More Stingers . . . on the Loose!

So, what's worse than a semi-truck loaded with 14 million bees, complete with hives and honey they protect with their lives and pointy weapons?

How about that same truck overturning and setting those 14 million bees free?

The truck was delivering his load from California to North Dakota, but he and his load didn't make it past Idaho. He swerved onto the shoulder and tipped over, dumping bees, hives and loads of honey. I understand people in the area called authorities to report seeing a strange black -- roaring -- cloud. (Want to know more? Check it out here.)

I'm itching now. Are you itching? My ears, too. There's this ringing . . . buzzing . . . roaring . . ?

Stinger-Wielding Nightmares

So, it's official. I will never sleep again. Ever. Stinger-phobes beware:

The European hornet flies at night.

Yes, in the darkness, where you can't see the little demons and their horrible little stingers. You just hear an ominous buzzing in the darkness, like the Jaws theme, only you're not idiotic enough to swim in the ocean at night. Maybe you just went for a walk on dry land in harmless suburbia. That's fair. You could even be traveling in groups and toting a whole arsenal of weapons to protect you from muggers and serial killers.

Against the hornet, however, you are helpless. A sitting duck. Stinger pincushion. Reduced to gibbering idiot or fleeing, shrieking banshee, arms waving in the air and spittle dripping off your chin.

These are big, meaty bugs, too -- a full inch and a half long -- and they eat other bees for breakfast. (Not kidding.)

But that's just unnatural. They’re supposed to be blind at night and huddle in their little nests until daylight like all the other stinger-bearing demons. But no. Somebody has to be contrary. So how do you avoid them? Hang out under the porch light? Uh, no. Don't do that. They like night lights even better than darkness. In fact, they're drawn to the light. Shudder.

I guess you could just stay inside. But did you know that some hornets nest inside your walls? Seriously. Hundreds of them per nest . . . willing to fly in darkness . . .

Night-night. Sleep tight. Don't let the . . . <shudder>

Chocolate Day

I kid you not. Today -- July 7 -- is officially chocolate day. You'll have to excuse me now. I have some celebrating to do.

The Nose Tells All

So I read that you could take a dog's DNA from, well, the little prize Fido might have left in the wrong  neighbor's yard. Sounds logical to me -- although, heaven help us when technology catches up with neighborly spite.

But here's a new one, at least for me:

Dog nose prints are as unique as human fingerprints. Yes, that schmeary* mess on the window is not just slime, but evidence.

(Not that that's obvious or anything.)

Heh. Hound dog is completely busted now. Granted, he's not the most brilliant beast on the planet. If I'm wondering who went through my office trash can, I just look for a hound dog chewing gum. (He has an unhealthy fixation.)

Seriously, though, breeders and trainers actually keep doggie nose prints on file so they can prove ownership if somebody steals a dog from them.

I suppose it beats inserting a microchip in the poor dog, but I can't help wondering about the logistics of the nose printing process. Do you paint ink on the dog's nose? Ha. Not happening. We do not touch the precious nose. However, it would be easy to get him to ink himself: Just point to an ink pad and tell him no, then look away. Nose inking commences immediately.

And how much of a nose do you need to print? Just the front? Do you have to cup the bewildered dog's head in your hand and roll the nose on the form to get a full, whiskers-to-whiskers print? Or are we talking a realistic schmeary mess all over the form? You know, tape the form to the window and just let the dog do it himself. 

I'd go with the latter, personally. Schmear adds dimension, indicates height and mannerisms -- and even adds a bonus of drool patterns dripping off the form and down the glass. His own personal watermark on the document. 

gNat

*"Smear" indicates a clear, relatively thin wash of liquid; "schmear" implies heft and staying power. Hounds invariably schmear.

Au Naturel Week

National Nude Recreation Week begins on July 4 this year. I kid you not. Check here if you don't believe me.

