Keystone, Colorado

We now travel to beautiful Keystone, Colorado, where my good friend Splantrik has met me for a few days of R&R.

It's an awesome resort, even in Summer. Lots of outdoor activities for everyone - boating, fishing, hiking, swimming, and of course, my favorite pastime - eating.

The Snake River.

Yesterday, we went for a hike along the Snake River. Saw lots of barn swallows, and the scenery was amazing.

I think we're off to rent a boat on lake Dillon and to do some fishing.

Back to translating tonight.

Gotta Love the Tigers

Penaeus monodon (Asia)

The language of summer barbecuing is quite complex. Right around July 4th, the barbecue season is well underway, and people may be interested in grilling something a bit out of the ordinary.

No, I'm not talking about that annoying little dog that lives behind my house. Barking incessantly. Day. Night. When I watch television. When I'm trying to sleep. When I water the garden. When I walk to the kitchen. When I open the refrigerator. When I eat anything. I swear that little rascal can hear me eating.

No. As much as I'd like to grill that little puppy to a crisp, we don't condone any sort of violence here at Rosetta Rants. Not even towards the barking Spawn of Satan, himself. No, I'm talking about grilling something else.

For example, we threw some jumbo tiger prawns on the barbie tonight - shells-on, basted with a roasted red pepper and basil butter sauce. You gotta love the tigers. Man, they were good. Like little lawbstahs.

If you're gonna cook shrimp or prawns on the barbie, make sure you only cook them a few minutes per side, or you risk drying them out. Here's how I did mine:

Combine:

1 Lb, Jumbo tiger prawns (Shell-On, Costco, $16 per pound)
Juice of 1/2 Lime
1/3 Cup olive oil
Salt and Pepper to taste

Coat the prawns with all ingredients and marinate for at least 1 hr. Grill 2 minutes per side. Baste and serve with any sauce or melted butter.

In addition to the prawns, we had lots of beer, margaritas, and mojitos. Then we took in some beautiful fireworks. A few days early, but who's counting?


I fully understand the language of lazy summer grilling. No further translation necessary.

But I'd still like to know how YOU spend lazy summer evenings...

Back to the Grind

The hammock was nice, the beer was cold, the trip was great. Until...

Coming home is always the hardest part of a vacation. This is often because it’s hard to return to the daily grind – work, school, daycare, whatever. Last night was no different for me. Not because I didn’t want to come home from our camping trip. Because Mrs. Translator was vomiting uncontrollably.

Yep. That’s right. Vomit has a way of ending events. I know from experience.

Vomit at a movie? Time to leave.

Vomit at the grocery store? Time to stop shopping.

Vomit at a restaurant? Time to stop dining there.

Vomit on a date? Time to find another date.

Vomit at the amusement park? Time to get another hotdog and try another ride.

Vomit on a camping trip? Wait a few hours to see if vomit recurs. Vomit again? Think about leaving the night before scheduled departure. Vomit a third time? Get Babygirl Translator and Girl Translator into the car and drive for two hours at midnight because Mrs. Translator wants to vomit in her own toilet, and let your remaining family break camp the next morning.

And who can argue with that? I got a nice warm shower at 2 AM, I got to sleep in my own bed, and I got a whole weekend of camping with no cleanup.

Awesome. It was just an awesome trip.

The view from one of our hikes.

Has anyone else had an interesting way to end a vacation? Can you help me translate?

Torture?

I need a little help understanding the language of camping.

Why do we camp?

I mean, do we enjoy torturing ourselves? Do we really like burning to a crisp in the daytime, and do we enjoy mosquito bites and sleeping on the ground at night? Do we enjoy cramming thousands of pounds of junk into our vehicles so that we can’t even see out the back window, then driving for hours and hours until we reach some dusty, bear-infested campground? Do we enjoy spending hundreds of dollars on giant packages of hotdogs, crappy cookies, and way more pop-tarts than we’ll ever eat? Do we really savor the fragrant perfume of campfire, sweat, and dirt?

Yes. Hell, yes. That's the whole point. I love it.

And perhaps we don’t mind this, either:

Rocky Mountain National Park (Click image for larger view)

My friend and I just got back from three hours of shopping for camping food. My brain hurts. But that's all part of the fun. We’ll be camping in Rocky Mountain National Park from Saturday until Monday.

Let the "torture" begin!

Can you help me translate? Why do YOU camp?

