Next in our series of "Public Officials Who Seemingly Don't Mind Acting Like Loons," the news comes in that General Than Shwe of Myanmar has been appearing at official functions dressed in women's clothes.
Shwe, who is the leader of the military junta that runs Myanmar, formerly known as Burma, was shown on a nationally-televised film of a ceremony, dressed in a sarong. So were a few of his other generals. This last bit doesn't surprise me. Than Shwe is not someone to trifle with. He is only slightly less of a homicidal maniac than the Roman emperor Caligula, who had his horse elected to the Senate and who once burst out laughing at a dinner, stating that it had just occurred to him that he could have all of the dinner guests killed and no one could do anything about it. Than Shwe is one of those people who, if they tell you that it's now the fashion to walk around wearing nothing but glow-in-the-dark body paint, you should respond by asking him, "Which color paint do you think would be most flattering to my eyes, sir?"
But as for Shwe himself, it's a little peculiar. Note that I have nothing intrinsically against dressing like a woman, if that's what floats your boat. Me, I'm perfectly happy with a shirt and trousers, but if you're a male and prefer a skirt and blouse, knock yourself out. Shwe, on the other hand, is known to place a high value on masculinity and virility. The fact that he has appeared in public in female clothing is certainly pretty weird.
The story, however, gets weirder.
In Myanmar, many people, including the leaders and the well-educated, are highly superstitious. There is a widespread belief in yadaya, which is their version of astrology and fortunetelling. A former leader, General Ne Win, once shot his own reflection in a mirror because he thought it would foil an assassination attempt. (As he died in 2002 of natural causes in the age of 91, I think we have a complete vindication of the validity of yadaya, don't you?) There is now a rumor going around that Than Shwe hasn't suddenly gotten in touch with his feminine side -- many think he's practicing yadaya.
Evidently, several years ago an astrologer predicted that one day, a woman would rule Myanmar. Most think the astrologer was referring to Aung San Suu Kyi, who was only recently released after 21 years of being under house arrest. Suu Kyi, who is an outspoken advocate of democracy and whose activities won her the Nobel Peace Prize, is Than Shwe's worst nightmare. His hatred of her is universally known, and the international pressure to release her cast his regime in the worst possible light. So the last thing Than Shwe and his cronies want is everyone going around believing that an astrological prediction is going to ultimately bring down his government, and put Suu Kyi in his place.
A lot of Burmese think that Than Shwe's donning of fabulous fashion isn't because he's a closet transvestite -- it's because he thinks that by dressing like a woman, he'll foil the prophecy and stay in power. So he's not simply a loon; his actions have their own strange, byzantine logic.
It's always a little risky to make fun of strange beliefs in other countries. Americans so often come across as boors, going elsewhere in the world and demanding to have properly cooked hamburgers and beer that's served cold and cars that drive on the right side of the road. (And that's just when we've gone to England.) So it's all too easy to come across sounding like the American way of doing things, and American beliefs and customs, are the only right way.
But here, I hope I can state "Than Shwe is a superstitious nutjob" and not fear contradiction, nor accusations of racism or Americo-centrism. And as Aung San Suu Kyi is one of my heroes, I can't help but hope that some day very soon, he will find out that it takes more than wearing women's clothes to stop rationality and virtue from winning in the end.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
O Canada!
When you think of countries where public figures give evidence of belief in wacky ideas, Canada is not the first place that comes to mind. No one was particularly surprised when Nicolas Sarkozy flipped his beret when someone made a voodoo doll in his likeness; and given the level of woo-woo in the United States, Nancy Reagan's regular consultations with psychics and astrologers hardly raised an eyebrow. Even when the wife of the Japanese prime minister claimed to have taken trips in a spaceship to Venus ("It was a green and pleasant place," she said), it elicited more amusement than incredulity.
But Canada? The home of hockey, lumberjacks, over a million moose, and not very much else? The country that brags about having 50% of the world's supply of tar? The country whose capital city, Ottawa, has listed as one of its major historical events the "Great 1929 Ottawa Sewer Explosion?"
Yes, Canada. The Honorable Paul Hellyer, former deputy prime minister and the longest-serving member on the Queen's Privy Council, has come out with a serious accusation: that aliens regularly visit the earth, and that an American "shadow government" is (1) covering it up, and (2) is in cahoots with the aliens, offering to allow the aliens to take over parts of the world in exchange for extraterrestrial technology.
I'm fairly agog at this claim, for a variety of reasons, only one of which is surprise that it comes from a Canadian official. My first question for him would be, "Have you been doing sit-ups underneath parked cars, or what?" My second, of course, would be to ask for his evidence.
Hellyer's reason for his beliefs is that apparently he and his wife saw a UFO. He was spending Thanksgiving with some friends north of Toronto, when one evening they spotted a strange object.
"The two of us stood there transfixed for twenty minutes, looking up at this thing moving first in one direction, and then another," he stated. "By process of elimination, we determined it wasn't a star or satellite and it wasn't the space station, so there was really no explanation for it other than it was, in fact, a UFO."
All right so far; the "U" in "UFO" stands for "unidentified," after all. But then he grabs his observation, and runs off the edge of a cliff with it:
"It looked like a star, but it maneuvered in a way that stars don't. I must admit that when I saw this one, I wondered whether it was extraterrestrial or American. And I guess the thought that occurred to me was that if it is American, then they have learned some pretty big secrets about acceleration, because it accelerated at a pace that nothing I've ever known about that was built here is capable of."
I particularly liked two things about this statement: (1) The phrase, "... it maneuvered in a way that stars don't." In my experience, stars don't maneuver at all. This is a little like saying, "Usain Bolt runs in a way that supermarkets don't." (2) That if what he was seeing wasn't a star, satellite, or the space station, there were only two choices left; an alien spaceship or something American. I suppose we should be flattered, down here in the States, that he ranks our abilities up there with the Vulcans and Klingons, but honestly, I think we have to admit some other possibilities are more likely.
He goes on to ask that world leaders fully disclose their knowledge about aliens. That world leaders already have such knowledge is taken for granted. "That is my belief. I do not have proof of that, but I believe that they have developed energy sources, and publicly I'm saying that if they do not exist in commercial form, that extraterrestrials would certainly give us that information if we would ask them for it and stop shooting at them."
