Extinction by Choice

I found this article on BBC today. "Lonesome George" is, according to the subtext of the article, more than likely the last Pinta Tortoise that will ever walk the earth.

The reason for this is astounding. Apparently, this octogenarian reptile is a homosexual.

If you didn't click the link and read the article, go ahead and do it now. I'll wait.

It's interesting because there hasn't been a female Pinta Tortoise for probably going on fifty years, if not more. Whalers used to eat them because they were easier to catch. Not that tortoises are hard to catch; it's just that some of them spend more time on the beach.

The fact of the matter is, when you've never really met very many females of your species, your sexuality gets a little messed up. According to genetic testing, they've found a hybrid of George's species and some other tortoise.

Apparently, there's another Pinta that, instead of going all homosexual, has decided to jump the species gap and bang anything that has a shell, creating some sort of unholy union. Apparently, the centuries old feud between the Isabela and the Pinta tortoises has been put on hold, while some youngsters went off on their own to consummate their illicit love and conceive some sort of tortoise anti-christ.

I can just see a screenplay about this. It will be like Romeo and Juliet. Romeo's homosexual grandfather says that he can't be chasing that hot Isabela Tortoise tail because they are from a different species and everyone knows that you don't boff another species.

This can only end in tragedy, of course. As pressure from both families forces the two young tortoise lovers to commit hari kari in protest of their parents' cruel decision. The real tragedy of course, is that the young hybrid tortoise won't be able to find a real home. No one wants a half-breed.

Or maybe this play could have one of those hopeful endings, where it is the crystal clear honesty of the young child's voice that shows the two factions their shame and brings everyone together in a real hallmark, freeze frame ending.

As the credits roll, we are informed that six months after these events took place, the young hero was captured and eaten by a rampaging horde of whalers, the tentative truce between the Pintas and the Isabelas is demolished and a bloody war raged for, well, about half an hour, while the Isabelas lynched Lonesome George, the last representative of his species.

It's a hate crime on so many levels.

Soon enough, without the competition, the Isabelas grow soft and weak, and eat all available resources and there is mass starvation.

In the end, it's always the same. Their brains will be scanned and kept in computer simulation, and their DNA stored in a test tube, just waiting for the day that the tortoises will return and take their rightful place among the reptiles of the Earth.

A doctor can dream, can't he?

See the cat? See the cradle?

I'm going to try and remember, without looking in the book, the last bit from Cat's Cradle:

"If I were a younger man, I'd write a history of human stupidity. And then, I'd climb to the top of Mount McCabe and lie down with my history for a pillow and take some of the blue-white poison that makes statues of men, and then I'd make a statue of myself, looking up, grinning horribly, and thumbing my nose at You-Know-Who."


Rest in peace, old man. I for one did actually shed a tear.

Little did she know....

Corpses have been popping up in some strange places lately. I want it made perfectly clear that this is not a trend in the direction of this commentary blog. And so, after this post, I promise to you, gentle readers, that I will not talk about strange corpse sightings for a while. Of course, being the Good Doctor that I am, I am free to break that promise if a really super juicy corpse-related story pops up again.

Also, I in no way advocate using Reuters as a primary news source. It's just one of the many RSS feeds that I check frequently. I just happen to like their comprehensive coverage of the ever expanding dilemma in America and abroad of corpse treatment.

The person in this article died just after takeoff. The article is poorly written and so it is difficult to discern exactly what happened. How was this man, apparently asleep in First Class not roused when the crew of the airplane were lugging a dead grandma down the aisle and then unceremoniously dumping her in the seat next to him, and then stuffing her in there with pillows so she wouldn't fall on the floor.

Whose decision was it to not just stuff granny in the bathroom and lock the door? Wouldn't that be better? Certainly not more dignified for the deceased, but definitely more tolerable to the poor bastard who woke up with a dead body next to him. Of course, there was the bereaved also on the plane. I mean, wow. This is absolutely amazing. There is literally nothing you can do when someone just up and dies on a plane in flight. Put yourself in the position of the stewardess or the captain that has to make the judgment call, "Uh...I don't know...maybe...strap granny to a chair and hope nobody notices. Put a pillow under her head, maybe people will think she's sleeping."

