of sponge.

Okay. So this may not be my actual hair. It’s close.

And I think I got it bad, but then I come to read up on Pulis, which usually don the dreadlocks of the dog world. With their corded coats, they can take several hours to blow dry or over two days to air dry. This is ridiculous. If I were a Puli, I would demand you Sinead my hair off right the fuck now.

I now feel better about my own hair. And I kind of want a Puli. They’re so cool.

And a Puli groomer. Cause, hell. Who has that kind of patience?

Like a little, furry cannonball.

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