It’s not new to hear that Yellowstone National Park is a giant super-volcano, but new research adds some detail to what we know about the plumbing underneath.
It turns out there’s a reservoir of very hot and molten rock sitting ten to thirty miles below the surface, warmed from beneath by a scary plume of nasty Earth’s-core-grade magma.
Here’s my favorite line from the Washington Post article – “This is a volcano that can erupt either in a big way or a truly colossal and catastrophic way.”
It’s nice to know we have choices.
One gets the impression that were this baby to blow, it would have an effect everywhere and you could count on a level of personal inconvenience well beyond having to some wash dust off the windows.
But on the global disaster hand-wringing scale it’s hard to know how freaked out to be about this, since humans haven’t been around long enough to have witnessed the last Yellowstone eruption. Is it more or less troublesome than a meteor strike?
Or what if a rogue comet scored a direct hit on Earth with the point of impact right on top of the Yellowstone caldera? I know the odds are against it, which is why that disaster movie is probably already in production.
Oh for the innocent 1950’s, when the Earth’s center was filled with giant lizards and mushroom forests.
I’m not a bad person, but I’ve had trouble in my life that has everything to do with the inappropriate places where my arms, and to be more exact, my hands, wind up.
I won’t go into too much detail here, but it has been brought to the attention of law enforcement by several people (shopkeepers, women I’ve known, and women I haven’t known), that my mitts tend to violate certain legal and ethical boundaries.
Usually I say something like “I didn’t realize I was doing it. That hand has a mind of its own!”
And usually that explanation is rejected as just so much bunk.
But now, there’s scientific evidence that the octopus has smart arms that really do work independently of the central brain!
Dr. Babooner, this news gives me hope. If mind-of-their-own appendages can be a real thing for hideous deep-sea creatures, isn’t there a possibility that I suffer from the same condition?
I’d like to start an emotional support group for people with Octo-digititis, a term I just made up to describe those whose fingers are autonomous and unprincipled. I know this might be a tough sell, but if you were to sign on as an adviser, it might give us the heft we need to be taken seriously as an afflicted community.
Would you consider it? Name your price. Given enough time and the opportunity, I’m pretty sure I could get my hands on whatever it takes to convince you to join our cause.
Confidentially,
Groper Lightfingers
I told ” Groper Lightfingers” that Dr. Babooner does not lend her “heft” to any cause, especially not one which is simply a glorified excuse for poor behavior. Blaming the newly revealed mechanics of octopus locomotion for your trouble is an insult to cephalopods everywhere. Octopi are social creatures with “smart” arms, while your out-of-control extremities are clearly anti-social and exceedingly dumb.
But that’s just one opinion. What do YOU think, Dr. Babooner?
Space travel fans and recyclers are full of admiration for the people at Space-X, who come closer with each attempt to doing something the throw-away generation of the ’60’s didn’t even consider. They’re trying to create a rocket booster that can carry a vehicle to orbit, and then land, vertically, the same way it took off.
To allow some room for error, they built a barge that can float out in the ocean, away from population centers. Smart, but problematic, as it creates a somewhat unsteady surface.
This last time they came quite close to making it work.
I love the slow yielding to gravity at the end, as it gradually becomes clear we are not going to remain vertical.
The fall takes about 7 seconds – just long enough to read three lines of 5, 7 and 5 syllables.
if there is no land
just a barge in the ocean
there is no landing
falling down to earth,
a job anything can do,
gets tricky at last
hold the platform still
and I will stick the dismount
at some other time
practice makes perfect
but first some big explosions
for entertainment
Space X says next time, they’ll try to do the landing where there is actually some land.
It hit me the other day I’ve been writing under the long face of our friend Blevins (the hairy fellow on the masthead trail) for nearly five years and yet I am still thoroughly ignorant about baboons, their achievements and their history.
This is exactly the feeling I had in fifth grade when I was expected to know the difference between several white-wigged forefathers and on test day it occurred to me that Washington, Jefferson, Adams, Madison and Dolly Parton looked pretty much the same from the neck up.
So on a whim fifteen minutes ago I decided to do a google search for famous baboons and immediately stumbled across the strange tale of Jack the Signalman.
