Is a World Without Sabertooth Tigers a Less Fun World?

Here’s a bold statement that may or may not have any validity (hey, it’s a blog!) We all enjoy the occasional threat of being eaten by a sabertooth tiger. Seriously, why shouldn’t we? Our brains have only recently moved into this era of modernity and “civilization.” Prior to occupying the space between the ears of the modern business man or woman – our collective grey matter spent several million years evolving in the craniums of people for whom imminent tiger-death was a greater likelihood than encountering a really-long-line-at-Starbucks (Full “science” disclaimer: I am not a geo-socio-anthro-lo…pologist.) Simply put, our brains evolved to deal with unpredictability and danger on a daily basis.

Yes. There were routines. Wake up, hunt or gather, decide whether or not the cave girl with facial hair or the one without facial hair was more attractive (hint: cave girl sans facial hair won the day and the subsequent evolutionary battle,) and glare at the guy in the cave next door whose been rolling that ridiculous rounded rock down the hill all day. Seriously, when will that guy get to work?

But beyond the drudgery of day-to-day life; there was also the one simple thought that probably occupied the common cave brain a lot of the time: “will I be eaten by a sabertooth tiger today?” Now, I’m not suggesting that the constant, looming, threat of a speedy, drooling, gargantuan tiger stalking you is an enjoyable sensation – but I would argue that living with the fear of random-tiger-death 24 hours a day would cause our brains (over the course of MILLIONS of years) to adapt to that ever-present threat. In this version (my version) of evolutionary science, our brains evolved to function at a higher level of alertness that probably felt fairy invigorating to Gorg as he was out searching for a new club to woo the semi-hairless-one.

Fast-forward to today. The drudgery continues. Instead of hunting and gathering – we are copying and collating. We don’t bond over grooming rituals – but we do share gossip at the proverbial water cooler. (Oh, and, as was previously mentioned – the female-facial-hair-quandary has been solved for quite some time. ) This is as it should be – vast sections of our brains have likely evolved through the eons to handle routine and drudgery. We probably even find some degree of comfort in it.

But what about the large “tiger-death” swaths of our brain? What are those areas doing today? Don’t we miss having them activated? What about that really cool sensation of absolute do-or-die focus? ( just think about the last time you had a really challenging session of Guitar Hero.) There’s something to be said for the efficiency and output that comes along with that. Think about it like this -- Gorg’s Twitter update probably never read: “ Just out gathering carrion from a Mastodon. Oh! That was close! Just watched Morg be devoured by a….AHHH! My leg!”

So what’s my point? Certainly not: don’t Twitter or a tiger may eat you. No – what I’m trying to get at is that the shackles of employment can immerse us so fully in routine and drudgery that our tiger-death neurons rarely get a chance to fire. And, when they do, it may be because we just had an especially harrowing commute or did something out of the ordinary like skydive. In these cases we are getting the tiger-death buzz--- but we aren’t really harnessing the fear into something tangible or productive.

I think that owning your own business is the equivalent of leaving the safety of the cubicle-cave and entering the open area where predators lurk. Instead of being torn apart by a Sabertooth Tiger, the threat we deal with is a tiger called “failure”. For me anyway, the fear of failure is a constant push to do more, be more, accomplish more in a shorter amount of time. And it’s not an unpleasant sensation – it’s invigorating to find the focus and the desire to beat the tiger.


Okay, you get my point. A conservative routine may bring safety – but it eliminates the possibility of death by saber-tooth-tiger…. Which I would argue is a very, very bad thing for our productive and creative powers.

The SAHG Battles Ants (and a Swollen Tongue)

They have invaded my kitchen and therefore my claim to being a domestic goddess. Ants. Teeny, tiny ants. I clean, I bleach, I scrub the baseboards and they keep on marching on like they’re in a Dave Matthews song.

