Art Nouveau Ho

So by this point, we've all read about the spread of invasive Burmese pythons in southern Florida leading to the decline of native mammals, particularly those of appropriate size for pythonic convenience food. Fans of Pogo will be particularly dismayed that the scaled invaders have all but wiped out the opossum from the swamps there. Thankfully, it looked as though the creatures were too cold-sensitive to spread as far north as the Okefenokee, but then this happened:

Burmese pythons: Could the snakes move north?

During two cold snaps that hit Florida in winters that started in 2009 and 2010, many pythons survived by burrowing into the earth and by finding deeper, warmer water to ride out the low temperatures. Dozens of snakes perished and were disposed of by the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, but what didn’t kill those that survived might have made them stronger, Dorcas said.

“We just had a major selection event for cold-tolerant pythons,” Dorcas said. Fish and Wildlife predicted that a new generation of Burmese pythons on the edge of their non-native range can adapt and “expand to colder climates.”

Two excellent things about this story:

1. The reporter's surname is "Fears."

2. It talks about natural selection. And evolution. In Florida. Silly, everyone knows they don't have evolution there. (They don't have climate change either, which is a relief, given the potential consequences in a state whose highest point is 345 feet above sea level.)

So if natural selection isn't affecting the snakes, what is? The obvious answer lies with God, Whose intention moves all things. Having created the Burmese python milennia ago, He has recently provided them with an exodus from the land of Burma. It is written that this involved one of the pythons throwing down its staff which immediately turned into a bearded Jewish guy. The Lord then brought about its importation to the US as a pet, dividing the Atlantic ocean en route. When the pythons had completed their time in servitude, God divinely inspired the owners to abandon them in the wilderness. After some years of wandering and subsisting on manna in various furry forms, their Creator has hearkened unto their prayers and armoured them in righteous resistance to the elements.

The theological implications of this development are, frankly, staggering. Apart from anything else, it is now evident just who God's chosen species are. If this seems far-fetched, ask yourself this: who was the only person in Eden who didn't eat the forbidden fruit? Sure, the Serpent invited the gullible humans to chow down, but in no source does it say that the reptile itself ingested any. A fruit-eating snake would be kind of weird in any case, right? God's subsequent curse upon the Serpent is strangely harmless [King James version, here we go]:

--Upon thy belly shalt thou go: Snakes do this anyway

--and dust shalt thou eat all the days of thy life: This happens when you're crawling around on your belly. Note that God does not prohibit the Serpent from eating any others of His creations it happens to find tasty in addition to dust.

--and I will put enmity between thee and the woman, and between thy seed and her seed; it shall bruise thy head, and thou shalt bruise his heel. Well, given what just happened they were hardly going to be future BFF, were they?

Less of a curse, more of a pat on the scaly back for a job well done. In any case, it would seem that the Creator Of The Universe has now amended this last clause to "He shall bruise thy head, and thou shalt crush him into an easily-ingestible lump within thy coils thus to swallow him, and then thou shalt have a bit of a nap the while his brethren do make an B-movie about thee."

And who does that B-movie feature? That's right. Ice Cube. Ice Cube... cold-resistant serpents... At least now we know what God was smiting us for.

So what can we, the faithful, learn from this dire peril into which our Maker has cast us? The lesson is clear, for it is written:

Upon that day when a film crew be gathered together in My name, and J.Lo be among them, yea and Jon Voight also, and he that was in The Royal Tenenbaums, you know, the blond guy, and the script doth verily suck worse than the special effects, such that the result be a two-hour abomination unto My sight: and I do send unto thee My warning, saying,
O Man, release not this piece of shit where it may afflict the eyes of filmgoers, for even My prophet Liam Neeson could not save this trainwreck, seriously, thou shalt DAMN WELL LISTEN. Else shall that state which most resembleth an detumescent wang be smitten with fearful plagues of superevolved cold-resistant Burmese pythons, yea, and also tempests, Jeb Bush and mosquitoes the size of chickens. Thus saith the LORD.

Well, I've done my part in spreading the word... HAVE YOU???

Last night on my way home from a film, I stopped to stroke a black cat when I noticed a grounded bumblebee.

The bumblebees now emerging are queens who have spent the winter hibernating. They are heavy and fly rather drunkenly, and they are all looking for a place to nest where they can lay eggs and hatch out some friends. Flight takes a lot of energy for a queen bumblebee, and if they haven't eaten enough they can easily become grounded.

