I started a post last night about the only Senator worth talking about – you know the one – and his stand against the notion that US drones could be used against US citizens. Well, it didn’t get written. And you know what? I had nothing to say that wasn’t completely say-able by anyone else with two ounces of brains in their heads, which amounted to “How could Holder have possibly thought to answer other than simply ‘Oh hell, no.’?”
veeshir over at DPUD is doing more than enough ranting and he’s doing a better job of it, so go here, here, here, and here. Don’t read his links though, because that pisses him off when you ignore his links and that makes me happy when he gets pissed off.
Pissing veeshir off reminds me… who needs to rotate their owl?
The two have nothing in common, I just thought of them around the same time.
So, since I’ve got nothing to add to my paranoia list from a few days ago other than another paranoia data point, I’ll tell you about last night instead.
I read to my daughter Lemurita nightly. Some nights we do Girl Genius, other nights Swiss Family Robinson… Poe, Rowling, books about hotels, billionaire kids, girls who go on road-trips with their grandparents… lately it is a story about a mouse, Mrs. Frisby, and her quest to keep her son alive in spite of pneumonia. She’s a nice mouse, Mrs. Frisby.
On the way, Mrs. Frisby meets up with a rat. A bunch of them, actually, but the leader is a very smart rat (several are very smart). The rat got scarily intelligent after he was captured and had experiments done on him that altered his DNA.
I stopped and mentioned to Lemurita that the implication is that the experiments in genetics made permanent changes to these rats, not just like taking antihistamines that only last for hours or maybe a day. I explained how I think DNA is really really cool… helical, folded on itself many times, copies in every single cell, longer than snot, etc.
Lemurita asked me “So DNA is the stuff that colors your eyes and hair and stuff, right?”
“Oh yeah… height, face, fingers, all that stuff. And what is so cool is that it is the blueprint that makes you who you are… the blueprint you have in you, some of that genetic material is stuff from Mom, and there is stuff from me there, too. And that means you have some from your grandparents on both sides and so on.”
Lemurita looks at me curiously and says “I thought I have Mom’s DNA because she gave birth to me…” (DANGER! DANGER! screamed my feverish brain) The gears were very obviously turning pretty fast as she processed a whole bunch of bits of information from different sources. (ABORT! ABORT! ABORT! Oh Dear Lord… too late… far too late…)
You can see where she was going with this, right? I wasn’t expecting that one to come up for some time because I keep forgetting that Lemurita is a dangerous quantity.
(BAIL… EJECT… RUUUUUUNNNNN!)
“Uh… yeah… and you have some from me, too… uh. Ok, look, this is something you really are probably going to want to discuss with MOM, okay? I really think that you’ll be happier that way.”
My story is “Guys talk to boys about this stuff and broads talk to girls about this stuff”. I’m sticking to that. Because down that path lies all sorts of questions Dads just don’t want to contemplate their daughters being old enough to ask.
Ok, now have a dragonlizardthing.