Alright, breaking with form, but: you have to read
Kate Beaton.
This is IT. This is the serious shit. I've been reading this for hours. Here will be the one link, so this doesn't look like one of my one-sided gmail conversations where I send 150 links to three friends while they secretly plot to kill me by cutting my name out of Reply to All. (that's not how they plan to kill me, that's how they ... make plans to kill me).
But let it be known, Kate Beaton's also written a million other (yes, a million) a million other awesomazing cartoons about mermaids, and sailors. also: History, Canada, cats. seen some cats in the piece. Pope JP, Deux, greatest Pope ever. (I'm Catholic, it's true). Literature.
Man. phew. This is it.
Showing posts with label mermaids. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mermaids. Show all posts
Friday, September 25, 2009
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Under Pressure
Mermaids, it is quite clear, have evolved a pretty fantastic* respiratory mechanism. We know they can breathe air and water without issue. Is it gills? Is it magic? Is it a product of mermaid science that seems like magic? Scientifically plausible mermaids, if I had to guess, would be grotesque, barrel-chested creatures with webbed appendages, very few recognizable sensory features on their heads (as compared to human beings, that is), and saw-toothed rows of gnashing teeth.† Plausible by surface-science, mind you – mermaid science is very different.
And by mermaid science there's no real explanation as to why they can breathe both air and water, because mermaids study ... well, they do study biology, but mostly in the categorical sense. Mermaids have a deep and abiding love for taxonomy. However, they have very different names for everything under the sea. It wouldn't be hard to name things differently from human beings – we tend to name things after ourselves. Mermaids have this habit, too, but they usually forget and rename those things until arriving at a suitably descriptive moniker that any mermaid would arrive at after sufficient reflection. Plus everything they name is in the mermaid equivalent scientifically bastardized Greek or Latin, and you don't need me to tell you how many levels of incomprehensibility that has even for mermaids.‡
Now, back to the matter at hand – one of the heretofore unnoticed marvels of the mermaid sociopulmonary system is that mermaids can rapidly adapt to pressure variations without suffering adverse affects such as human beings do. The bends, for example, aren't a big problem for mermaids. They race up and down the water column – to harass sailors, chase squid, who knows – and they don't have to worry about taking it easy like SCUBA divers other landed seafarers.
It is important to note, however, that this is a feature of the mermaid's aforementioned sociopulmonary system. By some fatal quirk of evolution, whatever it is that makes mermaids such resilient breathers is intimately connected to their neural passages. It's not to say they're sensitive – quite the opposite, in fact, they have very robust egos – but more that they're inattentive. The ability to adapt to rapidly changing environments (be they social or physical), predisposes the mermaid to immerse him or herself in rapidly changing environments. Mermaids get bored easily, so they go off and harass sailors.
Resilient though they are, if a mermaid is particularly overwhelmed, they have panic attacks and hyperventilate. It's much more common than in human beings, since our sociopulmonary systems aren't as well developed. It's even widespread in some populations of mermaid. These groups resemble myotonic goats, inasmuch as the condition is nonlethal, but hilarious.
High school, due to these highly advanced sociopulmonary systems, is more boring than it is difficult for the mermaid teenager. As they can resist high levels of pressure, most activities are engaged in entirely of the mermaid's own volition, and there are very low levels of crushing, burdenous angst. Merteachers have instituted several periods of daily recess through all levels of education, as much for themselves as the students – even in the great schools of higher mer-learning, biologians and thermodynamiticians still have recess when they're at the lab. Otherwise everyone would go nuts.
This accounts for many research stations being located in those rare spots where one can find both lots of dolphins and lots of sailors. You'd think mermaids would make fun of nerds, but since they all have such high self-esteem it doesn't really work. Octopus, on the other hand, are very easy to make fun of, so Tom Armalast** is easily the angriest and most ridiculed guy at the lab, even if he is really smart. He'd quit, but you just don't find the same opportunities back in octopus society. Octopus are cutthroat.
* I'm so awesome.
† Okay, maybe not the teeth.
‡ One of those languages is called Bloop, I think. Or well – Ancient Bloop. Spoken by the long-dead Bloops, Ancient Bloop bears little resemblance to Modern Bloop, except that they share a certain number of cases and tones you don't find in contemporary languages (Gurple, for example).
** No one bothered to learn his Octopus name; they would have made fun of it anyway.
And by mermaid science there's no real explanation as to why they can breathe both air and water, because mermaids study ... well, they do study biology, but mostly in the categorical sense. Mermaids have a deep and abiding love for taxonomy. However, they have very different names for everything under the sea. It wouldn't be hard to name things differently from human beings – we tend to name things after ourselves. Mermaids have this habit, too, but they usually forget and rename those things until arriving at a suitably descriptive moniker that any mermaid would arrive at after sufficient reflection. Plus everything they name is in the mermaid equivalent scientifically bastardized Greek or Latin, and you don't need me to tell you how many levels of incomprehensibility that has even for mermaids.‡
Now, back to the matter at hand – one of the heretofore unnoticed marvels of the mermaid sociopulmonary system is that mermaids can rapidly adapt to pressure variations without suffering adverse affects such as human beings do. The bends, for example, aren't a big problem for mermaids. They race up and down the water column – to harass sailors, chase squid, who knows – and they don't have to worry about taking it easy like SCUBA divers other landed seafarers.