This particular bee was attracting the black cat's attention in a way that boded no good for either of them, so I took off one shoe and tried to coax the bee to sit on it, thinking I could at least put her into a windowbox or something. This worked rather too well: the bee crawled determinedly inside the shoe and sat there. I held the shoe toe-downwards, thinking she'd fly out towards the light, but nothing doing. She had found an ideal nesting spot, and nothing was going to budge her.

So, watched by a perplexed black cat, I hobbled one-shod to the nearest garden square. Under a blossoming cherry tree, I held up my shoe and peered into it. Fuzzy black bee legs were visible towards the toe. I decided to take the insole out, hoping the bee would come with it.

She did, and I heard her angrily buzzing. But where was she? I looked around fruitlessly until I realised the buzz was coming from very near the back of my neck, and getting louder.

We'll just draw a discreet veil over what happened next. All you need to know is that the bee was safely dislodged and I eventually retrieved my shoe, insole and jacket from the various places they'd ended up. The moral of this story is... I have no idea what the moral of this story is. Do you?

I'm heading back to DC tomorrow; for the next two weeks, someone else will have to rescue London's stranded bumblebees (as well as cat petting, dog-scratching, random street-singing and my other usual duties.) I trust you will do your best.

Washington DC's firstborn panda, Tai Shan, is being flown to China today. Here is a photo gallery displaying his many significant achievements.
( Of pandas, monkeys and nostalgia )

I got back to London this morning, and I have to say the weather feels positively balmy compared to the past week in DC-- extremely cold, with a biting wind like Odin's own surgical knife. Factoring in the windchill, it was well below zero Fahrenheit (that's fuck-off cold, Centigrade users! See, I know [zero = freezing] has a certain logic, but [fuck-off cold] is a much more elusive measurement, neatly pinned down by the Fahrenheit system.)

speedlime and I went to see a movie the other night. Afterwards, I emerged from the building with one sleeve damp from having washed my hands. By the time we got to where the car was parked, my sleeve was crisply frozen. Fuck-off cold.

I was impressed, though, by the sight of snowbound Britain as my flight landed today. As I type, there are flurries falling in London, but not quite settling-- in the centre, at least.

I was going to try and fight the jetlag, but a hot bath and some comic books suddenly look like a much better idea. Abnormal service will resume shortly, true believers.

Leipzig was amazing, but I don't feel quite ready to write about it yet. In the meantime, here are some interesting animal behaviour links I mostly stole from MetaFilter:

A new way to keep the cat off the kitchen worktop [Page contains embedded video, but no sound]

Camel versus bin. Did you know that the bin is the ancient enemy of the camel? Neither did I. But this young one does.

Ursula Le Guin is famous for the clarity and insight of her writing. Now the world-renowned author of Earthsea and Changing Planes brings us... Cat T'ai Chi.

Do you have a cat or other creature-companion? Post a photo in the comments, will you? I miss my cats.

(Also: YouTube video of a playful baby anteater.)

For some time now, I've been cultivating little jade trees from cuttings off my big jade tree (which, itself, started life as a leaf that fell off someone else's.) The current crop are all grown up, and now the windowsill is getting crowded.

So: Would anyone like a free jade tree? I've got about seven ready to go to new homes. Jades are very low-maintenance: they're indoor plants; they like some sun; they only need to be watered once a week at most, and can go as long as a month without water. I've never bothered with fertilizer or anything, and they've always done fine.

Obviously, this offer is limited to people in the UK, but you don't have to be a Londoner-- I will happily bring a jade tree to any convenient rendezvous point.

Not sure what a jade tree is? Here's one. Their proper name is Crassula ovata; they're also sometimes called "money trees" or "friendship trees."

It's been a beautiful day in London-- sunny and warm. As I write, there's the thinnest sliver of a new moon setting in the west, with Venus above. Even with the London light pollution, I can make out the outline of the old moon glowing redly: a phenomenon rather poetically known as Earthshine.

And now clouds have hidden all. I was supposed to be rehearsing today, but I have a cold and had to stay home and be silent. An opportunity for a recital this weekend came up, but I had to decline, since no voice means no ability to prepare. All this is good news for readers of gawain_project, however.

