Three Berkeley Trips 3

       Three Berkeley Trips 3

    

          Trip 3, by Abstinence

        Or: Planet of the Boobs

         

          The nurse said, “You need to schedule another blood test next week.”

          I shrugged. “OK.”

          “And to test hormone levels,” she continued, “you’ll have to abstain from all sexual activity.”

          “All sexual activity? For a week?”

          “Mm-hm.”

          “Including masturbation?”

          “Mm-hm.”

          I shrugged. A week without masturbation sounded easy enough. We scheduled the blood test, I went home and put away my one-hand magazines. (These were in the days before the Internet.)

          A day came and went without inconvenience, then another. But on the third day something odd happened. I was walking down Telegraph Avenue, and I noticed that every woman on the street had unusually large breasts. Not just some of the women; all of them. This strange change in half the human population of Berkeley persisted all day, and I realized that it wasn’t them, it was me.

          My perceptions were distorted, due to hormonal imbalance. Every woman’s breasts weren’t really bigger than before; they just seemed that way to me. I was hormone-addled, and seeing things strangely; I knew this, but the knowledge did not decrease the perceptual distortion effect. 

          The effect increased on the fourth day. Every woman, everywhere, had an amazingly ample bosom. I knew that was an illusion, but it was a very convincing illusion. I tried not to look, or seem to notice; but my judgment was probably as impaired as my perception; so if you noticed, then please forgive my peeking, dear women of Berkeley!

          By the fifth and sixth days, I was adrift in an impossible parallel universe of fantastic mammary antigravitation. I knew that I was hallucinating, but still I saw the mirage as plain as day. I was amazed how clear, specific and florid the hallucination was; and as before, knowledge of illusion did not dispel illusion.

          On the seventh day I went to the clinic and gave a blood sample. Then I went home and got out the one-hand magazines.

          The next day, every woman’s breasts were back to normal size.

 

Three Berkeley Trips 2

        Three Berkeley Trips 2

    

Trip 2, by Sleep

        Or: Which was the Dream?

 

          I was sitting up in bed, reading a book. It was late, I was tired. Then I noticed something odd; the words of the book were changing and shifting. But why? Then I noticed something even stranger; my eyes were shut. I felt my eyelids firmly sealed together; yet I could see. But how?

I realized that I was asleep and dreaming. Within that lucid dream, I looked up from the book and scanned the room. There was the bookshelf, there were the knick-knacks, there was the couch, there was the computer desk, there were the windows and shades… all dreams.

          Then I willed myself awake. I opened my eyes, and the first thing I noticed was that I was slumped over. I sat up, closed the book, and looked around. Same bookshelf, same knick-knacks, same couch, same computer desk, same windows and shades.

          The two rooms were identical.

 

 

Three Berkeley Trips 1

       Three Berkeley Trips 1

     By a Goat, Sleep, and Abstinence

         

 

          I had some wild times during my days in Berkeley, California. The Sixties were long gone by the time I got there, but some of the spirit lingered, and I sought it out. My three trippiest times there had nothing to do with drugs. These three weird experiences were caused by, respectively, a goat, sleep, and abstinence.

 

          Trip 1, by a Goat

        Or: Thurber’s World

 

          I was visiting Marion Zimmer Bradley’s house. After a few rounds of dilemma chess with the fantasy writer’s son, I stepped out to their back yard for a stroll and a breath of fresh air.

          It was evening; the zenith had darkened to deep blue, the horizon glowed orange and red. A crescent moon shone, and a few stars, and Venus too.

          I stopped, amazed; for there in front of me stood a goat. An Angora goat, waist-tall, with silky white hair… and a single horn.

He was Lancelot, a successful animal-husbandry experiment by Morning Glory and Otter Zell. At the goat’s birth, they had surgically fused Lancelot’s two hornbuds together; the fused hornbud grew into an imposing monohorn.

          Lancelot was a unicorn. That surgically-modified Angora goat looked like he had stepped out of a medieval tapestry. Morning Glory and Otter Zell claimed that surgery like theirs was entirely possible for the medievals; so perhaps unicorns had been real enough all along.

          Just then, in the evening twilight, with Moon and Venus overhead, that unicorn looked more than real; for Lancelot was eating Marion Zimmer Bradley’s rosebushes. Those of you who have read James Thurber’s stories know the one about the unicorn eating the rosebushes. In that surreal moment, I learned that a visit to Marion Zimmer Bradley’s place can put you in a Thurber story.

          I also learned that unicorn droppings are about one centimeter long and about half a centimeter wide.

