Scoliosis is an abnormal lateral curvature of the spine. The spine forms a twisted “S” shape, pulling the body and person to one side.

King Richard III had scoliosis. You can tell from his skeleton. That long-lost skeleton was recently discovered under a parking lot in Leicester, England. He was badly beaten. The excavators identified ten (10) obvious wounds from clubs, swords and daggers.

In the midst of the Battle of Bosworth Field in 1485 A.D., Richard of the House of York rode his white courser directly at his rival, Henry of the House of Tudor. Knocking some formidable opponents off their horses, Richard the King had almost reached Henry the Aspirer for the final test of kingly arms, when . . . Richard’s large horse bogged down in the mud. Unceremoniously and with fatal consequences, King Richard was surrounded, knocked off his horse and suffered the many recorded blows that ended his life and his reign.

Some good friars from a nearby monastery recovered the royal body and hastily interred it beneath Greyfriars Church in Leicester. For the defeated, the burial was rushed. The noble form was not placed in a casket or even covered with a linen shroud. The dark earth covered the King’s broken body.

Through time, the church was itself demolished and a parking lot was established in its place. King Richard’s remains were lost for five centuries to the effects of urban renewal and the age of the motor car. But, the monarch was not lost for good. The University of Leicester confirmed on February 4, 2013 that the skeleton recently discovered beneath that parking lot was, beyond reasonable doubt, that of Richard III.

The King has been found.

William Shakespeare wrote a play entitled “Richard III.” In the play, King Richard has a withered arm not a twisted back. Perhaps the list of the shoulders from the scoliosis caused the playwright to portray the King with a dragging arm. We may never know why the Bard’s portrayal differs from the coroner’s report. We do know that the play has some memorable lines.

The theatrical performance opens around a moody melancholy of words: “Now is the winter of our discontent.” With that, we know tragedy is in the wings. Near the story’s ending, in the midst of the battle after being unhorsed, Richard cries out in Shakespeare’s voice: “A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse!” Who hasn’t heard that one? It was probably in a Super Bowl commercial. Of course, there is no horse.

With Edward dispatched, Henry marries Edward’s niece Princess Elizabeth of the House of York, patches things up between the noble houses and becomes King Henry VII of the all the English lands.

Royalty is difficult and dangerous to follow.

So died Edward III, the last of the line of Plantagenet Kings and the last English King to die in battle. With Richard’s death, some say the Middle Ages ended in England. The dark ages joined him in his ignominious interment and a Renaissance of new ideas broke bright upon English soil.

The struggles of kings and those who aspire to be king are assuredly complicated and long to resolve

Now, there are those who say King Edward III has been slighted by the march of time and should be restored to good sight in the eyes of the many. Edward was certainly unhorsed, rudely treated and promptly forgotten. None would contest that. Still, the circumstances surrounding his reign may argue that the good King was not that even in his treatment of others. Then, others certainly got even with him. He did pay the price. Today is a much newer day than it was back then. Perhaps more telling, there is an untidiness in the present array that argues in favor of a proper English resolution of things.

Since Edward III will soon be in his own royal tomb, as his cousins are in there noble places, perhaps bygones should be bygones. Perhaps, the slate should be wiped clean. Let ballads be written and sung. Allow festivals to be held and money exchanged in the merriment and delight of new memories reviewed and approved. Park cars in the repaired lot and above the now empty space. Encourage visitors to walk in the bright clean air and enjoy the sights of our monarch’s new home. Let commerce commence, pockets jingle and couples dance.

It is the New Age of the King.

They say a good party heals many a wound.

Grandpa Jim

The Might Mites of Dust

The house dust mite is “a cosmopolitan guest in human habitation.” “Cosmopolitan” means it can be found everywhere that human beings habitat (live or abide) — around the world and then some, probably even on the orbiting space station. “Guest” does not mean the mite was invited – it means it lives with us (we share the same space and both are guests in our own homes). It might more properly be termed an “unwanted guest,” one that does not easily leave. As one, it is a small little critter, only 0.4 millimeters (0.016 inches) in length, and it can be just barely seen on the bed sheets . . . in normal light. It loves mattresses and pillows, because they are so cushy and warm and comforting, and because those mattresses and pillows are full of the little dusts we leave behind and dust mites love to eat. Once it settles in, it’s not leaving – unless you heat that pillow to 60 degrees C (140 degrees F) or freeze that mattress to 0 degrees C (32 degrees F). It is reported that a two-year old pillow may be composed of up to ten percent dust mites and their dust – although some dust-mite scientists dispute that all those little mighty mites really add significantly to the weight of mattresses and pillows. It is true that alone a mite might not be too much, but banded together, it might truly be said, in a loud and echoing voice, that they are the “Mighty Mites of Dust.”

