Raspberries, the wussy fruit.

I was walking to my car the other day, and the ground was littered with all of these fruit from a palm tree. At least I think it was a palm. That was the closest tree. I suppose the fruits could have come from some other tree, and fallen at an angle, or been carried over by one of those guys with a shopping cart full of aluminum cans, but WHERE they came from isn't as important as the fruits themselves. They were like little nuts, but they had this outer covering of barbed spikes.

Spikes. I thought, "Wow, this fruit sure knows how to protect itself." So I started thinking about other fruits and nuts that protect themselves. Coconuts? Oh yeah. Cucumbers? Prickly! Cashews? Those things are prehistoric! I decided the plants made the fruits hard to eat so as to protect the seeds. The parts of fruit we eat are intended to nourish the seeds, right?

But then I started thinking about berries. Like raspberries. Those have no protection at all! No spike. No shell. No rind. Hell, they're just sitting out on the bush for everyone to see. They're RED! They're just screaming "EAT ME!" If you've ever had raspberry bushes, you'd know that this is exactly what happens. Birds come from miles around just to eat all the raspberries before you have time to go out there with a bowl. It's mucho frustrating.

So why would some fruits be the botanical equivalent of tanks and others be, well...wussy?

Then I remembered something about the birds eating all the berries. When that happens the neighborhood is covered with bird crap which is filled with seeds. The birds can't digest the seeds. Which means, the seeds get distributed by the birds. Almost like those berries are meant to be eaten.

That's the kind of evolution I like. The more desirable you are, the better your chances of reproducing. Well, if you're a vine or shrubbery.

I want jam.

What are you supposed to be?

Sometimes I'm really into Halloween. And sometimes I'm really not. The times that I'm not into Halloween usually follow an experience when I put together a costume at the last minute and it's maybe not perfect, and then I get to a party and some bitchy girl says "What are you supposed to be?"

There are really only two reasons to ask this question:

1. You want me to know my costume sucks. You don't care if you can tell what I intended or not, you mostly just want me to understand that I am smaller, weaker, and poorer than you, and no, you will not be making out with me later.

2. You honestly can't tell what my costume is, and so, you're assuming it must be bad, because if were good, you'd know, right? I mean there couldn't POSSIBLY be anything out there that you didn't know about.

The real sticker in the question "What are you supposed to be?" is the supposed. Supposed implies that something was attempted, but failed. If you ask "What are you?" instead, well then you're at least admitting that I may have succeeded at being something, you just don't know what it is.

In all cases, a much better question would be: "Can I get you a drink?" or, "How'd you make that?" Then we have a shared activity, which may or may not include talking about how much my costume sucks.

Because I know. Oh, I know.

Montalban

Another thing I thought about yesterday was that time in Wrath of Khan when Captain Terrel and Checkov get captured on Ceti Alpha V. Khan has them standing there, all captured, and he peels off his scarf and gloves, then looks at them.

To Terrel he says: "I don't know you."
To Checkov he says: "You...I never forget a face."

This might be one of the best moments of scene-chewing awesomeness in American Cinema.

Watch it and try to tell me it doesn't kick ass. I task you!


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zRdDeLGP6G4&feature=related

Staples

A couple weeks ago I was thinking about how they make staples. At first, I thought all the staples were made, then there was some sort of machine that shook them all together so they could be glued into the things you stick in the stapler.

But that didn't really make sense. Seemed pretty inefficient. Then, I realized that they probably made all the wire for the staples, then glued the wires together, then bent them, then cut them into staples. I'm pretty clever. Ooh yeah.