The problem with kaiju

I’m sorry, but I’m a cliche. I was lying in bed half asleep last night when my wife came to bed, and I’m fortunate that she didn’t ask what I was thinking.

Because my brain was whirling like a hamster in a cage about…kaiju. This past summer, I have watched Godzilla x Kong: The New Empire (big meh, Hollywood exploding the whole premise) and Godzilla Minus One (really good), and of course I’ve watched the original King Kong, which is the only one to get even close to handling this problem properly.

Here’s the problem: energy defeats flesh. People successfully hunted elephants with sharpened sticks and bows and arrows. They hunted whales with harpoons tipped with flint or copper. Thick skin and scales are hard to penetrate, but apply enough force and you can punch through them. In an animal of vast bulk, it is going to be difficult to get through to a vital organ, but if nothing else, make enough holes and it will eventually bleed out. It’s probably going to be enraged first, and try to kill you, but that’s why you don’t pick on an elephant or a whale — it’s the risk, not the invulnerability.

It bugs me in a kaiju movie that everything just explodes on the surface or bounces off Godzilla. He can’t be denser or tougher than the steel and concrete buildings he smashes with nary a scuff or a scratch — there is no armor thick enough in a mobile animal to resist heavy arms fire. Yet the movies just show modern tanks firing at him, and he isn’t even set back, let alone scored with damage. Good ol’ King Kong gets it right, since [spoiler!] they killed him with repeated machine gun fire that caused enough accumulated damage that he fell down dead.

Don’t get me started on Pacific Rim. Why are they building elaborate, complex, giant robots to grapple with the huge biological horrors rising from the deep? One GBU 12 Paveway launched from an F-15, and it’s splattered. I don’t care what it’s made of, if it can’t survive getting punched in the face by a robot, it’s not going to cope with being torn apart by a 500lb bomb and falling back into the sea as a rain of gibs.

So that took care of my concerns about kaiju, and I could get back to sleep.

But then I thought of other problems. What does Mothra eat? Is she denuding entire forests to grow to tremendous size? And possibly, she doesn’t eat as an imago — all she might have on her mind is sex!

I’ll think about that some other night.

This is not a super-villain origin story

Although it sounds like it, its roots have to be much deeper. Elon Musk sees his children as props that he spends little time with, pumping gametes into his serial wives and throwing money at them, and it’s unsurprising that at least one of them wants nothing to do with him. Musk has disowned Vivian Wilson, his transgender daughter, for betraying him by not being the person he wanted her to be.

In a controversial interview with Daily Wire on Monday, the Tesla CEO said that his transgender daughter Vivian, who transitioned in 2022, was killed by the woke-mind virus.

I was essentially tricked into signing documents for one of my older boys, Xavier, the billionaire told psychologist Dr. Jordan Peterson, using the 20-year-old’s deadname and incorrect gender, per Page Six. Musk claims that he was essentially deceived into signing documents to allow for the child’s medical gender reassignment.

This is before I had any understanding of what was going on. COVID was going on, so there was a lot of confusion, and I was told Xavier might commit suicide if he doesn’t [make the change], Musk continued, again insensitively referring to his daughter by her deadname.

Elsewhere in the interview, he said he lost his child and said again that he had been tricked.

They call it ‘deadnaming’ for a reason, he added. The reason they call it ‘deadnaming’ is because your son is dead. My son Xavier is dead — killed by the woke-mind virus.

The SpaceX founder added, I vowed to destroy the woke-mind virus after that. And we’re making some progress.

Now Jordan Peterson…that guy belongs in a comic book, he’s even got the costume already. Musk is just a terrible father.

There’s this awful patriarchal belief that children are extensions of yourself, rather than autonomous, independent people who will follow their own unique paths and become something other than your puppet. Musk has it bad. Vivian Wilson is her own self, and that offends Elon Musk.

I grew up as one of six kids, all different, all complicated, and while we all loved our father, we were not him at all…and he respected that, helped us as much as he could, but let us go our own way. That’s how I feel about my own kids: they are good people, but they are not me, and I wouldn’t want them to be.

Vivian looks pretty alive to me. She’d probably be more interesting to talk to than Elon Musk.

Hey, how is he planning to destroy his imaginary woke-mind virus? Since it doesn’t exist, and is nothing but the reification of his own fears and misconceptions, the only way to defeat it is by waking up himself.

Built on trillions of refutations of their mythology

I’ve noted this before, that Ken Ham’s Ark Park is built on a deep, rich bed of Ordovician fossils. Every time a creationist asks where all the fossils we’re supposed to have are, just tell them to use a shovel and rock hammer around the Answers in Genesis cult compound and you’ll find billions and billions of brachiopods and nautiloids and various shelly marine creatures right there.

Dr Joel Duff makes the same point — the fake Ark is built on an immense marine graveyard that is hundreds of millions of years old, yet the creationists mostly ignore it. I wonder why?

