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As if you don’t have enough to do as we enter this holiday season, I have every intention of compounding your life by asking you to join me in celebrating the days leading up to Thanksgiving which, as I understand it, is considered to be our official entrance into the silly season of holidays. Whether you are celebrating Christmas, Chanukah, Kwanza, or some other day or days of gift-giving and merriment, or whether you just sit back and say…no, you’re not allowed to say that, here are some pre-holiday events that you might wish to consider…for what, I don’t have a clue, but you might wish to consider.

Today, for instance is Sunday, November 19, 2017, four days before we carve the bird…or whatevah. It is also known as, “Have a bad day” day. This day has been created by those wonderful folks…no, not those folks, by the wonderful folks at Wellcat.com. Go ahead, look ‘em up. In a way, I rather like it. Yesterday, as a friend and I were leaving the gym, she yelled across the parking lot, “Have a nice day.” Since we often banter back and forth, I responded, “Don’t tell me what kind of a goddamned day to have!” She just chuckled and continued on to her car.

Continuing on from yesterday, today is Absurdity Day. So, if you are, as Steve Martin proclaimed, “a wild and crazy guy” or other person, go ahead and do something absurd. I already did. Last week I was in Wegman’s. A man was emptying trash into a larger trash bin. He stopped me and asked if I was wearing compression stockings. I told him that I was…nice guy…we chatted for a few minutes, and I checked out…of the store…whew! Later in the week, I had to order a few more pair of those socks, and I thought, “What the hell, get an extra pair and see if you can find this guy again.” The socks were left on the front stoop last night, and I managed to locate the guy this morning, gave him the socks, and wished him Happy Holidays…kind of absurd but it felt pretty good. So, get your butt in gear and go do something absurd. Don’t let this day pass you by.

Today is also Beautiful Day as well as Universal Children’s Day. No one seems to know who, what, when, or where Beautiful Day originated, but what the hell, every day is a beautiful day if you can get out of bed in the morning. It doesn’t matter if you’re greeting the sun, the rain, the sleet, snow, or hail, your feet hit the floor and that make it a Beautiful Day. Universal Children’s Day is another story…and I quote, “In 1954, the UN General Assembly recommended that all countries should establish a Universal Children’s Day on an “appropriate” day. We are not sure, but perhaps each country did….at various different dates during the year. The resolution was adopted on November 20, 1954.”

Tomorrow is a ‘twofer,’ that is, we get to celebrate False Confession Day and World Hello Day. You really have to think that first one out carefully…like…don’t walk into your local police station and tell them you just robbed a bank…not wise. You could, however, walk into church, go into the confessional, tell the priest that the Mother Superior over at Saint Whoever’s is hooking at night…although, on second thought, I wouldn’t do that unless I was certain I could outrun the priest. “World Hello Day was created in 1973 by Brian McCormack, a Ph.D. graduate of Arizona State University, and Michael McCormack, a graduate of Harvard University.” It was at a time when war between Egypt and Israel was raging. These two men thought it would be a great idea just to say hello to ten people – ten strangers if you will, just as an expression of peace. Not a bad idea…until you get flipped off by a white supremacist.

This year, November 22 is the day before Thanksgiving. About now, you need a break, something that will take you away from the chaos of getting ready for tomorrow. You should be doing something for yourself. Here are some recommendations (not in quotes, but I did copy them from Go For A Ride Day.)
• Take a sleigh ride.
• Ride a horse.
• Ride a horse-drawn carriage.
• Snowmobile rides are always “cool”.
• A bicycle is a great, way to ride and exercise.
• A boat ride, if you’re in a warmer climate.
• Doesn’t a plane ride to a sunny vacation spot sound like fun!?
• You can’t ride in my little red wagon. Okay, you can ride in it.

Had enough yet? Of course not. November 23, 2017 is Thanksgiving. I guess we’re thankful that we finally shot enough Native Americans, took over their lands, rounded them up and put them on the shitiest land we could find, so now we can celebrate. Naw, I’m not really bitter…wait, yeah, the more I read about how they were treated, I’m not certain this is a celebratory day. It’s also Eat A Cranberry Day, National Cashew Day, National Espresso Day, and my personal favorite, National Tie-One-On Day.