Jack was said to be a companion to James “Jumper” Wide, a railroad man in Uitenhage, South Africa, who had the unfortunate habit of leaping from car to car on moving trains. This is the sort of show-off activity you can be good at until the one day when you’re not, and then you never do it again because both your legs have been cut off at the knees.
Handicapped by his injuries but determined to return to work, Wide formed a productive partnership with an actual baboon, Jack, who eventually learned to do the signalman’s job and wound up employed by the railroad for a number of years, paid in brandy or beer depending on which account you believe.
The notion that a baboon can hold a job will surprise no one who has worked alongside such a creature in their daily tasks. The feeling that your strangely unstable co-worker might suddenly do something wildly inappropriate is familiar to everyone, I imagine.
But in this case the biological baboon of Uitenhage was much more reliable in his work than the emotional baboons of our modern cubicle-rich employment landscape.
The story claims that Jack was flawless in his performance of his duties, regularly receiving a whistled signal from the engineer of an oncoming train and properly moving levers to send that train down the appropriate track.
After thinking about this for a moment, I realized that I would have a hard time being successful at such a job, given that I’m a daydreamer and my mind is known to wander a bit. I’m afraid that in the role of signalman, my train of thought would eventually get derailed and without delay much larger calamities would ensue.
Fired and replaced by a baboon, for the greater safety of all. Good thing I just imagined that so none of us had to live through it.
So here’s a salute to Jack the Signalman, a baboon-achiever!
Today’s post comes from Trail Baboon’s Living and Loving Correspondent B. Marty Barry. He’s a bottomless well of wellness!
Yes, it’s my life’s work to be there for people when they need to talk.
And once we get past the preliminaries and start to explore hidden areas that are truly and deeply painful, my clients will ask me why their children are not as sociable as their dogs.
There is a great deal of guilt and anguish here, because people just naturally feel responsible for how their kids turn out. They believe that it should be more pleasant to hang out with Timmy or Susie than it is to spend the afternoon sitting by the fire with Sparky.
After all, children have the ability to speak an understandable language and hold conversations. They can tell stories and jokes. They’ve got the higher brain functions to enjoy and create art. There are all sorts of enjoyable pastimes that are family-friendly.
Meanwhile, dogs shed, have bad breath, and poop in the yard.
It should be no contest!
My clients feel terrible about preferring their dogs to their kids. When I ask them to tell me more, I usually hear that the children are sullen and self-absorbed. They barely speak and only interact with their electronic devices. And they almost never make eye contact with another person, especially not their parents.
The dogs, on the other hand, are enthusiastic and playful, unless you’ don’t want to play. If that’s the case, then they’re patient and attentive, but quiet. And eye contact is a canine specialty – they do it constantly, with intensity and love. Unless you’re holding a treat, in which case they watch you with joy and anticipation. But dogs are always totally OK with whatever you want to do.
Once I get them talking along these lines, people eventually realize they are unfairly judging the children because no human can compete with a good dog for sociability.
I always take note of the children’s names. Someday they may need to talk deeply about how they resented Brandy’s easygoing relationship with mom and dad.
And now academia has decided to address dog cognition. Look at these programs!
What this means is that now those same sullen, uncommunicative children who were less engaging than Fido can someday leave home, go off to school, and run up $300,000 in college debt watching a dog, which is basically the same thing you did, for free, while they were away.
But if this scientific research bears fruit and we are better able to understand the level of awareness of dogs, maybe it will open up a whole new range of opportunities for people like me. Getting dogs to talk would be a world-changer. After all, I can only guess the emotional toll it takes on old Buster to know that he is, and always will be, the favored child.
Today’s post comes from Bubby Spamden, a perennial sophomore at Wendell Willkie High School.
Hey Mr. C.,
Now that it’s spring and all, people at Willkie have really started to talk seriously about what jobs they want to have when they’re all graduated from school.
This is the thing that our parents keep telling us we should think about all the time, but they must not remember being fifteen at all because there is so much more to worry about – really important stuff like “was Ashley looking at me this morning over the top of her book?” and “do I have something gross stuck to my face?”
Anyway, there are lots of people who want to be movie stars and rock stars and sports stars, like that’s really a thing you can be. And then there are the more practical ones, who say they want to be accountants and engineers and software coders.
But I saw something the other day that I thought would be a really cool job and I totally didn’t know anybody could do this – I want to be a face researcher so I can spend my time thinking about really important questions like why do we have chins?