I know what I’m doing today

Busy, busy, busy. The hatching yesterday means that I’m going to spend the morning sorting spiders, on top of the regularly scheduled feeding day. I’ve got a bunch of adults who need crickets, a lot of baby Parasteatoda who need fruit flies, a few score Latrodectus I set aside in new vials yesterday who are going to get their first meal, and another score or two to be extracted this morning, and it’s time to start a new batch of Drosophila. I’m sort of dreading the possibility that another egg sac could start oozing spiderlings any day now.

There’s a limit to how many of these spiders I can maintain. I hate to say it, but I may end up throwing a lot of cute, adorable, lively little baby spiders into fixative for later microscopic examination. Unless you want some? I’m heading off to St Louis this weekend for Skepticon, and I could bring along some Latrodectus mactans spiderlings if anyone wants to give them a good home.

Speaking of Skepticon, I’m kind of on the schedule. I’m doing a workshop on Friday — but it’s not about spiders or evolution, directly. I’m going to present some exercises I’m using in a writing course I’ll be teaching this fall. If you want to learn about writing creative non-fiction (and maybe, if you really want getting your own baby black widow), that’s the place to be.

So schön…

I finally got away this afternoon to check on the spiders in the lab, and behold…one of the black widow egg sacs has popped!

Close-up of a Latrodectus mactans spiderling:

At this age, they aren’t noticeably black, more of a reddish orange.

I was struggling to isolate the babies. What made it hard is that a) half of them looked up and saw freedom and rushed to disperse into the general environment of the science building, and b) the other half saw danger in that guy with the paintbrush trying to scoop them up and dived down into mama’s dense tangle of silk. I compromised and spent an hour plucking ballooning spiders out of the air, and left the rest where they were hiding. I’ll be back tomorrow to see if I can catch ’em all — black widow silk is tough and hard to break through.

Also, funny thing — when I left last week, I had 5 egg sacs, then when I got back, one had hatched, but I still had 5 egg sacs. I may have stumbled unto an algorithm for infinite spiders.

Laughter humanizes

It looks like one line of attack the Republicans will be taking is to disparage her laughter. This is a collection of clips compiled by the Daily Mail, so you know it’s a stupid complaint.

What’s wrong with that? It’s a hearty, energetic laugh, and I like that she can find something to laugh at nowadays.

Who is turned off by that perfectly normal laugh?

Now I’m wondering…what does Donald Trump’s laugh sound like? I don’t think I’ve ever heard it.

Nosedive right into the sewer

We should have expected this. Donald Trump’s good buddy, Sebastian Gorka, responds to the news that Biden has resigned and will almost certainly be replaced by Kamala Harris:

Gorka joined Mark Dolan on GB News to discuss how Harris would stack up against Donald Trump in a race for the White House.

This disaster whose only qualification is having a vagina and the right skin colour… he said before being interrupted by GB News host Mark Dolan.

She’s a DEI hire, she’s a woman, she’s colored, so therefore she’s gotta be good, and at least her brain doesn’t literally freeze in mid-sentence.

We can’t expect that most right-wingers will be that blatant. Another pundit, Chloe Dobbs, on GB News tried to rephrase the hate to be a little more palatable.

Political commentator Chloe Dobbs said she sympathised with Gorka’s view, but felt he worded it too strongly.

I wouldn’t have used exactly the same words, but he does have a point, she said.

Being a woman of colour in this world definitely gives you a leg up. She is very unpopular and she is often accused of using word soup, no one understands what she stands for, she is a very weak candidate.

How do you get to that position when you’re that unpopular? I think the colour of your skin and the fact you’re a woman plays some part.

She wouldn’t use the same words, she says, before saying exactly the same thing.

The reality is that she is an accomplished politician, and that Harris is as popular as Biden, even slightly more so, and she hasn’t even begun a prominent campaign for the office. I’m far more comfortable putting her into the oval office than I was for Joe Biden.

The Magical Misery Tour is over

I’m back home again. It was not a happy trip, but I did learn a few things.

  • Viewings are horrible, but my family insists on having them. Ever since I was a child, I’ve been dragged off to unpleasant funerals where the corpse of a loved one is put on display, and they never look like they did when they were alive, so what’s the point? The mortuary did the best they could, but my mother looked like a melting wax mannequin with a spray tan, heavily made up in a way she would never have done in life.
  • Being executor of the estate is a lot of work, even when my mother had done all the work of creating a legal will. I still have to bring in hired help to sell off the house, and there’s a stack of papers documenting savings and investments I have to shuffle through. I’m going to have to travel to Seattle again a little later this fall, after the lawyer has sorted through his responsibilities, to do things like close out old bank accounts and move money around.
  • At least her heirs seem to be obliging, so far. It helps that it was a small estate, so no one is squabbling over her fortune. There is a little money, though, and I just wish she’d spent it all on herself.
  • The memorial service was nice, at least. We just gathered old friends and family together and told stories. For instance, I learned that she was always quiet and soft-spoken in school, but one time she and a friend decided to go wild and get high…by buying cokes and adding aspirin. It didn’t work. But I think that’s as crazy as Mom got.
  • Anyone want to buy a nice little 4-bedroom, 2-bath house on the road to Lake Tapps in Auburn?