Why Are the Scientific Instruments Searching for Intelligent Life Pointed Away from Earth?

“He had just about enough intelligence to open his mouth when he wanted to eat, but certainly no more.” ― P.G. Wodehouse

Did someone really try to eat the box? This must be a message to all the Stoners with a powerful hankering from the munchies. I was already worried about humanity, but I now am terrified.

Stupid people winning stupid prizes is not something new. What is new is social media never letting people live down their stupidity…if they manage to survive their stupidity.

When a redneck says, “Hey y’all watch this,” it is best to have 911 keyed up and ready. It is often the last words out of their mouths as they audition for a Darwin Award.

The two good old boys who, on a hunting trip got drunk, and decided to see who was the best shot with a crossbow by William Telling beer cans…off each other’s heads. One lost an ear but managed to avoid the “Fickle Finger of Fate.”

My best friend tried to emulate Roy Rogers jumping onto a horse from a balcony. We had no balconies on our farm and decided to use the hayloft of the barn. We didn’t have a horse either, but we did have a bicycle. Thankfully, he went first while I held the bicycle…he also went last.

Also from my childhood, the fella whose gas gauge had quit working. Needing to check the level in his gas tank one night, he decided to use his Zippo to get a better look. Singed his eyebrows it did and destroyed a perfectly good ’51 Plymouth. He seems to not be the only one who decided to check their fuel level with an open flame. See the warning label below for a jet sky.

No one lost a life in these examples and leads credence to the old French saying, “God always helps fools, lovers, and drunkards” Sometimes.

One must remember that for every warning label there is at least one person who has done something dumb and then sued someone for their own stupidity. Remember the McDonald’s lawsuit? Coffee cups now carry the warning, “Do not spill coffee on your crotch” label. Actually, the warning is “Caution: Contents Hot.” We also got cardboard sleeves and “sippy cup” like lids from that lawsuit. Technology as needed for the survival of the species.

As a science teacher there were sometimes unintended consequences to some of the experiments and demonstrations I did. I don’t know who it reflected more poorly upon, the students or me. The good news is no one lost an eye.

I really should never have given out the instructions on “How to build a potato gun” after demonstrating one in class. One of our nearby communities faced a series of “spud” attacks and a picture window was knocked out. I was young and stupid, like my students. Enterprising young people, “There are dozens of internet sites that will tell you how to build one. Go out and do your worst.” Now I’m old and stupid.

Spud guns will raise a knot if mishandled.

A demonstration of the reaction of potassium and water went off the rails when several Senior lab assistants decided to recreate it. I used a lab sink half filled with water and a BB sized amount of potassium, a soft metal that will react with the oxygen in the air and violently with the oxygen in water, creating enough heat to ignite the hydrogen that is released in the reaction. The small sample sparked and smoked on the surface of the water drawing oohs and aahs. The lab assistants? About two inches of water and a golf ball sized piece of potassium. After all, if a little is great, a lot is monumental.

Knowing they were in the wrong when the department head walked into the storage room used to hide their activity, they compounded their folly by attempting to dispose of the evidence by pulling the drain plug and allowing it to drain.

Do not try this at home!!!!

As soon as the potassium hit the trap there was an explosion shattering several of the connected glass traps used in laboratory settings. No one was hurt but several students were drenched in yucky water at their lab stations as pressure caused water to flow in the wrong direction. I received the dreaded intercom message from the principal’s office, “Mister Miller, come to my office immediately, please.”

For my next trick, I will make a dill pickle light up in the dark…I’ll save that one till later…no I won’t.

Before you rry this, it takes 120 volts which will make you light up if handled incorrectly.

Really smart people do stupid things too. Ben Franklin’s kite experiment comes to mind, but he survived his foolishness. Sir Francis Bacon didn’t.

On a freezing day in April 1626, the philosopher-scientist, Francis Bacon, had the idea that freezing might preserve food and decided to gut, pluck, and stuff with snow, a chicken. Neither the chicken nor Bacon survived. Bacon developed pneumonia before the experiment could be proven and died.

If you are unfamiliar with the Darwin Awards, they are a tongue-in-cheek honor that originated in Usenet newsgroup discussions around 1985. They recognize individuals who have contributed to human evolution by selecting themselves out of the gene pool by dying or becoming sterilized via their own actions. Sir Fransis Bacon would be the only possible Darwin Award winner from my examples.

Note: I wrote this before the loss of the Titan submersible with five people on board and considered whether I should share it or not. Obviously, I made my decision.

I have seen much debate about the wealth of these individuals and the intelligence of these individuals. While this terrible event proves wealth and intelligence will not shield you from your fate, there is nothing remotely humorous as the memes and jokes I have seen might have you believe. Shame on some of us as humans.

