So, tonight, one of the true traditions of the season…

I’m sitting in a cozy room
With Cuttlekid and Cuttlespouse
We’re watching Charlie Brown again
As custom goes, in Cuttlehouse

It’s not the babe, it’s not the manger
Not the shining star above
I hope that Linus would approve,
But Christmas is for those we love

I have no need for heavenly host
I have no need for newborn king…
This evening spent with Charlie Brown?
I would not trade for anything.

So, PZ posted and linked to this comic:

One interpretation is that our interest in sex is what keeps us from being so interested in everything else… I don’t know if that was the artist’s intent, but if it was, I disagree strongly.

It seems to me, the reason for
Invention, Industry, or War
Or Art, or Medicine, or more
Is… horny folks who want to score.

Society, at every scale
From broadest brush to fine detail
Is motivated, without fail
By peacocks looking for some tail.

We’ve instituted education;
Used it as our firm foundation
Building up the strongest nation–
Freud would call it “sublimation”

Darwin, in his own dissection
Took it in a new direction–
If I’m right in recollection,
Called it sexual selection!

It’s not enough to flex some pecs
Or write big numbers on your checks
The mating dance has grown complex
But everything comes down to sex.

Our species has a lot of pluck–
It did not thrive because of luck,
Or cos some god took aim and struck–
But just because we like… something…

Shameless plug… buy my book….

Ok, so… about a million years ago, when Enzyte was in court on false advertising charges, I wrote a little ditty I called “The Enzyte Song (The Biggest Dicks Of All)“. It was not flattering. It spoke of the $100 million fraud charges against Smilin’ Bob et al., and concluded that the Enzyte manufacturers were “the Biggest Dicks of All”.

Since that post, I have, to my chagrin, had a certain fairly substantial portion of my blog hits come from searches for “biggest dicks”; I doubt that many of these people have been looking for my song. I think, actually, that “biggest dicks” ranks perhaps fourth in all search terms. The first three may be variations on “digital cuttlefish”.

Anyway, I was a bit surprised, this evening, to find a hit to my blog that originated from a site run by the Enzyte folks themselves. Seems they collect all the stuff people say, and keep it on their site. No idea whether it is an automatic process, a point of pride, stupidity, or what.

I took a screenshot, just in case you didn’t believe me:

Anyway, on the off chance that somebody reading this is thinking of laying some money down for these worthless tablets, let me suggest spending the money on flowers, or a night out, or renting her favorite movie. Or if you want to seem sensitive and really really smart, how about buying a book of verse instead–say, The Digital Cuttlefish, Vol. 1. Read her the Evolutionary Biology Valentine’s Day Poem. Thank me later. (Yeah, you could just print it off, but it is so much more romantic to have the book there. Trust me.)

See, right there, you can spend your money on something much more worthwhile than some placebo pills. Now, place your order, turn off your computer, and go spend some quality time actually listening to what she has to say. The whole world will be a better place for it.

Yeah, I know, I know, it has been a few weeks since the last Friday Limericks thread. It’s been a busy time. Still is, actually, come to think of it. So I thought I’d take a few moments to hide from all that, and ask you how you are doing. Better than your pal Cuttlefish, I hope.

If our health is more precious than gold,
Mine’s a stock that I wish I had sold;
I have tried to be tough,
But enough is enough!
It’s two weeks now, that I’ve had this cold!

I’m either too warm, or I’m freezing,
And I’m coughing and sniffling and sneezing;
My voice has gone hoarse,
And my family, of course,
Wants to make me feel better… by teasing!

The TV commercials inspire us
To buy stuff to fight off the virus–
But it seems it’s not health
They are after, but wealth–
It’s my money of which they’re desirous!

Now I’m huddled up, drinking my tea*,
Wishing only to be symptom-free.
So, from your point of view
What’s it like to be you?
Cos I tell you, it sucks to be me.

*oh, yeah, I forgot to mention above… the Cuttlespouse used the very last of our coffee. Nothing left for yours truly.

The voting is over, but not the debate;
Many say that the voters were wrong–
California, of course, was the scene of Prop 8:
Here’s the story, as told in a song…

… especially when he’s right.

I watched the nightly business news
(it helped to chase away my blues)
Ben Stein and others helped me choose
When I was buying stocks

The terms I did not know what meant
Did not disturb me, as I spent
On stocks with values in ascent
Or so they said on Fox

The fundamentals still are sound,
Economy’s on solid ground
(And look, our jobs are still around!)
We’re solid as Fort Knox

There was one voice that cast a doubt,
Who said it’s time for getting out
But he was just one single lout
Whom everybody mocks

With grandiose and pompous boasts,
With caviar and champagne toasts
I took the word of game-show hosts
And washed-up former jocks.

