I was on campus yesterday, and I drove by the new Nanotechnology Research Center they're building. It's a lot bigger than I imagined it would be.

Out of Business

So the store where I work(ed) closed its doors forever today. And life goes on. I'm a little sore from carrying and dollying many many many boxes onto pallets. There were three other guys there- my manager, another store manager and a district manager. They watched as I loaded each and every box onto the pallets myself. Oh well. I don't mind working. And my very cool manager gave me ten extra hours on my paystub as a sort of severance package, which was right decent of him.
A little boy about four years old was riding by on his bicycle and stopped to watch. (He was accompanied by his mother, not out wandering the streets by himself. This isn't Ohio, you know.)
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"I'm shutting this store down. Want to help? Go grab a dolly and some boxes and start loading."
"Uh uh." He shook his head no.
"Aww, come on. I'll pay you a dollar!"
"Well, I'm going to go look at books now so I can't."
"Oh yeah? You're going to the library? Make sure you get some Dr. Seuss, I love him."
"I love Dr. Seuss too!!!! I have a book and a video of Dr. Seuss."
"Nice!" I said, "And don't forget to get some books on bears."
"Yeah I like bears."
"Good boy."

Oh yeah- happy birthday to River Selkie! She turns an undisclosed number of years old today!

Hard as it is to admit, even bears have a sketchy side to them, shameful stuff they would prefer remain hidden. Bears have an unfortunate tendency to root through dumpsters and other garbage receptacles. They scavenge. It embarrasses me that my bear brothers do this, but what can you do? You have to take the good with the bad. Having said that, this poost will be something of a "Homie Bear roots through the topic dumpster" sort of poost, wherein I will discuss almost everything.
Speaking of which, have you ever seen a large medievil sword going through the x-ray machine laughing out loud? That would be a bizarre sight. A bizarre site. I sure hope if such a thing ever were to happen, that an ammeter photographer would be nearby to capture it on film.
Secondly, I was shocked and appalled to discover the existence of the word ursicide. I mean, it's a pretty cool word, sort of reminds me of some of the death metal bands of my youth, but do you know what it means??? Bear-killer. Also, an agent that kills bears (like an insecticide). If you ever killed me (please refrain from this course of action, however) you would be simultaneously guilty of ursicide, homicide and Homiecide.
Next topic: Band of Brothers. gabrielle and I are rewatching the series (on DVD this time) and are just as riveted by it, if not more, the second time through. I read the book not too long ago, and that also enhances the experience. The first time we watched it, gabrielle would always wonder if the episode we were about to watch would have Tom Hardy in it or not. Now she knows that he is only in the last two episodes. So, she summarized the entire series as follows: "There's a bunch of episodes without Tom Hardy and then he's in one and then he dies and it's over."
Furthermore, I was reading an old school book from Grade 2 that had some of my earliest attempts at writing, accompanied by schematic diagrams and such. One of my stories was about me and my friend Peter (back then I hadn't yet adopted the Homie Bear alias and went by the name Nathan Woolly Mammoth. Peter was Peter Woolly Mammoth) and how we were painting Easter eggs and I broke the egg and the Easter fairy (or something) appeared and granted me three wishes. I wrote, "I wished for I forget the end." And there was a big check mark by the assignment. Anyways, I forget what else I was going to write about in this dumpster-dive the end.

Oozey poos.
A while back Tammy asked me if she could repooblish on theooze one of the poems I wrote here originally, so I said yes and she did so. And Tammy's daughter Lydia conducted an interview with me and that is up on theooze now, as well. It's about university and life and stuff like that, and all my answers are super-wise so you should go read it.

I met up with Papa Bear for a bit tonight- not for very long since he had prior plans with Mama Bear, but long enough for him to hand me the keys to his brand new 2003 Mustang GT. Wow. It=superfast. You know your Dad trusts you when he lets you drive his new muscle car. This makes me think our relationship has come a long way since the days when I was 14 and had just gotten my learner's permit. Dad took me out a few times in his old pickup, but always afterwards there would be a noticeable dampness on his shirt by his armpits. I remember one time I almost ran into the wall of the carwashbay for no particular reason. It wasn't long after that that he passed the teach-me-to-drive torch over to Mom.
Believe it or not, this is the best picture I could find of a car like his. This one was different in a way that I couldn't quite put my finger on. And THIS one is way off.

