Dragon Man – The Human Family Tree is Getting More Crowded and More Interesting

A recent report describes a very well preserved skull that was discovered in China in the 1930’s during the Japanese occupation and hidden away until the last couple of years and then handed over to paleontologists.  It is believed to be the skull of one of the species of human relatives of modern man.  It is a “hominin” species that is being described as Homo longi, or Dragon Man.

The skull is very reminiscent of the Neanderthal Man skull although it seems even closer to modern man in ways.  It has the prominent eye ridges, larger teeth and large brain cavity that characterizes Neanderthals.  But the face is flatter, the jaw more human-like.

What is in dispute is whether this represents a complete skull of the Denisovan Man.  The Denisovans were another early human species whose remains and DNA have been found in Siberia and Tibet.  The fossil evidence available is currently very limited.  It consists of a few finger bones and a small amount of jaw and teeth.  But interestingly, there is enough DNA material available to show that Denisovans have left some of their DNA in us and in fact cross-bred with both humans and Neanderthals.

The speculation is that the first homo sapiens or its close ancestor reached the north and split into two populations the Neanderthals ended up in Europe and the Near East.  The Denisovans went East and inhabited Asia.  And this is a simplification because there are several other species of hominins that were still extant in Eurasia.  Homo erectus, H. luzonensis, H. heidelbergensis and H. naledi existed in that same period of time (from a million years ago to fairly recently).

Later waves of Homo sapiens would then meet up with this first wave and then coexist, compete, mix with and ultimately displace these near relatives.  What is clear from this story line is that humans have constantly evolved to adapt to their changing environment as they migrated from Africa to Eurasia.  What is less comfortable for people today to discuss is the amount of genetic diversity that exists in the family of man.  In any other animal group, we would describe the existing races of man as species, or at least subspecies, that intergrade into each other at the edges of their geographical ranges.  And of course, the reality of the cosmopolitan nature of modern human civilization means that all these subspecies are rapidly mixing to form new variations.  And what the DNA evidence has shown us is that the migratory tendencies of human groups have repeatedly stirred the pot of human genetic groupings.  When the people that would become the ancestors of the Indo-Europeans began their treks westward and eastward, they spread their language and their genetic material from India to Britain.  Similar migrations have occurred right into nineteenth century with the colonization by the Europeans around the world.  And the present mania over diversity has further mixed things up.

But regardless of the semantic description of human genetics, it is fascinating to see just how dynamic our lineage is.  Apparently, the changes in terrain, climate and food resources have quickly selected for changes in the human form and physiology.  Some people have claimed that human technology has now eliminated the possibility of human physical evolution.  But that is simply not true.  In the last ten thousand years the human brain has evolved based on selection for complex thinking needed in more complex human societies.  This leads to further refinements and selects for individuals that can survive and thrive in the complex and changing environment that is our human world.  What this tells us is that we become what we need to be in order to adapt to our environment.  What this tells me is that we need to choose wisely how we organize our society.  It would be a shame to see our remarkable species end up as an ant colony.

High Summer Triumphalism Collides with Amateur PVC Plumbing

I woke up this morning with a song in my heart.  Midsummer Day, blue skies, ethereal luminous landscapes, birds singing, flowers blooming, all that crap.  And as I dawdled over my coffee and bagel Camera Girl did what all wives do best.  She toppled the towers of my fairy tale castle.  Report from the kitchen was that the repair I did to the drain line of the sink had failed catastrophically.

I was outraged!  Just a week ago I had disassembled this piece of pvc pipe and its associated o-rings, gaskets and nuts, cleaned it up, inspected the parts.  And finding them good, I reassembled it and using a very satisfyingly heavy monkey wrench I socked the brass nut down on the iron sink drain with authority.  This failure irked me.  So, I gathered my righteous wrath and got my tools out of the garage and descended on that drain line like Thor.

But the brass nut was now a brass ring and a threaded cylinder.  The damn thing had split apart.  It was almost as if someone had overtightened it.  Knowing this to be impossible I explained to Camera Girl that defective Chinese brass was the culprit.  I sighed a manful sigh and after shutting the water valves to the sink and collecting the spool piece and its attendant fittings and specialty items I headed off for replacement parts.  I was going to go to my local hardware store but since this pvc stuff only came on the scene thirty years ago I thought maybe I should try the plumbing supply place that I had seen nearby.

