Attention Biohackers

I’ve been reading a lot lately about biohacking and do-it-yourself biology. For someone like me, who thinks that the question of the zombie apocalypse is not if, but when, this should probably be horrifying, but it isn’t.

I’ve been working on redesigning the human body for YEARS now.  Are you paying attention, biohackers? I don’t personally want to inject myself with flourescent protein genes or a herpes treatment, but I have some project goals you should aim for.

Okay, first off, toes. Toes are stupid. They keep getting broken or ingrown toenails or broken ingrown toenails, and you can’t really fix them, you just have to tape them to the next toe. (As if THAT toe is really any better.) Feet are awesome, they carry you everywhere, but the toe aspect has got to go. I understand that they’re there for balance, but I think the whole business could be avoided by fusing them into one big flap. Then if you whack them on the coffee table, the worst you do is bruise your flap.


The second major flaw is eyes. Comparatively speaking, our eyes suck. We have no peripheral vision. Our head has to be on a swivel to watch out for predators (or to spy on what your co-worker is actually looking at on his screen) and frankly that’s literally a pain in the neck. And if you poke one, your sight is terrible, never mind peripheral. You don’t even have depth perception at that point. We need more eyes.

Or! Segmented eyes, like bugs. One giant, segmented eye. That sees 16 million colors, like a mantis shrimp.

(That part may be a stretch goal.)

I have all kinds of other minor improvements but the big one - the best one - is some kind of readout panel.

Primarily on kids. I mean, maybe test it on adults or rhesus monkeys just so you don’t piss off any human rights groups. But once it’s perfected, kids are the ones who need that panel. Parents are the ones who need to read it.

Are they hungry? Thirsty? Crabby? Tired? Is it too loud? Too quiet? Too wet? Are they actually screaming because I gave them a fruit pop when they specifically asked for one? How is their B12? Do they need Omega-3s?

And then when they’re older: Are they lying? Sad? Crushing on someone? Overdosing on screen time? Experiencing a massive surge of hormones for no good reason?

Actually, now that I think about it, there are definite uses for adults too, except they’d be better at hiding their panels. Fashion would be designed around hiding your panel. Flirty ruffles would tease at the edges of the readout.

Okay, never mind adults. Just kids.

Can we get on this?

Hmm, mojitonog, has possibilities: Random Tuesday Thoughts



I’m back!  Back!  Also, on holidays.  Brain…turning to sweet, sweet mush.

I put up a blog post yesterday about my inlaws and then felt guilty and took it down (it’s probably in your reader though).  Christmas wasn’t THAT bad.  The following conversation, however, absolutely canNOT go unrecorded:

FIL (inspecting a bottle of Purple Cowboy wine that had been given to me): I’ve never heard of this wine.

Me: That’s what Brother-In-Law got me for Christmas! Cool, huh? 

FIL: Well, I guess that’s what you buy for alcoholics.

Me: …..

      …...I need a drink.

(I’m opting to believe that he was trying to be funny.)

I went for a bra fitting today, having never had one and having been hiking my bras up off my belly button for quite some time now.  I am…not even REMOTELY close to the size I thought I was (cup sizes go up to what now?!!), and I spent over a hundred dollars on one bra

But my rack looks great.

(First person to ask for pics gets a slap upside the head with a tuna.)

Frank Lloyd Wright’s Fallingwater…in gingerbread.

I’m drinking nog out of my mojito mixing glass.  My seasonal beverages of choice are at odds.

One of my Xmas gifts:


It’s a cookie jar.  The best cookie jar EVER.  Since it can also be used as a distraction during the Zombie Apocalypse.

In addition to the wine and the receptacle for baked goods, I also got a Tassimo (which rocks).  Yes, all of my gifts had something to do with food and beverages.  I’m either really hard to buy for, or I look like I’m wasting away.

We’ll go with that.

What’d YOU get?  C’mon, spill it!

(But…clean it up afterwards.)

I've morphed back into a sulky teenage girl, except without the perky boobs.

What my boss says:
"Keely? Did you send that email to Jim? Did you make the revisions to the drawings for the hotel? Did you remember that they said blue, not beige? Can you forward me that email that I forwarded to you yesterday? I can't find it. Did you order that tempered glass for the hospital display? Are you sure that's the right size? Really, really sure? I don't remember you telling me you were gone next week, are you sure you told me?"

What I think:
I wonder if I should take my DSLR to BlogHer, or just my point & shoot? I wonder if that dress is still on sale? I hope hubby remembered to take out the recycling. I wonder of the Home Depot people will know if 3/4" plywood over the windows will be good enough to hold off zombies, or if I should spring for the 1"?

