Birds are perfect for the lazy-person’s appreciation of nature. Birds come to us. Set up a bird-feeder in your back yard, and they just show up. Then all you have to do is look out your window and figure out what species your seeing. Recognizing bird calls helps as well, here’s a site filled with them. Enjoy.

Snake-Bird

See the complete flickr set here.

Maybe we don’t see extraterrestrials all over the night sky because they all get absorbed in the virtual worlds they create?

Check it out here.

Wyndallo took an unexpected breath of cold, sterile air. He opened his eyes and saw his exhale condense against the glass door to the capsule, which was smoothly lifting away from him. He registered the air outside the capsule was colder than inside, but his brain was too removed from the otherly sensation to induce shivering.

Last thing he remembered, Wyndallo was enjoying braised antelope with a rich pesto side dish. He was just about to enjoy a sip of a 1986 Chateau Mouton Rothschild Pauillac, when the system had crashed. Now that he was here in the real world, the world of continuity, he could remember that the system always crashed when he tried to taste that particular vintage. The system would automatically report the bug, but it was obvious after all these years that no one remained out there to work on it.

Even if he had wanted to get up from the bed, his muscles had grown stiff and inflexible from decades of disuse. The capsule could overcome this, get him on his feet again, but the process would take months. Just the act of propping him up a few degrees would induce nausea so severe it might kill him. He was content to wait for the software to reboot and welcome him back into its warm embrace.

He could see his surroundings reflected in the capsule’s glass door. Rows of glowing capsules, their occupants obfuscated behind cloudy glass, stretched off into the distance in either direction. His own reflection was laid out in the center of them all, his naked body pale and emaciated. He felt no connection to it at all. It wasn’t his anymore.

His eyes wandered to the ceiling, where a skylight revealed a bit of night sky that was full of stars. It was so uninspiring compared to the night skies the VR software rendered, these were just bland white twinkling points of light.

The night sky the system rendered was full of geometric shapes and patterns, clear proof of a galaxy brimming with intelligent life. Wyndallo’s civilization had wasted centuries searching the skies for even a hint of life beyond their world to no avail.

The system mercifully whirred to life again and the capsule door descended to enclose him. Before the psi-field wrapped his consciousness in its warm illusion, Wyndallo had a moment to wonder if no civilization had ever left its mark on the stars because they were all fated to the same prison of introspection.

YeYeah, that’s right. I’ve figured out a way to science-theme out Thanksgiving. I’ve heard cicadas taste like shrimp, which makes sense as they are arthropods like crabs and lobster. Alligator tastes like fishy chicken, which makes sense as reptiles are the bridge between fish and birds.

Tyrannosaurus rex’s closest living relative is the chicken, so take a moment tonight to savor the flavor in that context.

Turkeys and Other Birds are Dinosaur Descendants Credit: Yo Soy

More evidence for why that turkey you are eating tonight probably tastes a lot like dinosaur can be found here.

The Smithsonian has an interactive flash family tree of mammals that allows you to zoom in on a species and generate PDF field guides for a set of similar animals.

Mountain Goat

See the complete flickr set here.

Some people read the news on their lunch break, but I know the news is just the first draft of history, and my job is the final draft. I’ve read every single Marvel Comic book ever printed over three centuries worth of coffee breaks. You might think that a frivolous way to spend one’s free time, but I get enough real life in my regular work that I’m allowed this bit of escapism. People who understand invariably ask me who my favorite superhero is, and I answer, “The Watcher.”

Whenever something big was going to happen in the Marvel Universe, the Watcher would appear, this giant alien bald guy in robes. He didn’t do anything; he was only there to watch. There were a few single-shot issues given to the Watcher, but you can probably understand that there wasn’t much demand for stories about a guy who stands stoically and observes great events in time, never getting involved.

I admire the Watcher, his resolve, as I spend my days at the chronoscope, sifting through the moments of history. My job is generating digital archives of historical events, and it took decades of training to get certified to use it. There are ways to hack the chronoscope or use it clumsily enough, that one might disturb history, and so we few professionals process requests from academic institutions, historians, and scholars for digital facsimiles of time periods and events.

Most of this is very rewarding, the moments of discovery, evolution, revolution, and improving quality of life all the way up to our own times. I love researching these best of times, and, for the most part, it is the most constructive periods that historians are interested in.

But sometimes not, and I haven’t slept for days for what I saw recently. I sat through the reign of Caligula, the Spanish Inquisition, and Adolf Hitler with clinical detachment, but this chance incident, not even part of my assignment, has wrecked me.

I know why I followed her story out of the village, because she looked like my daughter. I didn’t know where it would go, or how quickly it would end at the hands of those bandits. I watched the body vanish, decaying into the field without anyone ever finding it until I happened upon it 3,000 years later looking through a portal in time.

Masochistically, I watched it over and over in horror. Hoping that somehow through the Heissenberg principle, the photons from my observations might somehow alter the outcome. Such a senseless loss, committed by a few thugs who would die without leaving any measurable consequence on the world on a girl who hardly anyone would notice was gone.

Really, if you think about it, the Watcher was affecting the outcome of events. By the mere act of showing up, he signaled to the superheroes that big things were about to happen. The heroes knew they were being watched. If those bandits only knew I was watching them, recording their actions for future generations, their great grandchildren to the hundredth power to witness, they might have shown mercy and dignity. How we behave when we think no one’s watching, that’s our true character.

I could change that moment in ancient history, just that one moment so that she could live. But I mustn’t think like that. It’s a momentary shock, and time will help me overcome it. Until then, I’ll lay awake at night, and pray for the strength of the Watcher.