I missed the Metallica concert last night (since no one won (or even entered) my Metallica contest;). The newspaper said it was good, which is hardly news at all, but at least I got to read about it. Apparently you can buy CD-quality recordings of all their concerts online a few days later, kind of an iTunes thing, I guess. I will have to look into that. Or I suppose I could watch or listen to one of the umpteen hundreds of concert recordings and videos I already have of theirs.
Nothing like vicarious concert-going!
And vicarious hockey-game watching. Blu and Crogdor went to the game tonight and Blu told me a bit about it- sounds like it was a good one. Actually, gabrielle was kind enough to give me up-to-the-minute reports (brought to me by various sponsors) from NHL.com , while she was browsing, so I was sort of listening to the game. Mostly I was listening to her mercilessly lie to me about the score- "What? Oilers are losing a billion to 2? How can that be? They were winning just a few minutes ago . . .". And then she didn't need to fool me anymore, since the Oilers wound up losing in overtime. Oh well, still good for a point.
Maybe you can find the Metallica concerts here. Nope! Turns out they're here.

Today is Papa Bear's birthday! I thought a special shout-out here at the Woods would be in order, especially since I didn't get him a gift or anything ;) He came by here the other day for the first time, actually, so he might even read this.
Also it is Gotthammer Mike's birthday, so happy birthdays all around.
And happy unbirthday to the rest of you.

My sister, or rather, mi hermana, was chastising me tonight for not ever poosting about the Oilers. She doesn't get much news of the Mighty Oil down in Mexico, so she relies on my boundless wisdom and expertise. Well not really, she is just as capable of reading the newspaper and checking the standings online as I am. I just needed a reasonable excuse to do a little boasting on the Oilers, who are on fire lately! Ethan Moreau is playing like a pissed-off bear who just smelled some over-ripe sasquatch poo (trying to avoid all the tired old sports cliches, such as "like a man possessed", "in the zone", "with his game face on" and "really well"). With their win tonight over LA, they climb to within a point of a playoff spot. And they are 7-0-2-1 (I think) in their last ten. Not too shabby pooey.
And now I sing one of my favorite songs, a Cookie Monster Classic (slightly modified): "Hockey hockey hockey starts with 'C'!"

Ever notice how often war movies focus on an infantryman's feet? Lieutenant Dan in Forrest Gump says, "It's pretty basic here. One item of G.I. gear that can mean the difference between a live grunt and a dead grunt- socks. Try and keep your feet dry. When you're out humping I want you boys to remember to change your socks whenever we stop. The Mekong will eat a grunt's feet right off his legs. . . . Take care of your feet."
I'm not a soldier, but I do see wisdom in these words. More in terms of boots then socks. One time when I was hitch-hiking I was forced to spend the night in a truckstop diner nursing a root beer, waiting for first light so I could get out on the highway again (I had tried to set up my tent but there was only mosquito-infested bog where I was at). Much later in the day, when it was quite warm out, I decided to change out of my boots and put on my sandals (also Merrells ;). My feet had been locked in my boots for over 24 hours, and I was startled to find that the skin on their undersides were all white and loosey-goosey, sort of like a big blister covering my entire foot, but not. They were fine, they just needed some air, but it was a powerful visual lesson on the importance of taking care of your feet.
Sadly, my Merrells, after nine years, are no longer fit for service. I got new hiking boots yesterday, and retired (sniff) my trusty old clompers. My new boots are beautiful, however, and I am sure they will treat my feet just fine.
I took my old boots for one last farewell tour last night. Not really a true hike, though I spent the time in a nostalgic revery (why are you laughing at me?) And I decided to pretend that the familiar city sights I was walking past were in fact something more fantastic. Grant MacEwan College became the impregnable fortress of a mighty sorceror. The skating rink on 104th ave, with all its hoodoo-like snow piles outside, became the icy realm of frost-giants. The gothic cathedral just off Jasper was actually a Temple to that formidable God, the Ancient of Days. I came across a glowering dwarf who eyed me suspiciously, but I had no quarrel with him, though by no means did that make us friends. And I saw actual orcs! Others might have mistaken them for drunken frat boys, but I saw through their disguise.
It was a fitting last journey for my worthy old boots.