What I say:

What my boss says, 20 minutes later:
"Keely? Did I ask you to send that email to Jim? Did you make the revisions to the drawings for the hotel? They said blue, right, not beige? Did you forward me that email that I forwarded to you yesterday yet? I can't find it. Did you say you ordered that tempered glass for the hospital display? I'm sure that's the wrong size. When are you gone again, the 4th?"

What I think:
Should I go to the Mouthy Housewives Happy Hour, or will I be afraid to leave the hotel? I have to remember my damn phone charger. I wonder if FoN wants to go for sushi today? Where did I put that flask of scotch?

What I say:

What my boss says, another 20 minutes later:
"Keely? Did you send that email to Jim yet? Did you see this list of revisions to the drawings for the hotel? They say blue, not beige. I still can't find that email, did you forward it to me? Do you have the work order for that tempered glass for the hospital display? Are you sure that's the right size? Really, really sure? Wait, you're gone next week?"

What I think:
I should probably make a list so I don't forget my passport, or anything. I wonder what my kid is doing right now? Seriously, can NOT forget my passport. Heh, that post by Mrsbear is hilarious. I wonder if anybody would notice if I stabbed this stylus into my forearm?

What I say:
"I said yes! God!"

What I think, 10 minutes later:
Wait, was I supposed to email Jim or John?

July is traditionally the strangest month of the year: Random Tuesday Thoughts


How are you guys coping with the apple-pie-and-explosives aftermath of July 4th? Okay? Ready for another big celebration? This one is really special, because it's TUESDAY.

And we all know what Tuesday means, right? It means RANDOM. I won't rest until those two are side by side in the dictionary, I tells ya.

(Don't tell Michele, but I've been ripping pages out of dictionaries at the library just to make that happen.)

From the "things that make you go WTF" file:
For Canada Day last week I took the kidlet out to my parent's Ranch for dinner. After eating and considerable whining about having to leave (what? It's nice out there and they feed me), I got him buckled back into the car and was chatting with my mother behind my SUV when I noticed that there appeared to be some kind of crumpled furry thing resting on my rear windshield wiper.

"What is THAT?" I exclaimed. My mother shrugged. I inspected it closer. It looked like half of a long-dead squirrel, held in place by the wiper blade over it's tiny paw.

"What the - WHY IS THERE A DEAD SQUIRREL ON MY CAR??" I demanded.

"Well it didn't come from here," my mom protested, while my dad picked it off and flung it in the bushes. I thought Mom was probably free from suspicion, but she certainly found it funny.

Seriously, though, wtf? How does half the corpse of a largish rodent end up under my wiper blade? Did it get trapped there and spend weeks starving slowly while flailing away on the back of my vehicle? (And then...split into two pieces?) I think I would have noticed, right?

I finally decided that it had to be the work of my crazy octogenarian neighbour Max. Because that is totally the sort of nutjob thing he'd do if he found a dessicated rodent during his daily rounds of MY property. Why do something like, oh I don't know, THROW IT OUT when you could leave it on my car as a passive-aggressive notification that maybe I need to clean up the joint?

Lately hubby has been kind of obsessed with pomegranate juice and it's value as an antioxidant. I don't worry about my antioxidant level much; that's what I have red wine and dark chocolate for. However, the other day he found the POM brand teas on sale at Wal Mart, so he stocked up. He generously offered to split his stash, giving me two of the bottles.

I don't have much use for pomegranate juice as an antioxidant, as I said. But it goes very well with vodka.

Speaking of hubby, many of you pointed out how lucky I am to have him on my post about the cleaners. Believe me, I know. He's generous, funny and almost everything I want my son to grow up to be (I can always hope my son doesn't work awful hours in the restaurant industry). If it weren't for the job thing and the menopause thing (which of course is connected to the lack-of-second-baby thing), I'd be one of those obnoxious and boring people with an idyllic life who doesn't have anything to complain blog about and so resorts to reposting LOLcats and canned product reviews.

I think I have a product review coming up.

Today I went for coffee with someone I haven't seen since high school (and haven't really been close with since grade school). It was only slightly less awkward than it sounds.

She has a PhD in Biology, so I think she wins. We'll meet up again in another 18 years and have a rematch.

If you Americans didn't all have one of these on Sunday, I'll be terribly disappointed.

I'm starting another cleanse tomorrow. Because apparently I like starving. And inflicting my ravenous, under-caffeinated self on those around me.

(Actually, that part I do like. Sometimes you have to stay in touch with your inner bitch.)

Bring out your random, bitchy or otherwise!