It is important to note, however, that this is a feature of the mermaid's aforementioned sociopulmonary system. By some fatal quirk of evolution, whatever it is that makes mermaids such resilient breathers is intimately connected to their neural passages. It's not to say they're sensitive – quite the opposite, in fact, they have very robust egos – but more that they're inattentive. The ability to adapt to rapidly changing environments (be they social or physical), predisposes the mermaid to immerse him or herself in rapidly changing environments. Mermaids get bored easily, so they go off and harass sailors.
Resilient though they are, if a mermaid is particularly overwhelmed, they have panic attacks and hyperventilate. It's much more common than in human beings, since our sociopulmonary systems aren't as well developed. It's even widespread in some populations of mermaid. These groups resemble myotonic goats, inasmuch as the condition is nonlethal, but hilarious.
High school, due to these highly advanced sociopulmonary systems, is more boring than it is difficult for the mermaid teenager. As they can resist high levels of pressure, most activities are engaged in entirely of the mermaid's own volition, and there are very low levels of crushing, burdenous angst. Merteachers have instituted several periods of daily recess through all levels of education, as much for themselves as the students – even in the great schools of higher mer-learning, biologians and thermodynamiticians still have recess when they're at the lab. Otherwise everyone would go nuts.
This accounts for many research stations being located in those rare spots where one can find both lots of dolphins and lots of sailors. You'd think mermaids would make fun of nerds, but since they all have such high self-esteem it doesn't really work. Octopus, on the other hand, are very easy to make fun of, so Tom Armalast** is easily the angriest and most ridiculed guy at the lab, even if he is really smart. He'd quit, but you just don't find the same opportunities back in octopus society. Octopus are cutthroat.
* I'm so awesome.
† Okay, maybe not the teeth.
‡ One of those languages is called Bloop, I think. Or well – Ancient Bloop. Spoken by the long-dead Bloops, Ancient Bloop bears little resemblance to Modern Bloop, except that they share a certain number of cases and tones you don't find in contemporary languages (Gurple, for example).
** No one bothered to learn his Octopus name; they would have made fun of it anyway.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Anatomy and Physiology
It's time to return to the question that gave rise to this project:
How do mermaids do drugs?
Mermaids are pretty laid back, it's clear that they're not into speed or anything; but the question isn't what drugs they do, it's how they do them. Regardless of your moral-ethical stance on drugs (it's ethical for mermaids, you'll see), it's a fact of mermaid society – they don't really have any responsibilities other than to harass sailors (it turns out that's actually their job, like Sirens and Harpies), so mermaids have a lot of free time.
Mermaids can't always go up to bask on rocks and smoke marijuana, because mermaid kings are always issuing jealous and frustrated edicts prohibiting mermaid presence on basking rocks. While generally ignored, there are still plenty of mermaids that don't want to provoke the wrath of the deprived merking. Even if they're not harassing sailors, which is all merkings really want to do, they might get a trident in the eye.
So right, so mermaids need drug alternatives. We can deduce without scientific study that they have a different metabolism than we do. To start, if they live above and below water then clearly their cardiovascular system is amphibious and they don't process oxygen the way we do (take also into account deep-sea mermaids, who exist in oxygen poor environments and must be even more dissimilar to us). Mermaids also need to regulate salinity in their system very differently, since they live in salt water. This makes me wonder how they get their iodine, since they never salt anything. But I digress – we see references in the anatomical writings of Ibn al-Nafis and Mansur ibn Ilyas:
Now, I'm not going to venture a guess as to whether mermaid bodies are full of seaweed or not (not unlikely though; I mean, if they're made of foam, why not?), but the evidence seems to indicate, irrefutably, that mermaids get high by provoking poisonous fish to sting them.
Much in the same way that human beings sometimes enjoy exposing themselves to the capsaicin in hot peppers, mermaids have grown fond of fish poisons. Stonefish, Blowfish, Lionfish, all are examples of popular intoxicant fishes. Because mermaid bodies metabolize other stuff differently, fish poisons don't kill them the way they kill us.*
Really it's just practice – if they're confined to the watery deep by merking decree, mermaids have to provoke something other than sailors. It's in their nature, they can't help it. So they're not drug addicts or anything; the behavior leading to drug use in mermaids is habitual, not the use of drugs itself.
Mer ministers, viziers, and PETA types object to fish harassment, and this is promoted by ruthless merkings that seek naught but the frustration of their people, that they suffer as their king. Wiser, more forgiving merkings keep fish-harassing restrictions to a minimum, because if mermaids can't harass anything they write petitions to the king and that's annoying. All merkings generally promote the harassment of mermaids by fish-headed mermaids.
