Floral Justice

When an animal is being improperly cared for anywhere at anytime, I have little doubt that the PETA Special Forces will swoop in on the wings of their Animacopter and thwart evildoers by removing the animal from the line of fire. They’re currently over in France assisting with the riots, since “car-burning” is about to give way to “puppy-kicking” as the preferred way to file one’s public grievances. PETA takes their job very seriously. It’s just a shame that there’s no one to take them seriously. (When your website’s headline proclaims “Partridge Sticks Up for Turkeys” you should know why.)

So there is an organization comprised of over 850,000 dedicating their time and effort to making sure animals are treated in a humane fashion. That’s cool. But YAB has another question for this near-million crowd.

Who’s looking out for the plants?

YAB is totally cool with PETA picking up the shield for God’s creatures, but what about His vegetables? Surely, in an era of deforestation, drought, and little kids running through flowerbeds, somebody should step up to the plate to make equally ludicrous demands on the behalf of greenery. That’s why someone, not Condon, but someone should establish and erect FLAP – Freakos who Like and Adore Plants.

Why am I choosing a mundane Wednesday to start a revolution in the protection of those who photosynthesize? Because as a part of my morning walk to the kitchen to fill the ole’ Nalgene bottle, I witnessed a first-class case of plant abuse, and I need an agency like FLAP to intervene.

Sitting there by the sink was a purple flowered plant looking for someone to read its last rites and send it off to the big botanical garden in the sky (or at the very least, the little black trash can by the Xerox machine.) It one of those ivy-looking plants where the flower’s leaves and petals are actually slightly fuzzy. But as said leaves and petals drooped down over the edges of the plant’s container, it was clear that the little guy has had very little lovin’ in the last few days.

ABANDONMENT! Recently, Corporate Telecom has been moved elsewhere in the building to make room for an expansion in Human Resources. (Arrr!!!) When once must pack up an office, one only takes as much as they actually think they need – it’s an opportunity for some housekeeping and housecleaning. Well, whoever used to care for this flower has moved up to the third floor and left him for dead. I can hear FLAP gasping in outrage now.

STARVATION! Dude, there must be 50 different people who use this kitchen on a daily basis, YAB’s editor included. I have to think the fuzzy flower has been here for a week, and it’s more than clear than no one has taken the extra few seconds to feed the thing. It’s not like it could be that hard – it’s sitting there RIGHT NEXT TO THE SINK. Oh by the way, FLAP hates ignorance more than PETA loathes puppykickers.

FLAP, since I just made them up, has very little in terms of start-up capital. No global headquarters, and definitely not any regional headquarters. So it could be a while until they get here to save the little fella and prosecute the departed phone jockey to the fullest extent of the law. I guess that buys all plant offenders a little bit of time to either right their recent wrongs or cover the tracks of past misdoings against our Little. Green. Friends.

I, sadly, am as guilty as the next guy. Sophomore year I was in charge of taking care of our apartment plant, Endor. I’m sure my roommates think twice about it now – I left him out on the porch over Thinksgiving break. Poor, poor Endor.

I can just here FLAP’s sirens now.

Addition by Subtraction

A new era is here.

Philadelphia Eagles brass, led by Andy Reid and General Manager Banner, finally finished a bizarre phase in franchise annals, suspending Number 81, as his playing days in Philly seem ended. In seven brief days, McNabb’s primary receiver has changed – his new name is Greg Lewis (Lewis’ Legacy will be discussed in a YAB piece when I can acquire Spud’s services in speaking Lewis’ killer nickname in a wav file. Friends, acquire speakers quickly.)

As a Philadelphia Eagle fan and a daily supplier in amusing YAB readers, I have a charge – a charge in speaking my mind regarding suspending Number 81. Hey, if Michael Irvin’s view is valued, Chris and YAB deserves a piece as well.

We are a fanbase - lean, mean and Green - and Eagles’ wins are all we really are seeking. Number 81 had speed and hands whereby he blew by CBs and defenses, and likely made differences where earlier wide receivers failed. When he was happy, Philly was happy. Dreams were realized, and ‘dem Birds succeeded in securing an NFC banner in 2004. Andy Reid’s squad desired a succeeding appearance in 2005.

Camp geared up, and 81 grew increasingly demanding. He balked in fulfilling his side, adding “cancerback” as a class in Reid’s player pages. A man demanding special praise in Reid’s scheme is an epic sized dilemma. When Reid decided 81 had surely remember his age (32!) and be mindful in manners, 81’s flashy smile disappeared. He resumed his childlike games. Bye, bye, 81.