When I stop giggling over stuff I'm sure I won't be able to repress a few minutes from now, I admit there's a certain kind of logic to it. Celebrate the nation's birthday in your birthday suit. Declare your personal -- really personal -- independence (from your underwear and your dignity) on Independence Day. Wait, I said I was going to repress for a few moments at least, didn't I . . . ?

Eh, bummer.

Seriously, why would you pair nudity and incendiaries?

Repress, repress, repress . . .

(But there was so much pain in the visuals.)

Okay, I can understand the hype about being comfortable in your own skin. Really. I've been in that dressing room trying on jeans or bathing suits and really wishing I didn't care about the number next to the word "size."

However.

I don't believe that baring it all, all day every day, is the way to feel more comfortable in your own skin. I'm thinking it's the way to flay the skin, which does not strike me as comfortable for me or my skin. For example, I believe it was suggested that people go for a bike ride as part of their celebrations -- you know, while complying with the week's dress code. Um. You know, there have been times when I felt violated sitting on that bicycle seat -- and I was fully clothed. And, no, I'm not going any further with that thought or this discussion.

Okay, yes, I am. Here you go.

Ten things not to do during National Nude Recreation Week:

1.       Sit on my couch. Go ahead and call me a prude. I'm okay with that.

2.       Grill hot dogs over open flames. (I am not taking that one. I don't have to. You already got it.) Or marshmallows, really. That stuff is hot and sticky, so it clings as it burns.

3.       Bungee jumping. Add gravity-induced distortion to the bared parts? I think not. Plus that harness . . . ouch.

4.       Use the metal slide on the playground. Remember how hot that thing gets in the summer? And good luck escaping the effects of friction.

5.       Horseback riding. Think saddle sores -- and the horse would be mortified.

6.       Motorcycling across America. Aside from the cycler's own physical discomfort -- there's a reason they usually wear leather and helmets -- think of the harm imposed on the rest of the population. Multitudes will go blind.

7.        Teach a class of preschoolers. If parents failed to annihilate the teacher, the kids' inevitable questions and candid observations would. Nothing humbles quite as effectively as a well-meaning yet blunt child.

8.       Chop firewood, whittle sticks, trim the hedges or prune the rosebushes.

9.       Try to make friends with the neighbor's growling and salivating "pet" beast as it strains against its choke-collar leash.

10.     Bathe the cat.

Kangaroos Don't Fart

Yes, that's what got me blogging again. Gassy kangaroos -- or, rather, the idea that they don't. Can't. Well, they don't fart. Why is that harder to write than to say? I picked up my son from a band geek activity the other day. He has an appealingly juvenile sense of humor, so as soon as he closed the car door, I announced:

"Kangaroos don't fart."

Obligingly, he cracked up laughing and listened intently to my explanation. I was, after all, discussing farting, which is serious business for most males.

So, it goes like this: When kangaroos digest their food, they produce acetate instead of methane (the smelly stuff), and then instead of emitting recklessly, they actually use the acetate as energy. Neat, huh?

"So, gNat, procrastinating again?" you might ask. Uh, yeah. No. Maybe. I have a shiny problem. I like shinies, especially stuff I find in the news or while researching less exciting topics. I'll be pursuing a serious, substantial goal, at which point I find shinies that lead to other shinies and, well, a whole lot of tangentry develops. And then I discover little treasures like this one:

Scientists want to give cows the same bacteria that live in kangaroo bellies in order to reduce emissions of methane, a greenhouse gas. Apparently cow farts are worse for the atmosphere than the atrocities emitted by my son. Go figure.

So, sure, there went another shiny.  Back to the point: Why did I start this blog? Well, I wanted to blog. I've missed blogging, to my utter shock. See, but I really hate serious posts and promotional blogging, so I'm booting that, erm, flatulence. And now I'm blogging about shinies. It was my husband's idea, I think. The kangaroo fascinated him, too.

So, hey. Long live shinies. I'm back, peoples.

gNat

P.S. I know flatulate is not in the dictionary. I was curious, so I looked it up -- ooh, shiny -- and I don't care.