Don Miller’s Authors Site may be found at https://www.amazon.com/stores/DonMiller/author/B018IT38GM?

Another Father’s Day

“That was when the world wasn’t so big, and I could see everywhere. It was when my father was a hero and not a human.” ― Markus Zusak, I Am the Messenger

Its Father’s Day and I can’t help but think about my father.  I don’t have enough memories…I’ve now outlived him by over a decade.  He died when I was twenty-six as I was just beginning my own pathway to adulthood, a sometimes twisting, bumpy pathway that he might have been able to smooth and straighten out.

“Foss” was a small man who, at least in my own memories, cast a much larger shadow…a shadow that gets larger as I get older, I’m sure.  He was five feet six in his shoes but now seemed much taller. I don’t think I ever viewed him as heroic, just a solid everyman. Being solid can be heroic.

He was stoic…to a fault and had a dry sense of humor. During the Cuban Missile Crisis, the twelve-year-old me pondered aloud, “Shouldn’t we be getting a fallout shelter?” My father looked over his reading glasses and quipped in pure deadpan, “You know where the shovel is. Come get me when you think it is deep enough.”

A member of Tom Brokaw’s “Greatest Generation”, he kissed my mother to be goodbye and went off to fight fascism and militarism with MacArthur’s army in the Philippines.  Like everything he did in his life, he did it the best way he could, without fanfare, with a wrench in his hand instead of a rifle, keeping landing craft afloat and moving troops and material to the beachheads.  Not very heroic or as flashy as a Thompson sub-machine gun but just as necessary.

Technical Sergeant Ernest R. Miller

I asked him once how many enemy soldiers he killed in the war. Again, delivered deadpan, “None. Never shot at one but I did hear gunfire once and our own artillery kept us awake at night.” In another question-and-answer period he admitted that his maintenance battalion normally went ashore just after the nurses. Later he would follow the nurses ashore at Okinawa and as part of the Japanese Occupation Force.

According to him there was a near miss when an unexploded bomb went off due to a trash fire built in the hole the bomb had made. Lucky for me he was behind a nearby building when it exploded.

After the war, he made a living the same way, with a wrench, as a loom fixer for Spring Mills, toiling in grease, lint, and heat.  I still have the thirty-year pen he proudly wore on his suit coat lapel.  He and my mother provided a home and everything that was necessary for my good life…not everything I wanted, but everything I needed.  A good life I find meandering back toward in my mind as I settle into my own autumn years.

I’m most proud of the way he treated my mother…yes, they had their battles, she was a red-headed Scot Irish lass and had the stereotypical temper to go with the hair.  Her explosions were thunderclaps that abated quickly, and Ernest usually absorbed them stoically.  I was always surprised when he didn’t…whether it was reacting to her or something stupid that I had done.  While I never heard him say it, I’m sure he loved her.

Later, when she was diagnosed with ALS, he was there.  Physically and emotionally, he supported her every way he could while attempting to keep body and soul intact.  He didn’t do it alone, but he was there for us all and I’m proud of his efforts.

I shouldn’t make this sound like our relationship was idyllic…there were moments, especially after my mother’s death when he remarried. 

I have a note he left me one morning, a cherished bit of memorabilia.  It stated simply, “The lawn mower has been in the front yard for three days.  Either use it or put it up.”  He was a man of few words and actions did speak louder than words…although when he sat me down for a “talking to” I would have rather he just hit me and get it over with.

It’s been forty-seven years since he died, in the cotton mill he worked in… a cerebral hemorrhage.   I remember the phone call from my brother. 

Like most sons, there was much I wish I had told him when I had time…I just didn’t take the time.  I did receive a bit of closure.  In a codeine-fueled battle with pneumonia, he came to me in a dream.  With him sitting at the foot of my bed we talked.  I was able to tell him things I had not.  I was able to tell him I loved him.  The dream was too real to have just been a dream.

Don Miller’s author’s page may be accessed at https://www.amazon.com/Don-Miller/e/B018IT38GM

My Throbbing Opposable Thumb

“Dinosaurs are extinct today because they lacked opposable thumbs and the brainpower to build a space program.” — Neil deGrasse Tyson

Like most people, opposable thumbs are not something I tend to think much about…until yesterday. Yesterday I took a dive, forehead planting just outside my home. Luckily, I chose a large patch of un-mowed clover to crash into. I’d like to blame my puppies, but it is due more to an overactive clumsiness gene.

What does my clumsiness and painful neck and shoulders have to do with my opposable thumb? Somewhere in my dive I jammed the thumb on my left hand into the ground before falling on top of it. It pained me yesterday but this morning…. As a friend once wrote, “The pain is exquisite.”