Awful as this was – it seemed manageable. After all, they were just ants. Then came the day I went to take the trash out while wearing high heels (part of my training for the SAHG Olympics.) As I picked up the bag, I noticed about two dozen ants scurrying around on the concrete. I was irritated – and promised myself I would redouble my ant eradication efforts as soon as I got back home. Then in a heartbeat – I was more than irritated – I was under attack! Fire ants! Those little, harmless looking buggers were FIRE ANTS! As I struggled to kick off my heels while juggling a purse and a bag of disgusting trash I am sure I looked positively ridiculous --and probably pretty darn mad too.

After the fire ant epiphany – I viewed the ants in whole new light. Not only were they tiny reminders of my failure as a SAHG, they were now my sworn enemies. Perhaps they heard me declare war as I scrubbed the wilted lettuce leaf off of my pumps – because they were the first to go on the offensive.

It happened when I was in (yet another) big rush, I had just come back from a recording session that had run really long and I was starving. As I was debating whether to make lunch or snack to stave of delirium -- I saw them there, on the kitchen sink -- some sort of ant reconnaissance team doing some crumb-scouting.
Ha! There’s no food for your there, I thought. Good luck! Then as they marched down into the sink itself I found myself (outloud,) saying: “ C’mon little guys, why don’t you check down in the disposal? Yeah… there ya go….just a little further, I know it’s hard for you to get there on your teeny tiny ant legs, want me to help you with a little water slide? “

Then my stomach grumbled. Loudly. As if to say “are you really talking to ants? How about you make me a sandwich?” So I did. Well, not a sandwich exactly, but I pulled out some hummus and crackers.

After attacking lunch in a less than feminine way, I turned to get a drink out of the glass that was already on the counter. I filled it with water, put it to my lips, and …”oh-my-holy-freakin -OW!”... No, I thought, there is NO way a fire ant just bit me on my tongue? I touched the offending spot in my mouth and wouldn’t you know it? I pulled out a FIRE ANT! Sure, the combination of the trauma and my chickpea and garlic breath had mortally wounded him—but he was still totally recognizable as a fire ant. .. and one who(m) had just bit my tongue. That is probably the first time that has ever happened in the history of humanity.

I have focused my ant- annihilation efforts on killing all fire ants within marching distance of my home… But, and ant-anecdote that just occurred at someone else’s home has made me wonder if this is possible(though, the incident did sooth my domestic conscience a little.)

You see, I was house-sitting yesterday at the home of the parents-of-the-man-who-will-never-marry-me (MWWNMM) It’s a really nice place; about as clean as is humanely possible. There is no food in the house that isn’t airtight or refrigerated --and all the plants are plastic. In other words, there is nothing organic or appetizing to speak of. Also, while I occasionally have windows and doors open for circulation – this is a climate-controlled abode with no ant friendly points-of-entrance.

For those reasons and more, ants were the absolute furthest thing from my mind as I was relaxing in the kitchen. Bees, on the other hand, were foremost as I saw this huge guy buzzing around the lights. This was bad. I was sure I was going to be busted for leaving a door open long enough for this to happen. The Mother of my beloved MWWNMM would find the bee carcass in a couple days on some windowsill and she would know I had left the door open. Icy, accusatory, looks would probably haunt our relationship from that point forward.

Feeling immensely guilty, I dealt the fatal blow with a sort of swatting motion that left both the rag and bee on the ground. Rather than pick him up and risk a post-mortem sting; I opted to leave his body disposal for the morning. Fast-forward to this morning: I bend down gingerly to remove the funeral sheath, and to my surprise, the only thing left of Mr. Bee was one wing. And even that was about to be hauled away by a group of industrious ants.

They had found the one and only organic item in this house, and they had carted it away. This is some good ant intelligence. I don’t know if I can compete with this. And, I have to grudgingly admit that I’m more than a little impressed. Of course, if I were to say that last sentence outloud right now, I’m afraid it would sound more like “gwudingly “ and “impwessed.” Stupid swollen tongue.