 

         

 

 

In Praise of Vermin

             In Praise of Vermin

 

I write this essay in praise of all those critters that survive despite all mankind’s best efforts to exterminate them. I do so out of respect.

So kudos to weeds, pests and plagues! Tough enough to take us on! Here’s to dandelions, crabgrass, poison ivy, poison oak, and kudzu! Here’s to roaches and flies and fleas and mice and rats! Here’s to Asian carp, tiger mussels, raccoons and coyotes!

I think it the height of hypocrisy for us humans to complain of invasive pests. It’s no easy thing to be an invasive pest; you need some advantage. Raccoons have hands, rats have colonies. Invasiveness requires adaptability, as we well know, being invasive pests ourselves.

          I praise vermin and weeds because they prove that life’s vitality exceeds ours; so a natural history beyond ours is guaranteed. I take comfort in this reflection. The raccoon’s hand proves that this planet needs hands, and if we drop the job then there will be another team to pick it up.

          I have a modest proposal; that we find some rapidly-warming steep-sided Arctic island; that we stock it with all of the weeds and pests mentioned above. Then stand back, and watch the ecology of the future evolve.

          I’m sure that experiment is already in process!

 

Family Shames: 4 of 4

          Family Shames 4

A Shameful Tale

 

          If you put together the speculations of the previous three posts, then you get a truly shameful tale of human prehistory, as follows:

          In the old days, Big Men had harems, and all other men were losers. The only hope the loser men had was to slay some Big Man, kill his children, and then rape the women. Of course the women detested this lion-like system, but those compliant to it reproduced more than those resistant to it, which left a genetic trace that our species bears to this very day; as proven by our adulation of killers and tyrants.

          One day a loser man discovered a marvelous magic trick. Simply share spoiled fruit juice with an otherwise resistant woman. She will lose control before he loses potency. This trick spread. Women easily made drunk reproduced more; a genetic trace that our species bears to this very day. The same evolutionary pressures that created violent men and submissive women, then started to create devious men and drunken women. In other words, rape started to shift from force to fraud.

          Eventually someone figured out the brewing of beer. It requires settled colonies and the hard labor of farming; an indignity that men were willing to suffer, for the sake of a magic sex potion.

Big Men dominated these colonies, but soon were outnumbered, and they were forced by political necessity to institute sexual socialism; share and share alike. The losers won… it seems. It’s fraudulent of course; Big Men still gather harems whenever possible.

Civilization is full of fraud, for it is based upon fraud; a genetic trace that we bear to this very day.

Family Shames: 3 of 4

          Family Shames 3

Mr. Charisma

        

The Catholic Church is still reeling from the pedophilia scandals; but the priests are not alone in this. There have been pedophiles amongst teachers, nurses, coaches… anywhere that adults routinely meet with children. Why is this so?

          This tendency reaches its peak in isolated cults, whose leaders show a consistent tendency to monopolize the youngest females. This is clearly reversion to a harem-based reproduction strategy, common in the animal kingdom, and not unknown in biblical history.

           I have elsewhere explained monogamy as sexual socialism; an artificial modification of human sexuality imposed by church and state to minimize the political dangers of masses of unattached men. But that same church, and that same state, had their historical origins in Big Men, who were never monogamists at all.

The Big Men were winners; all other men were losers; but the losers outnumbered the winners, so eventually they won after all. But it’s an artificial victory, and a recent one, barely ten millennia old. Every so often natural man peeks out, and civilization is shocked.

Family Shames: 2 of 4

           Family Shames 2

A Magic Trick

 

          Women are biochemically more vulnerable to alcohol than men are. They are more strongly affected by the same amount, even when measured against body weight; and they take longer to metabolize it away. Why this difference?

          Any frat-boy can tell you why. If you want her to say yes, then get her drunk. If he matches her drink for drink, then she’ll lose control before he loses ability. Alcohol is the original date-rape drug.

          What a simple and effective mating strategy! From the point of view of late Paleolithic man, booze must have seemed a magic potion! Late Paleolithic woman may have had a different opinion; but the ones who said yes tended to have more children than the others; with predictable evolutionary consequences.

          Some anthropologists theorize that agriculture, and with it civilization, was started not exactly for food security, but specifically for the brewing of beer. Farming’s hard work, and a hunter-gatherer can hunt or gather food anywhere; but for a magic sex potion, even a proud hunter will stoop to farming!

          Civilization began with a magic trick; drugged date-rape; a mating strategy still imprinted on our genes.