Overnight my thumb became swollen and blue reminding me somewhat of a Louisiana Boudin Sausage when I viewed it in the morning light. When I sucked on it, it reminded me of nothing like sausage. The pain is manageable if I don’t move it…or anything else. I’m right-handed and thought, “no big deal it’s my left hand.” A bit of ice will do the trick. Wrong. I can’t even open the baggie to put the ice in without using my teeth.

Problems manifested as soon as I attempted to squeeze toothpaste onto my toothbrush to rid myself of my morning breath. I am a left-handed squeezer and even more clumsy reversing the process, attempting to hold my toothbrush in my left hand like a baby holding a spoon. I’m not ambidextrous unless that means “equally clumsy with both hands.”

Have you tried to unzip and unbutton your pants to answer a dire morning call to nature? Damn near impossible without using both hands and both thumbs. Damn near but I did avoid a catastrophe. Unfortunately, I now must sew a button on to my pants. That won’t happen for a while.

Simple acts become impossible. Holding a cup of coffee in one hand and a breakfast burrito in the other. I had to change into my third pair of shorts having dumped my burrito into my lap and onto the floor. Manna from heaven for the puppies. I just triggered another question, “Why do we call it a ‘pair’ of shorts rather than just one short?” Inquiring minds must find out.

Tearing the top off a food packet like the shredded cheese I wanted to put into the grits I’m now eating because of the dropped burrito was challenging. After a failed attempt using my teeth, I accomplished the feat with scissors and a left elbow trapping the package against the center kitchen island with a bit of body contortion. Tried to stir the cheese into the grits by trapping the bowl against my chest…that required a tee shirt change…which is also hard to accomplish.

Geez, I sure hope I don’t have to unscrew a bottle top.

At some point I will have to put on shoes and am questioning whether I’ll be able to tie the shoestrings. Simple things a right-handed person doesn’t realize you need a left thumb to accomplish. I’m sure my list will continue to grow as the day goes on, but I’m quitting now. I’m having trouble hitting the space bar with my left thumb.

***

To answer my question about shorts…or pants, the phrase “pair of pants” harkens back to the days when what constituted pants consisted of two separate items, one for each leg. They were put on one at a time and then secured around the waist.

The term “pair of pants” is derived from French, where the word originally meant two separate garments that were worn together. At that time, the pants were separated by leg coverings, which made it logical to call them “pairs”.

The word pants? Pants derives from the word pantaloons, which has several differing spellings.

Don Miller writes about subjects other than opposable thumbs and pairs of pants. His works may be found at https://www.amazon.com/stores/Don-Miller/author/B018IT38GM?ref=ap_rdr&store_ref=ap_rdr&isDramIntegrated=true&shoppingPortalEnabled=true

In worlds with pencils, schools page drink slime

Cannot disagree.

Reflections Of A Gasbag

Yes boys and girls we are starting that time, the time where Word Salads run amok. The most wonderful time of the next two years. Politics in the great ole USA. Seems like yesterday we were getting over 2020. Seriously I think it was yesterday or as our Vice President would say it’s just a significance passage in time:

“The significance of the passage of time, right? The significance of the passage of time. So when you think about it, there is great significance to the passage of time…there is such great significance to the passage of time.Such inspiring words from our second in command. One of our many politicians who have mastered the art of saying nothing substantial.

I’ll show you politics in America. Here it is, right here. “I think the puppet on the right shares my beliefs.” “I think the puppet on the…

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Boycott the F’ing Boycotts-2023

“And I have a tiny little moment of anxiety, because I can’t remember whether or not we’re meant to be boycotting Mars bars.” — David Nicholls

I first shared my feelings about calls to boycott in 2020. Nothing has changed except for the names of those companies some of you are being called on to #Boycott due to ‘wokeness’ or allying for the LGBTQ+ community. Target, Anheuser-Busch, Pink Floyd, even conservative Chick-fil-a is not immune to the boycott plague. Is Disney being boycotted or is it just a pissing contest with DeSantis? Only the names and the years have changed, the stupidity of some folks is still proud and out front. News flash, those groups you wanted boycotted in 2020 are still in business.

How much sense did it make for Kid Rock to shoot up a case of Bud Light…that he had already paid for? Brains and Kid Rock? Contradictory terms? #BoycottBrains

I’m sick of calls to boycott.  It’s like listening to the greatest music hit of 2023. (As if there is any great music in 2023) The ditty is good the first time, maybe the tenth time, but it gets so much air play, it gets old.   Boycotting calls because an athletic team dares to celebrate inclusiveness during Pride Month?  That gets old.  Really unity? #BoycottUnityBoycott

I must interject the accusations that Pink Floyd had gone ‘woke’ because the poorly educated didn’t realize their cover was an update of their 50th anniversary album “Dark Side of the Moon”. It featured a prism separating white light into its separate colors. Slept through that day in science class. Will we call to boycott the next rainbow after a thunderstorm? #BoycottRainbows

When attempting to find a place to eat or a substance to eat how many of you Google, “What is the local ‘choke and puke’s’ political stance?”  No one right? Do you really?  Remember the Ben and Jerry’s boycott of 2020? Let’s see, boycott a bowl of “Boots on the Moooon” because of Ben and Jerry’s stand on Global Warming or White Supremacy and dared to be interviewed with Jane Fonda.  I see, #BoycottBenandJerrys.