* Wikipedia: The large amount needed to kill an adult human and the low concentration of capsaicin in chilies make the risk of accidental poisoning by chili consumption negligible.
same article: Tarantula venom activates the same pathway of pain as is activated by capsaicin.
How do mermaids do drugs?
Mermaids are pretty laid back, it's clear that they're not into speed or anything; but the question isn't what drugs they do, it's how they do them. Regardless of your moral-ethical stance on drugs (it's ethical for mermaids, you'll see), it's a fact of mermaid society – they don't really have any responsibilities other than to harass sailors (it turns out that's actually their job, like Sirens and Harpies), so mermaids have a lot of free time.
Mermaids can't always go up to bask on rocks and smoke marijuana, because mermaid kings are always issuing jealous and frustrated edicts prohibiting mermaid presence on basking rocks. While generally ignored, there are still plenty of mermaids that don't want to provoke the wrath of the deprived merking. Even if they're not harassing sailors, which is all merkings really want to do, they might get a trident in the eye.
So right, so mermaids need drug alternatives. We can deduce without scientific study that they have a different metabolism than we do. To start, if they live above and below water then clearly their cardiovascular system is amphibious and they don't process oxygen the way we do (take also into account deep-sea mermaids, who exist in oxygen poor environments and must be even more dissimilar to us). Mermaids also need to regulate salinity in their system very differently, since they live in salt water. This makes me wonder how they get their iodine, since they never salt anything. But I digress – we see references in the anatomical writings of Ibn al-Nafis and Mansur ibn Ilyas:
Adaptations both cardiovascular and pertaining to the homeostatic regulation of salinity in the mermaid body indicate that the merorganism behaves differently from that of Homo sapiens with regards to chemical substances.There are mermaid texts, furthermore, outlining these differences, as seen here in a 15th century work translated by ibn Ilyas. It is evident from the picture that mermaids fail to understand the inner workings of the human body, as they've chosen to depict it full of seaweed.
Now, I'm not going to venture a guess as to whether mermaid bodies are full of seaweed or not (not unlikely though; I mean, if they're made of foam, why not?), but the evidence seems to indicate, irrefutably, that mermaids get high by provoking poisonous fish to sting them.
Much in the same way that human beings sometimes enjoy exposing themselves to the capsaicin in hot peppers, mermaids have grown fond of fish poisons. Stonefish, Blowfish, Lionfish, all are examples of popular intoxicant fishes. Because mermaid bodies metabolize other stuff differently, fish poisons don't kill them the way they kill us.*
Really it's just practice – if they're confined to the watery deep by merking decree, mermaids have to provoke something other than sailors. It's in their nature, they can't help it. So they're not drug addicts or anything; the behavior leading to drug use in mermaids is habitual, not the use of drugs itself.
Mer ministers, viziers, and PETA types object to fish harassment, and this is promoted by ruthless merkings that seek naught but the frustration of their people, that they suffer as their king. Wiser, more forgiving merkings keep fish-harassing restrictions to a minimum, because if mermaids can't harass anything they write petitions to the king and that's annoying. All merkings generally promote the harassment of mermaids by fish-headed mermaids.
* Wikipedia: The large amount needed to kill an adult human and the low concentration of capsaicin in chilies make the risk of accidental poisoning by chili consumption negligible.
same article: Tarantula venom activates the same pathway of pain as is activated by capsaicin.
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Connundrum II
Okay – I can actually answer both those questions.
1) What do mermaids eat?
Mermaids eat pretty much anything. Shellfish, fish fish, shark fish, porpoises – you name it. They have algae farms and oyster beds, so they must cultivate all sorts of other things. Once they're done eating everything, they probably toss the remains down deep sea trenches. Unless, of course, they grind it up into plaster to build palaces.
Deep sea mermaids living at the bottom of the open ocean probably eat whale carcasses that sink to the sea bed. Either that or mermaid trash that gets thrown down because they don't need it for plaster. Deep sea mermaids have separate cult rituals based on these two much-appreciated sources of food.
DONE. now:
2) What happens to mermaids when they die?
One good place to start is sea foam. We can consider classical sources here – Venus is famously depicted rising from the ocean in a clam shell, but artistic embellishment aside, the miss is said to have arisen from sea foam. Clearly sea foam is of some importance. (at this particular moment we can choose to ignore that idea that sea foam may be a convenient euphemism for obscuring some Olympian sexual misadventure). Since mermaids don't have reproductive organs, it's also likely that they come from sea foam, right? So why not turn into sea foam when they die?
That's what some mermaids think, at least; there's a big emphasis on Classics in high school there. There are, however, pointed arguments among mer university communities, sometimes mounting to trident duels – those few mermaids that do take their studies seriously are willing to fight to the death over them. Mer biologists and thermodynamititians tend to fall on the side of natural processes – sea foam cannot be accounted for simply by the effervescent bodily decay of mermaids.