In his essay A Modest Proposal Jonathan Swift suggests that the Irish could pull themselves out of poverty by selling their babies off to British dinner plates:

I have been assured by a very knowing American of my acquaintance in London, that a young healthy child well nursed, is, at a year old, a most delicious nourishing and wholesome food, whether stewed, roasted, baked, or boiled; and I make no doubt that it will equally serve in a fricassee, or a ragout.

This was satire. Swift was using this extreme example to make a point about the way the English perceived the Irish. The problem was that many people didn’t get the joke, and mistakenly took Swift’s essay at face value (some even agreeing with it).

A few years ago, I forwarded this article from the Jonathan Swift blog (not the same guy, a pen name) to a number of friends, where the blogger playing Swift appears to side with Rush Limbaugh in the idea that the handicapped lord over us. I received several responses condemning the essay and chastising me for finding it clever. I had to send a follow-up e-mail explaining satire and how this modern Swift was not actually agreeing with Limbaugh.

I’ve run a lot of satire on this blog in the past, and it’s bitten me in the keezer with several readers both pro and con. One of my most popular posts, More Global Cooling Evidence Embarrasses the IPCC Orthodoxy, gets cited in numerous Dittohead comment threads in support of global-warming denial!!! This despite the fact that I argue for the legitimacy of a commercial for the “Pussy Patch” as genuine science.

In fact, my article Sun Spot Cycle Prompts Fears of Global Cooling has found it’s way into articles like this one as well as numerous comment threads as well, despite the evidence being presented in the article dramatically contradicting my parody of dittohead talking points. I even got a couple of responses from Global Warming proponents:

there is no such thing as conservative science so i stopped reading at that point….but skimmed to the bottom and saw the word vegisexual and tree hugging and gay in the same sentence and realized you need help figuring out where the sun goes at night

I have to confess though… I get a perverse thrill from these misunderstandings. : )

Note:

The Jonswift blog is still going great and pumping out awesome posts to this day. Highly recommended.

I have written 1022 posts since I started blogging in November 2003 (and this post on the same day) Each post written comes out to an average of one to two single-spaced typed pages, each page containing an average 500 – 1000 words.

By these averages, I have written the equivalent of nine 80,000-word novels. I’ve also posted two novels online and written several articles for the Science Creative Quarterly and 365Tomorrows, as well as dozens of letters to the editor of my local paper.

With my old blog, now referred to as ideonexus beta, I never broke 300 hits in a day, but since I began regular blogging a little over a year ago, I’ve been busting that regularly. In fact, October 2008 has been my best month in my history of blogging, with over 16,000 hits for the month and a new record day of 2,185 hits (for my Mole-Day Post from last year):

ideonexus stats 2005 to Present

Thanks to everyone who reads this blog, and I’m also thankful for all the people who have only used the site once, but found inspiration, fascination, or a chuckle from one of my posts.

ideonexus started out helping me figure out what I think about the world, and articulate my positions twice a week. Then, when I started blogging regularly, it became a reason to get out and engage the world, visit museums, attend conferences, and enjoy life. Blogging keeps me on my toes. If I’m not living life and learning, then I would run out of things to blog about.

One of the more lovable rodents, the beaver recently returned to New York City, as “Jose” the beaver set up home in the Bronx River:

“This is a symbolic moment for our great city,” said Dr. Steven Sanderson, president and CEO of the Bronx Zoo-based Wildlife Conservation Society. “New York City is the epitome of an urban environment. The fact that an animal which represents the wild frontier of North America can live and thrive in a river that runs through the Bronx Zoo is proof that we can coexist with nature anywhere on the planet. Anything is possible.”

Rodents

View the complete flickr set here.

“Hello Mr. Chasbak,” Vyonray tapped up the volume on her bluetooth. “How are you today?”

“I’m well thanks,” the soft-spoken gentleman was as unenthusiastic as ever today.

“I was just following up with you to see if you had the opportunity to review those listings I forwarded last night?” Vyonray managed to sound chirpy despite having just arrived at work and not having her morning coffee. It was important to catch Mr. Chasbak before his family’s bedtime.

“I did thanks,” Chasbak’s painful cordiality was typical of people who had so little real-life social interactions. “I’m afraid they aren’t quite meeting the specifications I laid out at our initial meeting.”

Vyonray gritted her teeth involuntarily, but remained polite, “I realize that and I’m sorry, it’s just very difficult to find a two-bedroom house these days. Are you certain a three-bedroom wouldn’t better suit your needs? It’s cheaper and this way each of your children could have their own space–”

“My children all ready have plenty of space. We just need somewhere to park our bodies in Meatspace–I mean…” Chasbak stuttered for a moment, trying to find the right word. “I’m sorry, we just don’t want all that room. It’s a burden.”

“I understand Mr. Chasbak,” Vyonray lied. “I’ll keep looking. I’m certain a two-bedroom home under 900 square feet will turn up eventually.”

“Solar-powered…” Chasbak reminded her. “The more energy-independent the better. I make a lot of money and want the best for my family.”

“I understand Mr. Chasbak, and I really do have your best interests in mind. I’ll let you know once the right home comes on the market. You have a great day now. Thanks. Bye,” Vyonray hung up and pursed her lips sourly.

“Any luck?” Araana smiled, setting a fresh cup of coffee on Vyonray’s desk.

“Virtuals,” Vyonray practically spat in reply, and Araana shook her head in sullen understanding.

Vyonray sighed back into her chair to sip at the steaming mug and stare at the photos of mansions covering the far wall. All of them were priced like they were two-bedroom townhouses, and all of them were rotting away in real life while the world had moved online.