And it was lucky I did.  The friendly and competent employee behind the counter eyeballed the wreckage of a fitting and instantly handed me a new one.  But when I tried to install it on the pipe, we discovered a very strange situation.  The guy who owned the house before me was a very do-it-yourself kind of guy and what he had done was capture the nut between the flange end of the pipe and a tight 90° elbow that he glued up behind it afterward.  Because the old nut split apart, I could get it around the elbow.  But the new nut wouldn’t get by the elbow.  I grumbled some very uncomplimentary remarks about my predecessor but the hardware professional was unphased.  He noted that the pvc nut that tightened the other end of the pipe in place would fit over the elbow with only light violence and I could use my new metal nut on the other joint.  I thought about this for a second.  Metal to pvc?  Sure, why not?  The worst it would do was loosen and I’d put some Teflon tape on it.

I thanked him and asked him how much for the nut.  He said free.  I said, “I can’t just get it for nothing.”  He said, “Think of it as a sales pitch and come back again next time.”  I assured him I would and it wasn’t a lie.  That guy knows how to run a business.

I got home and sure enough the pvc/iron connection fit like a glove.  I made a point of not socking it down with my wrench and determined to check it periodically to see how much it loosened.  The other metal to pvc joint was equally clean fitting and wouldn’t give me any trouble.  I cleaned up the sink area and returned it to Camera Girl’s jurisdiction with noticeable gratitude on her part.  Hail the Conquering Hero.

In celebration, we took a walk around the gardens and admired the Black-Eyed Susans and roses that were blooming.  And just at that time the guy came returning my lawn tractor from repair.  I wasn’t expecting it back for at least two more weeks so this was definitely manna from heaven.  Even with my 20” push mower working again having the sit-down mower would save me four hours of sweat on a hot July morning.  So, things were really going my way now.

Knowing that good things always come in threes I checked the news to see if maybe President Trump had been recognized as the actual winner of the 2020 election while I was busy.  No soap.

Well, it could’ve been much worse.  Trying to get a plumber in my neck of the woods is difficult.  Leaving Camera Girl without a reliable and convenient kitchen sink would be suicidal.  So, this was indeed a best-case result.

So Midsummer Day was interrupted but not ruined.  Now where was that summer idyll I was dreaming of at breakfast?

O mio babino caro!

High Summer

 

SONY DSC

Sunday, June 20th was the Summer Solstice this year.  That was the longest day of the year.  And Thursday, June 24th is Midsummer Day which is the traditional center of the growing season.  And that is called the beginning of High Summer.  That is the finest time of the year and unless you are afflicted in either mind or body, you’ll probably be feeling your oats about this time of year.  The Old Farmer’s Almanac says that it is the Feast of St. John the Baptist and that “the dew on Midsummer Day makes young girls beautiful and old people look younger.”  Well, it’s worth a shot.

And anyone familiar with Will Shakespeare’s, “A Midsummer’s Night’s Dream,” knows that faeries and goblins celebrate and cavort in the forests and wild places that night.  Well, we’ll see about that.  But I expect that the fireflies will make their appearance and that will suffice as far as magic for me.  I’m hoping to keep my little two-year old granddaughter up past her bedtime one night soon to see the fireflies for the first time in her young life.  She’s had so many books about them read to her.  It’s time she saw what all the hype is about.  I think she’ll be impressed.

I’ve got a couple of parties coming up, one for family, one for friends, and just thinking about them makes me feel like a kid waiting for his birthday or Christmas.  And it reinforces what I’ve been thinking about all the crazy things going on in this world we live in.  What really counts is the people you care about.  Being with them and sharing the small rituals and celebrating the things that are happening in their lives is infinitely more important than what that meathead in the White House mumbles at us on tv.  Sure, he can make our lives worse and he can help other evil men attack us but that’s no different than a lot of the other dangers that lurk in this world.