The majority of mermaids, on the other hand (being disinclined to rigor on account of their love of play), are After-Foamers, also known as Foam Dissolutionists. Foam Dissolutionists believe firmly in the espumification of the merbody after death.
This is a good moment to bring up that mermaids don't have burials. Instead they drop the bodies of the dead down deep sea ravines in the course of an elaborate ceremony meant to commemorate the playfulness and mirth of the deceased individual. Merkings preside over these ceremonies with a dour air, as is their wont, since they're never allowed to have fun anyway. Furthermore, they like to keep the ceremonies going for as long as possible, since it's a great opportunity to exist undisturbed by sailors (there aren't that many sailors by deep sea ravines). Some merkings do this to purposefully make other mermaids suffer the deprivation of sailors, but others are genuinely glad for the opportunity of company. Plus it's not too bad, since mer funerals aren't sad; they're just boring, because there aren't any sailors to harass, or even funny-looking fish, since those ravines are kind of out of the way.
The ceremonies are long, and consist mostly of merkings trying to make sure mermaids don't sneak off to harass sailors. No one really knows what happens to the body beyond its descent, because they're all preoccupied with sailors in their own particular way. And no one reflects on the ceremony or its implications afterwards (except the biologists and thermodynamititians, who everyone ignores anyway).
Frankly, the most likely accounting of the disappearance of mer bodies after death is their being eaten by deep sea mermaids.
1) What do mermaids eat?
Mermaids eat pretty much anything. Shellfish, fish fish, shark fish, porpoises – you name it. They have algae farms and oyster beds, so they must cultivate all sorts of other things. Once they're done eating everything, they probably toss the remains down deep sea trenches. Unless, of course, they grind it up into plaster to build palaces.
Deep sea mermaids living at the bottom of the open ocean probably eat whale carcasses that sink to the sea bed. Either that or mermaid trash that gets thrown down because they don't need it for plaster. Deep sea mermaids have separate cult rituals based on these two much-appreciated sources of food.
DONE. now:
2) What happens to mermaids when they die?
One good place to start is sea foam. We can consider classical sources here – Venus is famously depicted rising from the ocean in a clam shell, but artistic embellishment aside, the miss is said to have arisen from sea foam. Clearly sea foam is of some importance. (at this particular moment we can choose to ignore that idea that sea foam may be a convenient euphemism for obscuring some Olympian sexual misadventure). Since mermaids don't have reproductive organs, it's also likely that they come from sea foam, right? So why not turn into sea foam when they die?
That's what some mermaids think, at least; there's a big emphasis on Classics in high school there. There are, however, pointed arguments among mer university communities, sometimes mounting to trident duels – those few mermaids that do take their studies seriously are willing to fight to the death over them. Mer biologists and thermodynamititians tend to fall on the side of natural processes – sea foam cannot be accounted for simply by the effervescent bodily decay of mermaids.
The majority of mermaids, on the other hand (being disinclined to rigor on account of their love of play), are After-Foamers, also known as Foam Dissolutionists. Foam Dissolutionists believe firmly in the espumification of the merbody after death.
This is a good moment to bring up that mermaids don't have burials. Instead they drop the bodies of the dead down deep sea ravines in the course of an elaborate ceremony meant to commemorate the playfulness and mirth of the deceased individual. Merkings preside over these ceremonies with a dour air, as is their wont, since they're never allowed to have fun anyway. Furthermore, they like to keep the ceremonies going for as long as possible, since it's a great opportunity to exist undisturbed by sailors (there aren't that many sailors by deep sea ravines). Some merkings do this to purposefully make other mermaids suffer the deprivation of sailors, but others are genuinely glad for the opportunity of company. Plus it's not too bad, since mer funerals aren't sad; they're just boring, because there aren't any sailors to harass, or even funny-looking fish, since those ravines are kind of out of the way.
The ceremonies are long, and consist mostly of merkings trying to make sure mermaids don't sneak off to harass sailors. No one really knows what happens to the body beyond its descent, because they're all preoccupied with sailors in their own particular way. And no one reflects on the ceremony or its implications afterwards (except the biologists and thermodynamititians, who everyone ignores anyway).
Frankly, the most likely accounting of the disappearance of mer bodies after death is their being eaten by deep sea mermaids.
Friday, July 24, 2009
Snorks
Nadie le creyo, pero hay algo acerca de la historia del Capitán Ortega que me hace pensar que es verdad...
Mermaids hate Snorks. They hate Snorks because for some reason the introduction is no longer the one where you hear the awesome story of Captain Ortega's ship sinking after a pirate attack, and instead you have to listen to the archly vexing "Come Along with the Snorks" lyric over and over and over again.
Mermaids probably get along fine with actual Snorks, even if Snorks are ugly ovoid-headed polyp creatures that wish they were Smurfs. Yeah, Snorks are probably some sort of undersea fungus – the difference between male and female Snorks is essentially one of choice. Theirs is a very open-minded society in which Snorks all respect the personal gender choices that their otherwise asexual people elect.
