Sneezy Was Also A Dwarf

Thai food makes me sneeze, evidently.
   So does the dusty inside of a disreputable muffler shop.
   And being in a ship on the ocean. But being in the ocean itself does not make me sneeze.
   Trying not to think about sneezing makes me sneeze. So does looking at a lit flourescent tube. Really.
   Picking my nose while driving my truck past the intersection of Third and Highland in Los Angeles made me sneeze more often than not. I have no idea why, but I did test it out and the results are better than chance.

I'm not an allergic person, no pet dander, no pollen, no milk products, no peanuts, no shellfish. As far as I know I'm not allergic to anything, never have been. I'm pretty sure it's because of all the dirt my parents let me eat when I was a kid. And yet, for some reason, those things I outlined above will make me sneeze. Every time.
   Why?
   Would someone tell me why I can walk into a Thai restaurant and sneeze immediately even though I haven't sneezed in days? Doesn't happen for a Japanese restaurant, or Korean, or Italian, or German, or even a McDonald's. But the moment I walk into a place where the waitresses wear brocaded full-length skirts, the sneeze is on.
   Is it psychosomatic? What trauma in my past life led me to associate sneezing with Mee Krob? Better yet, how the hell do I stop?
   This kind of makes me wonder, what other things do I do unconsciously, things that don't draw attention to themselves quite like a sneeze does. Maybe I stare into the refrigerator? Maybe I twitch when I walk past a fudge shop? I don't know! It makes me crazy. Or maybe I was that way to begin with.

My Identical Twin

When I was younger, I used to think it would have been cool to have an identical twin. Cool for me, I mean, not so much for my parents. One of me was waaaaaay more than enough, I can't imagine what a nightmare two of me would have become. I used to think of all the things that I could do with a brother the exact same age instead of a stinky little sister.
   Make no mistake, I love my sister dearly, and I promised my parents long ago never to mention the crooked carnies we bought her from when she was a baby. Still, you can't exactly practice lighting your farts with your little sister, but it's an obligation when you have a twin brother.
   Anyway... I was reading in Scientific American the other day - the October 2010 issue - that humans have about 20,000 genes, with about 3 billion nucleotide pairs. Not a whole heck of a lot, actually. Most of the human genome is identical from person to person, there are differences only in about 1 in 1000 nucleotide pairs. Which means that from me to you there would only be a maximum difference of about 3 million pairs, and that's only if every single nucleotide sequence was different. Chances are good you and I have far fewer than 3 million different genes. Maybe only on the order of a few hundred.
   So I got to thinking. If the maximum difference between two people was 3 million nucleotide pairs, and if there are 6 billion people on the planet...
   There's an extremely good chance that somewhere out there - right this moment - there is a man who has EXACTLY the same genome as I do. He could be older, he could be younger, but with so few possibilities for differences in genes, the probability is solidly in the positive range. The math is simple enough to do, it's not even calculus.
   Somewhere in the world I have a genetic twin, who is walking around, blissfully unaware that he and I are the same down to our very last strands of DNA.
   And why is this important? Other than being a way for me to get the twin brother I never had, it would be good to find my genetic twin just in case I run up against any problems. You know, accidents, disease, that kind of thing. If I can find this guy then I'll have someone whose organs I can harvest when the going gets tough.
   Of course, maybe that guy has the same idea about me.... We are exactly the same, after all.

Uh-oh...