"You know that old kids' joke that goes 'what kind of grizzly has no teeth? A gummy bear'? Ha ha ha I don't think it's very funny. My teeth are worn down to knubs. My claws are weak and brittle. I can't catch a salmon to save my life. And when you're an old grizzly like me, that really is a matter of life and death. I see the young cubs eyeing me. Punks. They still show a little respect, though. For now. I can tell they're just waiting for a chance to bash my brains out and take my territory. Was a time when I'd kill them just for thinking of it, but now I'm too tired. Nah, I've been thinking about it. Came up with an idea. I think I'll check myself into one of them old folks' homes they have in the human cities. There's a real nice one in the town not far from here- big picture window looks out onto the Rockies. I'll sit there in a rocking chair and look out the window. Maybe I'll meet the guy who tried to shoot me once for taking a short cut through his land. We'll laugh about it and order more iced tea, talking about old times. I'll show the nurses the scar from where an elk kicked me and broke two of my ribs. I'll be just another old bear.
Yeah I think that's what I'll do. Take a break. Time for a permanent hibernation."

(Inspired by Faith No More's RV)

Interestingly enough, I just happened to be at MEC yesterday where I picked up a poostcard-sized pamphlet encouraging people to phone our premier to request a halt to the hunting of grizzlies. Alberta Sustainable Resources will issue up to 73 hunting permits for grizzlies this season (which is a lot, yet is less than last season- they are patting themselves on the back for reducing the number this year). Since yesterday's poost has had me chewing over my thoughts and stances on environmentalism and bear-rights and mineral rights, I came upon what I think is a pretty good solution that doesn't make me out to be a hypocrite or anything like that. I called the Premier's office today and said two things to the very polite lady who took my call. First, I asked that the Premier cancel the grizzly bear hunt, and then I also asked that he do whatever he could to expedite the go-ahead of Cheviot. You can do the same, by calling his hotline at 780-427-2251 (or toll-free by dialing 310-0000 first). You don't have to say what I said- tell him to halt the Cheviot mine if you want, that's your perogative and right as a citizen of a democracy. This is mainly for Albertans, but I am sure non-Albertans could still call, though as non-voters your opinion might not be as important to Mr. Klein. But anything you say on behalf of bearkind is appreciated.
(Poost-Script- I found this press release from the company that owns the coal mine where I used to work, regarding the coal mine where I hope to work in the near future.)

Colby Cosh has some wise things to say about two subjects very near and dear to my heart: grizzly bears and the very coal mine where I would be working right now if it weren't for the environmentalists. A highlight: "As always, we have the amusing idea put forward that grizzlies, who can run upwards of 30 miles an hour, cannot possibly cross a road through the bush."
Fingers crossed, it looks like I might be mining again soon. We'll see, though.
Did I ever mention the grizzly sow that used to make her home in and around Cardinal River (the current, nearly-depleted precursor to the Cheviot mine, where I used to work)? She often had a pair of cubs with her, and she was thoroughly unconcerned about us miners. In fact she seemed to like us, or at least the protected habitat we offered (it is just as illegal to hunt on mine property as in a National Park). Sadly she wandered off the minesite one day and was shot by some bastard motherfuckers for her gall bladder.
Honestly, coal mines and bears can coexist. If it weren't true I wouldn't say it.

I went with a friend to a teahouse in Chengdu one day. At one time it had been a Buddhist monastery, so perhaps its transition to teahouse was a step in the wrong direction, but at least it had survived the Cultural Revolution.
There was a beautiful, wizened old woman selling gorgeous paintings from a tent cubicle thing. One in particular caught my eye- goldfish swimming near lilies, on a magnificent scroll. The vivid oranges and greens and even the white space really appealed to me. With my friend interpreting for me, I discovered that the woman's husband painted and she sold. I asked her how much she wanted for the goldfish one, and she told me to make her an offer. I figured I would start low, let her highball me, and meet her in the middle, so I offered the modest sum of 60 renminbi, (around 12 or 15 dollars), thinking she would be aghast and counteroffer 120, and I would purchase it for 90. To my surprise and dismay, she agreed to the 60. No haggling. I felt bad. Then, she reached for her cane, and slowly and proudly got up off her stool and shuffled over to the painting, grabbed it off the wall and rolled it up, then turned and shuffled back to her seat. She was tiny, and bent over almost double. She reminded me of a less-green Yoda, more than anything else. So I carried that painting with me to Tibet and back to Beijing, and almost lost it when I left it in the care of my friend Corey. He left it on our bus while I was away dealing with luggage, and I made him run out and get it when I found out what he had done.
Anyways, Poe apparently can't tell the difference between painted goldfish and real ones, and she clawed the painting. It's not totally ruined, though there are now little gashes, tears really, that the artist never intended. That was a while ago. Then last week she knocked over one of our fancy lamps, tearing the paper lampshade around it. And I am not sure, but I also think she chewed the cord on my PS2 controller, rendering it more or less inoperative. She is a little maelstrom of havoc.
Oh well, I don't hold it against her. She is just being a cat. I am a bear, and thus I have been known to cause a little havoc of my own, and gabrielle is quite tolerant of me. Just today I spilled soy milk all over the place, narrowly missing her computer and mouse.

