Moon Landing to Marmite

Ah, the moon. Earth's little, gray, cheesey friend in the sky.
The moon is mad popular these days. You've noticed it, I'm sure: people make awesome sci-fi movies about it, blame crop circles on it, make terrifying spray paint art about it (more on my fear of oversized planets to come in a future blog post, probably), and even convince themselves that it's cool to wear one of the most tasteless items of clothing known to mankind because of it:

That's right, even our president has been sucked into moon mania.

I don't know if this is fact, but at least in my opinion it seems about right: this "moon mania" started back in 1969 when, for the first time ever, mankind stepped foot on the moon. Not all of mankind I mean, that would've been crowded. Just two men. On July 20, 1969, in the same year that David Bowie appropriately released "Space Oddity" and Denmark legalized the sale of porn (unrelated, hopefully), Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin hopped in a spacecraft, flew around the earth for a bit, landed on the moon, and then walked on it. Since then, the world has gone batshit for the moon.

There really is an incalculable amount of love for the moon on this planet. Pink Floyd wrote a pretty famous song about the dark side of it, the singing hamster-potato-alien things from the Quiznos commercials wrote a song about how much they love it (youtube "we like the moon" of you have no idea what I'm talking about. You're welcome.), poets and musicians have written romantic verses about it, and Wallace and Gromit loved it so much they went on a holiday to it. Seriously, google search for "The Moon" and you'll get about 309 million hits.

This poses the question: who in their right mind doesn't love the moon?!??

...Me. I hate the moon.

The moon causes bad things to happen more than... well... anything else that causes bad things to happen (sorry, I can't think of a good example. Because the moon is the only example). Where to begin? The position of the moon affects the tides, which is great for fishermen because hey, fish. But when the moon screws up even the tiniest bit, really, REALLY bad shit happens. Like tsunamis. And jellyfish infestations. What else? The moon is what causes regular people to turn into werewolves (sure, it's a fictional thing. OR IS IT?). Werewolves and other fictional evil things inspired the Twilight series, which there is absolutely no excuse for. Then there's that whole "moon cycle" thing that women get, and speaking for womankind I think it's safe to say that we all could really do without it from time to time. You see? The moon is evil, and I hate it.

How does this relate to Marmite, you ask? Well, the marketing slogan for the British food spread is "Love it or hate it." Because if you have tastebuds and are not British, you'll know that Marmite is well gross. I've never tasted it, but on wikipedia it says that it's a "sticky, dark brown paste with a distinctive, powerful flavor which is extremely salty," and that's enough for me to make a snap judgement that the stuff is gross. Maybe one day I'll try a taste of it and change my mind, but for now I'll stick to hating it about as much as I hate the moon.

And finally, to tie it all together, here's a musical about the moon landing written by some British dude who probably smothers everything he eats in Marmite: "Moon Landing"

Next post: Herpes to Harpies.

GPS to GPA

Ah, GPS, one of many things that I wish by beloved 1997 RAV4 had inside it (other things I long for include a sound system capable of playing my iPod in the car and a completely reliable left blinker.)
If you don't know that GPS stands for "Global Positioning System", I weep for you a bit. They're generally voiced by an individual who sounds soothing and competent enough to coerce you, gently, to stop panicking and find a way to do a three point turn to escape from going the wrong way down a one way, dead end street in the ghetto. This is a much better system then the one I am experienced with, the traditional navigation system that my ex had for the two years we were living together-- ie, me, with an atlas and a perpetual squint. Unlike your average GPS, which would placidly announce "take your next left" in a voice that would make Stephen Fry seem absolutely manic, I tended to shriek incoherently until he had passed the required turn, then rifle frantically through the atlas as he shouted "what?" at an increasing volume until, inevitably, we stopped in a deserted parking lot to fume at each other and listen to Metallica until the urge to kill had somewhat diminished. Our experiences with one way streets were surprisingly abundant, and unsurprisingly terrifying. My reaction to them was just about the same as my reaction to normal street directions, only louder, and with more profanity. On our last fateful encounter of looking into the cold, dead headlights of an approaching Subaru Forester, I actually rent my garments in terror.

My God. It's full of stars.

