Happy Father's Day

Courtesy The Denver Zoo.

The Zoo is one of our favorite places - especially for Father's Day.

I'll keep this short: Today, family is first. Blogging comes much, much later.

Happy Father's Day!

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!

Learn more below...

Postcards from the Edge...of the World

Going on a trip?

Want to show off your hometown?

Want a free review of your website?

It's a crazy high-tech world out there. Blogs, email, and electronic news feeds dominate our lives. But there's so much more - from the highest peaks of the Andes to the burning sands of the Dead Sea - an entire world of peoples, places, and things that I want to discover.

As members of the blogisphere, I think we often loose track of the people behind the screen. Who is doing the typing? What do they look like? Where do they live? What do they do on their vacations? The electronic world is a very impersonal world.

That's why I think that nothing beats a postcard. When I get a postcard in the mail, it says to me that someone took the time and effort to pick out an interesting photograph or artistic image and physically write me a note - with a pen! That little bit of personality in an impersonal electronic world is what I'm after.

If you're willing, please send me an interesting postcard from wherever you may be – on your adventurous travels or in your home office. I’d love to hear about the wonderful, the wacky, and the worthless features from your Edge of the World.

These may be tourist sites, cultural phenomena, restaurants, foods, – whatever! Write about them in English, and I’ll pin your postcard up on Rosetta Rants!

Please do the following:

1) Include the three W’s (W.W.W.) on your postcard :

Something you find (W)ONDERFUL,

Something you find (W)ACKY,

Something you find (W)ORTHLESS about your current location.

Or, if that doesn't float your boat, write ANYTHING you want!

2) If you would also like me to Translate (review and link to) your personal blog or webpage, please include your URL on the postcard. (Commercial websites please check out my PayPerPost button on the sidebar).

3) I'll notify you when your postcard has been added to Rosetta Rants. At that time, please write a post linking to my post of your card, or link to http://rosettarants.blogspot.com so others can read your postcard!

There’s so much to translate – I want to hear from your Edge of the World!

Send postcards to:

Translator

PO Box 24566

Denver, CO 80224-0566

Bring this address with you on your next trip, or send me a postcard right now!

Don’t forget the W.W.W.! (W)onderful, (W)acky, and (W)orthless!

Read More from Rosetta Rants...

Blue Genes

The Blue Lobstah

We shall now travel to beautiful New London, Connecticut, where we will attempt to translate the language of genetics. Steve Hatch and his uncle Robert Green pulled this blue beauty out of the water Sunday morning.

Only one out every few million lobsters is blue. And it’s due to a very rare genetic aberration. Maine Chemistry Professors Ronald Christensen and Harry Frank discovered that blue lobsters overproduce a blue protein called crustacyanin, which blocks the red pigment astaxanthin. The correct balance of both proteins makes brown lobsters; too much crustacyanin produces blue lobsters.

Blue food? That reminds me of blue raspberry flavored stuff. What the hell is blue raspberry? I mean, is it a raspberry? Is it a blueberry? Is it both? Who came up with that one? Some guy was sitting in an ad agency, and was like: “You know what is really boring these days? Raspberries. Let’s make them orange. No – BLUE! And kids will buy our stuff like it’s going out of style!”

Actually, blue raspberry flavor was originally derived from the Black Raspberry (Rubus leucodermis) which has a bluish-red color. But they’re nowhere near as blue as the artificial crap we get these days.

But it’s true. There IS a shortage of blue foods in nature. You’ve got blueberries and the occasional blue crustacean – but other than that, there’s nothing. Why do you think that is? Maybe the “wow factor” accounts for why kids love blue foods.

By the way, my daughters love blue yoghurt. I noticed something very strange the other night while changing a diaper. Ahem. The blue pigment is not – shall we say – easy to digest. That CAN’T be natural. I also ate some blue yoghurt. And no, I didn’t look.

I wonder what a blue lobster would taste like. It just so happens that our sapphire sweety received a stay of execution and was remanded to the custody of the Mystic Aquarium. But if you could, would you eat it? And do you think it would taste a bit “sweeter” than the average lobster? Kinda fruity?

Who cares. I just don’t get the appeal of strangely-colored foods.

Can you help me translate?

Translator’s Top Ten Ways to Get your Blog Nominated for a Blogger’s Choice Award

If you haven’t visited, you should really check out Blogger’s Choice Awards. It’s where the best of the best blogs are showcased on the world (wide web)’s biggest stage. And you, discerning readers, get to vote. Winners will be announced November 10^th at PostieCon in LasVegas, NV.

I’ve recently been drawn to the glamour, the lights, the – ability to vote. And I’ve nominated several deserving blogs. Be sure to check them out at the bottom of this post.

So what are the Translator’s key’s to getting nominated? As an accomplished translator of language, culture, and just plain weird stuff, I’m fairly qualified to sift through the gibberish and find the diamonds in the rough:

1)Be original. Everyone can write a blog about themselves. Why are YOU different from everyone else?

