Saturday, August 29, 2009

Even Handed

            I carry a light when I dive. More than one, actually; it’s dark inside wrecks.  The primary light, though, is a big honking eight C cell (rechargeable, naturally) thing with a pistol grip.  When it isn’t clipped off on my harness, it is in my hand.  My right hand.  Always my right hand.  No matter how hard I try, how many times I switch it to my left for variety’s sake, the moment I stop actively willing it stay in my left hand, it jumps, unbidden, to my right. 

            Some activities require the dominant hand: writing, three point shots, cutting a steak are good examples.  Try any of these with your off hand and you will make such a hash of things they’re not worth doing.  Other activities you can practice with your left hand and become proficient---frisbee, shooting guns, dicing food, pleasuring yourself, etc.  But the vast majority of us don’t practice such things with our off hand.  It’s easier to do it with the dominant hand, so we do. 

            That’s how things happen with my light.  It stays clipped on my right side, and when I want it I reach for it with my right hand, where it stays until I clip it off again.  Sometimes I switch over and actually concentrate on keeping it in the left.  Then I start thinking about something else, or move to manipulate or steady myself on something, or illuminate something in a crack or crevice.  The next time I think about it or start paying attention again, there it is in my right hand.  It’s not like the light is brighter or more effective when held in the right.  What’s the deal?

            So, a little social experiment for you.  Something you use every day, as important to you as my light is to me.  How about your PDA/cell phone?  Try using that thing exclusively with your off hand all day tomorrow, and see how long it takes for your dominant hand to take over.  Strange, huh?

Moving


Imagine for a moment that the next time you pack up your household belongings to change residence, something drastic happens to the moving van or vehicle in which you are transporting them.  That this hypothetical exercise does not become too macabre, we will assume that ‘drastic’ doesn’t mean that your shipping transport was strafed, fired, torpedoed, and sunk with you in it, just that the vehicle disappeared but your belongings survived undisturbed for years in their packed state. 

 

            Now imagine that someone from a different culture, era, and language background happens upon the lost vehicle sixty-five years later and rummages around in your box of belongings, pulling your things out of their packing for curiosity and novelty’s sake.   How they would marvel at them, attaching weighty significance to the soup tureen your aunt gave you as a wedding gift, the hors d’oeuvre platter you never liked but your husband made you keep, and the set of cheap drinking glasses you picked up at your neighbor’s yard sale.  Think of the fascination the rummager would feel when examining not only the china, but the packing material.  The editorial section and Dear Abbey column from yesterday’s newspaper that you used to protect your glassware would seem an important historical find.  The rummager and would-be archaeologist might even consider the whole situation exciting enough to take some pictures and post them to his friends.

Sunday, July 19, 2009

Bugle Boy

Little boy blew.  And who wouldn't, having just unearthed this gem from the silt in the forecastle of a wreck?

Friday, June 26, 2009

Stature

A snap of me exiting a hotel room in Indonesia. Frodo, Pippin, and Sam Gamgee will be over for tea presently.

Tempted?

I took this photo on the Lombok coast, north of a town called Sengigi.  Call me if you are tempted...

Saturday, June 13, 2009

Cucumber Love

            Sea cucumbers are strange enough when they sit on the ocean floor, doing normal sea cucumber things.  The sea cucumber family is a diverse one, with wide variation in color, pattern, texture, size, degree of firmness, and what I think of as slime factor, a personal numerical rating system that frequently proves useful when dealing with underwater creatures.  Some sea cucumber traits are universal, though: long, sluggish, poop-shaped bodies slowly undulate along the sand, slurping up algae covered detritus and reforming the detritus into long strands of pearl necklace-like poo that winds along the bottom.  Weird. 

            There is a species of sea cucumber here that is one I have not seen elsewhere.  This guy has a mottled cream and brown body with large dark leopard spots.  He also has pointy white spikes that stick up at regular intervals.  They look dangerous, but are actually just as soft as the rest of his body.  A member of the cucumber genus commonly called the lion’s paw, he sports a series of short, dark, feelers that protrude slightly from the underside of his ‘head’ when he locomotes and feeds.  Looks like a whole row of little feather dusters waving around underneath the front part of his body.  Big guy, maybe two feet long, fully extended.  He’s a common sight on the wrecks.

            Here’s the decidedly uncommon part.  I was ending a dive today on a wreck that is settled on its side, just cruising along the high side of the hull on my way back to the Odyssey.  Next thing I know I’m the Muad Dib surrounded by spice worms, except they are only two feet long, and I’ve never even been to Arakis.  (Frank Herbert is rolling over in his grave right now, and not just because of how thoroughly disappointing all the sequels to Dune were.)  But seriously, that’s what it looked like.  Materializing in front of me in the murky water are seven or eight of these sea cucumbers, all but the last six inches of their cylindrical bodies held erect, vertical from the wreck, swaying slowly to some unheard echinoderm tune.  It looks like they all just decided to skip several rungs on the evolutionary chain and walk upright.  Or at least dance around a bit. 