So there we have it. He sees a light in the sky after one too many bottles of Moosehead on Thanksgiving, and decides that this means that highly advanced aliens have reached earth, contacted the American government, and begun to trade technology for secret plans for collaboration during a global takeover.
"Basically, I'm a full-disclosure person," Hellyer states. "People keep talking about transparency and still not telling the truth, and this applies in various other areas as well as UFOs, and it's just about time that we started getting open with each other and trying to get along and live together."
Which, I have to admit, are words to live by. Even without the UFOs.
But Canada? The home of hockey, lumberjacks, over a million moose, and not very much else? The country that brags about having 50% of the world's supply of tar? The country whose capital city, Ottawa, has listed as one of its major historical events the "Great 1929 Ottawa Sewer Explosion?"
Yes, Canada. The Honorable Paul Hellyer, former deputy prime minister and the longest-serving member on the Queen's Privy Council, has come out with a serious accusation: that aliens regularly visit the earth, and that an American "shadow government" is (1) covering it up, and (2) is in cahoots with the aliens, offering to allow the aliens to take over parts of the world in exchange for extraterrestrial technology.
I'm fairly agog at this claim, for a variety of reasons, only one of which is surprise that it comes from a Canadian official. My first question for him would be, "Have you been doing sit-ups underneath parked cars, or what?" My second, of course, would be to ask for his evidence.
Hellyer's reason for his beliefs is that apparently he and his wife saw a UFO. He was spending Thanksgiving with some friends north of Toronto, when one evening they spotted a strange object.
"The two of us stood there transfixed for twenty minutes, looking up at this thing moving first in one direction, and then another," he stated. "By process of elimination, we determined it wasn't a star or satellite and it wasn't the space station, so there was really no explanation for it other than it was, in fact, a UFO."
All right so far; the "U" in "UFO" stands for "unidentified," after all. But then he grabs his observation, and runs off the edge of a cliff with it:
"It looked like a star, but it maneuvered in a way that stars don't. I must admit that when I saw this one, I wondered whether it was extraterrestrial or American. And I guess the thought that occurred to me was that if it is American, then they have learned some pretty big secrets about acceleration, because it accelerated at a pace that nothing I've ever known about that was built here is capable of."
I particularly liked two things about this statement: (1) The phrase, "... it maneuvered in a way that stars don't." In my experience, stars don't maneuver at all. This is a little like saying, "Usain Bolt runs in a way that supermarkets don't." (2) That if what he was seeing wasn't a star, satellite, or the space station, there were only two choices left; an alien spaceship or something American. I suppose we should be flattered, down here in the States, that he ranks our abilities up there with the Vulcans and Klingons, but honestly, I think we have to admit some other possibilities are more likely.
He goes on to ask that world leaders fully disclose their knowledge about aliens. That world leaders already have such knowledge is taken for granted. "That is my belief. I do not have proof of that, but I believe that they have developed energy sources, and publicly I'm saying that if they do not exist in commercial form, that extraterrestrials would certainly give us that information if we would ask them for it and stop shooting at them."
So there we have it. He sees a light in the sky after one too many bottles of Moosehead on Thanksgiving, and decides that this means that highly advanced aliens have reached earth, contacted the American government, and begun to trade technology for secret plans for collaboration during a global takeover.
"Basically, I'm a full-disclosure person," Hellyer states. "People keep talking about transparency and still not telling the truth, and this applies in various other areas as well as UFOs, and it's just about time that we started getting open with each other and trying to get along and live together."
Which, I have to admit, are words to live by. Even without the UFOs.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Traveler's guilt
Last night, Carol and I were discussing our vacation over dinner, and the subject of poverty came up.
Trinidad & Tobago is not a wealthy country. The median yearly salary for men is $12,000; for women in comparable jobs, it is only $5,500, an amount and an inequity that still astounds me. We saw many signs of poverty there -- from the tin-sided shacks lined up one against the other on the waterfront at Port of Spain to the clapboard boxes people were living in along the south coast of Tobago.
And here we were, obviously wealthy tourists, coming into the islands to enjoy briefly their beauty, like hummingbirds flying in to a feeder to sip the nectar, then zipping off.
I'm of two minds about this. Probably more than two minds. On the one hand, I can make the claim that the influx of money from people like us benefits the islands. We bought things from street vendors, spent money in shops, even paid travel taxes into the governmental coffers. We asked our driver, Dale, if he thought that the locals resented tourists, and especially, expats who moved there primarily from the US, Canada, and Germany.
"Of course not," Dale said. "They bring business to the islands. Why would we resent them?"
Yes, but.
They drive prices up, so native Trinidadians can't afford to buy property. They flaunt their affluence, without even meaning to, sometimes. The cruise ships docking in Scarborough and Port of Spain represent an expenditure of money on a single vacation that most Trinidadians won't see in a lifetime. They use up far more than their share of resources while they're there.
Who can blame the locals for any resentment they feel?
While we were in the islands, we were approached twice by beggars. We'd been warned against giving money -- that many of the beggars were alcoholics or drug addicts, and that giving money to them only encourages them to become more aggressive toward other visitors. The first time, a man came up to us while we were driving through the little town of Plymouth, and claimed to have no money for food.
"Only twenty dollars," he said. "That's all I need."
Twenty Trinidad dollars -- a little over three dollars US.
I told him we didn't have any money to give him. A lie. I knew it was a lie, and so did he. He persisted, and we drove off, with him still clinging to the car until he couldn't keep up.
Why didn't I give him anything? I could have given him ten times that amount and it would have done me no lasting financial harm whatsoever. All of the rationalizing that "he might use it to buy drugs," or "it will only encourage him to beg more," or whatever, sounds pretty hollow.
Should I feel guilty simply for being affluent? By American standards, I'd say we're solidly upper middle class; a teacher and a nurse, we own our own home and have two cars (both paid for). Our gains are hardly ill-gotten; both Carol and I inherited some money from our parents, and this has certainly helped us, but we work hard for our salaries.
But the fact remains that we are more wealthy than 90% of the people on earth.
