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Wish I was as rich as an elder living in NYC, with his own alligator farm to supply meat for experiments in his favorite hobby.
I don't like the sound of an alligator farm though I can easily see a dank basement somewhere downtown in Chinatown teaming with baby alligators.
Once upon a time way back i got talked into helping out in a similar place .though just growing bean sprouts not alligators ... damp, wet, rotting plywood beds in dim light, seeded with sprouts which had to be harvested after a couple of days, rinsed and packaged. My clothes reeked of mold after each session... turned me off to bean sprouts ever since.
Reminds me of one of my favorite dishes - morcilla ... blood sausage! here with black squid ink pasta.
We got a new cat. ZinZin likes alligator (minus the Thai curry of course,) sardines and lox.
She doesn't like vacuum cleaners.
Gathering storm clouds promise a welcome respite to a parched City after a long hot dry spell. I hurry home before the downpour, stopping to watch a pair of sparrows having at it right there on Third Street in the dust below a thirsty sidewalk tree. One of the sparrows gets the upper hand, so to speak, grabs his foe by the neck and starts hammering him into the dirt. He's gonna kill him! What to do, what to do?
A couple of neighbors join me, watching in horror. I can see their thoughts, same as mine: It's nature. It's normal. Nothing we can do. The pair of fighters begins to roll, oblivious to all, clenched to each other. They roll off the sidewalk over the curb and plummet through the grating of a storm sewer.
The neighbors hurry off without looking at me. I head home, mumbling to myself That's nature. It's normal. Nothing I could have done. I make it to my front door just as a clap of thunder shakes the air signaling the start of the deluge.
seems like a good place to hide ...
That is too cute! :D My kitty will hide behind my kitchen window curtain, but like your kitty, their tail is sticking out. :D
She's a handful, except when ...
Do Not Disturb! I'm taking a nap.
We humans gave up our position as the sole user of tools long ago. But, you say, there still is the exploration of space to claim for our uniqueness, something to be justly proud of. I think a closer look even there shows no single unique knack that makes us human, it's all a matter of degree, orders of magnitude, powers of ten.
Behold the lowly slime mold! Lab experiments have shown it possesses enough intelligence to find and remember the route through a maze to get at food. But wait ... there's more: In the wild. Protostelids, commonly known as slime mold, are solitary microscopic one-celled creatures which spend most of their life roaming forest floors while munching on decaying leafs, fallen trees and such. Perhaps it's when they bump into each other too often, or when there is not enough to munch on, or simply because they want to accomplish greater things, they band together and join into a gelatinous protoplasm, a blob, that goes galumphing through the underbrush, leaving slimy strands snagged on twigs and stones. That's what gets it noticed and why it's called slime mold.
At some point the blob finds a suitable spot to stop. Using their own bodies the creatures build a launch tower, then top the tower with a capsule containing a payload of their precious spores. Don't know if there is someone doing a countdown but there is an explosion and We have a Liftoff! The capsule with its precious cargo soars into the wild blue yonder to find new worlds, to boldly go where no slime mold has gone before.
It's all a matter of degree, orders of magnitude, powers of ten.
We head north through theater crowds, checking out the lights and huge billboards. I love midtown Manhattan when it drizzles, when puddles reflect the neons and tower tops disappear into a misty fog glowing in every color of the rainbow.
At Sony IMax I get on a very long wrong line being served by a human and get send to ticket machines lining the wall, stick in my card, punch the `picking up tickets' line and it spits out four tickets and a receipt. Just like that. Doesn't ask what movie, how many ... gives me just what I had ordered via phone earlier, untouched by human hands all the way.
Up an endless escalator and into a Starwars hangar, the control room is way up there in the back, a four-story screen in front of us pulses slowly with the colors from Times Square. We adjust our headsets and head off Into The Deep. Water hesitates just at mouth level, giving us time for a collective intake of air, then closes up above our heads. I'm looking at a bright-red fish two, no, four inches in front of my nose. The fish is looking at me. Various sea creatures do battle; it's a Nature film, with everything in 3D, ultra-real, details and colors galore. Stunning.
The possibilities are endless. I can see a Hostess handing out lasers so we can make our choices. My red beam marks an octopus, a tuna and a herring. When I turn in my headset and pointer I receive a card. We end the evening in a tatami room - Lenge's Sushi, they take my card. We toast with sake, try some pickles, gyoza, negimaki, shumai and a favorite of mine, ikura sushi. With just a slight smile, the waiter brings our sashimi. He shows the markings. It is indeed the very octopus, tuna and herring I picked. I nod. Everyone's impressed.
It was a good evening.