Sure, yeah, that will work. Imagine you're dozing there in your seat and the unthinkable happens: your neighbor, a complete stranger, rests his or her head on your shoulder in their sleep. Some people just deal with it and pretend it's not happening. Of course, there are those of us who will be like, "hey granny, um...I'm not comfortable with this... hello? Lady? You awake?...... um.... wake up...." You nudge her a few times, "Seriously, this isn't funny...." and then, "oh shit..." followed by you pushing the call button and then saying fuck this, "Stewardess!!! Um... I really think you should come over here..."

It's really just further proof that there are fewer and fewer real human tragedies in the world. And more and more comedies. Come on, admit it. You laughed.

It's alive! It's alive! No wait...sorry about that.

I know, I know, I know. The last post I did was also about something weird about death. And the last post was also about an article I read on Reuters Oddly Enough. But before you judge me, ask yourself this question: Who am I to judge what the Good Doctor does? There, don't you feel better?

This little gem popped up on Reuters RSS feed today. I find this stuff interesting, because I am endlessly fascinated by how people deal with death, grief, and such things as prospects for an afterlife.

The deal is, some people just can't quite get over death. Perhaps some people, even people who are religious, might understand intuitively that death is the end. If you don't have the psychological constitution to be okay with that, it's going to cause problems.

The fact that this guy was trying to cast a magic spell is really entertaining. He was Pakistani, so probably Muslim, I'm going to assume. But magic? Spells? And why'd he kidnap the guy that was sleeping in the cemetery? And why was there a guy sleeping in the cemetery?

I think he needed the guy as sort of a host body for his father's soul. That would make sense. He would be like a Lich's phylactery. Store the soul in a vagabond's body, drop the skeleton in some sort of nutrient rich solution, where it can feed and sort of be like a hive mind.

In fact, fracture the soul into several parts, and then like this dude's father will control lots of different bodies, while his rotting corpse serves as the center. Destroy the corpse completely, and you will vanquish the satanic army that he's slowly creating out of vagabonds and close family members.

Obviously the son is the first attempt at possession, and it hasn't taken hold well enough. He's coming off as crazy, which is problematic. The connection might not be strong enough. Like a cellphone with bad reception. And he's such an incompetent son that he even botched simplest reincarnation spell. Jesus, what a world we live in!

The Mummy Returns: Just Couldn't Tear Himself Away.

Just today, I found this article. The story is utterly amazing in its perfection. The image of a seventy-year old man, dead for over a year, not even a little bit rotten or smelly, sitting, slumped as if in a light snooze in front of a television trying in vain to sell him toothpaste and new cars, and to entertain him with quality programming.

It would be interesting to know exactly what channel the television had been tuned to. You know? Like was it PBS? Or Fox? Or Turner Classic Movies, even? Perhaps it was Cartoon Network. This guy has seen every episode of Aqua Teen Hunger Force aired for the last year. What would his Nielson survey say?

The fact that he was mummified is perfect too. So the room he died in had low humidity. God, it's like a whole series of incredibly improbable coincidences all lined up and joined forces to create the perfect image for America.

I mean, the power wasn't shut off? Who was paying his electric bill? Was this thing deliberately staged? Now, that would be something. It should almost be made into a museum display. Let's not bury the guy yet. Let's set up some velvet cables and have a walkway through his living room. People will pay ten dollars at the door to walk through this shrine, this symbol of American culture and values.

I'd pay it. How about you?

American Idiot

I've watched a few episodes of the new season of American Idol. I've come to the conclusion that this television show, perhaps even reality TV in general is a symptom of something very cool, something very disturbingly right about the world. In the first season or two, it wasn't immediately apparent. It was just something kind of funny, but now that it's become a mainstay of the winter primetime lineup on Fox, it's something more. Where before it was fun to laugh at the bad singers, and Simon being cruel to them, and those same bad singers verbally abusing Simon, saying things like, "He don't know what he's missing. He'll be sorry," that stuff is just expected now. It's the subtleties that now become apparent.

Simon remains blissfully diffident in regards to these comments. I mean, it's all for ratings. Anyway, now that AI has gotten old, stale, and become a symbol of America, something indispensible, something that we simply can't do without, something that we can't imagine ever not seeing on the television, we can really understand what the show is about.

