out of the blue

The next day we went straight to the first snail collecting site, an hour and a half hike in on the Yellowstone-Teton boundary trail. We hiked through a stand of lodgepole pine and a burned-out section of the forest scattered with aspen before we finally reached the stream. We put on our sandals and shorts, and waded in. This "unnamed reach of Polecat creek" is heated by geothermic activity; in the entire time we were there, my feet didn't get in the least bit cold.

Now for the task of snail-collecting. We would scrape the snails from the bottom of plant roots and algae growths. Then we would put them in a container with stream water, and begin selectively draining off the plant matter that floated to the top. After a number of these cycles, the snails were isolated enough to sort the desired species from the undesired (and more numerous) one. After about four hours, one thundershower, and numerous thunderstorm near-misses, we had met our quota — something on the order of a thousand snails.

But we weren't done yet. First we had to hike back out in the midst of a massive thunderstorm that pelted us with 5mm hailstones and spattered us with heavy raindrops. After an hour and a half of this, we were soaked to the bone and freezing cold, no matter how energetically we hiked. We drove to the nearest lodge and warmed up with some hot chocolate before heading to the second snail site.

There I discovered just how miserable scientific research can be. The first site was sunny and warm and cheerful. Here the constant drizzle and overcast froze us heart and limb. Here the collecting was less of a game than an arduous process. We gathered two thousand tiny snails in about 45 minutes, but I felt no accomplishment: only a desperate need to warm up.

Fortunately, cars are well-built for that: they have heaters. We asked for nothing more as we drove down towards Jackson Lake and the Teton Range.

Perhaps this is nature's way of apologizing: just as we came down to the lakeshore the clouds drew just far enough back to see the glow of the sunset and the illuminated forms of the Tetons. We ate a dinner of wild rice and salmon, went back to the campsite, and fell asleep.

[To be contiued….]

This last weekend Sarah roped me into going to Yellowstone to collect thousands of snails for her research project. We left Spokane at nine in the morning. It wasn't until seven or so that we arrived in the park. And we still had a full hour at least before we could reach our campsite.

The one nice thing about the lack of large animals in our countryside is that you can drive at eighty miles per hour with impunity. In Yellowstone you will meet with some combination of cougars, bears, elk, moose, and bison. You drive slowly. At night, when there is no light except from your mostly-inadequate headlights, when the roadtwists as if it were trying to buck you off, and when the wild is most active, you can't go very fast.

I would not suggest passing a bison at 40 miles per hour in the pitch-dark of the wilderness. It is a terrifying experience. Bison are enormous, and they move as though they have an alien number of legs.

We arrived at the Fountain Paint Pots Basin and decided to walk out on the boardwalk in the dark. The least mote of light lingered in the heavens. The eerie bubbling of the geothermic springs was the only sound. The pungent steam hung in the air like a ghost. We walked farther into the realm of the gTeysers and finally came out onto an overlook where a geyser not thirty feet away threw ropes of boiling water up towards the stars. We leaned into the wooden rail.

After watching it for a while, we went on around the loop, now moving into the darkness of some trees. We heard a small rustling sound, perhaps that of a jackrabbit, we thought. We stared into the dark, and out of it lumbered a giant shaggy bison. We backed off as quickly and non-threateningly as we could. It walked up to the boardwalk right where we had been standing, crouched, then heaved its bulk onto the structure. It shifted forward and let its front legs drop onto the ground, then followed with the rest of its body. It continued back into the darkness as Sarah and I walked feverishly back to the car. We could see that the bison were out to get us.

But nothing further happened that night. We reached the campsite, set up the tent and paid, then went to sleep.

[To be continued….]

My phone is not making or receiving calls. I can access everything else. I just saved all my numbers in an openoffice document. If you want to get a hold of me, e-mail and IM are your best bets.

John Scalzi links to a Slate article comparing McCain's lying and Obama's lying:

The stats for McCain's political claims:

• 11 misleading statements
• 8 categorically false
• 3 pants-on-fire lies

The stats for Obama's political claims:

• 8 misleading statements
• 4 categorically false
• 0 pants-on-fire lies

I had always assumed that when I saw liberal bloggers writing about McCain's falsehoods, that they probably had counterparts on the other side complaining about Obama's distortions. But McCain's lies are more numerous and more flagrant. The most astonishing of these is McCain's "Education" ad:

Some of McCain's recent claims, though, are the William Hungs of political lies: so heroically deceptive that anyone not blinded by partisanship feels the urge to cover his ears. Take McCain's ad claiming that Obama's "one accomplishment" on education policy was to push "legislation to teach 'comprehensive sex education' to kindergartners." It's difficult to find a single true word in the whole spot. The Illinois Senate bill the ad refers to was not Obama's legislation. (He voted for it but didn't write or sponsor it.) It was not an "accomplishment" — the bill didn't pass. Nor did it advocate teaching kids about sex before they learned to read, as McCain claims; it envisioned "age-appropriate" language instructing children on "preventing sexual assault," among other dangers, and it allowed parents to hold their kids out of these classes.