Today's two stanzas were goddamned hard -- lots of technical terms for various pieces of armour, and since I know some of my readers are armour geeks, I had to get it right. Luckily the poet seems to have known what he/she was talking about, even if everything is overlaid with impossible amounts of gold, gems and silk (this is a medieval romance, after all.)
Amusingly, I discovered what I think are a couple of errors in the "scholarly" editions I'm referring to. Clearly, more English academics should hang out with armour geeks.

I don't know about you, but I sure could use two minutes' worth of inspiration.

The sun was shining when I got the bus out of London yesterday. In the Thames Valley, we drove into hard rain. By the time I got to the rehearsal venue in Oxford, snow was swirling in the light of the streetlamps.

One singer after another staggered into rehearsal looking increasingly frozen. I handed out chocolate and positioned them under warm stage lights. (I tend to bring chocolates to rehearsal. If I'm going to work people like dogs, I figure the least I can do is provide a sugar rush.)

I normally try and sleep on the bus ride back to London, but this time I was glued to the window. The hills of the Ridgeway were blanketed in white, with more coming down. Every one of the branches by the side of the road was bowed down under its load of snow.

By the time we got to chilly, soggy London suburbia, the snow wasn't settling any more. I'm glad I saw it, though. I wonder if there will still be any when I head out today?

Good things that have happened recently:

--Went to Kew Gardens with my music-college friend Pete. It was a sunny day, and we spent a lot of our afternoon walking barefoot on the soft, cool grass. We climbed the 18 meter high tree-walk, found an escaped iguana in the Princess of Wales greenhouse, and enjoyed the Philadelphus grove by the pagoda.
Philadelphus are in bloom in the UK right now. They're one of my favourite summer shrubs: the Americans call them "mock orange," since they smell very like orange blossom. If you see one, do pause and smell it.

--Yesterday I flew from London to Washington DC. I do this all the time, but yesterday's journey was especially pleasant: velvetdahlia was nice enough to join me for a pre-airport lunch and then came to Heathrow with me! It was lovely to have company for a chore that I usually do on my own. Also, Terminal 4 was... wait for it... calm and civilised. BA have moved most of their flights to Terminal 5, so at T4 there were almost no crowds or queues for anything. It was eerie.

--When I got to DC, speedlime was waiting for me with all the latest news and gossip. As I waved goodnight to her from my parents' front porch, a firefly flew directly in front of my face and flashed at me. I am home.

--Today I had a good rehearsal with quesadelia for our duet recital on the 28th. We sang through duets from Cosí fan Tutte, Les Contes d'Hoffmann, Lakmé and der Rosenkavalier. It all went surprisingly well, considering that my ears are still in a different time zone.

London is a city of uncertain affections, a city I have to run to keep up with, whose moods are sometimes unbelievably generous but often unbelievably arsey. DC, by contrast, is a friendly beast who puts its head under your hand to be petted as soon as you get in the door. So the door creaks and the house is in disrepair: it's inhabited by love.

Hello all. Happy Mardi Gras, Carnevale, Pancake Day, et cetera! To celebrate, here's a link to the best page on the day I could find, with lots of interesting trivia and information.

You all know the drill: today's the day you party hard before Lent starts and no one is allowed to have any fun at all until Easter. I was in Greece once for Easter, and they actually did observe the Lenten fast: no eggs, no meat, no dairy. Certainly makes a cook get creative.

There is some kind of link between self-imposed deprivation and excess. The European Carnival tradition is only one example. I've been told that during the Islamic month of Ramadan, when a fast is observed during daylight hours, food sales actually increase because everyone parties all night. Similarly, during the Jewish Passover (when wheat, oats, barley, maize, spelt and rye are verboten), cooking becomes much more creative and meals become more important.

During all three of these holidays, according to tradition you're also supposed to abstain from sex. This certainly would have given an added piquancy to Carnevale as a literal "farewell to the flesh" and to the fertility-festival aspects of Easter. In medieval Britain, spring arrived a little earlier than it currently does: I'm not sure whether this was due to climate change or the calendar being out of sync, but in any case it meant that the disciplined Lenten season coincided with the thawing, budding, burgeoning season of spring. Here's a medieval lyric that expresses that feeling perfectly: Lenten is come with love to towne. Do enjoy.

(On poems: I'm delighted with the number of requests I got! I look forward to versifying you.)