The arrival of autumn brings both the mating season and hunting season of several animals. Its a Darwinian tug of war, as one species attempts to increase its population while another tries to lower it. During the rut, deer-the main attraction for most hunters- are much more active and less cautious since they are all hopped up on hormones, with a Propagate-Or-Bust attitude.
The Texas Parks and Wildlife Department did an extensive study on white-tailed deer. The study showed does go through estrous cycles 28 days apart. They may be attracted to bucks for a period of 5 days, but only willing to reproduce during one 2 hour period within those 5 days (teases). Bucks on the other hand, like males of most species, are always ready to go.
Mating season is a interesting biological phenomena. Surely at some point in time, humans had a mating season. Early man probably knew that having offspring during a certain season greatly improved its chances for survival. As man evolved, the mating season stretched longer and longer to the point where it was no longer a season at all. It could have been due to any number of reasons, such as climate change, advances in horticulture, or the advent of alcohol.
And with mating season amongst people being phased out, the world changed dramatically. But what if humans had a mating season this very day? What if every fall humans had an overwhelming instinctual urge to reproduce? Imagine how different the world would be...
In most animals, the number one priority during mating is procreation. I'll assume the human race can remain a bit more civilized. I'm not suggesting meaningful, loving relationships wouldn't exist, nor am I foretelling a story of a world where people are transformed into a zombie like population, walking around in a pheromone induced haze. But their sex drives would be heightened to "Drunk Frat Boy" level. And drunk frat boys' sex drive would be elevated to "Rabbits On Some Really Good Ecstasy" level.
First, there is the economic effect. Nine months of hormonally balanced people would lead to much more focus at work and greater productivity for 75% of the year. But there are quite a few businesses that would suffer if people only thought about sex for those three months. What are year round businesses in our current world would be sweating things out until their busy season begins in late September, like lingerie and cologne manufacturers, the people at Pfizer, and the entire porn industry.
Bucks are more active in times of low light, during their mating season. Low or no light has played a crucial part in many, many, many, many, many hookups. Many. Seriously, its like a huge number. Same goes for alcohol. So I would expect bars to stay open until sunrise during our mating season. The fast and shameless moments of debauchery that college students traditionally experience and regret if they are able to remember on Spring Break would take place on Fall Break. Las Vegas' drive-thru wedding chapels would notice a spike in business in the autumn months, for those whose pending physical relationship also has a strong, emotional relationship.
The NFL, which gets a significant amount of attention from the general male population, would most likely need to change its season start date to sometime in January, as opposed to September. As much as men love football, there's one thing we love more, and if there's only one time we can get it, football will lose out. In fact all sports seasons would need to be run sometime between January and August. Of course watching sports will be challenge even still, what with all the birthday parties to go to in the spring and summer.
The entertainment world would be effected too. Summer time, particularly Memorial Day and the 4th of July, are key dates for the releases of the biggest blockbusters - usually high budget action films. I suspect movie studios would similarly go all out with the production of romantic comedies during Labor Day and Columbus Day weekends. Its very easy to predict Rihanna's new sex driven anthem dominating the radio waves at some point in the fall. And in the winter, when the romance and the "romance" has died down, Taylor Swift's latest break up song will replace it at Number 1.
And then there's Valentine's Day.
There is great variance in the interpretation of the day. If you think otherwise, next Valentine's Day pop in at the nearest fine dining establishment and notice the mode of decorum of the patrons. Afterwards, head to a bar. Any bar. There is a significant difference in the behavior in the two places. If there was a mating season, Valentine's Day would generally be celebrated in the fashion stated in the former, not the latter. It truly would be a day about true love.
But those people in that bar will still get their day. There is a day similar to Valentine's Day in the fall that receives far less fanfare. Sweetest Day, which falls on the third Saturday of October, would be the make-it-or-break-it day of mating season. The cheesy pick up line spouting, tight shirt wearing, enough cologne to give an elephant a headache wearing, men who bought a stash of roses from a guy in the parking lot hoping he will find a woman either dumb, drunk, and/or desperate enough to succumb to his advances will not be present though. He will be replaced by cheesy pick up line spouting, tight shirt wearing, enough cologne to give an elephant a headache wearing, men who bought a stash of chrysanthemums from a guy in the parking lot hoping he will find a woman either dumb, drunk, and/or desperate enough to succumb to his advances, as that particular hardy flower is in season in the fall, and in much more supply. The rose, an icon for romance for romance for seemingly forever, would be kicked to the symbolism curb.