The weeks and months, they crept along
I wondered if I’d chosen wrong—
But no, they said—the market’s strong
Enough to brave some shocks

And now my stocks are so damned cheap
I use them now to help me keep
The holes plugged, as I try to sleep
Here in my cardboard box

Yesterday morning, I picked up the newspaper, and it had the familiar red envelope we have come to expect this time of year, the mass-produced, signature-stamped, highly religious Christmas card from the guy who delivers our papers. We will likely get another from the other paper, and one or more from the postal carriers. Sometimes they are secular, but this one was very very religious.

So, being me, I wondered if I could write something equally treacly, but without citing bible verses. Just for fun.

As luck would have it, later yesterday PZ posted a couple of alternative seasonal cards–for Newtonmas and for Squidmas. They are quite good, actually. I took the opportunity to post the treacly thing I had written earlier that day.

To make a long story short (too late), this post you are reading now is the beginning of an experiment. At least one person (ggab) is planning on doing artwork and making holiday cards from some of my verses, and I thought I might open up the fun for anyone else who might want to join in. So here, and perhaps in some future posts, I will post a few card ideas and verses, and they are yours to work with. If you use them for your own cards, take them as my cephalopodmas gift to you. If you make and use enough to feel guilty about it, there is my tip jar over there to the right. If you go into business and make a bundle, I want a cut.

Anyway, I know that some cards have short verses, some have long, so I just started tooling around with some…

Shorter:

From our house to yours, in this holiday season,
We send out a message of warmth and good cheer—
There’s no greater meaning than love, as the reason
To say Merry Christmas, and Happy New Year.

Longer and really sappy:

The reason for Christmas is bigger than Jesus;
It’s bigger than even a God up above.
The reason we gather together this season
With friends and with family, simply, is love.

The stories they tell of a wonderful heaven,
The myth of a savior’s miraculous birth,
Are mere consolation for leaving behind
All the love we encounter in one life on earth.

More precious, more rare than the greatest of treasures
This life we are living—each one, we know, ends;
I wish you a love even greater than Christmas
And hope you will share it with family and friends.

Longer, with a verse for front and inside, and a bit more feisty:

[front]
As we battle our way through the line at the store
And think to ourselves “there has got to be more”
And wonder where “Christmas of long ago” went,
When the meaning of Christmas was what it first meant…

[inside]
It was stolen by Christians from heathens, of course—
From Greeks and from Romans, from Celtics and Norse—
Why, Christmas is pagan, from yule-log to tree
To mistletoe waiting for you and for me

The meaning of Christmas—the good stuff, at least—
The ornaments, stockings, and “rare Who roast beast”
Has nothing to do with a Son of God’s birth
But rather the changing of seasons on Earth

The nights now grow shorter, the days will grow longer,
The rays of the sun (and our spirits) grow stronger!
So celebrate Solstice, rejoice in the season,
And love one another whatever the reason!

And a very ambitious one for a patient artist:
(front—very dark, with bathysphere, tethered, way down near the bottom, perhaps with lights illuminating a very small area around it)

We can’t trim a tree, there’s no room to hang holly
And a bathysphere doesn’t have halls we can deck
To celebrate Christmas down here seems pure folly
But we had an idea, and thought “what the heck?”

(inside, first)
Much better than ornaments, histioteuthis
Make beautiful tinsel, so that’s what we did
You’d think we hung lights, but the simpler truth is
You’re seeing the flash of the Firefly Squid.

With photophores flashing, they gather together
To send you our greetings from under the sea
It’s beautiful—but—I am wondering whether
The message is really from them or from me!

(Inside, folded—hundreds of histioteuthis [beautiful Jeweled Squid] and firefly squid, perhaps only a few actually in detail, most as not much more than dots, creating a giant “Merry Squidmas!” banner which dwarfs the bathysphere.) (if I had any Flash skills at all, this would work as an online card… if you have the interest, feel free!)

That’s all for now–oh, but there is this one from last year… and 2008 is the last year this one will work!

Now, if you’ll excuse me, the dog wants to go out…

Thanks to reader Ron Sullivan, I have my first review up on Lulu! So, since I am much too modest to adequately promote my own book, I will quote his review, and smile broadly to myself.