We talked last night, over our t-bone steaks and fine red wine, about poverty. Carol pondered the establishment of a "guilt fund" -- you could pay into a charity when you travel to a poor country, to buy off some of your guilt feelings for being lucky. It's kind of a funny idea -- it reminded me of the medieval Catholic practice of buying indulgences, of paying the church penance money ahead of time so you could sin without fearing retribution from god. Still, it's a nice idea. Perhaps picking a charity that directly benefits the country we visit might help us to be more aware of our being so fortunate, and not taking for granted how easy our lives are when compared to most of the world's inhabitants.
If this idea appeals to you, or if maybe you were just looking for good charities to support, here are two to check out: Nobel Peace Prize winner Wangari Maathai's Green Belt Movement, which supports environmentally-sound practices and small, locally-owned businesses in poor countries, and Doctors Without Borders, a group of volunteer medical professionals who bring health care to areas ravaged by war, poverty, and natural disasters.
In any case, I doubt I'll stop traveling. I also doubt I'll stop feeling guilty about it. But at the same time, if the practice keeps my eyes open, keeps me grateful for what I have and more willing to give from the bounty that I enjoy, then it's not altogether a bad thing.
Trinidad & Tobago is not a wealthy country. The median yearly salary for men is $12,000; for women in comparable jobs, it is only $5,500, an amount and an inequity that still astounds me. We saw many signs of poverty there -- from the tin-sided shacks lined up one against the other on the waterfront at Port of Spain to the clapboard boxes people were living in along the south coast of Tobago.
And here we were, obviously wealthy tourists, coming into the islands to enjoy briefly their beauty, like hummingbirds flying in to a feeder to sip the nectar, then zipping off.
I'm of two minds about this. Probably more than two minds. On the one hand, I can make the claim that the influx of money from people like us benefits the islands. We bought things from street vendors, spent money in shops, even paid travel taxes into the governmental coffers. We asked our driver, Dale, if he thought that the locals resented tourists, and especially, expats who moved there primarily from the US, Canada, and Germany.
"Of course not," Dale said. "They bring business to the islands. Why would we resent them?"
Yes, but.
They drive prices up, so native Trinidadians can't afford to buy property. They flaunt their affluence, without even meaning to, sometimes. The cruise ships docking in Scarborough and Port of Spain represent an expenditure of money on a single vacation that most Trinidadians won't see in a lifetime. They use up far more than their share of resources while they're there.
Who can blame the locals for any resentment they feel?
While we were in the islands, we were approached twice by beggars. We'd been warned against giving money -- that many of the beggars were alcoholics or drug addicts, and that giving money to them only encourages them to become more aggressive toward other visitors. The first time, a man came up to us while we were driving through the little town of Plymouth, and claimed to have no money for food.
"Only twenty dollars," he said. "That's all I need."
Twenty Trinidad dollars -- a little over three dollars US.
I told him we didn't have any money to give him. A lie. I knew it was a lie, and so did he. He persisted, and we drove off, with him still clinging to the car until he couldn't keep up.
Why didn't I give him anything? I could have given him ten times that amount and it would have done me no lasting financial harm whatsoever. All of the rationalizing that "he might use it to buy drugs," or "it will only encourage him to beg more," or whatever, sounds pretty hollow.
Should I feel guilty simply for being affluent? By American standards, I'd say we're solidly upper middle class; a teacher and a nurse, we own our own home and have two cars (both paid for). Our gains are hardly ill-gotten; both Carol and I inherited some money from our parents, and this has certainly helped us, but we work hard for our salaries.
But the fact remains that we are more wealthy than 90% of the people on earth.
We talked last night, over our t-bone steaks and fine red wine, about poverty. Carol pondered the establishment of a "guilt fund" -- you could pay into a charity when you travel to a poor country, to buy off some of your guilt feelings for being lucky. It's kind of a funny idea -- it reminded me of the medieval Catholic practice of buying indulgences, of paying the church penance money ahead of time so you could sin without fearing retribution from god. Still, it's a nice idea. Perhaps picking a charity that directly benefits the country we visit might help us to be more aware of our being so fortunate, and not taking for granted how easy our lives are when compared to most of the world's inhabitants.
If this idea appeals to you, or if maybe you were just looking for good charities to support, here are two to check out: Nobel Peace Prize winner Wangari Maathai's Green Belt Movement, which supports environmentally-sound practices and small, locally-owned businesses in poor countries, and Doctors Without Borders, a group of volunteer medical professionals who bring health care to areas ravaged by war, poverty, and natural disasters.
In any case, I doubt I'll stop traveling. I also doubt I'll stop feeling guilty about it. But at the same time, if the practice keeps my eyes open, keeps me grateful for what I have and more willing to give from the bounty that I enjoy, then it's not altogether a bad thing.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Ten lessons learned on two small islands
I must apologize to regular readers of my blog for my absence during the past week. Eight days ago I escaped the cold and snow of a upstate New York February for a few days, on a vacation to Trinidad. It occurred to me to forewarn my readers of my absence, but then I thought about the imprudence of posting to the world, "Dear Everyone: I'm going to be gone for a week. Please come rob my house." So I decided simply to disappear, and apologize for it later.
Trinidad & Tobago is a country comprised of two small islands off the coast of Venezuela. It's a place I've wanted to visit for many years, and last fall my wife presented me with tickets as a gift for my fiftieth birthday. We went with our dear friends Wendy and Renée, and spent six lovely days in the tropics exploring the islands. I thought it might be interesting to present here a few of my impressions of the place.
1) Trinidad & Tobago was a British colony for many years. As a result, it was easier to communicate with the locals there than it was on some of our other excursions south of the border, given that my Spanish is limited to "sí," "no," "gracias," and "una cerveza, por favor." This does not mean, however, that what they speak on the islands is necessarily understandable to your average American. For example, hanging out with your friends is called "limin'." They have places called Auchenskeoch, Blanchisseuse, and "Buck Buck Alley." Mauby, seagrass, and bum-bum are drinks. If you eat with the locals, you'll probably try doubles, roti, coocoo, callaloo, provision, and buss up shot. So it's English, Jim, but not as we know it.
