The Evil in Darwin

Dig back, for some of you way back, to the days of basic science class. You remember those classes that you likely spent 98% of staring at the girl/boy whom had so captivated your brimming hormonal lust? I want you to think of the other 2% of the time where you screwed up, or on those unfortunate occasions when Suzy or Javier were sick, and you actually paid attention. Though I am sure the memory is painfully tinged with disappointment at not having pleasantly distracting eye-candy, press through and remember with me. Do you remember how that science teacher how seemed to speak solely through their nasal passage droned on about early humans? How they seemed to just face and overcome whatever obstacle the natural world presented them? Do you recall that word they used to encompass so succinctly our seemingly inborn survival mechanism? No...I didn't think so, because you just remember having to sit next to the kid who was flatulent right? Fair enough then.

I do not mean to sound holier-than-thou however. I speak not from above you but with you. I did not remember either and had to go through exhaustive memory jogging and research to finally recall the word. The short story is: adaption is what we humans have long employed to conquest new and unexpected changes in our daily lives. We humans are quite simply homeostasis machines; when something changes outside we change inside to be able to thrive in the new atmosphere. We can change literally anything and often for the better.

Last night I lay in bed jogging tiredly through memory for the term from long-ago science classes when it occured to me the ways in which I had adapted in my brother's absence. Then it struck me that adaption was something like Darwin's ginormous twin-edged sword. Adaption it should seem can be for better or worse. You can adapt to thrive as would sensible people like for instance Jon and Kate Gosselin...adapt to having more children than all of Ethiopia by leasing your children's infancy to cable television. Or adapt like Dick Cheney by attempting to retain the fading limelight by standing on ever shakier podiums and looking like an ass.

I adapt on the Cheney model. Probably because I lack eight children to give life-long psychological trauma by age 3. Or more likely because like Cheney in the absence of something really terrific all I have left are podiums I create to remember what better times were like. In the history of bad trades Cheney and I are the top of the list. He traded a virtual presidency for sounding like a grumpy, jaded, near-criminal. I lost a brother and all I got was this hollow blog...you can slap that right on a t-shirt and give it to relatives you don't really care about. I read longingly as my younger womb-mate fills what tiny void my absence has created with Gelato and Rome's rich culture. I fill a canyon with blog posts and protein powder. The economist in me recognizes the emotional trade deficit only long enough to intiatie denial Bear Stearns style.

Perhaps Cheney and I should hang out. Maybe get to know one anothers similarities on some sort of retreat...or maybe a hunting trip. I hear he's a crack shot.

Today a glimmer of what can only be described as hope shattered the remorseless onslaught of depression threatening to consume my life whole. The source of my ray through the stormclouds is the man above, yes the dapper, charming, and gaffe-prone Italian Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi. I cannot fault any reader for not springing as I did at the mention of his name towards the safety raft of hope that our Sam's return at the mere mention of Mr. Berlusconi's name for hopefully you all have lives away from BBC online news...without Sam I do not.

All springing from Berlusconi's gentle nudge homewards of a immigrant-laden vessel headed for Italian shores, a veritable foreign policy row has erupted in Europe and Italy is center stage. Yes 500 Libyans were returned home unwillingly by Berlusconi's government having attempted to flee sunny 'ole Libya for Italy, which has the added benefit of killer lasagna with sunshine. Americans are quite familiar with the public discourse that followed in short order: the Italian left grumbled that perhaps Italy ought to be more accepting of immigrants. Then Berlusconi did what perhaps only Americans well acquainted with the recently concluded Bush years would recognize; he said they were terrorists and had no legal rights and started...no wait that's the thesis talking. According to the Times Online Mr. Berlusconi commented that, "Italy was not and should not be a multi-ethnic society."

Maybe I have still left you scratching your head and pondering whether an intervention for my sake might be in order, but hold tight we're to the climax. The above shows old Chinese maxims to be true; nothing really does last forever. As charismatic as Sam is, if Berlusconi will stamp a boat full of poor, sick, puppy-dog-eyed, lasagna hungry Libyans with "return to sender" then I have no doubt that Sam's trip is running short on days. As his recent blog might suggest to you, there is very little mistaking a UD student, so try as he might to disguise himself he's one request for a highlander grogg or shirtless stroll to the nearest porch away from instant deportation.

A very special thanks to Silvio Berlusconi indeed.

Cell Phones Set To Silent

I received a call from Verizon Wireless earlier today. The friendly representative on the other end of the line inquired as to whether I might like to purchase a new cell phone to replace the one they had feared I had lost. I answered with a question of my own; why would Verizon think I had lost the cell phone? The answer faced me painfully with a loss I am ardently attempting to forget. The rapid and inexplicable decline in my phone calls and texts to a certain 937 number had all but ceased in a weeks time.

When Sam and I were apart physically we were never absent from one another totally thanks largely to the opportunity of sharing each others notable moments via cellular means. Any funny daily episode was sent to the other should he not have the fortune to be present for the moment itself. Any noteworthy occurrence, even a simple "...was think of you...", or "...I swear to god if [insert name] screws that aria one more time..." comprised approximately half of my monthly calls and fully 98% of my texting existence.

Oh without fail those first few days I learned the painful way. I would call and receive that ugliest of reponses...the voicemail. Texts were sent without response. My desperation grew and desperation quickly yielded to sad resignation. My only use now for my cell phone was a nightly conversation with an exhausted Autumn. Otherwise it sits idle.

I kindly told the Verizon lady that she could discontinue my service. I was going back to smoke signals and carrier-pigeons.

Today is a day which will live in infamy...

Dear friends and family I write this inaugural blog having come to a realization I fear you may have as well. My life is utterly lacking these past few days, perhaps yours has too. At first the absence was innocuous, harmless even, as though I had not gotten enough sleep. But as the days wore on and my collection of dull, monochromatic hours amassed like unwanted and ugly dust in a corner a slow dawning took hold of my forlorn mind.

Yes dear readers, my Sam was gone. Flown afar to foreign shores to spread his exuberant mirth in foreign tongues to newly made foreign friends. Of little else I may be certain than the sense that the fabled Italian peninsula has no concept of the strange force now roaming uninhibited through its capital. Similarly I can be certain without concept they cannot have appreciation as I do. It is by this justification that I must demand the immediate extradition of my brother...or a Italia Air flight to correct this egregious error of proximity between us.

My sense of loss is difficult to put into the limited expanses of words and I am sure I am not the only one. If he must be gone then we must band tight and remind him frequently that we miss him. And also that he's more than a little bit of an ass for cosmopolitan foreign study abroad choices while leaving us to jury-rig a patch for the gaping hole in our days, our lives, and our hearts.

I urge your comments to confirm your belief that the present state of affairs is ultimately untenable and must be corrected post-haste.