Drunk Wasps on a Stinging Rampage

My friend recently sent me this article about wasps in Britain that seek out fermented fruit and wind up getting drunk.  According to the article, wasps are apparently not happy drunks, and they end up getting more irritable than normal.  They have started attacking anything within their line of sight in a drunk, stinging rampage.  Experts believe that the wasps built unusually large nests this year, and the larvae are now all grown up and hungry.  They have started hanging out around restaurants and pubs, looking for anything sugary.  Not so unlike myself, wasps apparently can’t handle their booze, and they get fighty.  Probably not an unusual occurrence around pubs in Britain, but the usual louts are more verbal and less stick-a-painful-sharp-stinger-in-you-and-inject-you-with-poison.  Unfortunately, there isn’t anything that can be done about the intoxicated wasps.  People just have to wait it out until the weather changes, and it gets cooler.

http://www.mandatory.com/fun/1459441-drunk-wasps-stinging-rampages-like-partying-hard

Lead Dog

I was watching one of those wildly-colorful and all-too-busy truck commercials today, and one of the things the narrator said stuck with me.  He said, “If you’re not the lead dog, then the scenery never changes.”  I know that they were trying to imply that this particular truck company was leading the charge on innovation and technological advances, but the turn of phrase was interesting.  I immediately thought of the literal meaning, and a dogsled team came to mind.  All those dogs in the back only looking at the behind of the dog in front of them.  And the only one that can see things change is the one in front.

The imagery made me think about so many applications.  About how we often find ourselves stuck in a routine where the scenery is always the same.  About how we rush through life only focused on chasing the person who has more than us or the fictitious person that we think we need to be.  About how we all think we need to be lead dog, because that is the only place where it’s good.

But my question is why can’t the dogs in the back look around?  Why can they only look forward?  Why can’t they take time to enjoy the passing scenery too?  Why can’t we take time to enjoy things as they happen instead of rushing through them?  Why can’t we be content where we are?  Because I bet you that the people in front of us are no happier than we are.  They are still looking ahead to the next conquest, the next person.  So, why would we want to be them?  Why do we assume that their life is so much better off?

I’m not the lead dog.  I don’t really think that I ever want to be the lead dog.  But I can take time to enjoy each moment, each day.  I can take time to look to the side.  I can take time to feel the snow under my feet, the wind in my face, and the heat in my muscles.  I can enjoy the smells and the sounds.  And I can enjoy the companionship of the other dogs I’m running with.  I’d rather have a pack than be a lone wolf.

Frog Legs & Pregnant Yoga

I called my mom today to check on her, and when she answered the phone, her voice was a bit croaky.  I asked her if she was okay, and she replied that she woke up sounding like she had swallowed a frog.  Being the man I am, I of course asked her why she had done that.  Adding, “What had the frog ever done to you?!”  My mom being equally witty, replied, “I really just wanted his legs, but he wouldn’t give them up, so I swallowed all of him!”

We got to chatting about the weather getting cooler and how much nicer it is to go outside and exercise.  My mom is still trying to get out and play tennis with her friend JG as often as possible, while I am trying to get back into running more frequently.  She asked if my wife had been able to exercise and what she was allowed to do with her pregnancy.  Walking mostly.  But I had seen that they actually have pregnant yoga classes, so that might be a possibility.  My mom told me that JG had been looking to get into yoga as well, and although he has the body for pregnant yoga, she didn’t think they’d let him join!

I really love my mom, and I cherish these fun, witty conversations with her.  I usually call her from the car, and they may only last 45 minutes to an hour, but it’s a great way to end my days.

The Tree That Owns Itself

The Tree That Owns Itself is a white oak tree, located at the corner of South Finley and Dearing Streets in Athens, Georgia.  According to legend, it has legal ownership of itself and the land within eight feet of its base.  The earliest-known telling of the tree’s story was found in an article from August 12, 1890 in the Athens Weekly Banner titled “Deeded to Itself.”  The article explains that the tree was located on the property of Colonel William Henry Jackson.  He was so fond of the tree and the childhood memories that he’d had with it, that in order to protect it, he deeded ownership of the tree and the surrounding land to itself.