2) Speaking of food, the food is generally amazing. I bought a curried goat roti from a street vendor that would put a lot of American restaurant food to shame. If you go, don't try to find places that sell American food -- eat what the locals eat. You won't be sorry.
3) That said, you should know that Trinidad and Tobago have the largest number of KFCs per capita in the world, and I'm not making that statistic up. They're as common as Starbucks in Seattle.
4) You should also be aware that if you eat enough Trinidadian curry, eventually your sweat will start to smell like curry. Seriously. It's not that bad, considering your other options for b. o., but still, smelling like an Indian restaurant gets old after a while.
5) Having been a British colony, they drive on the left in Trinidad, and cars have their steering wheels on the right. We rented a car, and I drew the short straw and ended up being the de facto driver. I got used to the whole backwards-driving thing rather quicker than I thought, once I stopped turning on the windshield wipers every time I wanted to use the turn signal.
6) However, you should remember that if you are used to turning your head and looking over your right shoulder to check your blind spot, the window is a lot closer than you think it is. You will smack your forehead on the window, and your wife and friends will laugh at you.
7) They will laugh a lot harder the second and third time you do the same thing.
8) The driving-on-the-left thing isn't the only challenge for managing the island's roads, however. Driving in Trinidad is like a huge, multi-player, mirror-image game of MarioKart, with no rules, and the added bonus that you can die. Trinidadians are, in my experience, lovely people, but if you put them behind the wheel of a car, they turn into raving lunatics. The white line down the center of a road is useful for lining up your hood ornament. The posted speed limits are the punchline of a joke. Horns are used to get you to go faster, to alert you to danger, to say hello, and to state, "I am driving a car and it has a horn." People don't pull over to park; they simply stop, sometimes pointing the wrong way down the road. The roads are narrow, with hairpin turns and sheer dropoffs into seas and mountain valleys, with a rail that looks like it's made of popsicle sticks and Reynolds wrap. The first day we had the car, we drove out to the little village of Speyside to go diving. It took us an hour and a half to go about twenty miles. It did have the benefit of making the risks of scuba diving seem trivial by comparison, but the whole time we were there I kept thinking, "oh, dear god, we have to drive back." I briefly considered asking someone if we could have a rescue helicopter come and get us. In the end, we made it back without incident, but I'm not entirely sure how.
9) The diving, birdwatching, and beaches are spectacular. I saw 42 species of birds I'd never seen before without really trying all that hard. The temperature never fell below 75 F and never got above 87. I thought more than once of filing for early retirement and tearing up my return ticket.
10) On the other hand, one must remember that both islands are largely covered by rain forest. We were there during the dry season, which means that the humidity and the chance of rain both drop to 90%. It rained at least once every day we were there. This didn't bother me -- I am one of those rare souls who actually enjoys heat, humidity, and rain -- and for those of you who don't, I should point out that there's always a nice breeze, and remarkably few bugs. But it is most definitely the tropics.
So all in all, it was a lovely vacation. We came back to a foot of snow and frigid temperatures, which makes me feel lucky to have escaped even for a few days. If you're looking for a great place to visit, consider Trinidad & Tobago -- I'd go back in a heartbeat. I might even consider getting behind the wheel of a car again.
Trinidad & Tobago is a country comprised of two small islands off the coast of Venezuela. It's a place I've wanted to visit for many years, and last fall my wife presented me with tickets as a gift for my fiftieth birthday. We went with our dear friends Wendy and Renée, and spent six lovely days in the tropics exploring the islands. I thought it might be interesting to present here a few of my impressions of the place.
1) Trinidad & Tobago was a British colony for many years. As a result, it was easier to communicate with the locals there than it was on some of our other excursions south of the border, given that my Spanish is limited to "sí," "no," "gracias," and "una cerveza, por favor." This does not mean, however, that what they speak on the islands is necessarily understandable to your average American. For example, hanging out with your friends is called "limin'." They have places called Auchenskeoch, Blanchisseuse, and "Buck Buck Alley." Mauby, seagrass, and bum-bum are drinks. If you eat with the locals, you'll probably try doubles, roti, coocoo, callaloo, provision, and buss up shot. So it's English, Jim, but not as we know it.
2) Speaking of food, the food is generally amazing. I bought a curried goat roti from a street vendor that would put a lot of American restaurant food to shame. If you go, don't try to find places that sell American food -- eat what the locals eat. You won't be sorry.
3) That said, you should know that Trinidad and Tobago have the largest number of KFCs per capita in the world, and I'm not making that statistic up. They're as common as Starbucks in Seattle.
4) You should also be aware that if you eat enough Trinidadian curry, eventually your sweat will start to smell like curry. Seriously. It's not that bad, considering your other options for b. o., but still, smelling like an Indian restaurant gets old after a while.
5) Having been a British colony, they drive on the left in Trinidad, and cars have their steering wheels on the right. We rented a car, and I drew the short straw and ended up being the de facto driver. I got used to the whole backwards-driving thing rather quicker than I thought, once I stopped turning on the windshield wipers every time I wanted to use the turn signal.
6) However, you should remember that if you are used to turning your head and looking over your right shoulder to check your blind spot, the window is a lot closer than you think it is. You will smack your forehead on the window, and your wife and friends will laugh at you.
7) They will laugh a lot harder the second and third time you do the same thing.
8) The driving-on-the-left thing isn't the only challenge for managing the island's roads, however. Driving in Trinidad is like a huge, multi-player, mirror-image game of MarioKart, with no rules, and the added bonus that you can die. Trinidadians are, in my experience, lovely people, but if you put them behind the wheel of a car, they turn into raving lunatics. The white line down the center of a road is useful for lining up your hood ornament. The posted speed limits are the punchline of a joke. Horns are used to get you to go faster, to alert you to danger, to say hello, and to state, "I am driving a car and it has a horn." People don't pull over to park; they simply stop, sometimes pointing the wrong way down the road. The roads are narrow, with hairpin turns and sheer dropoffs into seas and mountain valleys, with a rail that looks like it's made of popsicle sticks and Reynolds wrap. The first day we had the car, we drove out to the little village of Speyside to go diving. It took us an hour and a half to go about twenty miles. It did have the benefit of making the risks of scuba diving seem trivial by comparison, but the whole time we were there I kept thinking, "oh, dear god, we have to drive back." I briefly considered asking someone if we could have a rescue helicopter come and get us. In the end, we made it back without incident, but I'm not entirely sure how.