I didn’t carefully read the article where I saw this because it was so long! (I want to spend my time looking at faces, not fighting my way through all those words, words, words!) But I think I get the basics.
Humans have chins because evolution is making our faces shrink!
Wow! Yes! It turns out our chins are slower to change than the rest of our heads when it comes to right-sizing, evolution-style. That’s weird!
So I want to find a University somewhere that has a major in Body Part Studies.
I think that would be incredibly cool because that’s sort of what everybody does in college anyway, but I’d be getting credit for it! And we’ll need more trained body part experts, because everything is changing.
I figure evolution is going to keep doing its thing. So the human face of the future will probably have even less chin, and this will mean huge changes in everything, especially in professional sports like horse racing and the NFL where they have to use chin straps to keep their hats on.
Enter me, the Highly Esteemed Face Researcher!
As America’s top face scholar, I’ll have plenty of work to do, giving my opinion about faces of all kinds! I’d love to do the American version of a contest they had in Britain a few years ago to find the Most Beautiful Face. Florence Colgate, call me!
And if my focus on the face doesn’t pan out, I’ll just shift my research to another body part that’s getting more attention.
Even though I’m extremely reluctant to discourage the dreams of the young, I told Bubby I’m skeptical that he’ll be able to assemble the right credentials to ascend to the post of America’s Leading Face Researcher. After all, it’s hard to become recognized as an expert in anything when every other person already thinks they’re an expert in the same field.
Kind of like being a writer in Hollywood.
But at least he’s showing a hunger for knowledge, as long as it doesn’t require too much reading.
In what area would you like to gain some expertise?
Getting humans into space has been a long, complicated process. Not everyone is able or willing to go, and the costs are formidable.
We found this out after going back and forth from the moon a few times. Because getting off the planet is such a pain, there has to be a clear reason to go, and some irresistible kind of incentive.
In case you thought it was heroism, post-launch fame is no longer guaranteed. All sorts of different nobodies have been to the International Space Station.
A series of helmeted government employees have been sent but we paid them to do it. Years ago a succession of dogs and monkeys were launched with mixed results. I think it’s fair to say all the animals and some of the people were happier and better off on the surface of the Earth.
California in 1849 had a golden magnet. But what force will lure humankind to the stars?
Enter a group of young Swedes with a wonderful idea – let’s send donuts.
The Homer Simpson in me is already looking skyward, hungrily.
Which kind is the most attractive & delicious doughnut?
Today is tax day, the day when every disc jockey who has control over the playlist is required to spin “Taxman” by the Beatles.
And by “every disc jockey who has control over the playlist” I mean about a half dozen people, worldwide.
“Taxman” is a great song, of course. And it’s the only song about taxes that’s even remotely fun. Admittedly, the competition is thin in this category because I can’t think of another song on the subject.
Among poets, love is so much more popular, topic-wise!
This is a rage-of-emotion problem. Taxes and love can both give you the deep blue notes – frustration and longing, blending into misery and finally, despair. It’s in the realm of exhilarating highs that love really has it all over taxes.
Probably the only thing taxation offers that comes anywhere close to the giddy delight of love is the sudden discovery of a great, rock-solid deduction.
That, and the refund, of course.
Although an accountant might tell you a tax refund is the same thing as forgiveness when it comes to love – a welcome turn of events but something you would have been better off avoiding in the first place.
Clearly, though, the Beatles could have done more. The world would have hardly missed it if a few of those love songs had been re-directed into tax deduction ballads.
Perhaps they didn’t look closely enough at the fine print.
Got a deduction. For taking my family out.
Got a deduction. It’s legal, there isn’t a doubt, though.
It was our vacation. I was working too!
That isn’t so wrong! For a scout. A real boy scout!
Business deductions. It’s all about the intent.
Business deductions. Airfare, beach bungalow rent.
It was a big meeting! Talked about the job.
I had to be there! That’s allowed. And I’m so proud!
Of course I claimed it – it’s a Jacuzzi!
Ask my doctor. He made me.
He wrote a prescription – a therapy tub.
An hour of soaking, then I scrub.
That’s what my deductions are.
Not entirely bizarre.
Stretching truth but not too far.
And it helps my asthma.
I’m also claiming an Olympic pool.
Ask my doctor. He’s no fool.
I need the workout. It’s good for my back.