I have found yet another song that I have misinterpreted for years (you might recall I thought Trapped Under Ice was about being trapped under ice and 20 Eyes in My Head was about a monster with 20 eyes. Both reasonable assumptions to make, but both wrong, turns out). I always took Faith No More's The Morning After to be about the morning after a worldwide apocalypse- a nuclear war or some such. This song and that album have been a part of my life for so long I don't really remember what made me draw this conclusion, though I am sure it is partly the guttural heaviness of the music, full of glottal stops and bottom-end chunk, and the visual imagery it conjures up in my head. "Is this my blood dried upon my face? Or is it the love of someone else?"
But this week as I have been listening to The Real Thing, I have finally realized that The Morning After is a breakup song. Always has been.
However there just happens to be another song getting heavy rotation at the Woodsy Crypt (and the environs surrounding wherever Lola is located) that is about the precise thing I am talking about. It's called Post-Nuclear Celebration Party Song, from the Prey For Rock and Roll soundtrack.
"I'm having a party
all by myself
I invited the world
but everyone's dead!"

Balance is restored. However, I am afraid to delve too much further into these lyrics as I might find out the song is actually a metaphorical examination of a hangover or something.

So what did you have for supper last night? I had rancid sausage! Mmmm. I thought it had a particularly tangy, tart taste, and on my second bite I noticed all this goo at the bottom of the package. gabrielle just laughed when I asked her if she thought it was still good or not. I have learned a valuable lesson for the future: Christmas sausage (it was a present from Shannie) that is stored in my room is not good to eat come mid-March, regardless of whether it is sealed in plastic or not.
In other news, an old English professor of mine delivered a couple of lectures on Oprah Winfrey. She's writing a book on her, actually. I used to meet Dr. Read for coffee now and then though I eventually lost touch with her. She introduced me to one of my favorite books ever, Beloved. That was before Oprah played Sethe in the movie adaptation. I wonder if there is a connection? Maybe that is what sparked her interest in Oprah.
And, um, smooth segues notwithstanding, Rustyangel sent me a question today regarding ursine taxonomy. Is this a true bear, or not? he asks. Though I think true bearness largely depends on state of mind, I inquired of my trusty bear book (a Christmas present that has not gone rancid) and it does include pandas in the bear family. It says, "Biologists currently believe that pandas represent a surviving early branch of the bear line. The theory that they are more closely related to raccoons has been largely discounted." (from Bears: Their Life and Behavior by Art Wolfe).
UPDATE: Here is a factsheet on the red panda, courtesy of the BBC.

It had been far, far too long, so I met two of my best friends in the whole world for donuts today. As always, it was a good time. Donuts+friends=yay!
I feel bad that I missed Rowan's birthday, though. I didn't actually forget it, I just thought he wasn't around for me to call him. Which maybe is a worse error, I don't know.
Rowan's birthday is kind of how we came to be friends, in fact, many years ago now. When I was in grade 10 we were in the same Chemisty class, though he was on the other side of the class from me, which might as well have been the other side of the ocean, so I never actually met him. But our teacher would always call out his full name, first and last, in a very distinctive way. So he had a sort of notoriety to me in my mind. The next semester we wound up sitting next to each other in our Math class. I had been wandering the halls a little earlier (I forget why, exactly, though I do recall it was for the purposes of being up to no good) and came across a bulletin board that listed everyone who had a birthday for that month in our school. I'm sure this would constitute a grievous violation of privacy laws today, but those were simpler times. Anyways the enigmatic Rowan was on that list, so when I saw him in Math class I said "Hi Rowan, happy birthday."
And he said, "My birthday's not for a few weeks." But I greeted him every day like that, and he reminded me everyday that it wasn't his birthday. Turns out the actual anniversary of his birth took place on a weekend so I missed it. But we have been friends ever since, even though I think I kind of weirded him out at first. It was good to see him again.
I don't recall the day I actually met Jason, we just sort of fell into being friends. But that was the same year, grade 10. In fact, we were in the same chemistry class as well, only we actually knew each other. One day he was sick and missed class. That happened to be the day we learned how to do stoichiometry. We had a small assignment that we had to do every day and hand in for points. Jay was entitled to get an exemption since he was sick that day, but I told him how easy stoich was and that I would show him how to do it and that way he could get extra marks and save his miss-an-assigment card for later.
I wound up getting 1 out of 10 on the assignment, and Jay got zero. Oops. I still don't really know how to do stoichiometry- it seemd so simple- just switch the little numbers around, but turns out there was more to it than that. I wound up failing Chem 104 in university, too. And Jason doesn't let me teach him how to do things anymore. But you know something? It's been fourteen years since then, and I have yet to have occasion to stoichiometrize something, so really, who cares?