So, the world keeps circling the sun and wobbling on its axis.  We keep being born and growing up and bringing new people into this world.  All this other nonsense about white privilege and transphobia and gay marriage is all mental illness that we have to hold at arms’ length so that we don’t miss the fleeting joys that this life holds.  Be honest with your kids and grandkids.  Don’t be afraid to tell them what you believe and why.  Otherwise, they’ll assume you believe in what the teacher at school tells them is true.  Tell them what the important things in life are; family, marriage, children, work and fun.  Whether we ever reclaim our liberty in this “land of the free” is uncertain.  But stopping your life waiting for it is foolish.  Sure, pay attention to the politics and how it affects you but ruining your life fretting about defeats in Washington is madness.  You can make a much bigger impact on the world by acting on your local reality.

So, this Fourth of July I am declaring my independence from Washington.  They are a foreign power and I renounce all loyalty to them and deny their legitimacy.  I know what the Constitution says.  Those are my rights.  Anyone who denies that I have those rights isn’t an American and has no business governing a free people.  I will work to make my life meaningful and help the people that I care about.  If I find people who agree with me then we can find common cause and maybe my horizons broaden.  That’s how politics is supposed to work.

But if it comes right down to it even our side doesn’t have a claim on us unless they prove that they’re more than just talk.  Republicans have been lying to me my whole life and other than a couple of exceptions they haven’t saved a damn thing worth saving.  If they want my support then they need to support me.

So that’s my thesis.  I’m going to put summer to its highest and best purpose.  I’m going to enjoy the intensity of summer at its peak and celebrate my life with the people that matter to me.  I hope you enjoy your summer too.

Happy Father’s Day Weekend

Since we have generations of fathers in the family I was glad to get today as a visit from my kids (and some of my grandkids) and leave Sunday for my sons-in-law to get their day.  There was talk of rain but it’s a classic summer day out there with temperatures already climbing into the heat zone.

I did my yard work yesterday so I don’t have anything to do but walk around take some pictures and play with the grandkids.  Pretty good.  All you dads and granddads have a great day and have an extra burger or dog just for the hell of it.  And if the wife is not to strict maybe some pie and/or ice cream is called for too.  Add in some decent coffee and that sounds like a good enough day for anyone who isn’t a world conquering swashbuckler.

Anyway ignore the noise coming from the left and have a great day.

Hat Tip to Vox Day for this Link to the Boy Scouts Alternative

Trail Life USA  is a Christian alternative to the Boy Scouts of America.  This article that Vox linked to sounds like a hopeful start to an organization that wants to avoid all the mistakes that the Boy Scouts have fallen into.

But just as with the Boy Scouts parents would be taking an enormous risk if they put their children in the hands of people that they don’t know are 100% reliable.  Pedophiles lurk in the shadows of any organization that has access to children.  Mothers and fathers, guard your children and take the time to get involved with all of their activities.  In fact, the correct way to look at one of these organizations is a way to leverage their organization to enrich the outdoor experience you share with your own family.  You have to get involved.  At the very least you must have someone involved who you would trust with your children’s lives.

Preying Mantis (photo study)

So this summer is an experiment to see if I can stock the fields and garden with praying mantises.  I’ll have to say, I haven’t seen any of the released mantids but I wanted to say a few words about my history with this insect.

My paternal grandfather was a doctor and he had a fellow physician who liked to give books as gifts to his friend’s children.  And one of these gifts was a very handsome edition of Fabre’s Book of Insects to my father when he was a boy.  Well, in my turn I inherited this book and I was fascinated by the author’s scientific investigation of the common insects to be found around the fields of Provence, France and charmed by the very attractive illustrations that adorned its pages.  In fact I still enjoy looking through the book and seeing these pictures eighty six years after it was published.  And I’ve provided copies of the book to my own grandsons to try to capture that same sense of wonder at combining nature and art in a form that a young boy can enjoy.

So I’m juxtaposing the original inspiration of my interest in the mantids with my own modest attempts to document their fascinating existence.

 

Fabre’s Book of Insects
You Lookin’ At Me?
Me and My Shadow

The Country Leading the World Into a Nuclear Power Future – Finland?

Apparently the Finns have taken a decisive step toward making nuclear power the basis for their electric energy generating capability right through the next century.  The Finns have done the work to not only move into the next generation of nuclear power plant design but they are currently building the first modern large scale long term (permanent) repository for spent fuel rods.

If only Americans were as realistic and logical, especially all those global warming kooks who want to get away from fossil fuels but are too stupid to realize we already have the technology that will replace fossil fuels in the future.