You'll be gratified to know that we never got into an accident (together, at least. He was almost as bad a driver as I was a navigator, and has, since our breakup, totaled three cars. This may, however actually be a result of karmic retribution raining down upon him. I have totaled no cars.) but it was often a near thing. Perhaps because of this, I'm a big fan of GPS.
Except when people tell me the government can use it to find you.
This makes me panic, just a tiny, tiny, bit. As an English Major I was required by literature nerd code to read 1984, and ever since then things like satellites and CCTV cameras knowing where I am has being ever so slightly pants-shittingly horrifying.
And what's the most interesting record being kept on you between the ages of 18 and 23 (unless of course you're a criminal)? Your GPA! Yes, the record of your grades that makes you feel like your entire life is a video game, as your whole future hinges on how many experience points you have, and what level it puts you at. Every class you finish, in the corner of your eye you see a small blip of "Congratulations! You have been awarded the English 199 Achievement!"
Or maybe that's just me and a small collective of incredibly geeky 14 year-old boys.
Either way, there you have it. GPS to GPA.

Next up: Moon landing to Marmite.

Hallucinations to the Hubble Space Telescope

Okay.
Suppose you and your buddies are hanging out in the park. It's warm and sunny outside, so you decide to play frisbee because that's what you do when it's warm and sunny and you're at a park. So you're playfully tossing that frisbee back and forth to each other, occasionally throwing it too far and pretending to be mad when you have to go retrieve it from the bushes, and you're laughing and smiling and generally being happy that mother nature likes you today and wishing that it would stay like this always.
Then all of a sudden the sky turns black and the frisbee becomes a rabid honey badger and your buddies all become sheeagleopards (sheep-eagle-leopard creatures, duh) and your nose is a doorknob and the honey badger opens your nose-door and you and Alfred (the honey badger) get sucked into your nose-vacuum.
Boom. You just hallucinated.
Maybe I should've mentioned that before you went to the park you and your friends took a shitload of LSD, because hallucinations like this only really happen when you're hopped up on all kinds of illicit substances. Hallucinations can also happen when you're violently ill with some kind of brain disease or if you happen to not sleep for too many hours. But mainly its the drugs that'll do it.
Many people did hallucinogenic drugs in the seventies. Because hey, it was the seventies. It's just what you did. Anyway, lots of these drugged-out hallucinating hell-raisers were probably inspired to do all those drugs and raise all those hells because of that crazy rock and roll music they were listening to. Not because of the music, per se, but most likely because of the psychadelic artwork on the album covers of the records (records? were those really ever a thing?). Since real life was far less interesting than what was being shown on those album covers, (like this one from the band Cream:)

...people decided that life would be oh so much more entertaining if they were tripping balls on LSD. And boy did they trip.
Where was I going with this? Oh right, the Hubble Space Telescope.
The Hubble Space Telescope is that famous telescope that orbits the earth and takes really, really clear pictures of stars and other space things. When the telescope launched in 1990 people were freaking out because the pictures that it took were so detailed and I'm sure the phrase "No human has ever seen anything like this before" was tossed around by the NASA scientists like a frisbee on a warm day. To the ex-hippies, however, the pictures weren't all that impressive. Because Roger Dean had been drawing that shit on Yes album covers for ages.
In other news, "fearless honeybadger" is apparently a meme.

Next post: GPS to GPA

Axolotls to Aviation

When approaching this post, one question leaps instantly to mind like a long-legged, intellectual gazelle: What in the name of fuck is an Axolotl?
If this question did not leap instantly to your mind than 1) Your knowledge of creatures with ridiculous names both exceeds mine and is verging on the encyclopedic and 2)You will have no appreciation for the next paragraph or two, or the aggressive googling that is going to occur before said paragraphs can come into being. You may want to take this moment to go and browse some science websites, or invent teleportation, or make a ham sandwich that can cry like an infant. In short, go do whatever it is that people who know what axolotls are do for a moment. I'll be back with you shortly.
Okay. Everybody else unclear on what this badboy is?
PREPARE TO BE CLARIFIED.
It's this.

Okay. You're struggling with some feelings. Let's take a moment.
First of all, release the stricken cry of momentary horror you've been holding in. Those first few seconds alone with the Axolotl were difficult for both of us. Now let's move on to the creeping, terrible feeling that it might be adorable. Yes, it looks like an aquatic, mutant carrot. Yes, its eyes look like they're painted on, and the protrusions on the side of its head look like it's become one with an unholy anemone. But look, it's smiling! Awwww! Look at the sweet little dream-raping monster!
See, I say little because that one is a baby. This is what they look like in large:

It hurped so hard it derped. Seriously, what IS that? What cruel and unfeeling god crossed a penis with a stalk of broccoli? H.P. Lovecraft couldn't stand to be alone with that thing. Damn it, Axolotl, you simply should not be! Nothing is right about you, NOTHING! That is why you look so sad, damn you. BECAUSE YOU ARE THE CREATURE GOD FORGOT!