Yesterday I worked from 9:30 till 5. Actually just a little after 5:00, since I finally had my first customer of the day at that point and I decided to put in a few extra minutes so that I could actually ring in a transaction before going home. That's how slow my days can be, sometimes. Yet all our customers are shocked and dismayed when I tell them we're closing down in two weeks. Today was a little busier as I got the go-ahead to start selling off our inventory of tapes, and we are selling them super-cheap, so people are scooping them up. DVDs and games go later. Now I am trying to catch up on my allottment of free movies and games before the well runs dry. How do you spell allottment? Allotment? I don't really know. A lot meant? Meant a lot? What did? Who ?
Some movies and games I recommend to you (some old, some new):
The Others. Somehow I totally never even noticed Nicole Kidman before finally seeing Moulin Rouge, so I have been catching up on her back-catalog. Birthday Girl and Malice are both really good, too.
Wrath Unleashed is a fun game. It's just a fighting game mixed with some rudimentary strategy stuff. Cool monsters, and some ludicrously dressed women. Although I suppose since they are magical goddess/witches, they can probably cast a spell to keep those in place.
Umm, what else? I watched Under the Tuscan Sun, but the star of that movie was the Italian coastline. The rest of it was decent enough but hardly exceptional. A Perfect Murder was quite enjoyable, good to see Viggo in a less-Aragornishly noble role. My favorite movie of his is still The Witness, though. He was magnetic as Amish Helper #3.

Yeah, so we watched another Western-with-a-twist tonight, one of my second (third?)-tier favorites, Shanghai Noon. Gabrielle wasn't completely enamoured of it, ironic as it was her choice to watch it, but that is quite alright. It doesn't have the same history for her as it does me.
I first saw Shanghai Noon in China, on a bootleg VCD. Kind of fitting. It just happened that two of the students on my team were extras in it, as it was shot in and around Calgary. The casting call went out for all the people of Chinese descent in Calgary to come be extras in the slave-labour camp. So my two friends had brief cameos.
This made it interesting as we screened the movie with some Chinese friends. And also quite confusing for them. Our Canadian-born-Chinese friends were playing Chinese-born-Chinese people living in America, though the movie was shot in Canada and they were now here in China studying Chinese. My Chinese-born-Chinese friends had a bit of a hard time keeping all this straight.
Although China's educational system is at least equal to ours, if not far superior in some ways, they seem to have a bit of a hard time with basic genetics. They were invariably mystified that our Canadian-born-Chinese folk were, in fact, Canadian, and yet genetically Chinese at the same time.
"Are you Chinese?" they would ask.
"Yes, though I was born in Canada and am Canadian," they would reply.
"But you look so Chinese!"
"Well, yes, that's because my parents are Chinese."
"But you were born in Canada."
"Yes."
"Why you don't look like them?" (pointing at me or one of the other Canadian-born-non-Chinese.)
"Because I'm Chinese."
"Can you speak Chinese?"
"No."
"But you're Chinese!"
And on it would go. Every time. I found it all quite amusing but it got a little old for my friends.