Apparently I was being too generous. John Scalzi provides some good commentary on the article and the overall trend:

"I'm not suggesting that distortion and lying are new to this presidential election cycle … I am suggesting the McCain campaign is the first campaign, certainly in modern political history, that has decided that truth is entirely optional, and isn't afraid to come right out and say it. And it's working — and might well work all the way to the steps of the White House.

"If it does, that will be an interesting political lesson for the GOP. It will be confirmation of the actual "Bush Doctrine" of "do and say whatever the hell you want, because no one has the will to stop you." When there is no real-world penalty for lying, distorting and demonizing, then the only thing to stop you is your own moral compunctions. However, if McCain actually had any moral compunctions on this point, he wouldn't be running the campaign he's running now. And I would suggest that a man who shows no moral compunction in pursuit of power is not a man who will suddenly find those compunctions once he has power. An election is a job interview, people. If someone lies to you during a job interview, and says to you "yes, I'm lying, what of it?" when you catch them in the lie, and you hire them anyway, well. You shouldn't be surprised at what comes next….

"The fact of the matter is that at this point in the election, it's not just about what positions the candidates hold on various political subjects. It's also about how the candidates, and the parties behind, choose to see the people they intend to lead. The GOP and the McCain campaign, irrespective of its political positions, sees the American voter as deserving lies, lots of lies, repeated as often as necessary to win. And maybe they're right about it. We'll know soon enough."

Sarah claims that I'm more of a velociraptor than a robot-alien. Thoughts?

Why can't candidates promise to cut taxes after reducing spending? I'm sorry, but your average middle class family in America does not need a tax break. But your average lower or middle class child does need music and arts instruction, properly funded after-school programs, and more attention from teachers.

I'm all for reducing governmental overhead and congressional earmarks. I would love to see us avoid getting embroiled into trillion-dollar wars. I would love to see money not thrown away to protect the interests of certain money-grubbing lobbies. But the reductions come first; the tax breaks come last.

Promised tax breaks are a great way to get elected. They're a shitty way to run a country.

After weeks of waiting, Josh and I finally have internet at our apartment. This means no more connections that drop every few minutes, no going to Hopkins solely for internet, and no more waiting hours for YouTube to load videos.

I've done some tests, and it looks like we'll be getting about 1264 kb/s actual download, and 560 kb/s actual upload. When I tested on speedtest.net, it gave me a projected download speed of 1326 kb/s and an upload speed of 560 kb/s, so their numbers jive pretty well with the actual speeds. (Remember that kb/s is kilobits per second, and how network speeds are usually measured; KB/s is kilobytes per second, and how file sizes are usually measured; one KB is eight times larger than one kb.) So I may continue to use speedtest.net for a few months, and then ask Sarah to perform some statistical analysis of the results (you can download them in csv format). Dating a scientist who enjoys mathematical analysis has its definite advantages.

Josh suggested we call the wireless network "Zephyr". I think it's a very good name.

This is the beginning of life: void and without form, pliant and mutable. Yielding to will.

Then the first firmness, a point. Not pointy: a speck. A grain, a salt seed, a kernel of tungsten. One appears, then another, then closer and closer and one-upon-another. They coalesce into constellations, drops of star-water, puddles of light and energy. They sizzle and boil, sputter fire. Fill the atmosphere of the universe.

This is the beginning of life. Or, rather, the roots of what will become life, the rules and whims that govern life and give it shape. Stone wheels circle majestic suns, the timing of invisible gears — the clicking and whirring, celestial and inexorable. On, on, turn again, around and purposeless eon-work. But there is a way of growing in the cracks.

This is the beginning of life, in the cracks abounding.

My internet was completely dead today. It made me sad. But I will return one of these days in a blaze of fiery light. And goodness. Look for me.

I'm in the apartment, surrounded by three different directions of sound. From my open bedroom window come the sounds of thunder from the storm that is passing to the North. From the kitchen, the sound of a kettle softly warbling as it turns to a full boil. From the window by the couch, the sounds of rain and of cars splashing down the street. Josh is on the couch reading Life of Pi by Yann Martel. I'm in the brown chair reading War for the Oaks, by Emma Bull, and the mood fits.