Since you’ll probably be camping out at Walmart, Best Buy, Target, or some other retailer, I don’t have to tell you that the day after Thanksgiving is Black Friday. It’s also Buy Nothing Day (yeah, right), All Our Uncles Are Monkeys Day, and Evolution Day, this last in honor of the day on which Charles Darwin published his highly controversial Origin of the Species, which is probably why we celebrate All Our Uncles…aw, forget it.

Thanks for tuning in, and have a wonderful week. Remember, if you see me on the street, you can still say, “Hello,” even if it isn’t Tuesday.

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The human body is really quite remarkable, you know. It appears to go through some type of metamorphosis as we age. In the male of the species, that with which I am intimately knowledgeable, and rather, genetically speaking, prepared to discuss…and will do so ad nauseum.

The world seems to have done a 180 degree turn in terms of the weight of all children, male and female. Whereas today’s problem appears to be one of obesity among the young (and others), at the time I was in my prepubescent state, the situation appeared to be exactly the opposite, i.e., “How the hell do we put some meat on those goddamned bones. I found him/her hiding behind a sapling for Christ’s sake!” or words to that effect. Oh sure, there were a few of us – not me – who experienced being called “Fatso” or some other derogatory term. I would add that those so christened did not immediately disappear into their sanctum sanctorum only to emerge with bandoliers of ammunition, an AK-47 in one hand and twin .45s on his hips and take out half the school. If he or she in some cases was really pissed, they might deck the skinny kid with the run-off mouth or perhaps throw him to the ground and sit on him to test his breathing skills, but retaliation was rarely violent and never as drastic as the shit that’s going down today.

Through puberty, high school, and even perhaps college, many of us continued to appear much as we had in our formative years. Others stayed as they were by joining the armed forces or immediately entering the work force but, by and large, we remained as we were. For many of us male-types, college meant finding “her.” We’d probably had our hearts shattered, figuratively speaking, many times along the road of life, but “she” was the one we had all been seeking. In my own case, it was somewhat serendipitous, in that it was the accident of college that led me to “her.” While I was not preparing to become a teacher, it was my second minor concentration and I had the opportunity to teach at my old high school. I was struck by cupid’s arrow the minute I saw her sitting in the teacher’s room, cigarette in hand. By the following summer we were marching down the aisle, all six feet, three inches, 145 pounds of me standing next to the woman of my dreams.

I don’t really know if it’s marriage or parenthood or whatever, but suddenly and in a subtle manner, my physiognomy began to change. My waistline, once in the teens, immediately expanded to late twenties, early thirties. My hairline began to create runways on either side of center. Small aches and pains began to become more prevalent and with an increase in intensity…hmm, is this what adulthood is all about?

A daughter and a son and now we’re done became something of an error when four years after we thought our family was complete, another daughter came into our lives. I really don’t believe our lives were complete, and I must give thanks to the Lord above for blessing us with this crazy bundle of joy. Raising kids is, I swear, an additional cause for the waistline to swell; the hair to further recede, and the heart to pound its way into myocardial infarction. Having lived through three of these episodes and with five stents now assisting blood flow, I do speak with authority on this subject.

Let no one throw at you that old saw that goes, “With age comes wisdom;” I am a great believer that with age comes oldness…wisdom may come along for the ride but trust me, old is old. I am now two inches shorter than when I was married. I am also better than 100 pound heavier; my head is shaved, and getting into bed at night and out in the morning is an effort 365 days a year…oh, except in a leap year when it’s 366 days. Both knees have been surgically repaired; rotator cuffs in each shoulder have been ‘fixed;’ three back operations have resulted in five self-fused lumbar vertebrae, and I have had surgery to hands, feet, and just about everything else in my body.

Today, however, I am facing the trial of my life. I must, once more, at the age of 81, subject myself to the surgeon’s scalpel. It is permissible to quote, “If you don’t use it, you’ll lose it here,” but that would be rather tacky. You see, although circumcision took place at an early age, it would appear that the foreskin of the penis has grown over the poor little fella making it both difficult and painful to discard sugar, et al, though the process of urination. I know; I know, we’re getting a bit personal here, but there is a certain humor in this entire chapter of my life. Whereas doctors have terms for damn near every surgical procedure under the sun, nothing has been put forth for this particular operation. My surgeon has informed me that it’s not uncommon at all for this to happen in older people – good luck to all you kids in your 60s and 70s; something else you may have to look forward to – and it’s a rather simple procedure. Not wanting to go into this thing blind, I have been pondering appropriate nomenclature for this particular ‘snip.’ To date, I have come up with “circum,” since it isn’t another complete circumcision; penisectomy, which sounds much too technical and is not in keeping with the manner in which I’m viewing this ‘cut.’ I have decided that it has come down to a choice between “dickectomy” which is appealing because it incorporates my name with what others have been calling me for years, or “peckerectomy,” which I must admit has a certain degree of flair.  Should you feel that I have yet to hit on the correct term for my upcoming (hmmm) in by 9; out  by 5 event, please feel free to comment.