Crypsis

A tiger's (Panthera tigris) cryptic coloration.

This evening, we will travel to beautiful downtown Denver, Colorado to explore the language of evolutionary biology. Specifically, we will discuss the concept of crypsis. In zoology, crypsis refers to the ability of an organism to avoid detection. This may be achieved through camouflage, as seen in the predatory tiger above, attempting to remain hidden from its prey. Alternatively, crypsis may be achieved through mimicry, where an organism attempts to look like another model organism.

I have to say that I suck at both of those forms of crypsis.

My wife is a physician. And every so often, we have to attend functions. Although I don’t really “enjoy” attending these functions, I realize that’s what good husbands do. This evening, I gave my wife a hard time, but I ended up at the function nonetheless.

It was ok, I guess. Good food, good drinks. I had a gin and tonic, a heineken, and a glass of wine – and then it was time for hors d’oeuvres. By that time, I had really started looking for cryptic people. I find it to be an entertaining little game that I play in my head. I was also quite tipsy. So perhaps that was why I was playing a game in my head.

Now, at these functions, every doctor has a spouse or significant other – most of whom, are not in the medical field. And it’s quite easy to identify the spouses. While the docs all know each other and are wearing doctor clothes, the spouses are all hanging politely behind the docs, wearing slightly less-doctorish clothes. You can see the spouses who are attempting mimicry: laughing occasionally, pretending they understand what’s so funny about the patient everyone saw that morning – generally trying to look like doctor people.

You also get your occasional attempt at camouflage. This evening, I saw a husband of a doc blending into the background, trying to look like a barstool or something. He almost succeeded until somebody tried to sit on him.

And then, there’s me. Jeans and a Tommy Bahama shirt. I’m not a doctor. I’m a researcher. If I want to wear a kickin’ floral shirt to a function, my wife knows that’s who I am. No problem.

I’m not into mimicry, camouflage, or crypsis in general. I gave up long ago. And, although I sometimes worry too much about what other people think, I know it’s not worth acting like someone else. Overall, I guess I don’t really understand the language of crypsis.

Are there situations where you try to blend in? Why do you attempt it?

Can you help me translate?

And please send me a Postcard from the Edge...of the World!

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The Highway Salute

I now bring you to the beautiful streets of Aurora Colorado, where high class meets high spirits. On my way home from work this evening, I happened upon a nice gentleman in a quaint Dodge truck. Well, actually, he happened upon me by almost crushing my Honda Accord to smithereens when he shot into my lane from another dimension.

Needless to say, I gently applied pressure to my “horn” thingy on my steering contraption, to notify the gentlemen of my presence in this universe. Upon hearing my audible notice, the gentlemen proceeded to signal me in the language of hand gestures. It looked something like this:

From Wikipedia.

The act of extending the middle finger, or digitus impudicus, as it was known in ancient Rome, is several thousand years old. Synonyms include “the finger”, “the bird”, “the highway salute”, “flipping the bird”, and “flipping someone off”. Previously used to ward off the evil eye, the connotation has changed, somewhat, in recent years.

It usually means “F—k you, a—hole!”

However, as a world traveler and accomplished translator, I beg to differ on the implied meaning:

In Inuit circles, flipping the bird means: “I saw a seal emerging from the ice. Let’s go get it.”

In rural Madagascar, the finger can be interpreted as: “The tree over there has many lemurs. Let’s eat!”

In downtown Sydney Australia, flipping someone off means: “Good day, mate! What are you UP to?”

And often overlooked, is the middle finger’s use in Detroit, Michigan: “You’re ok, buddy. Let’s meet UP sometime,” (usually accompanied by an upward motion).

So I’m not exactly sure what the gentleman in a Dodge was trying to imply this evening, but it may have been something other than “F—k you, a—hole!” I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt. The next time you’re in Sydney, Madagascar, or Detroit, give the old finger a try.

You’re sure to get an interesting response.

Does anyone else have experience with, or alternate translations for the bird?

Can you help me translate?

A Bitey Evening

Mrs. Translator, Babygirl Translator, Girl Translator, and I went for a nice walk this evening. In this case, our travels took us to suburban Colorado, right outside our house. But the subject of this post concerns travelers worldwide: the language of nature.

We often take walks so that I can get my fill of the outdoors – being a biologist, I am always interested in sharing the language of nature with my family. This particular evening, however, one rather nasty bit of nature reared its ugly head and…bit Mrs. Translator. Many times....