 

 

The Sorrows and Further Sorrows of Small Engine Repair

So, I have this relatively new lawn tractor that I drove over a big damn rock and knocked off half of the blade.  Since it was vibrating awfully, I sent it to the professionals to fix and they said they’d be keeping it for the better part of the month.  So, I figured I’d fall back on Plan B, my old 20” Murray push mower.

I used it for about a half hour and it sounded like it was running out of gas so I headed back to the shed for more gas.  But when I looked in the tank there was still plenty of gas.  So, I topped it off and pulled the cord.  Nothing.

So, I’m stumped.  This was the first use of the year and I’m trying to guess if maybe the gas had some water in it.  But I’m thinking, “It ran for a half hour.”

But a simple mind likes a simple story so I go twenty minutes each way to the gas station and buy some dry gas.  I put it in the tank and try to start it.  Nothing.

Okay, not the gas.  But maybe the old gas over the winter has clogged the carburetor.  So, I started taking it apart and then I realize I don’t know what I’m doing.  Plus, maybe it’s better to just buy a replacement.  So, I do what any red-blooded American man would do.  I check for a YouTube video on my carburetor.  And what do you know there are several.  So, I watch them and become an expert.  I take the thing apart and clean out the jet and disassemble the hinge on the float and clean the plug.  I reassemble the carburetor and reattach the fuel line and the linkage and close it up and it actually coughed into life and then stalled out again.  But it wouldn’t start after that.

So, I took off the top and checked the action on the rotor.  It moved smoothly.  Next on the agenda was the spark plug.  But I didn’t have a spark plug wrench so I headed to friendly neighborhood hardware store and an hour later I was pulling the plug and sure enough it was covered with carbon and corroded.  So off to AutoZone and an hour later I have a new plug and install it.  Nothing.

Now I’m starting to get annoyed.  This has been a very aggravating process for which I have made exactly zero progress.  Plan C buy a new push mower.  But I notice that these formerly cheap machines now go for two hundred and fifty bucks and that seems ridiculous since I have one in front of me.  Plan D is buying a reel mower and remove the yearly ritual of winterizing the mower and worrying about the vicissitudes of small engine repair.  But overnight I decide that maybe I didn’t do everything I could have done with the carburetor.

So, the next day I take the stupid thing apart again and clean it till it looks brand new.  And then after I reassembled, I tried it again.  Nothing.

So I did a little experiment.  I checked to see if the spark plug was wet with gas after trying to start.  It was dry.  Now I was stumped.  With the carburetor clean it should at least get gasoline to the spark plug.  Now I was sure I must have put the carburetor together wrong.  I was ready to give up.  Plan D sounded about right.  A hundred bucks would get me a reel mower that would last for twenty years and give some exercise too.  But just for luck I decided to try starting it one more time.

So, I primed it three times, put my hand on the stop bar and pulled the cord.  Nothing.

But then by accident I looked down the stop cable and notice that the cable looked screwy.  It had a couple of strands of the cable sticking out and the plastic cable cover was bent at the linkage at a funny angle.  So, I played with the bar and realized that plastic cover was cracked and caught against the frame and the wire strands were also interfering with the mechanism.

I fiddled with it to free the cover from the end connection and bent the loose wires out of the way.  Then I primed the gas, held down the bar and pulled the starter cord.  And it started up with a roar.  I got my wire cutters and cut those strands away and got my black electrical tape and made a temporary repair to the cable cover and started it up a half dozen times and the repair held and worked.

There was great joy among the peasants and a holiday was declared.  Meanwhile I ordered the cable from my local dealer and it should arrive in about a week and a half.

Now you may be asking what the moral of this story is.  Well, the only one I can think of is that if you really need something fixed stick to a professional mechanic.  But I will say that when I finally did get the damned thing fixed, I felt like Wiley Coyote, Super Genius.  And I’m already thinking about what my next project should be.  I’ve put in an order with ACME and between giant magnets, rockets, giant magnifying glasses and roller skates I think I’ll be able to achieve cold fusion by the Fourth of July.  Hail the conquering hero.