Snorks actually reproduce by budding.
All told, this makes Snorks pretty uninteresting to Mermaids. Snorks lack a certain rye sense of humor that Mermaids take for granted in a well-rounded individual, and so come off as naive in the world of the ocean.
Typical of Captain Ortega's log on that ten-day excursion to Snorkland are entries much like the following:
19 Febrero – Comí algas de nuevo. Toqué harmónica subaquatica diminutiva. ¿Como es que puedo respirar?*
Ortega clearly got really bored of all this, and so decided to escape Snorkland; I assume with the help of sympathetic seventeenth-century mermaids. Ortega probably didn't write about the mermaids either because he was a gentleman and he wouldn't betray a lady's reputation (half-fish or no), or because there was no profit in adding to the already massive catalog of mermaid tales when he had this crazy story about inch-tall fungal polyp creatures with plastic drinking straws on their heads.
In fact, Captain Ortega invented plastic shortly after his return from Snorkland, but the recipe was stolen by English privateers who didn't fully understand the importance of the discovery. Ortega lived out the rest of his life cursing Francis Drake and the bastard's mother, too,† but when drinking straws were finally introduced to the consumer market he took begrudging solace in knowing that his tribute Snork Bend‡ was preserved in the design.
Budding Snorks are really terrifying. One emerges out of the other gradually, over the course of a week, and both bodies suffer severe pain and mental dislocation throughout the entire process. That's why you never see it on the show – it's too fundamentally unsettling for a TV G rating.
That's also why Snorks all wear clothes – in theory clothing hadn't occurred to them until Captain Ortega arrived fully dressed to their lagoon, but you can see from the introduction that they're already wearing clothes as they approach Ortega's sinking ship. It's not that you'd see little naughty Snork parts, it's just that Snork anatomy is so alien that to show it would corrupt the minds of children everywhere. In fact, Ortega invented a bunch of lies to Snorks about the necessity of clothing just so he wouldn't have to look at the nipple-less, belly-button-less bodies all the time.
It's not entirely accurate to say that Snorks don't have belly buttons. They have a similar physical byproduct of their budding, but it looks more like horrible bodily scarring. So in addition to looking like bizarre bald creatures, they have irregular masses of scar tissue all over their bodies from where their identical bud-progeny split off. These wounds never heal fully, due to the corrosive action of their salt water environment.
So, unclothed Snorks are really horrible little things to look at. Captain Ortega's log also gave some indication of the trauma from which he he would never recover upon his escape out of Snorkland – he played that harmonica to keep from going insane.
* February 19th - Ate kelp again. Played tiny underwater harmonica. How am I breathing?
† loose translation
‡ Curva Snorkel
Mermaids hate Snorks. They hate Snorks because for some reason the introduction is no longer the one where you hear the awesome story of Captain Ortega's ship sinking after a pirate attack, and instead you have to listen to the archly vexing "Come Along with the Snorks" lyric over and over and over again.
Mermaids probably get along fine with actual Snorks, even if Snorks are ugly ovoid-headed polyp creatures that wish they were Smurfs. Yeah, Snorks are probably some sort of undersea fungus – the difference between male and female Snorks is essentially one of choice. Theirs is a very open-minded society in which Snorks all respect the personal gender choices that their otherwise asexual people elect.
Snorks actually reproduce by budding.
All told, this makes Snorks pretty uninteresting to Mermaids. Snorks lack a certain rye sense of humor that Mermaids take for granted in a well-rounded individual, and so come off as naive in the world of the ocean.
Typical of Captain Ortega's log on that ten-day excursion to Snorkland are entries much like the following:
19 Febrero – Comí algas de nuevo. Toqué harmónica subaquatica diminutiva. ¿Como es que puedo respirar?*
Ortega clearly got really bored of all this, and so decided to escape Snorkland; I assume with the help of sympathetic seventeenth-century mermaids. Ortega probably didn't write about the mermaids either because he was a gentleman and he wouldn't betray a lady's reputation (half-fish or no), or because there was no profit in adding to the already massive catalog of mermaid tales when he had this crazy story about inch-tall fungal polyp creatures with plastic drinking straws on their heads.
In fact, Captain Ortega invented plastic shortly after his return from Snorkland, but the recipe was stolen by English privateers who didn't fully understand the importance of the discovery. Ortega lived out the rest of his life cursing Francis Drake and the bastard's mother, too,† but when drinking straws were finally introduced to the consumer market he took begrudging solace in knowing that his tribute Snork Bend‡ was preserved in the design.
Budding Snorks are really terrifying. One emerges out of the other gradually, over the course of a week, and both bodies suffer severe pain and mental dislocation throughout the entire process. That's why you never see it on the show – it's too fundamentally unsettling for a TV G rating.