Mrs. Translator's Bitey Back.

Who the hell invented mosquitoes? Because that person should be shot. Then hung. Then shot again. Then drawn and quartered. Then thrown in the river. Not just a creek – a raging torrential thing. Then kicked in the nubblies.

A bitey bugger.

Ok, silly question. Again, as a biologist, I know the language of nature is often complex and full of crisscrossing logic and syntax. I know that mosquitoes play their part in the great circle of life, but do they have to be so dang – mosquitoish?

And what’s with certain people being lunch while others (like myself) are lucky enough to remain uneaten? Bite count: Mrs. Translator = 10, Translator = 0. I’m sure there’s a biological explanation, but I’m not inspired enough to look it up. I guess if I was an eatee instead of a non-eatee, I might be more inclined to do so. Any input on this one?

Here are a few facts about our little bitey friends from Wikipedia:

The mosquito genus Anopheles carries the malaria parasite (see Plasmodium). Worldwide, malaria is a leading cause of premature mortality, particularly in children under the age of five, with around 5.3 million deaths annually, according to Center for Disease Control.

Greatest cause of death under the age of five, eh? Tiny little buggers, and yet so deadly. I say we wipe the buggers out. Bring on the deet. Bring on the Chloroquine, the permethrin and citronella in truckloads. Because calomine doesn’t smell very nice and I'm sick of scratching.

Mosquitoes: deadly, bitey, plague-bringers...itty, bitty package. An inscrutable word in the language of nature.

I just don't get it. Can you help me translate?

Casa Bonita

Our next journey takes us to the heart of old Mexico - to one of the finest Mexican restaurants in the world - Casa Bonita.

Ok. It's in the middle of Denver, Colorado, and the food is just mediocre. My family and I just happened to grab some dinner and entertainment there this evening.

You may remember Casa Bonita from a little show called South Park:

The similarity is striking. It's almost as if Matt Stone and Trey Parker have actually been to the restaurant. Several times. Many times, in fact. Here's the scene from this evening (Nikon D70s):

And here's the scene with Cartman (and follow link to hear Cartman):

Uncanny.

Also, it looks like Cartman ordered the same thing I did : the beef deluxe dinner - all you can eat, baby! Can you guess how many tacos I ate?

But what's the point of this post? It's obviously not just going to be a shameless endorsement for the restaurant. I can't argue, Babygirl Translator and Girl Translator both love it. But that's not what this blog is about. I want to get down to the nitty gritty about the cultural phenomena that make us unique.

So, what's unique about Casa Bonita?

We ate in a cave tonight. That's unique.

And we ate food that came out of a can - with lettuce and cheese on top. The point is, you could serve yesterday's monkey shit from the zoo and kids would still flock to Casa Bonita, pulling their parents (and their wallets) behind them. It's not about the food - it's about the waterfall, the cave, and the...the...guy in a monkey suit always threatening to jump from the shadows.

The Waterfall (from whence Cartman lunged)

The point of all this, is that some time in our life we switch from an emphasis on entertainment to an emphasis on culinary perfection. We no longer need monkeys singing and dancing...we just need a nice glass of wine and a thick juicy steak. I'm not saying that I don't enjoy some dining fun with the kids, every once in a while. I'm just not sure when (or why) the culinary growing-up-switch is activated.

I just don't get it. Can you help me translate?

Howard's Translation: "Only go if you have kids. They are the only ones who understand the appeal, but prepare to roll your eyes. A lot."

Sapheyerblu's translation: "If we keep their attention placed on the divers, they won't notice how nasty the food is".

Truck Nuts

Let's begin our journey into the unknown by stepping right outside my front door, here in Colorado.

Yesterday, on the way home from work, I spied a truck with something "extra" hanging off the back end. Upon further examination, I was assaulted by the image of two, giant, blue - truck nuts.

Are those....?....yes, they are! I thought.

As seen in the image above, I guess truck owners can now order these online for various reasons.

I guess one reason would be to show that one's truck is "manly".

I guess another reason would be to show that a truck's OWNER is manly. Although, if that's the case, I don't see how projecting one's "manliness" to the rear hitch of one's truck would accomplish much of anything. Plus, wouldn't it hurt if you take a dip too fast?

I just don't get it. Can you help me translate?

Howard's Translation: "I have a small penis and must compensate."

Beenzzz's Translation: "The small penis thing PLUS, he still wets his bed."