O Canada

It is in times such as these when events around the globe remind us of the fragility of human life, the folly of parochialism, the need for reason and patience and empathy, that we depend more than ever on the dedication of journalists who heedless of danger to themselves strive to provide clear-eyed reportage to give us context and perspective as we witness that from which, if we aspire to be decent humane creatures, we must not look away. So let’s take a moment to recognize the heroic efforts of the CBC, fearlessly questioning the indigenous ancestry of Buffy Sainte-Marie.

Science for the millions

Dear reader, I’m sure your eye was drawn just as mine was to the headline: “A hormone shot helped drunk mice sober up quickly.” The respected publication Cell Metabolism reported this past March that “mice that received a shot of FGF21 — a hormone made by the liver — woke up from a drunken stupor roughly twice as fast as those that didn’t.” This discovery will be a boon to any of us who have ever anticipated a social occasion, perhaps a visit from a member of the clergy, only to note with alarm that the mouse was drunk again.

Clotworthy Skeffington

Here’s everything I know about Clotworthy Skeffington: Clotworthy Skeffington was born in 1661 as well as around 1681. Clotworthy Skeffington was born in 1715. In 1742, Clotworthy Skeffington was born. These are facts; you won’t learn them at school. This is the sort of hard-hitting no holds barred Clotworthy Skeffington content you don’t get anywhere else. “What the heck,” you may be saying, “is he just inserting as many Clotworthy Skeffingtons in here as possible because it amuses him?” Yes. And it’s making me laugh so hard that I’m making little squeaking noises and tears are running down my face.

Not every idea makes the cut

Sometimes the universe displays a marvelous synchronicity and other times it does not. Like, yesterday there was big cockroach in the kitchen (Which I failed to kill and now it’s lurking somewhere in there) and my thoughts naturally turned to E. G. Marshall, who was fatally attacked by roaches in that one movie. So I did my due diligence and found that his actual name was Everett Eugene Grunz, which made me think of Judy Garland who was Frances Ethel Gumm, and of course there was Samuel Gompers who read aloud to his fellow cigar makers... so that went nowhere.