Although technically I'm not supposed to, our store is so dead on Monday nights that I like to put a movie in to while away the hours. And besides- I did something last week that to me was pretty common-sensical , but it got my manager accolades from corporate headquarters all the way in Alabama, so he was pretty happy with me (I started getting donations a few days early to a charity we're promoting , the only store in North America to "take such initiative".) And since Hidalgo was so much fun, I thought I might enjoy another western from a LOTR alumni, so I watched The Missing. Cate Blanchett is really great and I like her other work a lot. Same with Tommy Lee Jones, to a lesser extent, and though they were both good enough, the movie itself was just . . . weak. Pretty cinematography, good acting, but not much plot and no character development at all. And since this isn't really a shoot 'em up western, character development is kind of a must. So I was disappointed. Oh well- I was paid to watch it, sort of, so no complaints. I can get you a poster of it if you disagree with me and liked it ;) For that matter, I can get you posters from a wide variety of current movies-available-on-video, just let me know if you want any (and are local to me).

Like gabrielle, I also really liked Hidalgo. Though where she occasionally found herself thinking of Aragorn and Brego, I marvelled at the fact that, over short distances, a bear can run as fast as Hidalgo, maybe even slightly faster. (Not to imply that this movie causes your attention to wander, because it doesn't.) Of course, a bear could never ever hope to beat Hopkins and Hidalgo in a long-distance race, which was their specialty.

Life in Hostile Environs part IV
There are limits to what life can endure, of course. High-altitude mountaineers know that above 7500 meters, your body begins to break down, to die. They call this the Death Zone. Yet even then, the human body can survive for limited amounts of time. Jon Krakauer says, in his astonishing book Into Thin Air, "Above the South Col, up in the Death Zone, survival is to no small degree a race against the clock. . . Depending on each person's acclimatization and physiological makeup, we would still be able to function above the South Col- but not well, and not for long. We would instantly become more vulnerable to HAPE [High Altitude Pulmonary Edema], HACE [High Altitude Cerebral Edema], hypothermia, impaired judgment, and frostbite. The risk of dying would skyrocket." As you probably know, eight of Krakauer's fellow climbers perished on that night.
For a long time, it was thought it was not possible to survive unaided at such heights. That's why all ascents of Everest were done with supplemental oxygen. But in 1978 Reinhold Messner reached the top without bottled O2, the mountaineering equivalent of the four-minute mile.
So it's possible, but there's a pretty steep (pardon the pun) price to pay.

(More on HAPE and HACE here.)

Why I'm just not a very good gamer
Since the ROTK video game is way fun, I decided that I should take advantage of some of the other games we have at work, so I brought home some other ones last night and tonight. I couldn't get into either one. The one yesterday was just poorly done- it was called Legion: Legend of King Arthur. Could've been cool, but wasn't. Then tonight I brought home Castlevania. I tried playing it for a while, and got stuck in an empty room in the tutorial stage. Oh well. I much prefer blogging to gaming. Not that there isn't room for both. I just need to find more fun games, like ROTK, that I can actually play, and can hold my interest.

Life in Hostile Environs part III
I discovered, about an hour after my arrival in Tibet, that high altitude is a hostile environment to me. This was quite a blow to my self-esteem since I grew up not twenty minutes away from the front ranges of the Rocky Mountains, and I like to keep in relatively good shape. But the Tibetan Plateau, at an average altitude of 12,000 feet, is higher than all but the highest of the Rockies, and physical fitness is not a factor. Plus I flew there from sea level or so, which is not really a good idea- you need to acclimatize. So after about an hour I started feeling funny and then I just fell over, unconscious, knocking my head on the cement, much to the alarm of a watching lama. I was okay- though I was apparently twitching and turning blue. I was a victim of altitude sickness. It was very unpleasant- puking and headache and even a touch of narcosis (? or whatever you call symptoms similar to intoxication). I would wake up in the middle of the night, my heart beating at lightspeed, hardly able to breathe. It was worse than any hangover. But after a few days I adapted to it and I thrived. And when I went back down to more normal, more mortal altitudes I was in supershape. I zoomed up the Great Wall of China. Not so much anymore, but it's good to know that life can adapt. Life is pretty resilient. I am pretty resilient. (You are, too ;)

Life in Hostile Environs part II
I found this interesting sci-fi book a few years ago in a bin of free books at Grant Mac. Called Dragon's Egg, it is a story about what life would look like on a neutron star. The author, Dr. Robert L. Forward, is a gravitational astronomer, so he knows what he's talking about as far as the physics go, and still writes a readable story.
Here is a quick primer on neutron stars, and an artist's rendering. In a nutshell, they are stars in a nutshell (heehee). When a star goes supernova, a neutron star is what is left behind- a massively dense object only a few tens of kilometers in diameter. And not really on fire any more- they have super-smooth surfaces. Dr. Forward's fictional neutron star, Dragon's Egg, is about 20 kms across but has half the mass of the sun. Its surface gravity is 67 billion times that of the Earth's.
The cool thing about the tiny little critters living on Dragon's Egg is that they live at a much faster rate than we do- an hour of our time would be almost two generations of theirs. A typical lifespan is 33 minutes. In the book, our civilizations interacted for 1.2 seconds.