Regardless of whether this deed has any legal standing, the public has come to accept it, and the tree has become a local landmark.  Technically, the entity receiving the property must have the legal and physical capacity to receive it, which puts in question whether a tree can legally own itself.  However, the tree’s plot is not actually contained within any of the surrounding property and is, in fact, part of the right of way along Finley Street.  Thus, the residents of the city maintain and care for it.

The tree was thought to have been over 100 years old when it received ownership of itself.  Unfortunately, in 1942 the original tree fell during a violent windstorm that ravaged much of northern Georgia.  However, several people had cultivated trees from its acorns, and one of these was chosen to transplant to the site.  The tree that currently exists on the spot is known as the Son of the Tree That Owns Itself.  A small weathered plaque also sits on the spot, and it reads:

For and in consideration of the great love I bear this tree and the great desire I have for its protection for all time, I convey entire possession of itself and all land within eight feet of the tree on all sides.

William H. Jackson

Birds on a Wire

Have you ever been sitting at a stoplight in the evening and noticed birds sitting on the wires and poles in every direction?  Have you ever taken the time to really look at them?  Because if you did, you’d notice that birds truly understand the concept of personal space.  Each one is spaced almost exactly the same distance apart from each other.  You will rarely find them touching, unless the population of birds outnumbers the available wire space.  But what is truly amazing is what happens when a new bird flies onto the wire.  It doesn’t just fly to the middle of the open space, it will land and then parallel park into an equidistant space from the bird next to it, so that it can leave room for another bird.

So, the question is why do birds do this.  What are they trying to achieve by sitting in these seemingly random, regular patterns?  Well, Brazilian composer Jarbas Agnelli had the same question when he saw a picture of birds sitting on electric wires.  But the answer he had was that they looked like notes on a sheet of music.  So, he decided to turn their pattern into music and listen to the song of nature.  I’ll never be able to look at birds on a wire the same again.  Here’s the link, if you’d like to check it out:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LoM4ZZJ2UrM

The One

My wife always tells people that she knew I was the one the first moment that she looked into my eyes.  While that’s definitely romantic, it took me a bit longer to figure it out.  I had just gotten out of an incredible relationship that had ended badly.  My heart was bruised, and trust was in short supply.  So, I wasn’t ready to just jump back in without looking.

A few months after we started officially dating (because we knew each other for months before my wife informed me that we were now officially dating), I got sick.  Really sick.  Stomach virus, food-poisoning sick, throwing up, no energy…sick.  I couldn’t move.  I just lay in my bed and moaned for days.  The only thing I could get down was soup, and it didn’t always stay with me long.  You get the idea.

I was helpless, and I was miserable.  I was definitely not at my best.  And yet, despite this, my wife never left my bedside.  She cared for me.  She fed me.  She cleaned up after me.  She fretted over me.  She even called the doctor to find out if there was anything else she could be doing.  All they said was, “Get him some Sprite.”  But even then, she called someone and asked them to bring it to her, because she didn’t want to leave me for even a moment.

And when I finally got better a few days later, I knew that she was the one.  Anyone that would stay with you and nurse you through something like that, when they had absolutely no obligation to do so, was a keeper.  For better and for worse.  If she loved me even then, then she’d love me through anything.  And that was the stability and certainty that I needed in my life after my last relationship.

So, it may not have been as romantic as my wife’s seeing it in my eyes, but she’s always been the one since that moment.

Blowing a Raspberry

Do you realize that rain and thunder are really just the clouds blowing us all raspberries?  And why is it called “blowing a raspberry” anyway?  A raspberry?  What does that have to do with anything?

The term “raspberry” actually comes from the term “raspberry tart,” which was Cockney rhyming slang for the word “fart,” the sound that is made by blowing a raspberry with the lips.  Cockney rhyming slang was a device used by post-WWII British comedians to get risqué material past the BBC censors.  It is an attempt to replace a socially offensive word with an acceptable word or words that rhyme with the original.  Over time the replacement word becomes adopted by society and essentially becomes a synonym for the original.