I got my copy of The Digital Cuttlefish, Vol.1 via snailmail on Monday, and I’m thrilled to have it. Delivery was a lot faster than the boilerplate on the order form would suggest, and the book itself looks great: sturdy binding, clean readable fonts and layout, striking simply-designed cover with the signature cuttlefish blog banner.

Good thing Lulu did such a good job, because the Cuttlefish’s verse deserves the best. This stuff is more fun than beer and pretzels. Joe and I have been reading it over-the-shoulder whenever it pops up on Pharyngula, and now we’re picking up the book at odd times and reading random bits aloud to each other when the mood strikes us.

Electronic copies and Cuttlefish’s blog are great, but having the actual book to wave at holy-rollers and random passers-by is priceless. Now we’re trying to decide who else we know deserves a copy.

I’m happy as a very happy Cuttlefish with a very good reason to be happy…

Last night, as I slept, very unlike a log,
Our garbage-can served as a feast for the dog.
I awoke to a smell which I sadly knew meant
That she’d taken a dump on my room’s heating vent
(She’s a very old dog, very grey in the jowls,
And losing all conscious control of her bowels)
As the temperature dropped, and the furnace went “voom”
The aroma of dog shit enveloped the room,
And I realized, while cleaning up after the beast,
This was likely the work of her Thanksgiving feast.

In a month, the old girl will be fifteen years old;
She can no longer run; she is too often cold;
She is nearly stone deaf, growing gradually blind,
And her stiffening joints have been… other than kind.
For so many years, she’s been such a good friend
But on mornings like this, yes, we’re nearing the end,
And to thank her for all of the years that have passed
I just clean up her mess (and I clean it up fast).
It’s a strange little rite that I go through each dawn,
But too soon both the smell and the dog will be gone.

I have so many people to thank this Thanksgiving–including you, if you are reading this (which you are). If you recognize yourself in the following verses, you are quite right. That’s you. If you don’t recognize yourself, don’t worry–none of it is made up; that verse just happens to be about someone else. One verse actually fits two different sets of people at two different times (once in Sofia, once in NYC); so it is, clearly, about both. The “building which once housed petroleum tanks” is not just there for the rhyme–it was in the Gazi district of Athens, where old industrial buildings have been reclaimed into galleries, nightclubs, and fashionable places to meet.

It is quite heavy on thanking the people who helped me to go, and helped me while I went, on my trip this past summer. I have said it before, but I literally could not have gone without the readers of this blog who pitched in and tucked money in my tip jar. This was the biggest thing that has happened in my life in some time, so yeah, this year’s verse is weighted a bit toward that wonderful adventure. It also lacks a proper final verse. I could make up something about how that is supposed to indicate that there are hundreds more to thank, but the truth is I couldn’t think of one.

The whole family is under one roof right now, for the first time since the end of Summer. Time is simultaneously so fast and so slow these days; I think I will sign off now, and go enjoy some of it. Happy Thanksgiving to all of you who celebrate it, and to those who don’t, thanks… just because.

I will gather today with some people I love
I’ll thank them instead of some something above
The place where we gather will not have a steeple
And though some of the people might think that it’s odd
I won’t thank some invisible god
Some invisible fictional god

To J____ in Bulgaria, and to D____ in Greece
And to many more—always the numbers increase—
After this, I know travel’s exciting, not scary
So Greeks and Bulgarians, Aussies and Yanks
Are the people to whom I give thanks
And I will, to my dying day, thanks…

I give thanks to my colleagues—there’s so much I owe,
I couldn’t have done it without them, I know
And my travel companions I’ve come to adore
And I know there are more, but I’m drawing a blank
There’s so many more people to thank.
I have hundreds of people to thank

I give thanks to the people who came to my aid
I am still overwhelmed by the difference you made
To G____, who help me to navigate dangers
And generous strangers who reached to their banks
Now they’re friends, and they’re whom I give thanks
With tears in my eyes, I give thanks

I give thanks to my readers, the near and the far,
The new ones and old ones—you know who you are—
There are only a few whom I’ve met face to face
Though I’m still in the basement of internet ranks
It’s my readers to whom I give thanks
Yes, you get your personal thanks

I give thanks to my good friends like K___ and like M____
And the wonderful night that I shared just with them
Though we all knew the sunrise would come without warning
Till three in the morning we talked and we drank
You are two of the people I thank
Two wonderful people I thank

To V___ who’s the reason I went on my trip
And who almost, so tragically, slipped through my grip
We went out for a drink, where I stared like a dunce,
In a building which once housed petroleum tanks
She’s the woman to whom I give thanks
More than anyone else, she gets thanks