Surrendering a 2005 campaign because a single player has been suspended is crazy. 8 games remain, and 8 chances Andy Reid has in changing Eagles luck. Sure, G-Men, Dallas, and Redskins are ahead. Sure, McNabb is injured. YAB cares less regarding 81’s childish ways. Suspending him enhances Birds' chances. MNF has us and Dallas in six days. Game is in Philly.

Fly, Eagles, fly. Sans 81.
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Look, Eagles fans. Keep positive on this season. There’s still a lot of football left. And if I was able to succeed in writing the above blog without a single use of the letters T or O, then Philly can find a way to do the same. Let’s roll.

Que pasa, NASA?

You gotta love rocket scientists.

Public opinion widely holds that the smartest people on the planet work at NASA. The National Aeronautics and Space Administration is a choice employment locale for engineers and mathematicians graduating at the top of their respective MIT and CalTech classes. These men and women can put men on the moon and control satellites eleventy billion miles away. But my question is this – are non-engineering personnel exponentially smart as well? Can I expect a NASA copy boy to rattle off quadratic formulas? Can the guy who mops the floor of Mission Control translate Sanskrit on the fly? Can the front desk security guard solve the almighty Rubix Cube? I’ve always wondered this.

In the meantime, CNN reports that NASA has decided to set its priorities regarding space travel and other activities for the coming years. With many, many, projects on its plate without the all-too-important condiment known as “funding” to supplement, it was time to figure out what to focus on and what to jettison off into space. As per the article, their goals are pretty clear, and like you would expect from rocket scientists, well-reasoned. Above all, NASA will look to find a replacement for the space shuttle. Secondly, a work-to-completion project of the International Space Station. Other projects, like how salamanders doing space walks as an indicator of proposed human existence in the galaxy, will get deep sixed shortly.

(Poor salamanders. Out of work. Again.)

But for a bunch of guys who could probably prove ridiculous equations like Speed of Light x Pi = Cuba, it doesn’t seem like they’ve got their priorities straight. Yes, I totally agree that the Shuttle is getting outdated and a more hi-tech version of manned spaceflight must be developed. And I have nothing against the International Space Station – I hear that their World Passport Continental Breakfast is to DIE for. But why spend money on these two ‘moderately-important’ tasks when there’s bigger fish to uhh, fly.

- More monkey launches – Monkeys, undoubtedly, are in the pantheon of all-time funniest animals. And frankly, the Geek image that NASA has been pushing for decades is wearing a little thin. It’s time to leave the protractors and slide rules at home and bring the funny. If NASA needs to change their image, they have to trust the almighty powers of comedy. It worked for Christopher Walken. Since 1961, there have only been 6 primate launches. And two of them were from France. This means there have only been 4 monkey launches that sent up non-cheese eating surrender monkeys. You want a reality show? Have NASA broadcast their monkey flights. I’m sure Fox would pick it up.

- Mess with Texas – Right now, the Lonestar State not only home to Mission Control, they also serve as the homefield for the Dallas Stars, the Houston Rockets, and the Houston Astros. Use your know-how to create the ultimate space-athlete. After all, we’ll be living in space sometime in the future, and we’ll need to extend our Olympic dominance to the Intergalactic games. I’m thinking the hand-eye coordination of Mike Modano grafted onto the tireless fastball of Roger Clemens. All on Yao Ming’s body. Yikes.

- Destroy the Death Star – I love it that NASA has been so busy with lending their facilities to film cinematic trainwrecks like “Space Cowboys,” and the galaxy has had to rely on a small rebel force to destroy a weapon that could vanquish Earth in a blink of an eye. How about a little less defense money for Iraq and a little more to ensure our shuttles can make the Kessel Run in less than 12 parsecs.

Holy Trade Secrets

This Week in Grad School…

On Tuesday, we had a guest speaker in my Int’l Science and Technology class. He was a patent lawyer, and a general all-around expert on intellectual property – trademarks, copyrights, trade secrets, etc. For all those lawyers who read the YAB, switch immediately to IPR law. It’s way cooler than whatever you’re looking to practice in (with the mere exception of Coles Law – that’s a tasty choice.)

In his discussion of trade secrets, Litigious McLawyerson explained that such instances of intellectual property are formulas (most often) that are kept a secret and not patented, in order to keep them off of public record. Coca Cola’s syrup mixture is famous for the lengths they go to keep a secret. Very often, you find that written record of concoctions are non-existent, or at the very most, written on a napkin somewhere in a vault.

(The napkins themselves are not trade secrets.)

One such secret recipe would be that of Listerine. Known best for its mouth washing agents and tarzan-inspired ad jingles, it was invented in the late nineteenth century and named after Sir Joseph Lister, an English chemist. Lister realized early on that his compound had many, many uses (how he decided to put it in him mouth to cure bad breath is beyond me.) Upon his death, Lister’s many possessions were distribute to close relatives, friends, and business partners. However, one special napkin was bequeathed not to his kin, but to another organization.

