How Much Is That Woolly Mammoth in the Window?

I guess there's a news story going around about how scientists are going to try to clone a woolly mammoth. To this I say, "Excellent. Do it."

Some people might cringe and ask if we didn't learn any lessons from Jurassic Park. Well, no, I don't think we did. Jurassic Park was just a movie. A book first, then a movie, and as we all know, morals went out in the thirties. The point of any story nowadays is merely to entertain. And Jurassic Park was extremely entertaining.

Besides, real-life isn't subject to the same laws that stories in books are, which is to say, just because things happen in a book—like, that everything that can go wrong will go wrong—doesn't mean the same will occur for our modern scientists who simply want to clone a gigantic hairy elephant.

I've seen the skeleton of a woolly mammoth up close. They're not that scary. Or tall. And I think they'd be fun to tame for riding purposes, like a horse.

So I say go for it. I would LOVE to drive through the plains and watch herds of woolly mammoths grazing peacefully on the range (they're herbivores, aren't they?), or hike up into the Uintahs and spy a woolly mammoth splashing around in a small pond in the forest, bathing like a cherub out of a renaissance painting—depending, of course, on which habitat this friendly creature will prefer.

Honestly, I think it would be extremely awesome if we could bring back ALL the dinosaurs. I've held the secret belief for some time now that earth-life has been stuck in a cycle: humans reach a technological singularity where they have the bright idea to clone the dinosaurs that died out years ago. Success! The dinosaurs are brought back, but refuse to cooperate with the boundaries we place on them ("Come on, Mr. T-rex. Keep your teeth to yourself and stay behind this Invisible Fence®. Geez!"). They leave the very nice preserves we set aside for their grazing and carnivorous needs, rampaging across the globe, slaughtering all the humans. Then an asteroid. Then, humans manage to come back. Then the humans reach a technological singularity and decide to clone the dinosaurs that died out years ago. Success! The dinosaurs are brought back, but refuse to cooperate . . . and so on.

Which came first? Dinosaurs or the humans? It's really a chicken/egg question. There is no right answer.

And when I think of it, there are only a few glorious deaths I can reconcile myself to if I can't have the luxury of going in my sleep real nice and easy. One is to experience an end-of-the-world disaster movie situation. That would be just fine. I watched the terrible 2012 last night and I'm of the mind that I'd rather die than try to survive the bull crap that movie toyed around with, because really, who'd want to survive with all the jerks on the (spoiler alert!) arks?

My other preferred glorious death would be to survive long enough to have a full menagerie of cloned dinosaurs on the loose that could wipe out the entire human race. That would be kind of fun. So bring on the woolly mammoths!

Seriously. Right now.

Mohammed Teddy Bear and Other Interesting Tidbits

Yesterday I wrote this hilarious post about scientists and how they plan to kill a bunch of rats on Rat Island (I read about it on cnn.com). They're mad because there are no more chocolate lilies and birds on this particular island. I proposed renaming scientists a-holes because it's more fitting. Anyway, you should have seen it. It was choice. A gem.

But I decided not to publish the post because I didn't finish writing it and also because I lost interest in the subject soon after I began writing it. In this day and age, who has control over their attention span? And anyway, I was at work when I wrote it (during lunch, of course) and then I started working and pressure and deadlines and the hey hey hey. I've had this enormous project weighing down on me for several months. As you may have noticed, I now have gray hair. I blame the project.

Soon it will be done. The project. It irritates me to feel so much stress regarding something at work. I'll be frank and say that I don't think I get paid enough to feel pressure. Increase my pay by a few dollars and then I'll feel worthy of the pressure. As it is, I may as well be running a hot dog stand here. However, the wiener man down the street probably earns more moola than me. I think I'll go make hot dogs.