9) The diving, birdwatching, and beaches are spectacular. I saw 42 species of birds I'd never seen before without really trying all that hard. The temperature never fell below 75 F and never got above 87. I thought more than once of filing for early retirement and tearing up my return ticket.
10) On the other hand, one must remember that both islands are largely covered by rain forest. We were there during the dry season, which means that the humidity and the chance of rain both drop to 90%. It rained at least once every day we were there. This didn't bother me -- I am one of those rare souls who actually enjoys heat, humidity, and rain -- and for those of you who don't, I should point out that there's always a nice breeze, and remarkably few bugs. But it is most definitely the tropics.
So all in all, it was a lovely vacation. We came back to a foot of snow and frigid temperatures, which makes me feel lucky to have escaped even for a few days. If you're looking for a great place to visit, consider Trinidad & Tobago -- I'd go back in a heartbeat. I might even consider getting behind the wheel of a car again.
Friday, February 18, 2011
Bownessie and the Pennsylvania Bigfoot
Serves me right for implying, a couple of posts ago, that the cryptozoological reports were becoming a bit thin of late. Just yesterday there were two news stories about alleged sightings of strange, mysterious creatures.
The first comes from England's Lake Windermere, a deep glacial lake in Cumbria. A worker at an IT company in Bowness, unfortunately named Tom Pickles, was on a company-sponsored team-building activity with his colleague Sarah Harrington when they saw something moving through the water.
"I thought it was a dog," Pickles said. "Then I realized it was much bigger, and moving really quickly. Each hump was moving in a rippling motion, and it was swimming fast. I could tell it was much bigger underneath from the huge shadow around it. Its skin was like a seal's, but its shape was abnormal -- it's not like any animal I've ever seen before. We saw it for about twenty seconds. It was petrifying. We paddled back to shore straight away."
But not before taking a photograph with his cellphone:
Okay, I notice two things here, one of them practical, the other technical. The first is that Pickles and Harrington work for an IT company, and presumably are pretty handy with a computer -- including digital editing software. The second is that the creature -- which in Pickles' description was huge and was "swimming really fast" -- is only leaving a wake behind it. Large objects (boats, whales, pleisiosaurs) moving quickly through the water not only leave a trail of disturbed water behind them, they also push water in front -- a so-called "bow wave." What this looks more like is a stationary object with water flowing slowly around it -- which is impossible considering the situation.
Also, I have the same objection to the Lake Windermere Monster (who has been christened "Bownessie") as I do to the original Nessie of Loch Ness; both of the lakes are glacial in origin, and were under a great deal of ice 1.5 million years ago. Since the allegation is that such creatures are survivals from the dinosaur age, which ended 65 million years ago, it's a little hard to fathom how they have survived for all that time in a lake which (1) didn't exist for about 63 million years of that time, and (2) was under a sheet of ice for the million years that followed.
Considerably closer to home, we have a report of a Bigfoot sighting near Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. A commuter identified only as "Sam" was merging onto the Pennsylvania Turnpike from Route 60 early in the morning last Tuesday, when he saw a huge, hairy, dark brown figure that stood out against the snow-covered hill behind it. It was trudging through the deep snow, moving "effortlessly."
Sam pulled over, and backed up, but by this time the creature was near a stand of trees, and in three or four strides had disappeared from view.
Sam immediately contacted Eric Altman, president of the Pennsylvania Bigfoot Society. (Of course there's a Pennsylvania Bigfoot Society.) Altman and his associate, Chris Brinker, went in to investigate. Their report included the following: "Looking around, we discovered what appeared to be very large impressions in the snow that resembled the shape of human prints, and they were bipedal. The tracks were old, had snow blown over them, and there was a thin layer of ice/snow on top, so we cannot say for sure if they were human or something else. However, they did definitely resemble the shape and size of large human-like prints and were bipedal."
So, to summarize; they're definitely absolutely maybe kind of sure.
Altman and Brinker followed the tracks for some time, which (they report) went through underbrush instead of around it, and had a stride averaging 27 inches (which doesn't seem all that big to me, honestly; they report their own strides as 17 inches, which in my mind qualifies as "mincing through the snow"). They also found some droppings, which they admitted could have been from a cow or horse, but they are "currently looking for a lab that would be willing to test it."
Altman seems convinced, although he admits that it could have been a highway worker who, seen from a distance, might have been mistaken for a Bigfoot. Admittedly, I've seen highway workers who could pass for proto-hominids, so we must keep that possibility in mind.
In any case, you'll be glad to know that the members of PBS (no, not that PBS, I'm still talking about the Pennsylvania Bigfoot Society here) are on the job. I suspect this means we'll never hear any more about it. The droppings will turn out not to be BigPoo, but cow or horse droppings, and "Sam," having had his fifteen minutes of fame, will disappear like the Bigfoot he supposedly saw.
So, that's the cryptozoological report for today. From Lake Windermere to Pittsburgh PA, you can count on Skeptophilia for all of the latest news of creatures that probably don't exist.
The first comes from England's Lake Windermere, a deep glacial lake in Cumbria. A worker at an IT company in Bowness, unfortunately named Tom Pickles, was on a company-sponsored team-building activity with his colleague Sarah Harrington when they saw something moving through the water.
"I thought it was a dog," Pickles said. "Then I realized it was much bigger, and moving really quickly. Each hump was moving in a rippling motion, and it was swimming fast. I could tell it was much bigger underneath from the huge shadow around it. Its skin was like a seal's, but its shape was abnormal -- it's not like any animal I've ever seen before. We saw it for about twenty seconds. It was petrifying. We paddled back to shore straight away."