2)Be an authority. Why should we listen to YOU? Do you actually KNOW anything about anything?

3)Carve out a defined niche. As you can tell by the clear-cut categories on Blogger’s Choice, you should probably decide what it is you’re actually blogging about before you get too involved. Because after a year, it’s probably too late to turn back.

4)Make your blog easy to translate. Even I, the amazing Translator, have trouble understanding incoherent drivel. And use a spell checker – they’re cheap.

5)Be entertaining. Nobody cares about what you had for breakfast. Except your mom. And then, maybe she doesn’t. Unless you ate something really cool like a flaming pile of pumpkin pancakes with chocolate syrup. Why? I don’t know.

6)Personal touches are fine, but stay on topic. How does your topic RELATE to your world? I appreciate it when a specific topic is applied to a blogger’s world. Like farting. Farting alone is boring. But when Beenzzz farts – ha ha ha ha ha!!!!! Well, no. Farting alone is often unavoidable. And I've never heard Beenzzz talking about farting. You get the point.

7)Post consistently. If you don't care enough to post often, I don’t care enough to read. It’s that simple.

8)Offer advice or write reviews. As a world traveler, I appreciate hints about how to save some time, some money, or some embarrassment. Like that time in Venice. Oh, boy. If only I had read more blogs in the Eighties.

9)Encourage conversation and reply to comments. Because one-sided conversations suck. I mean, I didn’t sit in school for twenty-five years just to listen to more lectures on the web.

10)Be a really, really hot babe blogger. That never hurts.

So, check out Blogger’s Choice. You can nominate your own blogs and vote for the excellent blogs already nominated! Oh, and you can nominate your own blog, too. But you still need votes!

These are the blogs that I definitely get. No further translation necessary:

Best Animal Blogger: Cat On My Head. Voting Page!

Best Blog about Stuff: ......why-paisley? Voting Page!

Best Humor Blog: The Stealthy Bean. Voting Page!

Best Hobby Blog: Fishing Fiesta. Voting Page!

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?

Kava

Fiji, courtesy South Pacific Holidays.

Our voyage now takes across the great Pacific Ocean, to the Islands of Polynesia, where we will investigate the language of herbology. The Polynesian triangle consists of hundreds of tropical islands that fall within a triangle formed by Hawaii, New Zealand, and Easter Island. Needless to say, the Polynesian islands offer prime real estate for adventure seekers and beach lovers, and if you plan to visit, perhaps you should prepare for the cultural phenomenon of Kava.

Fijians prepare Kava, courtesy Fijian Kava.

Kava, or ‘Awa as it is known in Hawaii, refers to the root or rhizome of the plant Piper methysticum, a member of the pepper family (Piperaceae) native to the South Pacific. For countless generations, peoples of the South Pacific have ground up the plant’s root into a fine powder, to make a cold infusion with water. The infusion is used as a ritual drink, a social beverage, and for its medicinal qualities.

Kava’s active ingredient is Kavalactone, which is said to act upon the Limbic system, the structures of the brain associated with emotions and associated memories. Further, Kava induces feelings of intense relaxation, reduces anxiety associated with depression, induces sleep in insomniacs, and has been used for medical purposes such as contraception and as a cure for Gonorrhea.

However, several studies in the United States, Germany, and Switzerland from 1999-2002 have shown that liver failure is infrequently associated with using dietary supplements that contain Kava extract. Other side effects include gastrointestinal discomfort and skin allergies, and Kava should not be consumed by pregnant women due to possible contraceptive activity.

All in all, Kava sounds like a fascinating plant. I’m just not sure I’d want to try it. Like most things, moderation is the key. When Mrs. Translator and I finally make it to Fiji, I’ll probably give Kava the old college try. But with the thought of liver failure looming overhead, I probably won’t make a habit out of it.

“Sure Kava chills you out, but your liver might fall out.” – Anonymous.

What about dietary supplements that contain Kava? Dietary supplements are truly the modern language of herbology. My mother drinks green stuff every day. Sorry, mom if you’re reading this. I’m not sure what’s in it, but it’s green - very green. I think she said it contains green tea extract, wheat grass, horse dung, elephant sweat – I dunno. The point is: she’s a supplement freak.

In the United States, dietary supplements are defined under the Dietary Supplement Health and Education Act of 1994, as a vitamin, a mineral, an herb or other botanical (excluding tobacco), an amino acid, or something used to supplement the total dietary intake. Supplements are regulated by the FDA as foods, not drugs. Therefore, they may only take action if a particular substance is proven harmful.

I know that most indigenous peoples have been using herbals and botanicals for thousands of years. But I also know that most indigenous people don't live past forty and they have very few teeth in their mouths. In other words, I’m sure that most herbals have positive and negative attributes, many of which, I’m not willing to muck around with.