NASA is saying that Mars was once wet enough to have sustained life. Maybe even still does. Cool. Martians. I like Martians- I imagine they are large, bear-like creatures full of intelligence and benevolence.
When I was little I had the same fascination for the possiblity of life elsewhere as every other little kid, and I read everything I could find on the subject. Back in 1980 or so, scientists were pretty pessimistic about any life elsewhere in our own solar system (and they still didn't know if there were any other systems with planets, which of course we now have confirmation of), though they said maybe Europa, one of Jupiter's larger moons, could support life. By life they meant "life as we know it." In the intervening quarter century, our definition of "life as we know it" has expanded considerably even just right here on Earth. There are organisms that live in habitats once thought to be hostile to life- hydrothermal vents at the bottom of the ocean, or beneath Antarctic ice. When you think about it, the bacteria that live inside our stomach, swimming happily in hydrochloric acid, are hardly living in a friendly environment, at least the way we consider it.
So anyways, it's cool that water once flowed freely on Mars, and maybe that means that it is more likely that Mars once did or still does support life. But as we are seeing more and more, life is pretty capable of getting by in habitats once thought anathema to it. Maybe there really are giant gas whalerays flying around in the atmospheres of Jupiter or Saturn.
On the other hand, there are an awful lot of other things needed to get life going- how about protection from ultraviolet rays and other solar radiation?
Maybe one day we'll know one way or the other. Until then it's fun to imagine, and wonder, and dream.

The following is a guest poost by gabrielle of the Crypt.

Since I am currently in the midst of a Completely Rightfully Owed CounterChallenge of Vengeance (a.k.a. The Samurai Sword of Poetry) over at the Crypt, Homie has graciously allowed me his Woods in which to guest post.

I found the following news item on yahoo today: Video Games Make Kids Fat, Violent, Swedish Experts Say
The big question I have in response to this is "What do we really have to fear from fat violent kids?" Granted, violence is never a good thing but the study does directly link obesity and violence to video games. As kind of a virtual pas de deux, if you'll forgive the ballet term. What I'm thinking is that I could outrun a fat kid. Even a violent fat kid. I'm sure of it. So... where's the danger?

In a separate but related note, I have recently become a gamer myself. Granted, I haven't invested a childhood into becoming as adept as, say, Fat Albert but I do play one mean Legolas if I do say so myself. Thirty-five orcs in a row. Single-handed. BOOM BABY! I even have a "gaming thumb blister" to prove it. And I have not gained a single pound that I can tell. Nor are my tendencies of late any more violent than they usually are. In fact I daresay phone calls to my pod from irate sales reps during my workday make me, on a whole, far more violent than slaying orcs. Or the dishonored dead. Therefore I am calling into question this Swedish research. I have no personal anecdotal evidence to support their theory.

Of course this doesn't change the fact that I'm just not scared of fat violent kids. What are they going to do - throw a Twinkie at me? Outplay me in Osgiliath? Like that's hard to do... you can't be Leggy there. You have to be Sam. Who is himself a fat and, in this game version of ROTK, violent short person who has never in his life played a video game.

What's next? Marilyn Manson causes teens to be dysfunctional? The earth is flat? *scoffs*

**** end guest poost ****

Bastards! I was actually over at Outside Magazine's site to see if they had yet poosted their story about Hidalgo. They hadn't but then I found that news item on those sumnabish poachers. Rrrgh they piss me off. I think the penalty should be a gallbladder for a gallbladder.
Anyways, with Hidalgo opening this weekend I thought you might be interested in reading about what historians and the Long Riders Guild have to say about it. There is some question as to whether Frank T. Hopkins (Viggo's character) was telling the unvarnished truth when he wrote about his exploits. For my part, I think it will be a fun movie, whether it actually happened or not.
You want historically accurate film-making? Band of Brothers. Best mini-series ever. Crazy sandstorms, running leopards and angry Arabs need not be so true-to-life, at least if you ask me.