And the women in the bar will have a more accepting attitude of such immature, and obviously insincere wooing by these men. As awful, creepy, or just plain lame as some of these guys may seem, the attention must be nice. However, this time there would be a biological obligation to select one of these chest thumping alpha male wannabes. The ball will still be in the females' court, so they'd have the right to be choosy, at least for a while. Can you imagine what awkward offspring the last two misfits standing would yield?
Well, they say there's no timetable for love. Its probably a good thing there's no timetable for getting some lovin' either.
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PHOTO CONTEST: I am working diligently(-ish) on the production of a My-Randomalities calendar, highlighting many of the great days like the ones in the Save The Date blog that most calendars curiously choose to ignore.
Of course, I will need 12 photos. So I'm having a photo contest for the (almost) centerfold. Send me your pic of you "Randomality-ing" (reading my blog with a paper bag over your head in normal, strange, or random situations), and the person with the best photo will be dubbed Mr or Mrs Randomality, and get a spread during May, the month I began this silliness.
Perhaps this will become the next Internet fad, like planking or owling. Well, probably not.
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Upcoming Randomalities:
-The Character of LIncoln
- maybe a blog on windmills
Sunday, November 25, 2012
Monday, November 12, 2012
Delayed By Paranoia
Sunday morning has become my self imposed ( yet loosely followed) deadline to post my blogs. I had every intention of posting one this Sunday morning, and oh boy, it would have been a dandy.
In the days leading up to Sunday, I had a revelation, an epiphany. In my head popped - no, burst - no, exploded, the most amazing idea I've ever had. While I was short on time to actually write earlier this week, the seed had been planted, and I did have time to nurture this amazing idea, allowing it to sprout and grow in the warmth of my greenhouse of a mind. This blog would become my Magnum Opus, my grandest work, the blogging equivalent of Walden being written on top of the Mona Lisa.
With the groundwork laid in my brain, I spent Saturday fine tuning the most minute of details in my brain, carefully selecting the perfect word for the poetic diction, placed accordingly in a choreographed cadence.
I returned home after working a double shift, physically tired, but the idea of my greatest literary achievement was rather lively, still growing strong, like Jack's beanstalk climbing to the clouds. No worries, I thought. A sound night of well deserved rest and an early rise is all I would need. And then the words would dance from my fingertips to the screen, the sun would rise, the birds would sing a joyful chorus, and you, the reader, would notice the warmth spreading through your body is not from the 1st cup of coffee that is recommended with this blog, but is actually being induced from the words before you. A great feeling of comfort and joy would overcome you, as if your belly were being rubbed by the hand of God. I made my way to my bathroom for my bedtime routine, and that's when everything changed.
It would seem like such a minor incident, one that should not distract me, and especially not derail me. Yet it did, and with it, I lost nearly everything.
I looked in the mirror. I saw an exhausted man peering back at me. He winked at me, because he too was aware of my Sunday morning date with greatness. I reached for my toothbrush, the final task of the day. But it was not in its usual place. I scanned the bathroom, and quickly found it on the counter. That's not where it belongs. I ran it under the water, brushed my teeth, and made my way to bed.
But that amazing blog, The Blog, which I had rehearsed in my mind all day, which sounded like a symphony in my head, began to fade, as very different thoughts crept in. By the time my head hit my pillow, I felt a nervous anxiety coursing through my veins. Why was my toothbrush moved?
Sure, weaker men have been defeated by less compelling issues. But that was all I could think about. It had been 13 hours since I had last seen my toothbrush. I have four kids, one who is 1 and half years old. We close the door, but maybe just once, in those 13 hours, he found a way in. Probably not, but still, 13 hours is a long time. What would he do if he got to it? His motor skills are pretty advanced for his age, but then again, his age is under 2. Dropping it is a real possibility. So is putting it in his mouth. Or worse. His nose was pretty runny this morning. Oh God!