The SAHG Decyphers What's Behind Warren Buffets Unlikely Choice in Cities/ Political Ideologies

The following is piece of satire composed by my, the SAHG (Stay-At-Home-Girlfriend.) It is meant to entertain and not to illicit legal action on the part of the second wealthiest man (or is it first again?) in the world. As far as I know, Warren B. has legitimate reasons for his (seemingly illogical) choice in city and political ideology.

May 3, 2009 -- OMAHA, NE (But not for Long)

The Oracle of Omaha may soon be better known as the Oracle of Osaka. Billionaire Warren Buffet shocked stockholders gathered at the annual Berkshire Hathaway meeting today when he announced that he’s begun to doubt both his city of choice for more than fifty years and his political ideology after coming to the realization that it’s not ‘Omaha’ or ‘Obama’ that he loves – but rather 5 letter words beginning with ‘O’ and ending with ‘A’.

Buffet explained to the 35,000 shareholders in attendance that he had the realization several months ago. “ I was sitting in my office late at night … in that same old, dilapidated house I’ve been living in for years, and I started thinking – as I must have done a thousand times before in this god-awful town – about how there is absolutely NOTHING to do here. And it’s always either too hot or too cold…Seriously, why do I love Omaha so much? While I was churning this over in my brain, I got another late-night phone call from Obama. And, of course, I picked it up – I always get this funny chill that goes down my spine when I say ‘Obama’ – It makes me feel so good. Even now…”

At this Buffet pauses for a moment. An uncomfortably long moment. He only continues on when the crowd starts getting antsy, and the scraping noise of folding chairs on concrete jars the oracle out of his revelry.

“Anyway, Barack just had the same old, tired, complaints about ‘Wall Street, Corporate America, and how taxes are ‘too low.’ Usually when he talks I just kinda get swept away in the moment, saying to myself ‘Obama, Obama, Obama’….sometimes I even take out a pen and paper and scribble his name on some notebook paper while he’s talking. I’m a little embarrassed to say I’ve even caught myself drawing hearts next to it before…”

At this, the packed auditorium once again takes on the strange hush that is characteristic of an incredibly awkward moment.

Buffet continues, “ But that night I was just too damn cold and bored and I guess the spell was broken because I started really listening to what he was saying, and I was like ‘Wait a gosh-darn minute Warren don’t you make a lot of money? Aren’t you a rich SOB? Don’t you like capitalism? So I told Barack I had to go – which, when you’re as old I am, that’s really all you have to say… and I drew a big red X through the last I <3>

“ I don’t know if the true answer ever would have occurred to me if it wasn’t for the fact that I was listening to my CD -- you see, I love Opera Music -- and it occurred to me! I jotted down: 'Opera, Omaha, Obama,' and BANG! It all became crystal clear. I get a really giddy, almost sexual feeling whenever I hear or see a 5 letter word that starts with 'O' and ends with 'A'. It's as simple as that!"

After several minutes of uncomfortable quiet -- A sense of panic starts to spread (in a well-ordered, Midwestern fashion,) amidst the stockholders in attendance …many of whom have their entire life savings tied up in Buffet’s Berkshire Hathaway.

At last, one baffled yet intrepid stockholder manages to ask if there were any other word combinations or letters that he felt the same way about?

Buffet replied “That’s a great question, and you know, there just isn’t. 6 letter words starting with ‘O’ and ending with ‘A’ are a close second – but the feeling just isn’t strong enough—And I wish it was, because, I’ll tell you, I’m a big fan of southern Mexico and I would love to live in say, Oaxaca. And you know what? I really like the way Daniel ‘Ortega’ rolls of the tongue too. I think I could almost be happy living in Oaxaca and doing fundraising events for Ortega in Nicaragua. Almost.”