Ahem.

Now that we've crossed the mind-searing Rubicon of its appearance, let's learn something about it.
According to Wikipedia (don't go, you'll have to look at the green one again) Axolotls come straight from hell from the lake underlying Mexico City. They belong to the Tiger Salamander complex, and have the horrifying but incredibly useful ability to re-grow body parts. This means that they are used heavily in scientific research and could be immensely beneficial to mankind, and that if there was ever a nuclear incident that caused them to grow to enormous size and attack cities we could never, ever defeat them. They are nearing extinction, either because of pollution in their habitat or because of a healthy self-preservation instinct inherent in anyone who's ever seen one.
Apparently, some people keep them as pets. Probably these people are necromancers and/or Norman Bates, but that is neither here nor there. In Japan (who didn't see THAT coming) they are sold under the deceptively adorable name "wooper looper".
... right.
Everyone who already knew about this particular brand of nightmare, please come back now. And then explain to me why the hell you didn't WARN me about that?
Anyway, where's the connection between these guys and aviation. Well, I believe this takes us back to the nuclear incident scenario.
Were there to be, by some horrible catastrophe, a situation in which even one of these things grew to enormous size and started Godzilla-ing around Mexico, anyone within a thousand mile radius would be wanting some serious aviation to be taking place. Aviation that preferably had some heavy artillery attached. I'm normally a pacifist, but were there to be an abundance of brocolli wangs the size of aircraft carriers invading from a subterranean lake, I think I just might be able to see a situation in which aviation-based violence might be required.
So there you have it: axolotls to aviation.
And when it comes to Axolotls, children, remember: what has been seen cannot be unseen.

Next post: Hallucinations to the Hubble Space Telescope.

Ocelots to Organic Farming

BABY OCELOTS ARE SO DARN CUTE. Just look at them. Look at those cute little eyes. Look at that one snuggling up on the blanket in the corner. Look at the other one stickin' his paw out and looking up at you. Ohmygod they're adorable. Don't you just want to take one home and sit it on your lap and pet it 'til its just a big ball of purr and cuddle with it and watch it sleep and take pictures of it and send it to all your friends and family?

No, you don't. Because while they may be the most adorable thing I've seen since I googled "lobster baby" and found that picture of the chubby little baby in a lobster costume sitting in a bucket (please google it, it'll make you so happy), these cute little ocelot kittehs are actually going to grow up to be vicious, deer-eating, urine-spraying (get that image out of your head now, I dare you), nocturnal hell-raisers. Sure, during the day these cats look all harmless sitting up there in those jungle trees, but at night they turn into predatorial killing machines. Kind of like Batman. Ocelots are like the Batmen of South American jungles.

Ocelots pretty much only live in Central and South America, which is also where the Amazon rainforest lives. In addition to housing some of the world's most incredibly colorful animals, the Amazon rainforest is one of the many rainforests of the world that is being slowly destroyed by loggers and industries and tourism. Rainforests are great for lots of reasons, which is why there are all these hippies out there who want to save them from being destroyed.

Hippies like to spend their time trying to save things like rainforests, the environment, energy, and, by the smell of it, themselves from showering. Hippies are also the biggest supporters these days of organic farming. According to my dear friend who was raised by hippies and therefore knows way too much about all this, organic farming is great because you can use all your scrap organic material waste and compost it in a worm bin which then creates bio organic shit that you can put BACK into your plants. Fun stuff!

I wanted to add some photos to this blog to make things a little more fun, so here's a picture of that terrifying bird-thing from the planet earth special about rainforests:

Next post: Axolotls to Aviaton.