What if he took it out of the room, and did something with it to one of my dogs, then put it back? I don't buy in to the "their mouths are cleaner than ours" philosophy. I violently turned to my side and clenched my eyes shut as if the these images were being broadcast before them rather than in my mind. I was desperate to fall asleep, silently mouthing the words "Shut up, shut up, shut up" as if it was a 6th grade bully announcing my fears to the entire playground.
I felt a small bump on the inside of my cheek with my tongue. What is that? That wasn't there all day, was it? Its probably nothing, but WHAT IS THAT?!!
I tried to convince myself I probably left it on the counter as I rushed to leave, and rolled to my back. But it was close to the sink. And then I remembered two neighborhood kids were at my house today too. Six kids in and out of the bathroom with my vulnerable toothbrush. Sloppily washing their hands. Maybe little drops of dirty water and soap dripped on my toothbrush. Why did I always insist my kids wash their hands? What if one of them sneezed on it. Maybe it got knocked in to the sink while my kids were brushing their teeth that night, and unknowingly spit on mine. And Seriously, what the Hell is on my cheek?!! I think its getting bigger!!
I tossed my body back to my side. I'm sure they rinsed it off if anything happened. A deep breath. A brief moment of comfort. So something did in fact happen to the toothbrush, then? I rolled back on my back, kicking the covers off of my body, the anxiety causing my body temperature to rise. Maybe it wasn't even mine. My mother is visiting, and she had left her toothbrush safely placed on the counter the night before. Perhaps she left it somewhere else, and I mistakenly grabbed it? Could I really make that mistake? Both brushes in question are white and blue. The only thing I could tell you about my toothbrush is that its white and blue. Brushing my teeth is an exercise in muscle memory. I can do the entire process blindfolded, assuming all the necessary equipment is in its proper place. But I couldn't pick my toothbrush out in a lineup. I don't even know who made it; Oral-B, Colgate, Bic ( Does Bic even make toothbrushes?)... but still, how have I gone through life paying so little attention to something that I insert in to such an intimate place multiple times daily?
But it should be okay. My mother has never had any dental issues and rarely gets sick. But she had Chinese tonight. Shrimp in fact. With soy sauce. Yuck. We both would have used toothpaste, but now in a remarkable display of mind over matter, I felt like I could taste the shrimp and soy sauce just from the few minuscule particles that may have been transferred from her mouth to the toothbrush.
Wait, I'm pretty sure her brush was in the same place it had been the night before. I'm good. But that spot on my cheek is even bigger now. And I think there's another one on the inside of my lip. What happened to my toothbrush?!
I could envision microscopic cells of bacteria getting it on, using my tongue like a cheap hotel mattress for a late night tryst, as they reproduced at a hypersonic pace, covering my mouth with their gross little bacteria babies. I know cells reproduce through mitosis, but I was not in a rational state of mind. My head shook back and forth, me opening my mouth, sticking my tongue out like a cobra on the prowl, hoping the cold night air would slow the horny bacteria. My eyes sprung open, as the horror show I saw in my mind became unbearable. I stared at the ceiling, paralyzed and paranoid. Exactly eighty seven minutes had passed since I first laid down in my bed. In those 87 minutes, I realized 9 different people could have been in that bathroom during those 13 hours I was away, and I had imagined each and everyone of them having a portion of the blame. My breathing became heighten as the army of bacteria marched toward the back of my throat, intent on strangling me from within.
With what little energy I had left, I sprung up. I reached for my cup of water and gulped. Then I realized there was no way I could swallow what ever I was jarring loose as the water swished in my mouth. I headed back to the bathroom and spit it out. I gasped for air. My legs were weakened, yet I knew victory would soon be mine. I yanked open the medicine cabinet and saw the emerald green vile of my antidote. I ripped off the cap, and raised it to my lips. I saw that same man from earlier in the mirror, in much worse shape than before. Bags under his eyes, and sweat leaking from his brow. I felt his pain. We nodded at each other, flashed each other a quick smile, exposing the enemy in our mouths, whispered "I'll see you in Hell", and toasted each other before I dropped to the floor, chugging the bottle of Listerine. I violently gargled, the minty fresh liquid dribbling down my chin. I raised myself back to the sink and let loose a powerful spit, with the force and urgency of a sixteen year old whose stomach is rejecting her first bottle of Mad Dog 20/20, before doing it all over again. I rinsed with hot water, and then well aware of my how my tired mind worked, took a shot and half of NyQuil to prevent being kept awake by more revolting images of what may have happened to my toothbrush.