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“Customer service sucks!”

“Whoa, Big Fella; them’s fightin’ words if you happen to run into someone from the legal department.”

“Well, why not start this story from the beginning. That way, we’ll all have some idea of what the hell you’re talking about, okay?”

Alright, enough with the quotation marks that fake a conversation.

About three months ago, my girlfriend decided it would be nice to have Netflix, Amazon, and all those other fancy things on our reasonably new – less than a year old – Samsung 40” flat screen television set. The best part is that she even offered to pay for this service. I mean, hey, when someone offers to pay something from which I’m going to receive some benefit, I am not rejecting it out of hand, right?

In order to receive Netflix, one needs to have (a) a television set that can receive a wireless signal, (b) an Internet connection and (c) a ‘router’ to provide that wireless connection. If you wish me to go into greater detail, provide schematic drawings, and use highly technological gobbledy-gook language, I cannot. As a matter of fact, I don’t know for certain that what I just explained is the way it actually works…but I think it is. Anyway, we purchased a router and a friend hooked it up to the computer. This friend, by the way, could provide schematic drawings and use the highly technological language because he is…well…he’s a nerd wannabe, but he has too many other interests to be a genuine nerd. In addition to which, he has a lovely wife and two beautiful kids…not my idea of nerdliness!

Once the router was hooked up and Netflix purchased or rented or whatever the hell one does with Netflix, we attempted to watch a variety of videos on our new service…it didn’t work so we tried the programming on Amazon If you have Amazon, then you may well know the golden circle. The golden circle is just what it sounds like, and it spins round and round as it attempts to get a signal from the router to send to the television set. If router, Internet connection, and television set are all located in the same room, it seems that everything is wonderful. If these devices are separated by any distance; however, if you put one in another room, there can be problems. Unfortunately no one told this to my girlfriend until we were ready to throw someone off a very tall cliff onto sharp rocks and boiling surf.

In order of hair-pulling, it went something like this: First, she called Internet provider to ask why we were having problems with our connection. Their response was that Netflix was the problem; Netflix blamed Amazon; Amazon blamed that Samsung television sets were at fault. In other words, this blame game was almost as bad as what we see with the Legislative and Executive Branches of government in Washington these days.

This blame game was followed by an Internet chat with Samsung; not one person at Samsung but several. As she was sent from one person to another at Samsung, a transcript of her previous conversations followed right along with her. In other words, it was unnecessary for her to repeat to one representative what she had already told the predecessor. In addition, while Samsung could not provide definitive answers – other than to say it wasn’t them – she was able to print her entire conversation with the Samsung representatives.

Once more into the breach dear friends as she went back and forth with Amazon, Netflix, and our Internet provider [who shall remain nameless to protect us from failure]. Since all eventually wound up stating that the fault belonged at Samsung’s door, we actually went out and purchased a Vizio [upon the advice of our nerd-wannabe friend.

A 40” Vizio television set, with stand, weighs fifteen pounds. This is truly a light-weight television set…in more ways than one. Setting it up was simple. Getting it to work properly was impossible. I went to bed. She [note bold face italics} was determined to settle the problem, Contacting Vizio, she spent forty minutes in a ‘chat’ before being passed to another representative, this time in Utah.  By now, it is 10:30 pm back here on the East Coast. My girlfriend is tired. She’s physically tired from the running around that we’ve been doing as part of the daily routine. She’s mentally tired from having chatted on the computer with someone at Vizio who treated her as though she was a child, e.g., “Well, move the router closer to the television; you can’t do that? Well, move the television closer to the router; can’t do that either? Well, you have to do one or the other.” Wait for it; we’re getting close; it’s almost here. Finally, the customer service representative from Vizio, – in Utah, miles and miles away – states, “Well the router can be only twenty-five feet away from the television for it to work.”

