Rainstorms, Stone Circles, and "Brave"

This has been the second afternoon all week I have been absolutely drenched by a sudden rainstorm. This time, however, I knew what I was getting into… but if only my meek Minnesota raingear were even somewhat effective against this unpredictably proliferating precipitation! What they say is true: everything is bigger in Texas… including the raindrops.

Yesterday’s storm, I’ll admit, caught me completely off-guard. One minute I was waiting for the bus in the burning sun, flicking ants off my jeans and reading poetry, all the while looking wistfully at the cloudless sky. Suddenly there was a blinding crack of lightning followed by a heavy rain soaking both Keats and I to the bone (or, in his case, to the binding). It was well worth it to me, though: I was going to see Brave for the second time.

Aside from the deplorably cliché magical bear, Brave is an incredible film – and I do not say just that as a fellow beneficiary of the recessive alleles bestowing perfect, pulchritudinous vermilion tresses. Merida, an audacious, untamed young princess who prefers archery to decorum, makes watching this film a spirited adventure in itself. After rambling through ancient stone circles and fantastic Celtic lore eclipsed by fog-filled forests and castle ruins, you’ll find yourself looking up airfare soon after leaving the theatre. But before you leave for the Scottish highlands, leave the bear spray at home – these fierce mammals have been extinct in Britain for hundreds of years.

Merida of Disney/Pixar's Brave.

I picked up some Chinese takeout on my way back from the movie theatre (unfortunately my clothes were still drying off from the storm earlier) and returned to my abode, instantly putting on The Secret of Kells. Even though Kells is a fictitious rendition about the genesis of the Book of Kells (which currently can be found in the library at Trinity College in Dublin… a library I foolishly did not visit when I had the chance), it easily outperforms Brave due to its existential legitimacy (the movie is a French/Irish collaboration). While Kells lacks some of the visual charm and magic of flashier films, the story is full of impressive meaning and brilliance.

Learning Russian and Finding Nessie (but not at the same time)

One morning back when I was living in British Columbia I happened to take a good look at myself in the mirror. Amongst the other thoughts in my mind at the time (such as “devilishly handsome”), one thing stood out in particular: now there’s someone who should be able to speak Russian. So I, being the ambitious person that I am, took it upon myself to breath life into this reflection. However, one confusing dictionary, a Rosetta Stone tutorial, and several intensive phrasebooks later I was saying, “до свидания to that dream.

Whether I’ll end up scuba diving around underwater volcanoes, spending the night lost in a rainforest, or simply enjoying a good elephant hunt on the African savannah, I’m confident some part of my whimsically itinerant personality will always ensure my life is free from dull moments. Even for me, though, the odds of finding a magical genie lamp are still quite slim – or are they?

I was reading a paper earlier today on cryptozoology (the study of mythical animals) and quickly became fascinated by the differing reception of “cryptids” historically compared to the present day. Generally, contemporary people treat folklore with a greater degree of wild skepticism than their predecessors did (although even Pliny rejected the legitimacy of werewolves). Culturally, though, cryptozoology represents a quest to restore mystique in a world without magic and charm. For me, spending my afternoon writing in a dimly lit room on this torn-up 1940s sofa next to a wall of old books at the local coffee shop lends itself perfectly to my own sense of wonderment and enchantment with the world around me.

Looking sharp in the lab. Learning to tie
a bow-tie is an accomplishment in itself!

Forget Grandpa’s rejuvenating potion made from newt tails and locust venom – a new paper examining honeybee behavior and dementia interestingly found that brain cell deterioration and memory loss was reversed in old pollen foragers when they would return to nursing roles inside the hive. Nevertheless, since parents would probably prefer to forget the irresponsible things their children have done, this concept may not translate well from honeybee to human. 

Mesozoic Park

I was in bed with an agonizing toothache this weekend. Initially I thought I should wrap my head and mouth with a bandage as if it wereEngland circa 1843; but, since leeches were about the extent of medicinal technology in the Victorian era (in reality, they also had this tool called a “tooth key” that wrenched out molars), I ultimately decided to make an appointment with a modern dentist.

In the meantime I got to watch movies and eat chicken noodle soup (well, I’ve actually been eating cheese, graham crackers, and salami while mindlessly surfing Netflix). One of my all-time favorite flicks (apart from Raiders of the Lost Ark) is Steven Spielberg’s sacrosanct Jurassic Park.

This film is so incredible that I can look past the multimillion-year anachronism hurling Velociraptors and Tyrannosaurs backwards in time from the Cretaceous period. I can also turn a blind eye to the anomalous use of amphibian DNA to complete an extinct reptilian genome. (And for you computer types out there – yes, I can ignore the whole UNIX part at the end, too.)

However, if Spielberg plans to re-release this magnum opus of Mesozoic moving pictures with any shred of James Cameron-like perfectionism, he’d better consult with the paleoentomologists out there first – I would like to hear some historically accurate cricket mating calls this time.