I awoke early Sunday morning, in a haze. Few remnants remain of that one glorious blog. Like Harrison Ford in Regarding Henry, I am slowly piecing things back together. I'm confident the pieces of the wreckage will wash ashore in my mind, and I can rebuild it. But Sunday morning was not the time. My first priority had become, understandably, getting a new toothbrush.
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Remember you can 'Like' My-Randomalities on Facebook. There will be information on a photo contest as well as details on a My-Randomalities calendar, and the most random Shark Week you will ever see.
In the days leading up to Sunday, I had a revelation, an epiphany. In my head popped - no, burst - no, exploded, the most amazing idea I've ever had. While I was short on time to actually write earlier this week, the seed had been planted, and I did have time to nurture this amazing idea, allowing it to sprout and grow in the warmth of my greenhouse of a mind. This blog would become my Magnum Opus, my grandest work, the blogging equivalent of Walden being written on top of the Mona Lisa.
With the groundwork laid in my brain, I spent Saturday fine tuning the most minute of details in my brain, carefully selecting the perfect word for the poetic diction, placed accordingly in a choreographed cadence.
I returned home after working a double shift, physically tired, but the idea of my greatest literary achievement was rather lively, still growing strong, like Jack's beanstalk climbing to the clouds. No worries, I thought. A sound night of well deserved rest and an early rise is all I would need. And then the words would dance from my fingertips to the screen, the sun would rise, the birds would sing a joyful chorus, and you, the reader, would notice the warmth spreading through your body is not from the 1st cup of coffee that is recommended with this blog, but is actually being induced from the words before you. A great feeling of comfort and joy would overcome you, as if your belly were being rubbed by the hand of God. I made my way to my bathroom for my bedtime routine, and that's when everything changed.
It would seem like such a minor incident, one that should not distract me, and especially not derail me. Yet it did, and with it, I lost nearly everything.
I looked in the mirror. I saw an exhausted man peering back at me. He winked at me, because he too was aware of my Sunday morning date with greatness. I reached for my toothbrush, the final task of the day. But it was not in its usual place. I scanned the bathroom, and quickly found it on the counter. That's not where it belongs. I ran it under the water, brushed my teeth, and made my way to bed.
But that amazing blog, The Blog, which I had rehearsed in my mind all day, which sounded like a symphony in my head, began to fade, as very different thoughts crept in. By the time my head hit my pillow, I felt a nervous anxiety coursing through my veins. Why was my toothbrush moved?
Sure, weaker men have been defeated by less compelling issues. But that was all I could think about. It had been 13 hours since I had last seen my toothbrush. I have four kids, one who is 1 and half years old. We close the door, but maybe just once, in those 13 hours, he found a way in. Probably not, but still, 13 hours is a long time. What would he do if he got to it? His motor skills are pretty advanced for his age, but then again, his age is under 2. Dropping it is a real possibility. So is putting it in his mouth. Or worse. His nose was pretty runny this morning. Oh God!
What if he took it out of the room, and did something with it to one of my dogs, then put it back? I don't buy in to the "their mouths are cleaner than ours" philosophy. I violently turned to my side and clenched my eyes shut as if the these images were being broadcast before them rather than in my mind. I was desperate to fall asleep, silently mouthing the words "Shut up, shut up, shut up" as if it was a 6th grade bully announcing my fears to the entire playground.
I felt a small bump on the inside of my cheek with my tongue. What is that? That wasn't there all day, was it? Its probably nothing, but WHAT IS THAT?!!
I tried to convince myself I probably left it on the counter as I rushed to leave, and rolled to my back. But it was close to the sink. And then I remembered two neighborhood kids were at my house today too. Six kids in and out of the bathroom with my vulnerable toothbrush. Sloppily washing their hands. Maybe little drops of dirty water and soap dripped on my toothbrush. Why did I always insist my kids wash their hands? What if one of them sneezed on it. Maybe it got knocked in to the sink while my kids were brushing their teeth that night, and unknowingly spit on mine. And Seriously, what the Hell is on my cheek?!! I think its getting bigger!!