But not before taking a photograph with his cellphone:
Okay, I notice two things here, one of them practical, the other technical. The first is that Pickles and Harrington work for an IT company, and presumably are pretty handy with a computer -- including digital editing software. The second is that the creature -- which in Pickles' description was huge and was "swimming really fast" -- is only leaving a wake behind it. Large objects (boats, whales, pleisiosaurs) moving quickly through the water not only leave a trail of disturbed water behind them, they also push water in front -- a so-called "bow wave." What this looks more like is a stationary object with water flowing slowly around it -- which is impossible considering the situation.
Also, I have the same objection to the Lake Windermere Monster (who has been christened "Bownessie") as I do to the original Nessie of Loch Ness; both of the lakes are glacial in origin, and were under a great deal of ice 1.5 million years ago. Since the allegation is that such creatures are survivals from the dinosaur age, which ended 65 million years ago, it's a little hard to fathom how they have survived for all that time in a lake which (1) didn't exist for about 63 million years of that time, and (2) was under a sheet of ice for the million years that followed.
Considerably closer to home, we have a report of a Bigfoot sighting near Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. A commuter identified only as "Sam" was merging onto the Pennsylvania Turnpike from Route 60 early in the morning last Tuesday, when he saw a huge, hairy, dark brown figure that stood out against the snow-covered hill behind it. It was trudging through the deep snow, moving "effortlessly."
Sam pulled over, and backed up, but by this time the creature was near a stand of trees, and in three or four strides had disappeared from view.
Sam immediately contacted Eric Altman, president of the Pennsylvania Bigfoot Society. (Of course there's a Pennsylvania Bigfoot Society.) Altman and his associate, Chris Brinker, went in to investigate. Their report included the following: "Looking around, we discovered what appeared to be very large impressions in the snow that resembled the shape of human prints, and they were bipedal. The tracks were old, had snow blown over them, and there was a thin layer of ice/snow on top, so we cannot say for sure if they were human or something else. However, they did definitely resemble the shape and size of large human-like prints and were bipedal."
So, to summarize; they're definitely absolutely maybe kind of sure.
Altman and Brinker followed the tracks for some time, which (they report) went through underbrush instead of around it, and had a stride averaging 27 inches (which doesn't seem all that big to me, honestly; they report their own strides as 17 inches, which in my mind qualifies as "mincing through the snow"). They also found some droppings, which they admitted could have been from a cow or horse, but they are "currently looking for a lab that would be willing to test it."
Altman seems convinced, although he admits that it could have been a highway worker who, seen from a distance, might have been mistaken for a Bigfoot. Admittedly, I've seen highway workers who could pass for proto-hominids, so we must keep that possibility in mind.
In any case, you'll be glad to know that the members of PBS (no, not that PBS, I'm still talking about the Pennsylvania Bigfoot Society here) are on the job. I suspect this means we'll never hear any more about it. The droppings will turn out not to be BigPoo, but cow or horse droppings, and "Sam," having had his fifteen minutes of fame, will disappear like the Bigfoot he supposedly saw.
So, that's the cryptozoological report for today. From Lake Windermere to Pittsburgh PA, you can count on Skeptophilia for all of the latest news of creatures that probably don't exist.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
FAQs about rocks
Between the targeted-ad software and my general hostility to woo-woos, I seem to be becoming a magnet for wackos. I say this because my recent post on "quantum jumping" triggered ads to be attached to my blog for even more bizarre claims. And you thought "quantum jumping" was the furthermost outer limits...
This most recent assault on the memory of William of Ockham was pointed out by my wife, who sent me the link with the message, "Ooh, this is even better." The site, should you understandably be hesitant to actually click the link and go there, is called "Scalar Energy Wonders." Like the "energy bracelet" sites I posted about a few weeks ago, this site sells "energy jewelry" and other such stuff. I particularly like the FAQs, a couple of which I quote here verbatim:
Q: What does the Quantum Scalar Energy Pendant Do?
A: Generally, the pendant has been reported to instantly boost energy levels & increase mental fitness. The other reported benefits of the pendant include: increasing stamina, protection from harmful electromagnetic radiation, improving sense of balance, and increasing resilience to stress. People tell us that in most cases any aches and pains disappear gradually. If necessary, you can even try rubbing the Scalar Pendant over the affected area... Some may respond within a week, while others require up to a month to register its effects.
My interpretation: If you wear it long enough, your pain will go away. Or not. Definitely one or the other.
Q: How does it work?
A: The pendant is made of natural minerals from frozen volcanic lava using Japanese Technology... The combination of natural materials in the pendant produces scalar energy that gets transferred to your DNA, which carries charges. All known living things are governed by charges, which can be affected positively or negatively by external frequencies. Negative frequencies include electromagnetic fields emitted by mobile phones and computer screens. As such, the positive frequencies from the Quantum Scalar Energy Pendant help to neutralize the effect of negative frequencies.
My interpretation: You are made of charged particles. So are rocks. So, in fact, is the entire universe. Charged particles contain energy. So, if you buy this rock and wear it, you'll be part of the universe, and share its energy. Which you would have even if you didn't buy the rock, but you should buy the rock anyway.
Q: Which frequencies are embedded?
A: Without giving away proprietary information, there are two key frequencies we focus on. First, is the Schuman Resonance. This is in the 7.8-8 range. It is the frequency the earth emits when there is nothing around... The other frequency is closer to 12. This is the frequency you will record in a rain forest... These are the core scalar frequencies that accomplish everything we've talked about in this report.
My interpretation: Didn't your high school physics teacher emphasize that you should always use units? 7.8-8 what? 12 what? Hertz? Megahertz? Kilograms? Light years? Bushels? Miles per hour? Furlongs per fortnight? And how do you know anything about what the earth does when there is nothing around, since there's always something around? Sorry, I'll try to calm down a little...
Q: What other products do you sell?
A: One of our best-selling items is the Ion Coaster/Bio Disc... Place a glass of water or other drink on the disc, and you will notice a difference! With physics oscillation theory, the big water molecular clusters will rearrange, become small molecular clusters, eliminate negative frequency, reduce chlorine in water, and make water activated.
My interpretation: *faceplant*
I would think this is all some sort of huge joke, a parody site on the whole Power Bracelet/Energy Jewelry industry, but tragically, it's not. These people are serious. And given that the cheapest thing I saw on the site -- the "Ion Card" (it looks a little like a credit card, and supposedly "gives you energy and protects your DNA") costs $12.99, people could be bilked out of a lot of money for this junk.
