On Being a Blue Paraplegic

Okay, so maybe not the best post-title ever (or maybe it is...) but it has that grain of truth that separates "Obama a generally nice guy" from "Obama yet to kick puppies: what is he hiding now?"

So scientist, working on the "I wonder what would happen if...." hypothesis, have discovered that when mice with serious spinal injuries are injected with brilliant blue g [BBG] within fifteen minutes of their accidents they display increased mobility over mice that are not given such a treatment.

In short, feed a mouse a blue M&M and he might recover from previously paralyzing injuries.

Of course, as you can see, such a treatment will turn your skin blue. So not only do you recover from paralysis, but you'll spend the rest of your life being able to see all points in time at once and a curious urge to bang brunettes with a yellow spandex fetish.

You know what I find the most interesting about this? That somewhere there is a lab tech whose sole job is to cause debilitating spinal injuries to mice every day. Or maybe they give the furry little critters motorcycles and wait for the inevitable.

Original National Academy of Sciences article can be found here, found via here.

Invaders from Rodentia

I have mice.

I did not, previously, have mice. They are a product of my vacation. While I was away... I can’t think of a way to end that sentence other than with a lame ‘mouse will play’ so, you know, let's just go with that.

I’ve had suspicions for a while now that I might have a fuzzy rodent comrade or two living with me. However, since I noticed this, I have also noticed a marked decline in the frequency of waterbug sightings. On the choice between fuzzy mice and three inch long cockroaches – I'm siding with the mice.

But the little buggers just couldn’t leave well enough alone. I’ve been seeing more and more tails disappearing just as I turn and tonight, while watching “Big Bang Theory”, not one but two mice ran all the way across my living room floor with all my lights on and me lying on the couch! The nerve! As I was sitting, flabbergasted by this, I see a little head appear over the top of my baseboard. A freakin’ mouse is perusing me in a frankly rude manner in my own home.

The nerve I tell you!

So away to the only store open at one a.m. - the Wal-Mart. [Sorry, but the new Miley Cyrus line is actually kind of cute. Some of it anyway. What? I said I’m sorry!] There, I shop the ‘Let’s Kill the Mice!’ aisle. I mean really, of over a dozen get-rid-of-mice options only one of which is intended to not kill the mouse.

I have no problem with nature. Except for waterbugs and wasps, any animal or insect or whatever the hell slugs belong to (mollusc I now remember) that are found in the house get promptly thrown outside. I know they will come back in, but in the slug’s case I figure it will be a good while. Animals get driven down the parkway and released into a meadow.

Fear me intruders from rodentia!

So I bought a mice cube, or possibly a mouse cube – I’m not sure how many you can fit in one. It is humane and fairly simple. One of those “Man, I wish I had the patent on that” inventions.

Updates shall be forthcoming.