So why don’t you cut me some slack?
That’s what my deductions are.
Not entirely bizarre.
Stretching truth but not too far.
Avoidance miasma!
(Please don’t audit me!)
You can deduct the cost of feeding Sparky.
It is allowed, though most are not aware.
Business.
That’s the pet deduction secret.
He’s an asset, not your pal. Whoa oh, oh
Setters.
Pomeranian or Spitz.
If it’s business then it fits.
That’s what dodgers do.
Ooooh!
Income.
Make sure Sparky has an income.
If he can be taught to sell, whoah oh, that’s
Better.
Put him on the staff today.
On his break time you can play.
Sparky and Old Blue.
Ooooh!
Ask my accountant to confirm it’s true.
His partner is a Shih Tzu!
It’s too early to commit to any candidate. The reason for this is simple – as your Congressman my job is to find the one person who will be the best president for the 9th District, and then suck up to them without reservation.
But until candidates start to outline their positions on all the lake-related issues that face us, like algae, Asian carp, weedy buffers, jet skis mufflers, dock set-up rules, and a comprehensive global bait policy, there’s just no way for me to judge them.
Republicans have it easy. Partisanship makes some responses automatic, and they already know where they stand on the Ready-for-Hillary question.
For everyone else it’s still just a game at this point, with fun pastimes like trying to guess what slogan Clinton will use (“Nicer Than She Seems”, “Why Not This Time?”, “Probably The Last Chance To Do This”, etc.), and what strategies could possibly work as a way to build enthusiasm among those who are not already on board.
I do have a campaign song nomination, although I realize it will never fly because the payoff line is not only a negative proposition, it takes too long to unfold and it doesn’t have enough energy to accompany the obligatory pre-rally fireworks.
But it is clever, undeniably true, and it speaks to one key point that robs Hillary Clinton of political momentum.
Oh, well. Campaign songs usually aren’t good, or true. But at least we can hope.
I once suggested to my staff that we use Beethoven’s 9th Symphony as a campaign theme song because it is universally accepted as great music, but skeptics on my staff pointed out it would not only drain the rally support budget, it would make my remarks following the 2-hour performance seem unimportant and unnecessary.
Which would be an accurate assessment! But not very productive, campaign-wise.
Honestly,
Your Congressman,
Loomis Beechly
If you ran for office, what would you choose as your campaign song?
Today’s post comes from Wally of Wally’s Intimida, home of the Sherpa SUV. It’s a mighty big car!
Greetings, Road Hogs!
After reading yesterday’s comments on driving, I know most of you are not actually “road hogs”, but you each could become one if only you had the right set of wheels.
Wally here to remind you that the Sherpa from Intimida is still the world’s widest, tallest, longest and heaviest passenger car .
And that’s saying something at a time when car designers are obsessed with “lightweighting” their products. They take steel out of a vehicle’s frame and replace it with aluminum, carbon fiber, and carbon fiber reinforced composites (CFRC’s).
By doing this, it’s possible to improve gas mileage, drive-ability and customer acceptance.
But so what? Some things are so basic to your identity that they should never be changed, and for the Sherpa one of those key things is heft!
No, we’re not embarrassed by weight.
That’s why Intimida engineers always opt for the heaviest, densest materials available. The frame is made out of steel-reinforced steel and skyscraper-construction-grade I-beams. Our paint is made from a paste created when crushed bedrock is combined with super-strong limpet teeth by melting both ingredients in blast furnaces as hot as the sun.
The reason is simple – a car as big as a mountain doesn’t need to get good gas mileage. Because it’s such a massive object, the Sherpa has stronger gravity than everything around it, so people and things just naturally come to it.
But when you do start it up and decide to go somewhere, the world will take notice! That’s because a Sherpa is designed to be impressive, meaning it leaves a permanent scar on the landscape.
That’s why so many crumbling highways are closed shortly after an Intimida Sherpa passes through.
Yes, you did that. But you pay taxes, so get your money’s worth!
So if a lightweight car is what you want, there are plenty of options out there. But if you want to turn heads, collapse bridges and cause earthquakes wherever you go, there’s only one choice for you – the Sherpa from Intimida.
It’s a mighty big, profoundly heavy car!
Come see me today – my office is right in the middle of a Mountain Range of Cars!
Trail Baboon 