Seventeen words; only four of those word are polysyllabic. These are simple words. They could have been uttered at any point along the way. They could have been posed as a question: “How far away from your television set is the router?” We have now reduced the problem to ten words…but no one did. “Where’s your router?” Good heavens, we’ve dropped the problem to three simple words! But no, everyone assumed that our router was as close as their router is. They ass/u/me, and assumption is the mother of all screw-ups. Sometimes, technology is simple; other times, it’s highly complex…so a word of advice to all you customer service folks out there…Don’t treat the client as an idiot, but treat him or her as someone not as wise in the ways of technology as you are until they prove that they are. And no matter what happens keep your tone of voice even and calm, particularly when you want to crawl through the telephone or Internet wires and beat the caller severely about the head and shoulders.

Technology is moving ahead exponentially; the general population is keeping pace arithmetically. For the very few who understand the exponential movement, please have patience with the rest of us who do not.

Note: The following day, we returned the Vizio television set, place the Samsung back to its original position, and moved the router six feet closer from a its original site in the computer room down the hall. It’s now about forty-five feet from the television, but things appear [cross your fingers and toes] to be working well.

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You’re walking across campus, munching on an apple. I don’t care what kind it is…it’s an apple. Okay, okay, so if you’re in the United States, eating an apple grown in the US of A, it could be one of any 2,500 varieties of apple. Overall, according to “best sources” [that means I Googled the question and received over 4million hits in less than half a second], there are somewhere around 7,500 different kinds of apples in the world. For want of our particular question, let us assume – there’s that word again – that you are eating a beautiful, deep red Delicious apple. A complete stranger walks up to you and asks,

“What are you doing?”

“I’m eating an apple.”

“What’s an apple?”

“Are you kidding? It’s an apple; a piece of fruit.”

“What’s a piece of fruit?”

“Not from around these parts, eh?”

“No, I come from somewhere else. So, what’s a piece of fruit?”

Seeing as how you are an intellectual giant who has (a) read and retained all of the materials from Webster’s New Collegiate Dictionary as well as studying the Internet with great intensity, you actually have an answer from this stranger…who really seems to be a rather nice guy. Therefore, you respond:

“A fruit is the sweet and fleshy product of a tree or other plant that contains seed and can be eaten as food. A ‘piece’ of that fruit is what you bite from that sweet and fleshy product. This apple grew on a tree and each bite I take is a piece…okay?”

“Okay…what does it taste like?”

“It tastes like an apple. Whadda ya mean, what does it taste like?”

“Please, don’t be angry. I’ve never had a – a – apple. You appeared to be enjoying it, and I wondered if I should be looking for apple as a food source. That person over there seems to be enjoying that long yellow thing. Is that also an apple?”

“No, that’s another kind of fruit. It’s called a banana.”

“Do you eat a banana?’

“Sometimes.”

“Why don’t you eat a banana instead of apple?”

“Because I happen to have an apple and that person has a banana. What’s with all the questions?”

“I’m not from around here.”

Do you see where this conversation is leading…other than to you, the apple eater, becoming increasingly frustrated? How would you describe the taste of an apple or banana or strawberry, or any other food you and I might eat regularly? If someone asked me what tomato tastes like, I would really be hard put to give them a straight answer…it tastes like a tomato. However, that’s not necessarily so. My partner has planted 15 varieties of tomatoes from seed for this year’s garden. She has an 85% germination rate. Each one of those 15 varieties will produce a fruit that will be different; some I will enjoy; others I will take no more than one bite…but ask me to explain the taste? Good luck!

Our tongue has over 10,000 taste buds, but we also taste with our nose; at least I do. If something smells bad heading for the palette, my experience has been that I will not like it. I like ice cream, but I can’t stand the taste of coffee ice cream. I don’t care for Brussels sprouts, but Gwyneth Paltrow – she’s an actress – tells me that I’ll love them when she prepares them. First, Gwyneth, you aren’t coming to my house, and second, you’d have to tie me down and pry open my jaws to get me to eat one of those things!

Back to our original discussion, however…how could you describe the taste of a red delicious apple? Yes, it’s sweet and crunchy [“What do you mean by crunchy? Can’t you just feel your blood pressure rising?], and juicy, but then, so is a plum; so is a peach; so is a pear. What sets your apple apart when you are speaking with someone who has never known the taste of an apple?

See what happens when you stop to talk to a stranger…didn’t your mother teach you any better than that?