I tossed my body back to my side. I'm sure they rinsed it off if anything happened. A deep breath. A brief moment of comfort. So something did in fact happen to the toothbrush, then? I rolled back on my back, kicking the covers off of my body, the anxiety causing my body temperature to rise. Maybe it wasn't even mine. My mother is visiting, and she had left her toothbrush safely placed on the counter the night before. Perhaps she left it somewhere else, and I mistakenly grabbed it? Could I really make that mistake? Both brushes in question are white and blue. The only thing I could tell you about my toothbrush is that its white and blue. Brushing my teeth is an exercise in muscle memory. I can do the entire process blindfolded, assuming all the necessary equipment is in its proper place. But I couldn't pick my toothbrush out in a lineup. I don't even know who made it; Oral-B, Colgate, Bic ( Does Bic even make toothbrushes?)... but still, how have I gone through life paying so little attention to something that I insert in to such an intimate place multiple times daily?
But it should be okay. My mother has never had any dental issues and rarely gets sick. But she had Chinese tonight. Shrimp in fact. With soy sauce. Yuck. We both would have used toothpaste, but now in a remarkable display of mind over matter, I felt like I could taste the shrimp and soy sauce just from the few minuscule particles that may have been transferred from her mouth to the toothbrush.
Wait, I'm pretty sure her brush was in the same place it had been the night before. I'm good. But that spot on my cheek is even bigger now. And I think there's another one on the inside of my lip. What happened to my toothbrush?!
I could envision microscopic cells of bacteria getting it on, using my tongue like a cheap hotel mattress for a late night tryst, as they reproduced at a hypersonic pace, covering my mouth with their gross little bacteria babies. I know cells reproduce through mitosis, but I was not in a rational state of mind. My head shook back and forth, me opening my mouth, sticking my tongue out like a cobra on the prowl, hoping the cold night air would slow the horny bacteria. My eyes sprung open, as the horror show I saw in my mind became unbearable. I stared at the ceiling, paralyzed and paranoid. Exactly eighty seven minutes had passed since I first laid down in my bed. In those 87 minutes, I realized 9 different people could have been in that bathroom during those 13 hours I was away, and I had imagined each and everyone of them having a portion of the blame. My breathing became heighten as the army of bacteria marched toward the back of my throat, intent on strangling me from within.
With what little energy I had left, I sprung up. I reached for my cup of water and gulped. Then I realized there was no way I could swallow what ever I was jarring loose as the water swished in my mouth. I headed back to the bathroom and spit it out. I gasped for air. My legs were weakened, yet I knew victory would soon be mine. I yanked open the medicine cabinet and saw the emerald green vile of my antidote. I ripped off the cap, and raised it to my lips. I saw that same man from earlier in the mirror, in much worse shape than before. Bags under his eyes, and sweat leaking from his brow. I felt his pain. We nodded at each other, flashed each other a quick smile, exposing the enemy in our mouths, whispered "I'll see you in Hell", and toasted each other before I dropped to the floor, chugging the bottle of Listerine. I violently gargled, the minty fresh liquid dribbling down my chin. I raised myself back to the sink and let loose a powerful spit, with the force and urgency of a sixteen year old whose stomach is rejecting her first bottle of Mad Dog 20/20, before doing it all over again. I rinsed with hot water, and then well aware of my how my tired mind worked, took a shot and half of NyQuil to prevent being kept awake by more revolting images of what may have happened to my toothbrush.
I awoke early Sunday morning, in a haze. Few remnants remain of that one glorious blog. Like Harrison Ford in Regarding Henry, I am slowly piecing things back together. I'm confident the pieces of the wreckage will wash ashore in my mind, and I can rebuild it. But Sunday morning was not the time. My first priority had become, understandably, getting a new toothbrush.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Remember you can 'Like' My-Randomalities on Facebook. There will be information on a photo contest as well as details on a My-Randomalities calendar, and the most random Shark Week you will ever see.
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