Naturalist’s Notes and Observations – 08JUN2021 – Monarch Butterflies

Today I had a good chance to see what monarch butterfly egg laying looks like.  Apparently it’s pretty inconspicuous.  I saw the first monarch flying around the yard today and since we’ve had a bumper crop of milkweed it made a bee-line for the plants.  What I observed was the butterfly scraping the back of its abdomen over the leaf.  After just a few seconds it moved on to another plant and then another.  Apparently it’s a very casual activity and there’s no long drawn out procedure.  And I expected see many eggs but what I observed was just one or two on the leaves I observed.  I’ll make further observations and I hope to see more of this activity to determine if what I observed is representative of this activity in the life cycle of the monarch butterfly.

 

As an aside today I observed a fairly large swallowtail caterpillar feeding in the garden on Queen Anne’s Lace.  And the fact that we already have moved to the caterpillar stage with swallowtails matches up to the much earlier sighting of the swallowtail butterflies in the yard almost a month ago.

Minolta 200mm f\4 Macro lens on Sony A7 III

Joys of the Patriarchy – Rituals of the Summer Season – The Basement

As the days reach their maximum length and when the mercury passes 90°F in what my old engineering boss would jokingly refer to as “white man’s units,” the dominant male, of the Italic strain at least, would shift his base of operations to the basement level.  Here he would gain a two-fold advantage.  The obvious one is a 15°F – 30°F reduction in ambient temperature as compared to the upper floors but equally as important is the freedom from female annoyance.  The lower level is the male domain.  It contains a pool table, a floor that needn’t be kept swept clean of minute amounts of honest dirt and vast storage space crammed full of valuable possessions that do not pass muster from Camera Girl for inclusion in the various bric-a-brac that she favors for décor.  Hundreds of old books, trophies of past campaigns, tools, and hobby, exercise and sports equipment of all sorts.  A veritable treasure house.

I learned this paradigm from Camera Girl’s father, the Old Fisherman of the Sea himself.  He would inhabit the basement in the summer almost exclusively and it was there that he was happiest.  He had his wine making operation, which encouraged at various times of the year quite a healthy throng of fruit flies, his fishing lure manufacturing space, his tool workshop, his own bath and shower and his favorite old padded chair.  He even had his own freezer and refrigerator to store the endless blue fish and striped bass that were the usual prizes from his frequent fishing trips.  Here he would retreat from the cares of work and family and reign unchallenged by female frippery and the demands for ever higher standards of particle free existence.  And in this environment, he lived to be ninety-five.  And if he hadn’t taken it upon himself to increase his gout medicine dosage to unheard of levels to compensate for his love of wine and beef, he probably would be alive today and well over a hundred years old.  God rest his soul.

Well, anyway in my version of the basement kingdom the lower level has direct access to the swimming pool and since the floor there is tiled there is no need to dry off after swimming.  Drip dry in flip-flops is acceptable.  If someone is exceedingly fastidious there is a bathroom and shower available here along with towels and changing area.  Also, the spare refrigerator from which hidden food items can be stored and retrieved without any note.  And the overstuffed recliner is available for periods of quiet reflection and deep thoughts.  And finally, the lower porch is equipped with a propane grill to handle any meat related cooking that may become necessary.  After all Camera Girl’s kitchen can be monstrously hot at this time of year.  It’s only decent that I pitch in and save her the discomfort of summer cooking as much as I am able.

There used to be a television on the wall but we removed it almost ten years ago.  There is so little worth watching that it never got used.  The only thing it lacks is a full kitchen sink and stove.  I say this with shame.  Because every good Italian American basement had a kitchen built in.  It was a point of pride and a practical feature.  This allowed the holidays with the extended family to be cooked and served in the basement which is always the largest room in the house.  Well, someday I’ll make the time and put the money aside to build this in.  For now, it is my secret shame.

Now the point of this essay is not to regale you with the lies about my basement.  The point is that in the hot weather (and to a lesser extent during all the other seasons of the year) a man can find peace and enjoyment hidden away from his loved ones in the dark and gritty comforts of the basement.  Here he can retreat from his wife and the demands of our hectic world.  Leave your phone and your computer off.  Get your hands dirty and drink a beer or whatever you like to drink and forget your troubles for an hour or even longer if they won’t come digging you out.  It is an amazing thing how they’ll leave you alone down there.  Possibly the castle that a man is king of is really only the dungeon.  But I’ll settle.