And don't start with me about how there's "alternative medicine" and "science doesn't know everything" and "maybe it could work." I'll quote Tim Minchin: "There's a name for alternative medicine that works. It's called... medicine."
This most recent assault on the memory of William of Ockham was pointed out by my wife, who sent me the link with the message, "Ooh, this is even better." The site, should you understandably be hesitant to actually click the link and go there, is called "Scalar Energy Wonders." Like the "energy bracelet" sites I posted about a few weeks ago, this site sells "energy jewelry" and other such stuff. I particularly like the FAQs, a couple of which I quote here verbatim:
Q: What does the Quantum Scalar Energy Pendant Do?
A: Generally, the pendant has been reported to instantly boost energy levels & increase mental fitness. The other reported benefits of the pendant include: increasing stamina, protection from harmful electromagnetic radiation, improving sense of balance, and increasing resilience to stress. People tell us that in most cases any aches and pains disappear gradually. If necessary, you can even try rubbing the Scalar Pendant over the affected area... Some may respond within a week, while others require up to a month to register its effects.
My interpretation: If you wear it long enough, your pain will go away. Or not. Definitely one or the other.
Q: How does it work?
A: The pendant is made of natural minerals from frozen volcanic lava using Japanese Technology... The combination of natural materials in the pendant produces scalar energy that gets transferred to your DNA, which carries charges. All known living things are governed by charges, which can be affected positively or negatively by external frequencies. Negative frequencies include electromagnetic fields emitted by mobile phones and computer screens. As such, the positive frequencies from the Quantum Scalar Energy Pendant help to neutralize the effect of negative frequencies.
My interpretation: You are made of charged particles. So are rocks. So, in fact, is the entire universe. Charged particles contain energy. So, if you buy this rock and wear it, you'll be part of the universe, and share its energy. Which you would have even if you didn't buy the rock, but you should buy the rock anyway.
Q: Which frequencies are embedded?
A: Without giving away proprietary information, there are two key frequencies we focus on. First, is the Schuman Resonance. This is in the 7.8-8 range. It is the frequency the earth emits when there is nothing around... The other frequency is closer to 12. This is the frequency you will record in a rain forest... These are the core scalar frequencies that accomplish everything we've talked about in this report.
My interpretation: Didn't your high school physics teacher emphasize that you should always use units? 7.8-8 what? 12 what? Hertz? Megahertz? Kilograms? Light years? Bushels? Miles per hour? Furlongs per fortnight? And how do you know anything about what the earth does when there is nothing around, since there's always something around? Sorry, I'll try to calm down a little...
Q: What other products do you sell?
A: One of our best-selling items is the Ion Coaster/Bio Disc... Place a glass of water or other drink on the disc, and you will notice a difference! With physics oscillation theory, the big water molecular clusters will rearrange, become small molecular clusters, eliminate negative frequency, reduce chlorine in water, and make water activated.
My interpretation: *faceplant*
I would think this is all some sort of huge joke, a parody site on the whole Power Bracelet/Energy Jewelry industry, but tragically, it's not. These people are serious. And given that the cheapest thing I saw on the site -- the "Ion Card" (it looks a little like a credit card, and supposedly "gives you energy and protects your DNA") costs $12.99, people could be bilked out of a lot of money for this junk.
And don't start with me about how there's "alternative medicine" and "science doesn't know everything" and "maybe it could work." I'll quote Tim Minchin: "There's a name for alternative medicine that works. It's called... medicine."
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Beastly goings-on
Whenever I think I've found the last mysterious beast in the world, and my career as a cryptozoologist is all over but the laughing, I stumble upon another one I've never heard of.
Yesterday I was preparing a slideshow on the evolutionary time-scale for my biology class, and was trying to find some good images of prehistoric animals to download. Cognizant of the fact that I'm teaching teenagers, naturally I gravitated toward what my wife calls "charismatic megafauna," so my slideshow heavily favored animals like T. rex, velociraptors, and Baluchitherium (the last-mentioned is the largest land mammal ever -- if you were standing next to it you could barely reach its kneecap if you had a stepladder, and it could have turned an African elephant into an African elephant pancake). So, anyway, I was trying to find some images of mesonychids, which were Paleocene and Eocene predators that looked a little like giant bears or wolves but were actually related to hoofed mammals, and I ran into the following image:
This scary-looking beast, Andrewsarchus, is represented here striding across the Eocene landscape, looking for some tiny, German-shepherd-sized horses to munch on. (The fossil evidence does not include drool, so the artist may have been taking a few liberties.)
In any case, after adding the picture to my slideshow, I noticed that it was not from a website on paleontology (although the image originally appeared in a BBC feature about extinct animals, it has made the rounds since then). This image was on a site devoted to the history of the Beast of Gévaudan.
The Beast of Gévaudan, it seems, was a horrible monster who terrorized the region of Gévaudan in France (now the département of Lozère in south-central France) in the mid-1700s. It dispatched its victims by ripping their throats out. Apparently, there were more than sixty victims of the beast, the first a fourteen-year-old girl killed in 1764. There were hundreds of eyewitnesses to the thing; it was described as a huge, hairy quadruped, with a foul odor and a heavy, thick tail. Thus far, there's nothing particularly weird here, and in fact this description matches my friend's dog Rudy, who is half mastiff and half golden lab but looks like he has some horse somewhere in his ancestry. Rudy has no idea how enormous he is, and galumphs around inside the house knocking over large pieces of furniture, all the while wagging happily. Rudy's huge head, which is made entirely of reinforced concrete, is at a height that is seriously unfortunate for any adult male visitors, and guys have been known to go into a protective crouch whenever Rudy so much as looks at them.
But I digress.