That's also why Snorks all wear clothes – in theory clothing hadn't occurred to them until Captain Ortega arrived fully dressed to their lagoon, but you can see from the introduction that they're already wearing clothes as they approach Ortega's sinking ship. It's not that you'd see little naughty Snork parts, it's just that Snork anatomy is so alien that to show it would corrupt the minds of children everywhere. In fact, Ortega invented a bunch of lies to Snorks about the necessity of clothing just so he wouldn't have to look at the nipple-less, belly-button-less bodies all the time.
It's not entirely accurate to say that Snorks don't have belly buttons. They have a similar physical byproduct of their budding, but it looks more like horrible bodily scarring. So in addition to looking like bizarre bald creatures, they have irregular masses of scar tissue all over their bodies from where their identical bud-progeny split off. These wounds never heal fully, due to the corrosive action of their salt water environment.
So, unclothed Snorks are really horrible little things to look at. Captain Ortega's log also gave some indication of the trauma from which he he would never recover upon his escape out of Snorkland – he played that harmonica to keep from going insane.
* February 19th - Ate kelp again. Played tiny underwater harmonica. How am I breathing?
† loose translation
‡ Curva Snorkel
Friday, July 10, 2009
Mermaids of the Future
The question we really need to ask is,
What are mermaids doing to prepare for the future? What are merchildren learning in schools to help make them competitive in the job market? Is the next generation of mermaids and merlads being trained to face the challenges of a changing mersociety?
It's hard enough trying to conduct chemistry labs underwater – merstudents haven't had as much exposure to hydrochloric acid as you or me, let me tell you. On the other hand, they probably have a good foundation in hydrodynamics. Motivated biologist mers have stations at coral reefs for sure, and I bet they can extend their knowledge of physics down in deep-sea thermal vents (even if the mermaids you find there are really weird).
Can you imagine how weird a deep-sea mermaid is? I don't need to imagine – they're really weird. They hang out with octopuses, first of all. Some of them are really hairy, to deal with the extreme cold and low oxygen levels (they trap oxygen in their hairs – THEY'RE SO WEIRD). Other are completely bald, all over their bodies. I think that's more an environmental effect than a genetic one – extreme temperatures must have singed off their hairs.
Can things singe underwater? Maybe the hairs just withered off.
Deep-sea mermaids aren't the creepiest mermaids, though. They're at least recognizably mermaid-like. The craziest mermaids are beyond the imagination of even other mermaids. The scariest mermaids are the ones that live in the midst of the lightless water column – they have humongous eyes and creepy bioluminescent appendages. They're probably also really tiny – the size of a grapefruit – due to high pressure and physiological demands. By that logic, the deepest deep sea mermaids are also probably supposed to be really small, but the fact is that they're mermaid giants of the deep. This doesn't mean they're actually bigger than regular mermaids, it just means that they're colossal by the standards of their region.
The middle regions of the water column are more or less the Medieval Black Wood of the mermaid imagination – it's an amorphous, threatening expanse between the recognizable regions of the known mer-world.
The known mer-world, it must be pointed out, is pretty scarce. The oceans of our planet, aside from being tremendous, are three-dimensionally inhabitable. Here, read about Pelagic Zones. Mermaids are scared of pretty much ninety-per-cent of that, even if they have little grapefruit-sized pixie mermaid cousins to hold their hand in the dark.
When that much of your environment exists as persistently unknowable, it's no surprise that you're prone to superstition. That's not all mermaids, of course – most are carefree, we're talking about the tiny fraction of the mermaid population that isn't. That small group is either devotedly superstitious, making signs against the evil eye and swallowing poisonous fish concoctions; or very scientific.
The latter group study either physics or biology, as we've already established.
What are mermaids doing to prepare for the future? What are merchildren learning in schools to help make them competitive in the job market? Is the next generation of mermaids and merlads being trained to face the challenges of a changing mersociety?
It's hard enough trying to conduct chemistry labs underwater – merstudents haven't had as much exposure to hydrochloric acid as you or me, let me tell you. On the other hand, they probably have a good foundation in hydrodynamics. Motivated biologist mers have stations at coral reefs for sure, and I bet they can extend their knowledge of physics down in deep-sea thermal vents (even if the mermaids you find there are really weird).
Can you imagine how weird a deep-sea mermaid is? I don't need to imagine – they're really weird. They hang out with octopuses, first of all. Some of them are really hairy, to deal with the extreme cold and low oxygen levels (they trap oxygen in their hairs – THEY'RE SO WEIRD). Other are completely bald, all over their bodies. I think that's more an environmental effect than a genetic one – extreme temperatures must have singed off their hairs.
Can things singe underwater? Maybe the hairs just withered off.