And I think it's good. I think it's important that we see clearly in a way that is almost too visceral, almost nausea inducing, how horrible we are to other people. It's not just that British asshat telling them how much they suck in very unfriendly terms, it's all of America agreeing with him. The only one who's still in denial is the poor girl or guy who has broken down in wretched sobs on the floor outside the audition room. "I was born to sing," they say. Instead of treating AI as just an audition, perhaps one of many, they have decided, willingly, to invest their entire future emotional wellbeing on whether or not they get into American Idol. And when it doesn't work out, it's like their entire world has crashed to a halt. Suicide might be the only answer.

Do we feel bad as viewers? As Americans watching this filth? Of course not! We don't give two flying fucks about this person who was so convinced that he was it! Maybe a moment's empathy, an uncomfortable, sad little hesitation before just laughing at or ridiculing (we are arm-chair ridiculers here in America) these poor wretched souls. I'm fine with it. It's Darwinian. If that person decides it's too much tonight and eats a bottle of sleeping pills and doesn't wake up, it's not going to affect me on an emotional level. I will not care. If it's on the news, maybe some people will be like, "Oh, that's terrible! Why would anyone do that?" Even though we already know why. American Idol yesterday (Wednesday, January 24, 2007) blew away the competition, according to Nielsen. How can a nobody compete with all of America? How can a nobody get America to love him? He can't unless he actually has talent. Otherwise, all he gets is the utter scorn of the literally millions of Americans watching him (or her) put their heart on the line.

The bottom line is, these people deserve to be made fun of. Because despite the fact that they don't actually know that they are bad singers, it's their own fault for putting it all on the line for something that hasn't been proven. It's their own fault for not looking around at the world, listening to themselves and realizing that they can't sing or perform or be anything in the music world, especially, the notoriously brutal and callous pop music industry. Setting all of your William Hung's aside, we find that there are two people who get featured on the auditions for American Idol: the very best, and the very worst. And that's how it should be. That's what America wants to see.

AI is not ruining America. It is not a cause of anything. It is a symbol, a symptom, of what America stands for. I think it's important that we crush people's hopes and dreams in as callous and inhumane way imaginable. I even think it's something we ought to do. What do you think?

Morality in Harry Potter

I am very disturbed by the morality that Harry Potter teaches children, particularly in the realm of political discourse. The whole "Wizarding World" is constatly locked in this deadly, dangerous, epic struggle against an evil wizard (Lord Voldemort) who is bent on taking over the entire world, not just the wizarding world.

The Wizard Council, if they were truly going to do the right thing, ought to approach the United Nations Security Council, and various foreign leaders and plan a strategy for moving forward in the campaign against Voldemort. There's no way, that "magic" is so much more powerful than modern technology that the US military, or the NATO peacekeeping forces wouldn't be able to handle the small rabble of Death Eaters he has at his disposal. He has maybe a few hundred. The US military is many thousand strong, with guns, bombs, and missiles, and jets.

Their isolationist attitude is counter-productive. The rest of the population has a right to know what sort of danger they are in. Everyone ought to have a say in how magic might be used to benefit humanity as a whole you see? And there are plenty of things in the muggle world that the wizards would benefit from as well. For instance, the internet, Facebook, Wikipedia, MSN Messenger, automobiles, cell phones, etc. By cutting their children off, by playing "Muggle artifacts" off as quaint or not as useful as magic, they are actually forgetting the utility of a highly sophisticated civilization.

And this is nothing when it comes to the learning of the modern world. There are so many philosophers, scientists, and theorists (from Plato, to Nietzsche, to Darwin, to Marx, to Hawking, to Buckminster Fuller) that they don't get exposed to. Without a proper training in college level ethics and philosophy and science, for chrissake, they are not going to have a very balanced view of the world, nor can they be expected to use magic in a way that is benevolent and responsible.

And what about literature? What about Keats? What about Shakespeare? What about Douglas Adams? Dickens? Isaac Asimov? Nabokov? Dosoevsky? They don't get any of this stuff. At least, not that I can see.

J.K. Rowling, you're on notice, until Harry Potter reckognizes that the muggle world is not such a terrible, "backward" place.

