I bet you think this day is about him, don’t you?

It’s Darwin Day!

And it is sort of about him, sorta. It’s not like a Catholic saint’s feast day, or like a day idolizing a Communist revolutionary, or even like gushing over a pop star. It’s a day to recognize the good work one respected scientist did, and to recognize the centrality of an influential hypothesis that he pioneered, while still recognizing his flaws.

It’s not like we can get excited about one grand unifying principle on one particular day. After all, every day is evolution day, so Charles Darwin is just a nice focus point to justify a party.

That is a mighty fragile wrist

We have lubed up our mighty door, and it opens and closes much more easily now. Unfortunately, the damage is done, and my wrist is undergoing some fascinating physiological changes. It is now mottled and blotchy, and pain has increased. I may have to pop into the emergency room to get it splinted up, but This Is AMERICA, and a couple of tongue depressors and a pressure bandage might bankrupt me, if applied by a trained professional.

Unfortunately, I have to compose an exam for my genetics class today, and the ouchieness of typing these short paragraphs is making me dread the effort of typing four or five pages. Maybe I can get a wrist splint at the drugstore today?

That is a door, a mighty mighty door

This is the main door to my house.

It’s massive. What you can’t see is how thick and heavy it is. This is a door that would stand up to an assault by orcs armed with Grond. In the winter it’s the only door out of the house to a path cleared of snow, so you’re not getting in if we don’t let you.

The only problem is that not only is it heavy, but in the recent cold weather the shape of the frame has shifted and is clamping down on the door, so it massively resists movement. Right now, going out that door is a difficult enterprise, requiring that we grab that door knob and lean back with all our weight to pull it out; coming in requires turning the knob and bashing it with your shoulder. It really needs readjustment.

This prelude is to explain why I have sprained my wrist by trying to open a door. It was that door. Right now my wrist is swollen and bruised, changing colors — last night it was yellow and green, but today it’s more of a dark grey. Yes, it hurts. Why am I typing? I need to stop. Ouch. Bye.

It will always be the Gulf of Mexico to me

It got the name in the 16th century, it’s internationally accepted, but one clown thinks he has the authority to change it.

Map of the Gulf of Mexico from 1718

Unfortunately, Google is happy to cave on this issue.

Google said Monday it will change the name of the Gulf of Mexico to “Gulf of America” in Google Maps after the Trump administration updates its “official government sources.”

The company also said it will start using the name “Mount McKinley” for the mountain in Alaska currently called Denali.

I think someone told Trump that McKinley oversaw the last surge of American territorial expansion, and he thinks he can make a name for himself by seizing real estate. Maybe someone should mention to him the end of McKinley’s story? I don’t think he read it to the end.

The nice thing about all-meat diets is they kill my appetite

Sometimes, I hear about other people’s diets, and I’m left somewhat nauseous. I think this one needs to be called the FAFO diet.

The Fuck Around
This guy, in his 40s, decided to try what he called a “carnivore” diet. He was eating between 6–9 pounds of cheese, sticks of butter, and burgers daily—adding extra fat to the burgers for good measure. He claimed to have dropped weight, gained energy, and experienced improved mental clarity.

The Find Out
Our dear Florida Man went to the doctor for painless yellow nodules that had developed on his elbows, palms, and the soles of his feet. He was diagnosed with a condition called xanthelasma, which basically means you have so much cholesterol in your body that excess lipids leak from your blood vessels and form deposits. While the rest of his body worked overtime to keep him alive, his total cholesterol level was over 1,000 mg/dL. For context, the “at-risk” threshold for cholesterol is 240 mg/dL.

He could just swipe his hand across a piece of toast to butter it, I guess.

My cholesterol levels are well under control, but then we don’t eat any red meat, except for an occasional Impossible Burger, and most of my protein comes from fish. Moderation in all things, you know.

I’ve long had queasy feelings about those all meat diets, anyway.

An homage

I opened up You’re All Just Jealous of my Jetpack this morning, and this cartoon leapt out at me.

I felt so smart, like a classically trained art historian, because I knew instantly that this was a reference to a famous cartoon from Gary Larson’s The Far Side. I even remember seeing it in the newspaper back in the 1980s, and puzzling over its profundities.

It’s become the painting of a pipe for our age.