I don’t know if I’ve ever eaten Ben and Jerry’s ice cream, but it has nothing to do with a boycott or a political stance.  I’m sure someone just shook their head in disbelief.  I don’t remember eating it, but I assure you it’s not because they are soooo liberal.  I mean I will eat at Chick-fil-a if I can’t get to Bojangles or Popeyes. Nothing to do with their conservatism or their wokeness…I just like my chicken spicy.

Firstly, Liberals can make ice cream…or spicy chicken.  Secondly, when you are standing so far right, everything in the center looks radical…and vice versa. 

When I’m not making my own ice cream, I’m a Breyers or a Blue Bell guy, OUT OF HABIT…not politics.  Guess what?  I have no idea who makes Breyers or what their political slant is.  Same with Blue Bell.  I…COULD…CARE…LESS! 

If they aren’t serial killers, rapist, or abusers, I…DON”T…CARE! Enablers? Indoctrinators? Bull Sheet! Well, there was Blue Bell’s 2015 listeriosis outbreak and Breyers cutting their milk content to the point some of their offerings were called ‘frozen desserts’ rather than ice cream.  #BoycottListeriosis, #BoycottFrozenDesserts! 

Boycotting is as ridiculous as the chicken sandwich wars from a while back, also 2020.  God’s Chick-fil-a sandwich versus Satan’s Popeye’s sandwich. Chick-Fil- offered a spicier version of their chicken sandwich.  Does that mean they have gone over to the dark side? #BoycottGodlessSpicyChickenSandwich! They must have. They dared to hire a vice president for diversity, equality, and inclusion. #Boycottdiversityequalityinclusion.

My belief is that most of the boycotters want to move us back to the closet days, when gays couldn’t marry, every Saturday night was “Roll a Queer” night, and the police often raided gay venues to break a few heads.

We’ve had some effective boycotts over the history of the United States.  Stamp Act’s “Taxation Without Representation”, The Montgomery Bus Boycott, Gandhi’s Salt March and Boycott, US sanctions against South Africa to end Apartheid and free Nelson Mandela.

Shooting up Bud Light ranks right up there with those.

Most boycotts are pointless and harmful. Have you considered what a successful boycott might entail?  LOST AMERICAN JOBS!  The owners and stockholders of Target you are grinding on for instance. They are already rich.  They probably didn’t start out rich, but they are now.  The owners are rich.  They can outlast you. Just like in 2020.

What about the girl at the cash register, or the janitor at Target?  What about the little girl in the paper hat that scoops your chocolate chip mint into your cone at Ben and Jerry’s?  Or the guy directing traffic at Chick-fil-a? Or the guy with the pooper scooper following the Clydesdales around. They are the ones who will pay for your stupid boycott. #BoycottBoycotts

If my ice cream is made by a right-wing wingnut, I’ll eat it if it is deliciously sweet and creamy.  I won’t eat it but once if it is not.  #BoycottBadIceCream! I don’t shop at Target…it is too far away and Miller in long necked bottles is my beer choice. I could care less about their political stance.

If there was any doubt, if a protest for social justice is so reprehensible you wish to boycott it…you should boycott me.  #BoycottMe

Well, I’m going to prepare brunch for my bride now.  Guess what I’m not going to do?  I’m not going to worry about the political statements made by the chicken that laid the egg, the corn that grits were ground from, or the pig who gave its all for my sausage.  The farmer who supplied them?  We’re good regardless of what sign he puts in his field. 

I’m not going to worry about the stance of the workers who picked the broccoli, mushrooms, and spinach that will make up the filling of my omelet.  I don’t care if the cheddar cheese maker is a liberal or a conservative, a libertarian or a flat earther. 

I may have a bowl of ice cream later while watching the college baseball regionals…it may be Ben and Jerry’s…it may not.  Some of the colleges playing are probably ‘woke’ liberal hotbeds. May the best team win. #BoycotttheFingBoycott!

***

The image is from Aaron Fooks, Protest Pointless Boycotts, The Chimes. https://chimesnewspaper.com/23827/opinions/protest-pointless-boycotts/

Stop by Don Miller’s author’s page at https://www.amazon.com/Don-Miller/e/B018IT38GM?fbclid=IwAR0G7zFoynNmQ5cF2WE-usnYnFgJUY_9NjLXDIRhTJmS5F_ipFre6D0NGOk