Sunday, June 22, 2008

Year of the Rat

Feeling cowardly? This from a recent 13 million dollar study of chicken DNA, funded by the federal government;

"About 60 percent of chicken genes correspond to a similar human gene."

And surprise, surprise! They have genes that code for claws and feathers, we for hair. They lack genes for milk production but have them for shell construction.

Why was I not consulted? I could have used the money.

We are thought to have diverged from birds some 310 million years ago. And look who's flying higher! Or haven't you heard about the Mars probe discovering ice? I'll be so glad to know that when I hit the bars there.

Chickens and other birds occupy a space between fish and mammals, presumably shared with dinosaurs and reptiles. A rat shares 88% of our DNA. Let me guess: they can code for greater smell and larger litters, for a greater omnivorous spread of foodstuffs, and for fast-twitch muscles and fur.

My, that was hard. 2008 is the Year of the Rat. My best advice on relationships is not to marry a weasel if you were born in 1996, 1984, 1972 or 1960. Me, I'm a horse, and we don't like rats. Why not believe in the arbitrary astrology of a foreign culture? People will believe anything.

Other tidbits? I recently saw a deer shit for the first time, and it didn't stand like a horse, it squatted like a dog. It could have been one constipated deer that I observed, but it didn't seem to be straining, and the other deer made no movement to show they thought its behavior unusual.

Bet you didn't know that.

Bet you didn't know that most birds are considered to have very little sense of smell or taste, though chickens have oodles of olfactory genes. The turkey vulture and albatross are reputed to have the most acute sense of smell; condors and black vultures follow turkey vultures to a kill. Birds won't replace bloodhounds any time soon, it appears. "Use it or lose it"--

Which means, given modern conveniences, humankind should continue to lose muscle mass and gain fat. Styles have already changed; Hip-Hop wear can shelter an epidemic of black and Hispanic obesity. Whites ain't far behind. I just discovered the joy of suspenders and no underwear. Free as a bird and let my belly be!

Been reading Shakespeare again, always a sign of health. "The Two Gentleman of Verona" I recommend to all dog lovers, since the fool/servant Launce has a love/hate relationship with his cur throughout the play, complete with Will's signature canine puns.

I was sorry that "The Love Guru," Mike Meyer's new movie, was panned in the regional paper. I always thought he was funny. The reviewer's contention is that his humor is so self-referential that he has become an institution unto his own ego. Can someone who's seen the movie disabuse me of this bad impression?

This blog began on July 27, 2005, when we were living in National City, just south of San Diego, waiting on the courts. In the time since I have authored over 400 posts, more than one every three days. But alas, since my life has become good again, I have had less interest in blogging. Just as I shut down my journal, Melic, when it seemed time, perhaps I should put the furniture covers on this chapter as well.

I am happy, busy and hopeful though realistic. I am closer to kilobunnies than kilorats but strangely, in my present state of euthymia, I don't trouble myself much about ratings. I'm beginning to expect things to be good, always a dangerous position, but more supportive of life than not. I can't say what the future of my blogging will be. I'm too busy writing other stuff now. In my depression of two years (along with watching basketball), blogging was one discipline I used to escape myself--and confront myself--an action that took more than melancholy self-involvement to complete.

Now I don't look to my blog for a task to objectify myself. The more I am involved with other human beings, the more I don't think about blogging.

Should my mood return to its former nadir, I will no doubt take blogging up in earnest again as a safety valve. For now it is of no pressing interest, and in infrequent checking of stats, my readership has fallen accordingly.

Until the next post,

CE

3 comments:

  1. Did you know that bats have toes? Yep, ten of them, just like humans. And they have thumbs too, one on each "hand." And four fingers with webbing between for wings.

    I recently saw a deer shit for the first time ...

    I don't know about you lately CE. Your euthymia (I'm embarrassed I had to look that up) has you pondering a great deal about shit lately. Scatologic poems last week and now reality observations from Mother Nature.

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  2. Anonymous9:08 PM PDT

    "My best advice on relationships is not to marry a weasel if you were born in 1996, 1984, 1972 or 1960."

    Frankly CE, weasels should be avoided at all times by all people. I can't imagine any happiness coming from marriage to a weasel.

    norm

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  3. LOL! Does a deer shit in the woods?

    No weasel on the Chinese calendar, though one of my best friends, Ralph, said to me: "You weasel!" in public before, just because I bought drinks for his friends with his money.

    I was making points for him and all he could do was to call me a weasel. Besides, my blog popularity really hit the bottom when I wrote a piece on that weasel, Ralph M.

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