After a particularly surreal phone interview in which I was turned down because I made too little in my prior job - yup, you read that right, I didn't make enough to be considered for this new position - I had to take a few minutes to unwind. So I clicked through the broadcast channels and settled on 20.1, which in Pasadena is a Spanish-language channel. I don't really speak Spanish, just the curse words, but I was following the story, and after a few minutes it was all making sense to me. Then, in horror, I made a terrible, terrible, shocking revelation. With that one simple act, watching Spanish-language TV even though I don't speak Spanish, my life had completely changed.
   I had turned into my father.
   Once, years ago, I walked into the house to find him watching 'The Seven Samurai' on channel 41, Univision in San Antonio. The movie was spoken in Japanese, but subtitled in Spanish, and my father neither reads, writes, nor speaks either of those languages. When I called him on it he outlined the story for me and continued watching.
   And now the curse has fallen on the next generation. On me. I can see that I will eventually turn into my own grandfather, no use in fighting it, I'm gonna grab this bull by the horns and ride it to the bitter end. I'll need polyester jumpsuits in colors not found in nature, a fedora, black socks with worn dress shoes, and a great-big American land yacht of a car.
   I drive a Chevy Tahoe, so I already got the last one covered. Pray for me.

Robotic Seniors

I've written before about how the Japanese concern me, what with their penchant for talking toilets and their creepy human-like robots. Well now they've gone too far again, this time with human-assist mechanics intended for old people. Japan has a lot of old people, and they're only going to get more as their population ages, so recently they unveiled three new mobility assist devices. Two strap to a person's legs to help them walk, and the other is designed to sit on and zip around. The first two look kind of silly, but that's no concern if it helps people get around, and the other one... well, I just don't see how grandma is going to balance well enough to use it.
   But the point is that once again the Japanese are messing with the natural order of things.
   See, the thing about getting older is that you get wiser and sneakier. Craftier. You've seen more things and had more experience, so you're better equipped - mentally - to get one over on people. The trade off is you get feebler, sometimes slowly, sometimes alarmingly quickly. But now the Japanese are inventing stuff to help old people stay stronger for longer. A noble pursuit, at first glance, but think about it for a moment. With these things strapped to them, old people, naturally sneakier to begin with, are going to stay strong and vital far longer than they otherwise would. I'm not sure I want a crafty, cybernetic codger who can kick my ass.
   Young people are stronger but stupider, old people are smarter but weaker. It's the way of things, like the change in seasons or the slow decline of NBC as a viable TV network. If we start making old people into Six Million Dollar Men and Women, what's left for the young people of the world? Around here kids in their twenties are already pretty much worthless, the one thing they have is their youth and vitality, if you take that away Lord knows what will happen. I'd say there could be revolution in the streets, but there'd probably be a squadron of elderly peacekeepers with their cybernetic parts ready to dispense justice with a good helping of common sense advice.

From My Bookshelf

Wow, it's been a while since I've done a 'From My Bookshelf' post. It's not like I have a shortage of books, either. Just slipped my mind, I suppose.
   This time I'm getting all science-y, but in a fun way. 'How is that possible?' you ask. 'Science isn't fun, it's done in classrooms that smell like formaldehyde and cranky old man. It's something for eggheads, not for us hip youngsters with our long hair and permissive attitudes.'
   To which I say 'Au contraire, mon ami.' And this book is proof of the awesome coolness of science. And of science writers.

The Stuff of Life: a graphic guide to genetics and DNA by Mark Schultz illustrated by Zander Cannon and Kevin Cannon
   This is a 'graphic novel' which is a five-dollar word for 'comic book' that fools no one. However, in this case the term is apt, because it really is a very straightforward, earnest elucidation of the complexities of genetics, presented in panels of well-drawn pictures. No guys in tights punching each other here.
   I remember when I was learning genetics I could read all the text in the world and have it mean nothing to me. When the teacher drew a Mendelian square on the chalkboard, it all started coming together. Imagine that clarity, but extended for all genetics, including how DNA strands are constructed and replicated. If you have a student in a biology class - or ARE a student in a biology class - you should run out and get this book, it's that good.
   Mark Schultz is a longtime comics writer, who has won two Eisners. That's like winning two Oscars, if you don't know comics.
   Zander Cannon and Kevin Cannon are comic artists, who are responsible, along with Alan Moore, for the incredible Top 10 series, which is also something you should check out. They're not actually related, they just have the same last name. Seriously.