May 31, 2006
You are looking at the skull of Dracorex hogwartsia (Dragon King of Hogwarts. Yes, in honor of Harry Potter), a newly discovered dinosaur that lived 66 million years ago in what is now South Dakota. I’ll bet she was real cuddly.
In other news:
- Scientists grow artificial penis in lab. What else do you need to know? All I know is that I can live the rest of my life without reading “penis disfigurement,” “penis cancer” and “penis trauma” in the same penis story. Penis.
- Looking for a new religion? ” . . . the Hieros Gamos ritual is said to have evolved into a highly developed spiritual discipline which enabled a man to attain “gnosis”, or direct knowledge of the Divine, through the ritualized sexual union with a woman, who has been specially trained as a priestess for this purpose. The theory is based on the philosophy that a man is fundamentally incomplete and can only reach godhood by “marrying” the feminine principle in a spiritual and physical manner, which supposedly triggers an altered state of consciousness at the moment of climax.”
May 31, 2006
In the mid-90’s, two friends and I were on our way home from a Dwight Yoakam concert in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. We crested a hill, and drove head-on into a Black Angus bull loitering in the middle of the highway. My seat belt held me tight, or I would have flown deep into the night. We made it to the side of the road. None of us had ever been in an accident where air bags were deployed, so we mistook the floating powder for smoke and piled out of the car. As we stood on the highway, gathering our wits, we noticed that the bull we’d struck at 65 mph had gotten up and walked off, no doubt with a terrible sideache.
I tell you that little anecdote to assure you that I am a dyed-in-the-wool believer in seatbelt use. However, I do not agree with mandatory seatbelt laws. Seatbelt usage is a personal choice, and the decision not to use one is (or should be) a personal choice. You risk only your own life if you choose not to buckle up. I’m tired of these busybodies who think they need to force laws that require the police to save me from myself. I’m sick to hell of reading accident reports that make a point of noting that the dead at an accident scene weren’t buckled up, as if they deserved to die.
I say, if we’re going to turn the state into everyone’s mommy and daddy, let’s go the whole route. In addition to seatbelt check points, how about cholesterol check points? I want these overweight seat belt advocates to have their cholesterol checked by police. After all, someone with heart disease careening across six lanes of traffic during a heart attack is a far greater threat to public health than one individual being thrown from his vehicle. Wouldn’t you agree? How about home inspections to make sure we aren’t consuming too much alcohol? How about regulating tobacco use? How about mandatory exercise times, supervised by the police? Don’t think there aren’t people who would advocate all of the above. Some people love to tell others how to live.
What prompted this little rant was a news item I read before the holiday weekend. In Omaha, women and children are being abducted, murdered and fished out of the river with alarming frequency lately, so imagine my rage at learning that the Omaha Police were devoting five police officers and a police sergeant . . . to seatbelt enforcement.
Glad we got our fuckin’ priorities straight.
May 23, 2006
I came across this quote from Leonardo DaVinci’s “How to Make an Imaginary Animal Appear Real”:
If therefore you wish to make one of your imagined animals appear natural—let us suppose it to be a dragon—take for its head that of a mastiff or setter, for its eyes those of a cat, for its ears those of a porcupine, for its nose that of a greyhound, with the eyebrows of a lion, the temples of an old cock, and the neck of a water tortoise.
Something about that passage had a familiar ring to it, and I finally figured out why:
And the shapes of the locusts were like unto horses prepared unto battle; and on their heads were crowns like gold, and their faces were as the faces of men. And they had hair as the hair of women, and their teeth were as the teeth of lions. And they had breastplates, as it were breastplates of iron; and the sound of their wings was as the sound of chariots of many horses running to battle. And they had tails like unto scorpions, and there were stings in their tails: and their power was to hurt men five months. And they had a king over them, which is the angel of the bottomless pit, whose name in the Hebrew tongue is Abaddon, but in the Greek tongue hath his name Apollyon (Revelation. 9: 7-11).
Does one illuminate the other? I shall have to ponder this . . .
May 16, 2006
Yesterday, while driving on the highway, my wife narrowly missed a collision with another vehicle whose crazy driver was either fleeing the police or unconscious behind the wheel. Only a matter of seconds or less separated her from a nasty crash that could have been fatal.
She told me this over the phone, and it dawned on me immediately that I could easily have had the sheriff or the state patrol on the line, telling me about a bad accident, gee we’re sure sorry and would I mind coming down to make an identification? I remember noticing details around me—sun shining bright, kids eating lunch, Eagles on the stereo, etc., and how those details came this close to forming a sort of psychological restore point. A place where everything starts over.
I don’t talk about Tracey much. Not because she’s unimportant or a source of shame. I’m simply respecting her privacy. Once I open the door, sometimes it’s hard to know where the line is drawn between what can be shared or not. But, in this case I’d like to crack the door a little.
This October will be our 13th wedding anniversary. We’ve lived in a few cities and states. We’ve made friends and then said goodbye. We brought in two furry cats—one we lost last year, the other still with us for nearly the entire stretch. We have two beautiful, twin daughters, Laura and Abby. They are intelligent to an almost freakish degree (I say that with only a mild bias).
Although the flames of passion that make relationships so much fun in the beginning have cooled a little, the benefit is to be left with a friend. I’m talking about friendship deeper and more everlasting than you can possibly imagine (if you can, you know what I’m talking about). A friend who agrees with you that no matter how hard things get, quitting is not an option. She’s a woman who continues to believe in me when I’ve lost faith in myself. A woman I don’t have to worry about out in the world because I know she puts up with less shit from others than me, and that ain’t much. She is pure beauty in the classical sense. Intelligent in a way that defies comprehension yet provides inspiration. A woman whose maternal instincts continue to amaze. I could not be more fortunate to have this woman be the mother of my children.
They say the best thing a father can do for his children is love their mother. I’m trying, girls, although she makes it pretty easy.
I am proud to tell the world that Tracey is my wife.
May 15, 2006
If you’re into that sort of thing . . .