The Archdiocese of New York.

I (as well as McLawyerson) have no idea as to why the Archdiocese of New York played a part of Lister’s life, but the fact remains this: the Church is a 50% owner of all things Listerine. Granted, they don’t have monks making the stuff, they leave that to a little neighborhood drugstore firm called Pfizer. But every time a bottle is purchased, a little bit of that cost makes it back to Father Freshbreath.

McLawyerson estimates about $2 million per year, in fact.

Not a bad source of supplemental revenue. As a result, the Church has made plaque, tartar, and germs honorary “deadly sins.” Not nearly on the same level of the original seven, Cardinal Cleanteeth demoted them to “mildly annoying sins” and later to “bothersome venial nuisances.”

If Listerine is for us, then who can be against us?

Not to be outdone, Lucifer realized he couldn’t up the production of the three to the point where the Church would lose this income source, so he didn’t fight mouthwash with fire – he fought mouthwash with more mouthwash. A theory, if you’ll indulge me.

Scope is the work of the Devil.

They seem unassuming enough, just another bottle on the shelf. But their latest product launch has myself (not to mention the Archdiocese of New York a little concerned). Forget spearmint, freshmint, peppermint, and all the rest. Scope’s new flavor?

Cinnamon Ice.

Such a combination of coloring, wording, and flavoring is not of this world. Gee, thanks, Satan, now my breath tastes like fire.

Lunch is Served!

Who’s hungry?

For those who read YAB on their lunch break, what we have today is what we call “relevant journalism.” (This may be a first.) Your meal is on the literary menu, as I devote today’s column to the history of lunch. Not the origins of the mid-day dining occasion. Just mine in particular. (What do you think we are? Wikipedia?)

The reason this topic shot up the list o’ ideas was that I, Chris Condon, have created LUNCH. My traditional habit is to meander downstairs around noon to assemble a salad or sandwich for 3-5 dollars. Well you know what? I can eat for cheaper.

I brought my lunch. And it was delicious.

Every once in a while, I’ll get proactive as a measure of cost savings and purchase the required materials to make my own mid-day meal. It’s really not that difficult on the procurement end. A visit to the deli counter adds about 12 dollars and 4 minutes to your grocery trip, and assuming you have already frequented the bread aisle, you’ve got sandwich fixins for about 8 business days. The hard part is convincing oneself to get up 5 minutes earlier in the morning to fit “sandwich assembly” into the morning routine. Trust me, it’s like trying to pull a cement truck with your teeth. (or so I’m told. By Rob Harford.)

So you spend time trying to figure out what is so hard about making you lunch the night before, YAB takes you down the Memory Lunch Line Lane.

Kindergarten – Granted, kindergarten is only a half-day of school, so most kids probably end up eating when they get home. But just in case 18 5 and 6 year olds couldn’t make it from their cereal bowls to the triangularly-cut PB+J, the administration instituted a snack time at roughly 10 am. It was a great opportunity for the milk drinking kids to realize my allergy and mock me in a public forum. I should have fasted.

Elementary School – Here’s how the lunch ticket works. First, your parents make the choice that you will buy lunch over bringing it. Second, you must show a special aptitude for losing things, therefore convincing them that there’s NO way you can handle dollars and coins to pay for your meal. Third, mom has to write you a check, where you must go to the cafeteria office in the morning and exchange it for a roll of 10 bright pink tickets, that will be later redeemable for rectangular pizza and juice. Fourth, pray to God you don’t lose the roll of tickets.

Middle School – From a payment perspective, it’s roughly the same protocol as K-5. One curveball, however. For 8th grade, I had a retainer that I had to wear 24/7, except when eating. Now eating with a retainer in your mouth is as comfortable as sitting on a small charter jet for me, so I would place it in a napkin on a tray. Ok, surely you see the moral here. Kids, DO NOT put any valuable, especially those meant for dental correction, in napkin on a tray that you plan to throw in the trash. Affix an alarm or a buzzer to that thing, would ya?

High School – At SHS, I only had lunch my freshman year, and I brought my lunch (but not without the occasional Twookie purchase.) The rest of the years, I took an extra class and had to be granted permission by the choir teacher to eat during the first 10 minutes of class. This was fine, with the exception that Justin Morea would steal the apple and beat it to a bloody pulp in a game of catch (which he doesn’t do well.) By senior year, I had worked the system. Of my 8 classes, I got permission from 6 different teachers to eat my lunch. (I got a no from the class with all the computers, and no from the gym teacher.) This begs the question – do you take this opportunity to:

A) Stretch your lunch out, eating a little in each class
B) Pick a different class to eat lunch in each day of the week
C) Pack 6 lunches

Discuss.