There are two things I still don’t quite get about the language of herbology:

1) I don’t know if I’m willing to try Kava yet. Do any of you have experience with Piper methysticum that would sway my opinion either way?

2) Why do so many people use dietary supplements without actually knowing what they do to their bodies?

Can you help me translate?

Why Am I So Lucky?

Why am I so lucky?
Why are they so beautiful?
Why are they so perfect?
Why are they so innocent - they don't know how they've changed my life, my world, my everything?

Why do I have the lens caps on my binoculars? Is it symbolic? Is it a joke? Is it a mere oversight?
Why do the kids have their backs to the camera?
Why are there no penguins in the photo?
Why do all the sentences in this post start with "why?"

Why do we often overlook the things that matter most in this world?

I just don't get it. Can you help me translate? (These do not start with "why").

Breatharian Magic Words

Wiley Brooks, Breatharian, Spiritual Teacher, Inter-dimensional Traveler, and Founder of the Breatharian Institute Of America

Our travels now take us to Arizona in the United States, where we will investigate the language of Breatharianism.

According to the Breatharian Institute of America, a Breatharian “…is a person who can, under the proper conditions, live with or without eating physical food.” I don’t know about you, but physical food is my favorite kind of food. I couldn’t live without it for a day. I’d get all dead-like.

Anyway, in order to attain fifth-dimensional enlightenment, Breatharian master Wiley Brooks has compiled a list of five Magic Words:

1. Jot Niranjan

2. Omkar

3. Rarankar

4. Sohang

5. Sat Nam

Mr. Brooks follows this list with a very specific meditation procedure:

Start meditating with these magic words for at least 30 minutes a day to begin with and increase your meditating time to 2 hours a day as soon as possible. Repeat them in the exact order that they are.

Do the meditation excersize before drinking lots of diet coke in the 20 oz and 1 liter sizes in the plastic bottles only. Along with a double-quarter-pounder/with cheese meal at McDonald's only. Always meditate 30 mins to an hour before eating. Try to eat at least one meal a day for a while. Go back to my web site periodically to see if you can start to feel the magic after reading a few paragraphs.

IMPORTANT NOTE: DO NOT DRINK WATER OF ANY KIND OR FROM ANY SOURCE AND, MOST IMPORTANTLY,DO NOT EAT ANY FRUITS OR VEGETABLES DOING THIS REGIME!!!

May the forces be with you. You can call me and I will give you the correct pronunciations of the words from the 5D world.

Wiley

P.S. You can call me anytime. My 5D #: 602-781-2624. Call me after 9 PM Arizona time. If you have trouble the first time you call, meditate on the 5 magic words for a few minutes and try again.

May the forces be with you, too Wiley. But I thought you said that Breatharians can live without physical food? Why do you suggest drinking diet coke and eating McDonald’s double-quarter-pounder with cheese meals (that means fries too) while meditating? And I'm pretty sure the American Cancer Society is gonna get mad at you for preventing your followers from eating fruits and veggies.

I’m not “feeling the magic” in the language of Breatharianism.

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

Racquetball Anyone?

Our next excursion takes us into the heart of the sports world. Thursday nights, I play racquetball with the guys. Purely recreational, but you’d hardly know it watching us try to kill each other. You see, we’ve invented a new version of the sport – quicker, more difficult, and deadlier. Although we escaped with few serious injuries this particular evening, one of us was not quite so lucky a few weeks back.

On that fateful evening, our friend, who shall remain nameless, got struck full-force directly in the man candy.

That’s right.

The ball didn’t bounce first. The ball’s trajectory went like this: racquet – straight line at mach three – nubblies.

And our poor, wretched friend went down like lead in champagne (you’ve never seen that?), accompanied by a pathetic, grotesque yell-moan.

And I was like : “oooooooOOOOHHHHH!” when I saw him go down.

Motionless. Hands covered mouths. Silence.

My poor friend who did the ball smacking (the racquetball and the other ones) was visibly shaken. No man wants to be the smacker. But I can tell you that any smacker would surely rather be a smacker than a smackee.

Why?

Because getting smacked in the jujubes is something that no man should ever experience. Women say that childbirth is the greatest pain known to man. But how can that be? No man knows childbirth. But some men know berrysmacks, unfortunately.

I happen to be a member of the bruised winkie club, and I think the experience is akin to pulling your entrails out through your mouth with a rusty fork, while a mime enacts Sherman’s March to the Sea on your man marbles. Now that’s not quite the same as shoving a watermelon out of a hole the size of a pea, but fruits and veggies sound much nicer than the rusty fork-entrails-thingy.

Needless to say, I wear a cup while playing our brand of racquetball.

Still, there are two things that I just don't get:

1)Why do women insist they understand the language of pain better than men? They say we have no idea what they go through during childbirth, but they’ve never been jabbed in the happy buttons.

2)Perhaps my translation of the actual phenomenon doesn't do it justice.

Can you help me translate?