The Final Say

Arrested Development is the greatest TV show to grace the small screen. Ever. Period. And that includes the future.

Of Rags and Riches

I recently went to the theater to watch a movie. As with any movie-going experience, there were previews. All of them sucked. But this one sucked the most for a number of reasons. Material Girls stars Hilary Duff and Haylie Duff. The Duff sisters. Obviously, I will never, ever, under any circumstances put myself through the drudgery of watching this film, but it's an interesting concept. It used to be common in popular literature, and even in film in America to write the "great american what-have-you." A great many of these were what you could call "rags to riches" stories. Born a poor farmer, so-and-so claws his way against all odds to the top of some sort of financial empire. The struggle made him what he was. His roots in poverty gave him a connection to the common man. His dream and personal resolve made him great. Blah blah blah.

It is now increasingly common in literature, film, and pretty much everything else, to tell a completely different kind of story. It's the "riches to rags" story. Material Girls (starring the Duff sisters) is one such film, though I suspect that since this is going to be a popular American comedy, that they will probably get back to riches by the end of the movie after having learned a "very valuable lesson."

Of perhaps more important impact and astonishingly higher quality is the hit Fox TV show "Arrested Development." Compellingly (surprisingly so) narrated by Ron Howard, this fast-paced, off beat comedy has been drunkenly declared by myself at many parties to be the "best show on TV," and this should be enough for most people to accept it as truth. Again, "Arrested Development" is a riches to rags story.

It appears upon close examination of this new type story that's just now being told, that we have a backlash against the rags to riches American Dream. It appears that someone out there is trying to establish as a point of fact that riches are transitory. Where once people liked to dream wistfully of what they would do when or if they ever became extremely wealthy, it now has become extremely trendy to look upon the wealthy, particularly the idle rich, with a certain degree of contempt, and to imagine how wonderful and perhaps even entertaining their downfall might be.

While the characters in the Duff Sister's Movie are probably contemptible on every level imaginable, so are the characters in "Arrested Development." Not a single person, not even Michael, the least morally bankrupt character, is completely beyond reproach.

I think this is a very interesting trend in mainstream media, and I think we will see a lot more of in the years to come. That is, unless some horrible catastrophe strikes and we are all wiped off the face of the planet, and all cinema, literature, and art created by human hands is utterly destroyed never to be seen, heard, viewed, or cared about by another other creature until the end of time.

Dr Kuha out.

Practically a Joke

There is this thing about people you know. This did not happen to me as such, though it did happen in a way that directly affected my life. Imagine this as a practical joke. Leave a dead catfish in the gutter outside your friend's house.

That's it. Just leave a dead catfish in the gutter.

I don't know if you are aware of a what a S.E.P. field is. A Somebody Else's Problem field. It's a sociological phenomenon generated by anything that is simply too wierd or too disturbing to contemplate or deal with. So when someone leaves a dead catfish (a very large dead catfish) in the gutter outside your neighbor's house, the tendency is to do absolutely nothing about it.

The eventual outcome of this disturbing phenomenon is that roughly a week and a half later, there is a rain storm and all of the maggots that have been burrowing around inside the rotting carcass of the catfish come out to the surface and writhe and undulate and spill out onto the street.

Of course, just across the street lives a doctor with a fairly high-quality camera and a weblog of some degree of infamy who has been taking pictures and cataloguing the entire decomposition of the catfish.

My analysis of the situation is that the house outside of which the catfish now resides (in the gutter) is inhabited by college students who don't feel that their neighborhood is sullied nearly as much by the catfish as by their own presence (their yard is routinely strewn with empty bottles of Keystone Light and Michelob bottles...utter dreck), and therefore feel little or no need to interrupt the gentle but inevitable decay of what at one point in time was a very sizeable and impressive catfish.

The rest of the neigbors ignore the problem because it's not theirs. And so the catfish, bloated and corpulent, reeking, oozing strange and disturbing fluids, remains. In the gutter. Waiting for the monthly rumble of the street sweeper.

It could be read as an allegory for some greater truth. And that is what I challenge you the reader to come up with. Whoever comes up with the best "meaning" for the catfish in the gutter outside my neighbor's house, will have my eternal respect and admiration, a gift that transcends mere money.