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Recognizing that you have better things to do with your time I thought that you’d perhaps like a history lesson regarding St. Patrick’s Day. After all, tomorrow is March 17th, and on that particular day the pure Irish, half-Irish, and the ‘wannabe’s’ break out their green  and pretend they understand Gaelic or Celtic greetings. For you Bostonians, that’s not the Boston Celtics; this ‘C’ is pronounced like a ‘K.’ So when someone greets you with “Céad Míle Fáilte,” you may return their “one hundred thousand welcomes” with “Sláinte” – to your health – or you can prove you’re not really Irish by merely staring like the damned fool you’re proving yourself to be!

First off, let’s get a few things straight. St. Patrick, the patron saint of Ireland wasn’t even Irish. I’m not certain I’d want to say that to an uninformed Irishman who’s had one too many at O’Hara’s Doyle’s, Murphy’s, Finnegan’s or even someplace trying to pass itself off as “The Irish Pub.”  Patrick was actually born in Britain nearly the end of the Fourth Century when Britain was still part of the Roman Empire. He was kidnapped by a group of Irish raiders when he was 16 and was held prisoner for six years. According to history.com, it was “During this time, he worked as a shepherd, outdoors and away from people. Lonely and afraid, he turned to his religion for solace, becoming a devout Christian.” Eventually, he escaped the Irish heathens – being half Irish I can say that; if I was one hundred percent Irish, I could say, “damned heathens,” but I’m not so I won’t.

Devoutly religious, Patrick believed in a dream which told him to return to Ireland as a missionary. Following his ordination as a priest, that’s exactly what he did. His charge was to minister to the small group of Christians living on the island and to convert the pagans to Christianity. This contradicts the statement that Patrick actually introduced Christianity to Ireland. It’s not dissimilar to saying that he chased the snakes out of Ireland; there never were any snakes. The water around the island was too cold for any to swim and what damned fool would bring snakes to such a heavenly spot?

In his attempts at converting those who were not Christian, Patrick incorporated some of the nature-based pagan symbols into his teachings.  He celebrated Easter with bonfires because pagans used fire to appease or to honor their gods. He also placed a ‘sun’ on the traditional Christian cross. The Celtic cross can still be seen wherever Irish immigrants are found.

Patrick, not yet a saint, died on March 17tth, AD. For the most part he was forgotten but Irish storytellers built his history into the tale it has become today. Perhaps that was where the term ‘blarney’ originated although if you drown him in a few pints o’ Guinness, most Irishmen can spin you a pretty good yarn or two.

Since I can’t say it better, let me quote history.com once more…“The Irish culture centered around a rich tradition of oral legend and myth. When this is considered, it is no surprise that the story of Patrick’s life became exaggerated over the centuries—spinning exciting tales to remember history has always been a part of the Irish way of life.” So it doesn’t matter if tomorrow you greet a friend with “Beannachtam na Femle Padraig” or “Happy Saint Patrick’s Day,” they both mean the same thing. Enjoy your day.

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MEMORANDUM

Date:                    January 1, 2013

TO:                        All State Department Personnel

FROM:                  THE Secretary of State

SUBJECT:             Dates to remember

In light of the attack on our embassy in Benghazi on September 11, 2012 – get that; see that date there; does it have any significance to anyone in the department; a free steamship roast beef sandwich to the first five people who can correctly identify the meaning of that particular date. It’s not rocket science, people; get with the program.

Here’s another date of which I’d like everyone to take note; May 2. The year doesn’t matter; it’s an extremely significant date in the State Department annals.

Since my telephone has yet to ring, I will assume that no one has a clue about either date. This tells me a couple of things. The first is that I’m working with a bunch of complete idiots – that’s polite State Department speak for “assholes of the first order.” The second thing it tells me is that for the past decade or more, you morons have either had your heads tucked completely where the sun don’t shine or you have so many game apps on your computers that you don’t have time to do the work for which you are supposedly getting paid. The third thing it tells me is that you could all use a history lesson regarding terrorism.

From this date forward – check the word “date” just below the word, “memorandum” on this page, all American embassies located on foreign soil will go on Condition Red status or whatever we’re calling it these days three weeks prior to and one month following May 2nd of any given year and one month before and one month after September 11th of any given year. This means that each embassy will be reinforced with one company of United States Marine personnel for these periods of time.