As it is, Buffet says he is planning to move to Osaka, Japan at the end of the summer. He says he briefly considered Odesa, Ukraine as well, but “I just couldn’t seriously consider it. Don’t get me wrong, I could say ‘Odesa’ all day long, Odesa…Odesa…Odesa… But after a lifetime wasted in the barren winter wasteland of Omaha? No, I couldn’t move to another hell hole. I did however, seriously consider Odessa, Texas before I realized those damn Texans had added an ‘S’.

In the end, Warren says it was another special five letter word that solidified his decision to move to Japan: sushi. “You know, all these years I really thought I liked steak – but then it occurred to me that I always think of ‘Omaha’ Steaks. Recently I’ve realized I really love sushi… I mean, just think about all the delicious choices, Otora, Ogoma, O’oba… And with all that fish? Just think of the Omega 3 fatty acids?”

As the crowd of shareholders started making their way towards the doors of the Quest Center, many shuffling right past the tables of expensive goods that had been carefully laid out for their examination and potential purchase without so much as a passing glance; this reporter asked one of the less comatose stockholders what he thought of Buffet’s announcement.

John Brown, an executive with an Omaha Based railroad behemoth, replied, “I just feel sort of numb right now. That crazy man has all of my money….” As he stopped to wipe sweat from his forehead (the temperature in Omaha has changed from an average of -10 last month to 97 degrees this month,) his wife chimed in, “but you know what? He’s right. Omaha is really boring.”

Cookies to Eat While You Surf the Internet Looking for Work (a recipe)

The other day I meet one of my boyfriend's friends for the first time.

I said, "You must be Chad!" He replied... "You must be the stay-at-home-girlfriend."

Wow. As my mom would say to that "You never know from where you sit how far a pickle will squirt."

Actually, she would not say that. She hates that saying. But, I think it rings true. You never know where the circumstances of life will take you.

A year ago I did not know how to get a shirt collar really stiff (nor did I care.) Two years ago I was probably in Colombia. Three years ago I was probably on the radio. Today... I made chocolate chip cookies (and started a blog.)

In short, I could not have envisioned how far my, um, pickle would squirt .

Don't get me wrong. I'm not complaining. And I do occasionally make it out the front door for something other than a laundry detergent/ sugar run. I go to the mailbox too. Sometimes. If I'm expecting something (and something is like, a package from my mom. Last time she sent cookies.)

In between all that excitement I find time to do voice work (I was born to tell you to press # for directory assistance,) do contract writing assignments, look for other freelance gigs (I'm freaky-fast at Craigslist baby,) and, now, write a blog.

Oh, and I'm starting a business too. And it's not even related to my ability to get my boyfriend's shirts astonishingly white. It's going to be a social media marketing business (read: facebook skillz are not useless,) and it will be successful.

In the meantime, I'm available to tell you when your favorite store's business hours are -- so, if you know somebody in need of some non-regional-diction , feel free to let me know ;-)

And, just because I have a few more minutes allotted to my daily blogging -- here's my chocolate chip cookie recipe:

Cookies to eat while surfing the internet for work:

Ingredients:

• 2 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
• 1 teaspoon baking soda
• 1 teaspoon salt
• 2 sticks of butter, softened (I've been known to use the microwave)
  
• 3/4 cup granulated sugar
• 3/4 cup packed brown sugar
• 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
• 2 eggs
  
• 1 pkg chocolate chips ( I strongly recommend semi-sweet)
  

Preheat oven to 375° F.

Mix flour, baking soda and salt in small bowl. Beat butter, granulated sugar, brown sugar and vanilla extract in large mixer bowl until creamy. Add eggs, one at a time, beating well after each addition. Gradually beat in flour mixture. Stir in chocolate chips. Drop by rounded tablespoon onto ungreased baking sheets (Or aluminum foil on top of baking sheet for less clean-up.

BAKE for 9 to 11 minutes or until golden brown. Cool on baking sheets for 2 minutes; remove to wire racks to cool completely (who has a cooling rack?)



Eat. A lot. Do not take to the golf course to give your boyfriend and his friends. They will not appreciate it and may refer to you as "domesticated"?