Deep-sea mermaids aren't the creepiest mermaids, though. They're at least recognizably mermaid-like. The craziest mermaids are beyond the imagination of even other mermaids. The scariest mermaids are the ones that live in the midst of the lightless water column – they have humongous eyes and creepy bioluminescent appendages. They're probably also really tiny – the size of a grapefruit – due to high pressure and physiological demands. By that logic, the deepest deep sea mermaids are also probably supposed to be really small, but the fact is that they're mermaid giants of the deep. This doesn't mean they're actually bigger than regular mermaids, it just means that they're colossal by the standards of their region.
The middle regions of the water column are more or less the Medieval Black Wood of the mermaid imagination – it's an amorphous, threatening expanse between the recognizable regions of the known mer-world.
The known mer-world, it must be pointed out, is pretty scarce. The oceans of our planet, aside from being tremendous, are three-dimensionally inhabitable. Here, read about Pelagic Zones. Mermaids are scared of pretty much ninety-per-cent of that, even if they have little grapefruit-sized pixie mermaid cousins to hold their hand in the dark.
When that much of your environment exists as persistently unknowable, it's no surprise that you're prone to superstition. That's not all mermaids, of course – most are carefree, we're talking about the tiny fraction of the mermaid population that isn't. That small group is either devotedly superstitious, making signs against the evil eye and swallowing poisonous fish concoctions; or very scientific.
The latter group study either physics or biology, as we've already established.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Geography Class
Mermaids live in great big mermaid cities, generally – there's safety in numbers in the dangerous deep. Everything is more dangerous in the water, see:
So mermaids live in underwater megalopolises; under the leadership of despotic Merkings, of course. But let's not forget they are generally benevolent despots, since mermaids are at heart playful by nature. Merkings are actually pretty surly, though, since they want to lead sailors astray or whatever but it's really they're job to tell other mermaids not to do that sort of thing, since they're kings and that's what kings do. But then I guess other Merkings act on their whims, which is also what kings do, so maybe they're pro-astraying.
Personally, I don't know, because I didn't have the fortune of being born into a noble family, (a noble mer-family, no less), and so I don't know any kings of any variety.
But I've known a lot of exchange students, and in the currents of the deep sea, lo there are many exchange students. They must mostly be mammals, since we're clearly the most superior creatures on the planet – our ilk is that of many of the world's charismatic megafauna. Being an exchange student can warp your charismatic megafauna powers in one of two ways –
you'll either be loved, or hated. Probably both at once. It's just the way things are. You will polarize your friends, and not stopping there, your very mind. This is the eye-opening experience of the exchange student.
Mermaids have to deal with a lot of exchange students. Because of their dense level of undersea urbanization (dense even by a human standard, mind you; we're not holding it against the pretty-near total non-urbanization of the sea floor), they've got the best schools. Merkings don't necessarily put a high priority on education, since they're mostly consumed (either in denial or embrace) with the confusion of sailors; but they do make a point of putting together a pretty good Board of Undersea Ed for all interested parties. And in cities where the Merkings are particularly frustrated by their responsibilities, they obviously make sure EVERYBODY goes to school, rather than harassing sailors.
Watch out for octopuses; and be nice to them.
Sea Snakes – much more dangerous than regular snakes. They're extra venemous, travel in herds, and, if we are to define overland movement as two-dimensional in its forward-and-backwardness, then sea snakes move in not just two dimensions, but THREE (thanks to underwater movement's additional upward-and-downwardness).I require no further evidence besides these three cases, especially as that of sharks applies to most all aquatic life (amphibians perhaps being the insidious exception).
The scientific name of the Polar Bear, largest and most fearsome of all bears, refers not to his latitude (such might be Ursus septentrionalis), but rather to his aquatic predilections (thus, Ursus maritimus).
Sharks! Clearly more dangerous in the water.
So mermaids live in underwater megalopolises; under the leadership of despotic Merkings, of course. But let's not forget they are generally benevolent despots, since mermaids are at heart playful by nature. Merkings are actually pretty surly, though, since they want to lead sailors astray or whatever but it's really they're job to tell other mermaids not to do that sort of thing, since they're kings and that's what kings do. But then I guess other Merkings act on their whims, which is also what kings do, so maybe they're pro-astraying.
Personally, I don't know, because I didn't have the fortune of being born into a noble family, (a noble mer-family, no less), and so I don't know any kings of any variety.
But I've known a lot of exchange students, and in the currents of the deep sea, lo there are many exchange students. They must mostly be mammals, since we're clearly the most superior creatures on the planet – our ilk is that of many of the world's charismatic megafauna. Being an exchange student can warp your charismatic megafauna powers in one of two ways –
you'll either be loved, or hated. Probably both at once. It's just the way things are. You will polarize your friends, and not stopping there, your very mind. This is the eye-opening experience of the exchange student.
Mermaids have to deal with a lot of exchange students. Because of their dense level of undersea urbanization (dense even by a human standard, mind you; we're not holding it against the pretty-near total non-urbanization of the sea floor), they've got the best schools. Merkings don't necessarily put a high priority on education, since they're mostly consumed (either in denial or embrace) with the confusion of sailors; but they do make a point of putting together a pretty good Board of Undersea Ed for all interested parties. And in cities where the Merkings are particularly frustrated by their responsibilities, they obviously make sure EVERYBODY goes to school, rather than harassing sailors.