In case you haven’t figured things out quite yet, the Benghazi attack took place on the 10th anniversary of the terrorist attack on New York’s World Trade Center on September 1, 2001. Anyone who does not believe that terrorists, particularly those of Islamic faith, won’t try to do this again in the future has no place working in the State Department; pack your bags and get the hell out of Dodge. That’s State Department speak for “you’re fired and the fact that you’re a political appointee doesn’t matter one goddamned bit to me.” The second date is that on which Osama bin Laden, a.k.a. Abu Hamza was killed by Seal Team Six, a branch of the United States military. The reasoning behind this request is quite simple: I do not wish to go to Capitol Hill to speak to some committee comprised of fools who have nothing better to do with their time than ask stupid questions or to reduce our budget by an amount so significant that we cannot afford to staff our embassies with appropriate protection. These are the same people who couldn’t find their ass with a map, compass, and flashlights. We have enough problems without interference from people who are do-nothing, know-nothing hacks.

Should you have any questions regarding this memorandum, I would be delighted to speak with you when I am in town. I would advise, however, that anyone with questions should come to my door prepared to be fired, because if this memo doesn’t make things clear, the only thing I can suggest to you is a lobotomy…which used to be available at Walter Reed but which is now being done on a walk-in basis at the Fort Myer North Post Dispensary on Tuesdays and Thursdays from 0800 to 1300.  

Good luck, Godspeed, and please remember to shred this memo before putting it in a burn bag!

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Don’t you just hate it when scientists come along and take all the fun out of life? Well, I don’t know about you but I finally decided to satisfy my curiosity and learn which really did come first, the chicken or the egg. I was certain that there would be discussions galore on the Internet and that no concrete conclusion would be reached; after all, scientists have better things to do with their grants than arguing the age old question; you know, they get that million dollar grant to determine if mice can get cancer by eating 200 pounds of sugar a day for six years and important things like that.

I regret to say that I was wrong. The definitive answer according to Science & Tech, a magazine published in both the UK and the USA, scientists “cracked” the problem on July 13, 2010. It scrambles my brain just to think how [over] easy they made it sound. According to these devils, “Researchers found that the formation of egg shells relies on a protein found only in a chicken’s ovaries.” Now I don’t know about you, but I think that they’re getting rather personal when they begin to screw around with a chicken’s ovaries, but then, I didn’t get the grant!

I would be remiss if I did not print the entire article so readers may  view the sunny side of the study so here goes: “The protein – called ovocledidin-17, or OC-17 – acts as a catalyst to speed up the development of the shell.

“This hard shell is essential to house the yolk and its protective fluids while the chick develops inside.

“Scientists from Sheffield and Warwick universities used a super computer to ‘zoom in’ on the formation of an egg.

“The computer, called HECToR and based in Edinburgh, revealed that OC-17 is crucial in kick-starting crystallisation – the early stages of the creation of a shell.

“The protein coverts calcium carbonate into calcite crystals which make up the shell.

“Calcite crystals are found in numerous bones and shells but chickens form them quicker than any other species – creating six grams (0.2oz) of shell every 24 hours.

“Dr Colin Freeman, from Sheffield University’s Department of Engineering Materials, said: ‘It had long been suspected that the egg came first but now we have the scientific proof that shows that in fact the chicken came first.

“’The protein had been identified before and it was linked to egg formation but by examining it closely we have been able to see how it controls the process.  ‘It’s very interesting to find that different types of avian species seem to have a variation of the protein that does the same job.’

“Professor John Harding, from the same department, said the discovery could have other uses. ‘Understanding how chickens make egg shells is fascinating in itself but can also give clues towards designing new materials and processes,’ he said. ‘Nature has found innovative solutions that work for all kinds of problems in materials science and technology – we can learn a lot from them.’

“The discovery was revealed in the paper Structural Control Of Crystal Nuclei By An Eggshell Protein.”

Frankly, I believe that a super computer has uses other than determining which really came first in this chicken/egg argument, but then, I suppose a grant is a grant is a grant.

If we really want the super computer to help us determine difficult topics, we might ask, “Which came first, man or woman? Which came first, God or the universe? How about a really tough one…If Noah was so smart that he could build an ark for all of the animals [two by two, don’t forget], how could he possibly have been so dumb as to invite a couple of mosquitoes on board…or fleas for that matter?

So, for all of you who I have disillusioned today, I regret the error of my ways; for those of you who feel you can now lord it over those who are ignorant of the facts…ah, stop being such a smartass!

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