GateHouse – Science has already ruined a number of important things for me, such as my high school GPA and pretty much all of religion, but this past week they really took the taco: It was announced that I really, truly, once and for all, can’t travel back in time. Not even with a cheesy 1980s-looking car, not even if you have directions to a nice local wormhole, no matter what Huey Lewis and the News say.
How I loathe you, animal
Island Packet – One could make the argument that all animal bites are displeasing developments, and that if possible, it’s best to avoid putting any of your valuable, delicious skin into the path of the teeth of something. It’s what biologists call “evolutionary theory,” and what most other people call “trying to avoid becoming dead.”
So it’s a little disingenuous to be writing a column about how one local animal’s bite is much, way and totally worse than all other local animals’ bites — especially when the animal in question isn’t an alligator, a development that can’t be sitting well with the local alligator community. I imagine they’re feeling a little like Ron Santo when he gets passed over for the Hall of Fame every time, like, “Um, what else do you need us to do here?” (I’m pretty sure they grumble about this during their council meetings before going back to doing whatever it is alligators do, which, according to every time I’ve seen one around here, is lounge around doing nothing really useful and being partially submerged in a pond of standing water, kind of like Sean Hannity.)
Island Packet - Parents and their toddlers argue an average of 20 or 25 times per hour, according to a recent study published in Child Development magazine and held by scientists who spent time in a confined space with arguing parents and toddlers (just stop and think about the next time you’re complaining about how lousy your job is). As the father of a 4-year-old, I take this as an unnerving figure, because it means that the boy and I are SO ABOVE THE NATIONAL AVERAGE I think we’re going to have a cupcake party to celebrate.
GateHouse – When possible, I like to keep close tabs on the world of octopuses, for two reasons:
GateHouse – Unlike most people who enjoy the music of Jimmy Buffett and have been to Austin, Texas, I try to avoid taking drugs on a regular basis.
This is not due to any sort of thoughtfully conceived opposition to self-medication, which anyone who sold cases of Natural Light at Indiana University between the years of 1993 and 1997 will attest to.
Nor is it a function of any religious belief, overriding lifestyle directive or promise I made to any civic organizations in high school. It’s just that if I can help it, I try not to. Also, my insurance apparently doesn’t pay for them unless I become a 65-year-old woman within the next calendar year.
Which is why I saw the diagnosis that I needed to begin taking regular cholesterol medication as a minor personal defeat. It’s also the most direct reminder to date that there is an age where your body begins breaking down, and it’s apparently 31.5.
GateHouse – Most people would agree that I am something of a nerd. Most people would agree about that, because rarely has a fact made so regularly, aggressively apparent. Gravity is not proven as much as my relative nerdness; there’s more debate about the Earth’s revolving around the sun. At this point in the column I would normally make an extremely hilarious aside about the sheer level of brain-skill I possess regarding “Star Wars” and the discography of “Weird Al” Yankovic, but it occurs to me that I can probably just make those references and be done with it.
But being a nerd is not as easy as people think; it’s not just all fun and role-playing games. No, it requires you to keep up with a number of things, such as at least two fantasy sports leagues at all times, everything Steve Jobs is thinking and, of course, anything important that might be happening in space.
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