            When I carefully moved amongst them, I noticed that they were all giving off a milky white fluid from a pore on the backs of their heads, and it was then that I realized with a combination of horror, amusement, and maybe just a little bit of titillation (hey, I live on a boat in the middle of nowhere), that I had stumbled into the middle of a full blown group groping gamete gooing echinoderm orgy.  I try not to think about the embryonic larval spawn fry hatchling krill spore supersaturated sexually active stew in which I work, yet here I was in the middle of it all, front row seat to the love fiesta taking place amongst these striving, earnest creatures.  Even as I watched, two more cucumbers quite literally reared their ugly heads and joined the party, broadcast spawning for all they were worth.  How much more simple would life be for humans if the entire act of courtship, relationship, and mating consisted of walking into a bar, spewing gametes all over the place, and leaving?  How much more complex?  Something to ponder as I bumped air into my buoyancy compensator and slowly ascended away from the undulating cucumbers and their fertile love cloud.  They were still going strong when I lost sight of them, and good for them, I say.  

Squeaky Wheel

On my flight from Jakarta to Singapore, I was unwilling witness to an act so heinous and misconceived that it boggled my mind. I shake with rage as I write this, flashing back to the incident. As soon as the seat belt light was off, the stewardesses (flight attendants? air hostesses? sadistic villains?) began moving purposefully around the cabin. Their first act, before the normal drinks, meals, pillows, or reading material, routine was to pass out plastic bags of squeezable squeaky toys to every child on the plane old enough to grasp the proffered parcel with a chubby fist. I am going to give you a minute to digest that one. No, really, take another second. Squeaky toys. Children. Airplane. It was like watching someone pass out copies of The Bell Curve to a plane-load of right wing talk radio hosts.
So wrong, on so many levels, that I don’t even know where to begin, so I’ll just wade in and start flailing. First, the packaging. You can’t find a plastic bag anymore that doesn’t have a choking hazard, this bag is not a toy warning printed on it, and here they are passing them out to children. Each bag is sealed by a folded piece of cardboard secured to the plastic with ummm…two metal staples? Here ya go, kiddies. Hey, if you are having trouble getting it open, just use your teeth, okay? Not that some of the toddlers receiving the bags were old enough to even have teeth, mind you.
As to the toys themselves, and I say toys because there were more than one in each bag; yeah, two squeaky toys per bag, one for each under-aged fist to ensure stereo irritation from every child. Anyways, what’s the first place these toys are going to go, assuming the kids aren’t already choking on the plastic bag or the staples? Into their pieholes, of course. I’m all about exposing kids to germs to encourage a healthy immune system, but I guarantee that whatever filthy sweatshop these toys, made of snacklicious low grade petrochemical ingredients, came out of did not have children’s health in mind during production, packaging, and shipping.
Okay, I’ll admit it, I’m no crusader for child safety and probably wouldn’t flinch if the stews were passing out sleeping pills, bourbon bottles with rubber nipples affixed, or rolls of duct tape for the kids. I must know, though, what criminally shortsighted corporate buffoon seeking in-flight entertainment solutions for the younger crowd hit the send key on the shipping order for SQEAKY TOYS? Please note a characteristic lack of capitalization, underlining, and italics in past entries and understand that if I were relating this story in person, I would be screaming the above words. Whoever made the decision to take the annoyance public at the ‘approve the distribution of noisemakers to children at the beginning of a two hour flight’ policy meeting must be willfully malicious, deaf, a direct descendant of Torquemada, or, at the very least, terminally myopic.
Somehow these toys made their way down the pipeline, though, the orders passing across the desks and the toys passing through the shipping channels of a whole army of people who didn’t give a second thought to the end result. Eventually boxes of squeaky toys made their way aboard planes and into the hands of stewardesses, the people responsible for not only your comfort during the flight, but your safety and, in the case of emergency, even your life. Bad omen if they lack the judgment to realize that handing out irritants to kids is the wrong call. Who’s to know if the sky hostesses make the conscious, sane choice not distribute the noisemakers? They have plenty enough autonomy to simply not pass them out, right? I doubt there is some sort of sophisticated distribution monitoring system. Warehouse guy: “Hey, you need another case of squeaky toys?” Head stewardess: “No thanks, all good here. Not many kids aboard lately.” Simple. But no, smiles all around and here you go, junior, something to annoy us all with for the duration of the flight. You can’t tell me that even the most jaded, inured, stoic flight attendant can tune out a ruckus that sounds like ten litters of puppies set loose in the toy section of the pet store. What’s next, handfuls of Flinstones shapes amphetamines to ensure that the brat behind you will be kicking the back of your seat for the duration of the flight?
As a last resort, we can surely depend on those directly responsible for the children’s safety and public behavior, right? Thank goodness for the good judgment of parents, gatekeepers and guardians of not only their offspring but those who their offspring’s behavior may impact. Right? If my flight is any indicator of the present state of parenting, our future generations are doomed. I always considered parents who bought their children toys with loud sirens, speakers, cymbals, and bells to be masochistic, but it’s their choice to turn their own homes into aural chaos and call it cute. Keep it at home. If someone was cruising the aisles passing out whiskey and fireworks, you wouldn’t let your kid have them, would you? So why noisemakers? Why? Parents of the world unite under a flag of decency, common sense, or, at the very least, respect for the sanity of those exposed to your children’s antics. Squeaky toys for my toddler on a trans-oceanic flight crowded with innocent strangers? No thank you, stewardess. So easy, so logical, so obvious.
Ever get into a situation where a lifetime of moral habituation and pack behavior tendencies prevents you from committing an act that, stripped of its sociopathic underpinnings, makes a lot of sense? If so, then you will understand the vivid technicolor detail of my whole flight-worth of fancy visualizing a hunt for everyone responsible for the manufacture, sales, purchase, distribution, storage, and dispersal of cheap squeaky toys on airplanes .