So, can you believe this thing in Sudan? The teacher. The teddy bear. The children and Mohammed. I've seen a picture of the teacher and I have to say, she looks as malicious as a baby seal. I can't believe there's actually a place in the world where someone COULD be punished for something as innocent as naming a teddy bear. I've known several stuffed animals named after religious celebrities and other icons. In fact, isn't it MORE offensive to have an entire culture named Mohammed (every Muslim man, practically) than a comforting, cuddly teddy bear? Men are wicked and lustful and capable of horrific acts. A teddy bear is inanimate and if nothing else, capable of great heroism. Who does a child adore more than their teddy bear?

Anyway, I don't see this thing blowing over without bloodshed. However, I really hope the woman gets to go home without the lashes. 40 lashes would probably kill me, I'm such a wimp (only funny if you know how burly I am. They call me "Lady"). In the meantime, I guess we should all be careful about what we say. That's the message they're sending, right?

There's a new "season" of Futurama out. I guess it's supposed to air on Comedy Central, but it's already available on dvd. That's what happens when you have diehard fans. Your series goes off the air. The fans keep on lovin' you, and then bam! Some network cashes in. Something like that. I'm just hoping something similar happens for Arrested Development. And the same cast comes back. And it runs for at least five more season. And then there are spin-offs for each character.

"He's still thinking about bees."

Creation Musuem

Oh, it just kills me. Probably not for the reasons you would guess. No, I'm not going to make fun of the people who made it or the people who will visit it. I don't really care. In fact, I might go, just to see what the fuss is about.

What kills me are all the scientists and "educators" who are signing petitions. This quote is the epitome of huffy remarks (someone is really offended here):

"When they try to confuse (kids) about what is science and what isn't science, scientists have an obligation to speak out," said Lawrence Krauss, an author and physics professor at Case Western Reserve University in Cleveland. "There's no doubt these are documented lies."  

Think of the children! The children! Oh, who will think of the children!

This scientist is clearly looking out for the poor children and nothing else.

Hot Grandpas

So, Baughtronic sent this photo to me a while ago. She was photo-shopping it for her grandma. If I were her grandma, I’d ask to have it blown up to poster size and hung above my bed. I don’t know what that means. The point is, it’s weird to see a photo of your grandpa and think, “Whoa, he was hot. I can’t believe I have hot ancestry.” That’s exactly what Baughtronic thought when she saw it. I know because she said so in the email that accompanied the picture. I mean image. I mean photo*.

I guess the surprise for gorgeous people like me and Baughtronic would be to see old photos of our grandfathers and find that they were ugly, bucktoothed creatures with asymmetrical faces and humps on their backs. You hardly expect beautiful people to have ugly children, but it’s not so strange to find ugly people with the occasional beautiful child. At least, I’ve seen it happen.

I’m sure all this can be measured mathematically. There are times when beautiful people have an ugly child. If you look back far enough, you’ll see that one of the genetic lines was muddied by an ugly parent. If an ugly child has two beautiful parents, you might just check out the extended family. Is one of the beautiful parents the ONLY beautiful member of the family? Then it only stands to reason that the ugly gene popped up in the beautiful couples offspring. That’s how genetics work, after all. And plastic surgery can't alter genetics. Or can it?

Wow. I can’t believe I’m writing this. I had no idea I was such a strong supporter of beauty eugenics. The point is, I have a hot grandpa too. And a hot grandma. Boy, was Sarah a looker. The problem is, the man I call grandpa isn’t my biological grandpa. Who knows what my biological grandfather looked like as a young man. I only saw him once, as an old man, and if that had any bearing on how I look now, I’d be bald and wrinkly.

My adopted grandpa was a looker and a real sweetheart of a man. When I finally get a digital image of him, you’ll see. Hot grandpa.



*This hilarious joke illustrates the tension between a photographer and language. Does it cheapen the art to call a picture a ‘picture’ and not an ‘image?’ Or, when it’s not a beautiful photo of a man in a cable sweater with pigeons perched on his arms, should it even be considered art?