Everyone wants to harass sailors, Tommy Tunahead, it's not just you. Now sit back down, and tell me where the Mariana Trench is.In the end, though, I'll bet the ones that have it hardest at Merschool are the octopuses. They're so smart, but so weird-looking. And they can't help but show their feelings, they're totally unable to dissimulate what's going on because the chromatophores in their skin betray emotion. They're the biggest nerds of the ocean; they're that kid you see at lunch and say, "He's either going to be your boss, or your executioner."
Watch out for octopuses; and be nice to them.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
How do those Shells Stay on, Anyway?
I can only properly imagine being a merman, inasmuch as one can properly imagine such a thing. Now, the question I have, as a merman and a hu-man, is,
How do those shells stay on?
This isn't just my question (human or mer). It's the question of all thirteen-to-eighteen-year-old merkids. I bet, just as a guy wonders about how the hell he's going to get that bra off Suzy Wearsabranow, merdudes wonder about shells. Or do they? Maybe it's really easy to take the shells off? Maybe they adhere only loosely to mermaid boobs by some property of deep sea physics?
That's unlikely, because mermaids come up for air, and their shells stay on; unless they're slutty mermaids, or sexually liberated mermaids (not the same thing), and they leave their shells at home. Or maybe they just forget their shells at home.
Or maybe our awareness of mermaids has been puritanically censored by the great Prudish Merkings, (Mermaids have kings, right? Or queens, whatever – they adhere to undersea despotism, that's the point), and instead of fig leaves they saw fit to affix sea shells, since figs don't grow underwater.
Merchicks clearly know the answers, and they're just not telling.
How do those shells stay on?
This isn't just my question (human or mer). It's the question of all thirteen-to-eighteen-year-old merkids. I bet, just as a guy wonders about how the hell he's going to get that bra off Suzy Wearsabranow, merdudes wonder about shells. Or do they? Maybe it's really easy to take the shells off? Maybe they adhere only loosely to mermaid boobs by some property of deep sea physics?
That's unlikely, because mermaids come up for air, and their shells stay on; unless they're slutty mermaids, or sexually liberated mermaids (not the same thing), and they leave their shells at home. Or maybe they just forget their shells at home.
Or maybe our awareness of mermaids has been puritanically censored by the great Prudish Merkings, (Mermaids have kings, right? Or queens, whatever – they adhere to undersea despotism, that's the point), and instead of fig leaves they saw fit to affix sea shells, since figs don't grow underwater.
Merchicks clearly know the answers, and they're just not telling.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Can Mermaids get Drunk?
I've been thinking a lot about mermaids lately, possibly on account of this weekend's upcoming Mermaid Parade in Coney Island. I don't think I'll actually make it to the parade, but I'll be there in spirit.
School Spirit!
I personally had a fine high school experience; very little trauma. But I bet if I'd been a merman, it'd have been a lot worse. Maybe it'd all be second nature to me if I actually had been a merman, but at the moment, I'm plagued with a LOT of questions:
Can merpeople drink alcohol? If they try to drink booze, does it get watered-down with sea salt? are their circulatory systems even comparable such that it's metabolized the same way?
Clearly mermaids can't smoke marijuana – it's not even clear to me that they have lungs. If you live most of your life underwater you must have gills, right? If they have both then that makes sense, otherwise why would they bask on rocks in the sun? (mermaids clearly bask on rocks in the sun, it's part of the profile).
Am I suffering from a critical misunderstanding here? Are mermaids and mermen severely sexually dimorphic, such that mermaids are sexy girl-fishes and mermen are ugly fish creatures human from the waist down? (A SICK INVERSION INDEED).
Or is that what all merpeople look like during puberty?
I don't know the answers to all these questions, but that's not going to stop me from making them up.
School Spirit!
I personally had a fine high school experience; very little trauma. But I bet if I'd been a merman, it'd have been a lot worse. Maybe it'd all be second nature to me if I actually had been a merman, but at the moment, I'm plagued with a LOT of questions:
Can merpeople drink alcohol? If they try to drink booze, does it get watered-down with sea salt? are their circulatory systems even comparable such that it's metabolized the same way?
Clearly mermaids can't smoke marijuana – it's not even clear to me that they have lungs. If you live most of your life underwater you must have gills, right? If they have both then that makes sense, otherwise why would they bask on rocks in the sun? (mermaids clearly bask on rocks in the sun, it's part of the profile).
Am I suffering from a critical misunderstanding here? Are mermaids and mermen severely sexually dimorphic, such that mermaids are sexy girl-fishes and mermen are ugly fish creatures human from the waist down? (A SICK INVERSION INDEED).
Or is that what all merpeople look like during puberty?
I don't know the answers to all these questions, but that's not going to stop me from making them up.
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