Jupiter to Jasper Johns

So once upon a time I decided that I was gonna up and move to London for a semester. Having now arrived and settled myself in my flat, I can commence writing again. Only... the move has left my mind a bit jangled. See, I spent the last hour and a half on Google seeing what it would fill in if I typed "How to...", "Why do..." or "Where is..." and laughing hysterically, all alone in my room, about the fact that Google tries to tell me how to take my dog camping.
Something dangerous has happened to my brain. It's either the water or the perpetual flow of one pound lager. Possibly both.
Anyway, enough of these surrealist apologetics! On to the matter at hand:
Jupiter is a planet. Please tell me you already knew that. Let's assume you did, and move forward with this whole making assumptions business by also deciding that you probably know that it's the biggest planet in the solar system. Yes, Jupiter is the solar system's fat friend. Come on, every group has one.
But gracefully leaping off the boat of general knowledge into the dark and turbid waters of random, internet-generated information, here are some other things you should know about Jupiter:
It is actually shaped not like a sphere, but oblate spheroid, which means that not only is it fat, it's lumpy. And how fat IS Jupiter exactly? Its mass is 2.5 times greater than the all of the other planets in the solar system combined. To give you an idea of this on a smaller scale, if Jupiter was a person every aspect of its wardrobe would contain elastic, and labels with a number of L's that even a fluent Welsh speaker would find intimidating.It's a bigass planet.
Perhaps because of all the fat jokes made about it by the other planets, Jupiter has a hard, rocky core. And severe self-esteem issues.
Jupiter and I also have something in common (apart from the severe self-esteem issues, and hard, rocky core). We both have a large, red spot. Mine is on the back of my head--cleverly hidden by what I may flatter myself by calling a singular and spectacular haircut-- while Jupiter's is located 22 degrees south of the planet's equator. Also, Jupiter's spot is an anticyclonic storm and larger than the earth, so I guess actually they're not that similar, when you think about it. While I can only be reasonably sure that my spot is in fact a birthmark, and not a large-scale circulation of winds around a central region of high atmospheric pressure, I can be completely sure that it is not larger than earth.
Point is, Jupiter has a spot, and it's red.
Know what else is circular and red? No, not clown noses. Don't be a dick. Besides, those are spheres. Focus.
A target. A target is circular and red AND TWO DIMENSIONAL SO IT IS IN FACT A CIRCLE. Okay, several circles. You know what, never mind. Jasper Johns painted a lot of works based on targets, targets look like the red spot on Jupiter, end of story.
In a slightly related but fascinating side note, I had no idea who Jasper Johns was until I "researched" him for this. And by researched I mean googled. Point is, my confidence in my artist knowledge has been taken down a peg. Well played, blog, well played.

Ocelots to Organic Farming.

Privateers to Pond Life

When you Google Image the word privateer, you get lots of pictures of 17th century boats. Of course you do, that's what they are: private warships that were authorized by a government to attack foreign ships. Like pirates! Only they had to report back to their country for assignments and money and such. And they weren't allowed to sink other ships, only capture them. And none of them were ever commanded by Johnny Depp. So not like pirates at all, really.
Anyway, what's weird is that equally spread out through all these pictures of big boats on Google Images are what appear to be screenshots of some futuristic space video game. Specifically, they look like giant star wars-like spaceships shooting at things while purple laser beams shoot out their rear ends. Also scattered among these pictures of Hornblower-era naval ships are pictures of WWII-era combat airplanes.
This odd collection of images leads me to believe that if you had no clue what a privateer was and you went on Google Images to get some kind of vague definition of the word, you'd probably believe that a privateer is something that flies or floats and shoots at other things during battles. In that vein, the word privateer could also refer to things like submarines, Spiderman, and dragons.
I don't know about you, but I was kind of disappointed when I first learned that dragonflies weren't little fly-sized dragons. Wouldn't that be neat? I mean, you'd be sitting beside your little pond, hangin with all your little freshwater tadpoles and newts and snapping turtles, then WHAM! all of a sudden you're smacked in the arm by a teeny little FIRE-BREATHING DRAGON. As it lays there on the ground for a minute, struggling to pick itself up after its nose-dive into your upper arm, you quickly take out your little bug-gathering jar that you always carry with you, stick some twigs in it (after all, you have to make the jar at least a little cozy for the poor guy), and gently coax the petite beast inside. Then you take it home and show off to your friends that you just caught, yeah, AN ACTUAL DRAGON!! Come on now, doesn't that just sound great?! "What did you do today, Billy?" "Oh, you know, just went down to the pond and caught a ferocious mythical beast with my bare hands. You know, no big deal or anything."
But alas, in reality pond life isn't all that exciting. Nope, all you have there these days are dumb little tadpoles and newts and snapping turtles and tall grasses. Oh yeah, and mosquitos and worms. Otherwise known as things that squirm through dirt or give you malaria. Much too lame for me. I'll take things that BREATHE FIRE AND GUARD PRINCESSES, thanks very much. If only pond life was as exciting in real life as it is in my totally awesome imagination.

Jupiter to Jasper Johns