The various reports of the Beast of Gévaudan, when coalesced into a single description, paint a picture of a heavy-bodied animal a little smaller than a horse, with a reddish, spotted pelt, a long, thick snout, broad paws whose digits ended in claws or nails, and eyes that seemed disproportionately small. Let's review our artist's depiction of an Andrewsarchus:
The Beast of Gévaudan was finally killed in June 1767 by a hunter named Jean Chastel. Chastel had been hired by the French government to take care of the Beast, and the story is that he was standing, leaning against a tree reading his bible, when he heard a noise and saw the Beast loping toward him, murder in its eyes. Instead of pissing his pants and then having a stroke, which is probably what I would have done, he calmly lifted his rifle and shot the Beast between the eyes with a specially-prepared silver bullet. Chastel's bravery earned him a monument in his honor in the village of La Besseyre-Sainte-Marie, near where the Beast was killed.
Chastel placed the Beast's body on a wagon of a man bound for Versailles, with instructions to deliver it to the authorities there so that Chastel could collect his reward. But this being in the days before refrigeration, the carcass started to decompose, and finally began to smell so bad the wagon-driver buried it beside the road along the way. Chastel apparently never got his reward.
So, was the Beast of Gévaudan an Andrewsarchus, or some surviving mesonychid whose ancestors had made it all the way from the Eocene Epoch (which ended 34 million years ago), undetected until that time in the forests of southern France?
Unfortunately, probably not. There were other, similar attacks in western Europe in the 18th century and earlier, and all of the ones for which we have decent descriptions turned out to be wolves (usually rabid). In fact, in September of 1765 a hunter in Gévaudan, Francois Antoine, killed what he thought was the Beast itself, but found out different when the attacks resumed three months later. Antoine's animal was clearly a wolf, although Antoine describes it as being one of the most humongous badass wolves he'd ever seen (I paraphrase slightly).
Sad to say, the Beast of Gévaudan itself was also probably a humongous badass wolf, which were not uncommon in those days. Too bad; it'd be cool if Andrewsarchus had survived, although heaven knows I'd rather not meet one face-to-face. In any case, it's nice to know that you can devote your career to the study of cryptozoology, and after several decades still run into sightings you'd never heard of.
Yesterday I was preparing a slideshow on the evolutionary time-scale for my biology class, and was trying to find some good images of prehistoric animals to download. Cognizant of the fact that I'm teaching teenagers, naturally I gravitated toward what my wife calls "charismatic megafauna," so my slideshow heavily favored animals like T. rex, velociraptors, and Baluchitherium (the last-mentioned is the largest land mammal ever -- if you were standing next to it you could barely reach its kneecap if you had a stepladder, and it could have turned an African elephant into an African elephant pancake). So, anyway, I was trying to find some images of mesonychids, which were Paleocene and Eocene predators that looked a little like giant bears or wolves but were actually related to hoofed mammals, and I ran into the following image:
This scary-looking beast, Andrewsarchus, is represented here striding across the Eocene landscape, looking for some tiny, German-shepherd-sized horses to munch on. (The fossil evidence does not include drool, so the artist may have been taking a few liberties.)
In any case, after adding the picture to my slideshow, I noticed that it was not from a website on paleontology (although the image originally appeared in a BBC feature about extinct animals, it has made the rounds since then). This image was on a site devoted to the history of the Beast of Gévaudan.
The Beast of Gévaudan, it seems, was a horrible monster who terrorized the region of Gévaudan in France (now the département of Lozère in south-central France) in the mid-1700s. It dispatched its victims by ripping their throats out. Apparently, there were more than sixty victims of the beast, the first a fourteen-year-old girl killed in 1764. There were hundreds of eyewitnesses to the thing; it was described as a huge, hairy quadruped, with a foul odor and a heavy, thick tail. Thus far, there's nothing particularly weird here, and in fact this description matches my friend's dog Rudy, who is half mastiff and half golden lab but looks like he has some horse somewhere in his ancestry. Rudy has no idea how enormous he is, and galumphs around inside the house knocking over large pieces of furniture, all the while wagging happily. Rudy's huge head, which is made entirely of reinforced concrete, is at a height that is seriously unfortunate for any adult male visitors, and guys have been known to go into a protective crouch whenever Rudy so much as looks at them.
But I digress.
The various reports of the Beast of Gévaudan, when coalesced into a single description, paint a picture of a heavy-bodied animal a little smaller than a horse, with a reddish, spotted pelt, a long, thick snout, broad paws whose digits ended in claws or nails, and eyes that seemed disproportionately small. Let's review our artist's depiction of an Andrewsarchus:
The Beast of Gévaudan was finally killed in June 1767 by a hunter named Jean Chastel. Chastel had been hired by the French government to take care of the Beast, and the story is that he was standing, leaning against a tree reading his bible, when he heard a noise and saw the Beast loping toward him, murder in its eyes. Instead of pissing his pants and then having a stroke, which is probably what I would have done, he calmly lifted his rifle and shot the Beast between the eyes with a specially-prepared silver bullet. Chastel's bravery earned him a monument in his honor in the village of La Besseyre-Sainte-Marie, near where the Beast was killed.
Chastel placed the Beast's body on a wagon of a man bound for Versailles, with instructions to deliver it to the authorities there so that Chastel could collect his reward. But this being in the days before refrigeration, the carcass started to decompose, and finally began to smell so bad the wagon-driver buried it beside the road along the way. Chastel apparently never got his reward.
So, was the Beast of Gévaudan an Andrewsarchus, or some surviving mesonychid whose ancestors had made it all the way from the Eocene Epoch (which ended 34 million years ago), undetected until that time in the forests of southern France?
Unfortunately, probably not. There were other, similar attacks in western Europe in the 18th century and earlier, and all of the ones for which we have decent descriptions turned out to be wolves (usually rabid). In fact, in September of 1765 a hunter in Gévaudan, Francois Antoine, killed what he thought was the Beast itself, but found out different when the attacks resumed three months later. Antoine's animal was clearly a wolf, although Antoine describes it as being one of the most humongous badass wolves he'd ever seen (I paraphrase slightly).
Sad to say, the Beast of Gévaudan itself was also probably a humongous badass wolf, which were not uncommon in those days. Too bad; it'd be cool if Andrewsarchus had survived, although heaven knows I'd rather not meet one face-to-face. In any case, it's nice to know that you can devote your career to the study of cryptozoology, and after several decades still run into sightings you'd never heard of.
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