Monkeys and Chimpanzees in Go-Go Land

Both monkeys and chimpanzees are primates and simians. From a taxonomic viewpoint, human beings are also classified as primates and simians. Monkeys usually have tails. Chimps and humans do not – at least that is noticeable. The chimpanzee is an ape; the monkey is not. There are more apes than just chimpanzees. Gibbons, orangutans and gorillas are also apes.  Humans are not apes, although some human males have been reported to act like apes. In the phylogeny of living (extant) primates, chimpanzees and the other apes are more closely related to humans (at least male humans) than monkeys. This should not come as a surprise to some.  Monkeys, chimpanzees and humans can all climb trees. Monkeys and chimpanzees do it well. Humans do not. Monkeys, chimpanzees and humans can be trained to drive go-carts. It is apparently a matter of opinion who does this better. Monkeys and chimpanzees do not generally use computer software programs. When malfunctioning, software programs cause humans (males at least) to jump up and down, grab and shake things, beat their chests, and utter loud screeches and other unintelligible and incoherent sounds. When this occurs, it has been suggested (by whom we cannot say) that monkeys and chimpanzees in go-go land behave better than humans in software gone-gone land.

To Affect an Effect or Effect an Effect — That is the Question

The sun affects (has an impact on) my skin. The effect of (that which results from) too much sun on my skin is a sunburn. The sun effected (brought about) a change in my skin that hurts. Ouch! Now, you see why using affect, effect and effect can be so painful. Affect is typically used as a verb, meaning to have an impact on something or someone, to influence. Effect is mostly used as a noun to represent that which is created by some cause, the result or consequence. For every cause, there is an effect. But, effect can also be used as a verb, meaning to bring about, to cause or achieve – this is a bit tricky when compared to the verb affect. Let’s see how it works. The software going bad affects a human male. This cause (software going bad) has the effect of said human male acting like a monkey or chimpanzee in go-go land (or worse). We can then say the bad software effected the change (and not a desirable one) in our human male. And, that is how affect (verb), effect (noun) and effect (verb) can work on someone who becomes too attached to their computer. Now, why don’t you try it on a dust mite making a home in your favorite pillow.

Effect a calm demeanor, you may affect others with the effects of your actions.

Now then, that’s clear as mud, I think.

Cheers,

Grandpa Jim

“The Internet is falling! The Internet is falling!” Chicken Little yells, feathers flying, laptop clutched tightly to his breast, as the young fowl runs to the local avian geek barn for help. “It’s the EMP,” the scaredy-cat capon moans as he collapses in a heap at the feet of the wide-eyed-black-glassed-tape-nosed nerds.

Beaks drop, glasses droop and pocket protectors sag as the frightened flock of gallus gallus domesticus realize their worst fear is pulsing toward them and their precious. The electron-soaked waves of digitalized data that wash back and forth sightless before their eyes, to be captured and burst forth onto their beloved wire-laced and chip-linked screens, those sinous curves of serpentine knowledge are endangered by the nameless nightmare. The beloved Internet, their precious, is about to fall to the dreaded EMP.

Screeching, clucking and crowing, they run mindless in all directions, bumping into each other, cock-a-doodle-dooing “Where can we go? Where can we go?”

There may be no escape for them and for us.

If the EMP, be true and truly here.

An EMP is an electromagnetic pulse. It is an intense burst of electromagnetic energy caused by an abrupt, rapid acceleration of charged electrons.

The theory is that when the EMP hits the wires, components and compotes of our machines, the electrical surge will overpower every protector, will bypass every plug and will blast uncaringly with the raw force of its small-particled energy into the nooks and crannies of every computer, hand-held and cell. The gourmet viands of the wired and wireless domains of our modern lands will be in the instant scrambled. In ever hand, at every station and on every table, there will be only toast.

Bon appétit, while you can.

In theory, the escaped impingement of excited electrons will drive us from our tables of reflective repast back to the books, scrolls and parchments of our patriarchal past.

Society, as we know it, will be too confused to do anything but sit back, stare amazed and start to laugh.

To that uproarious end, some think only nuclear explosives could be the cause.

That, it could not and never happen here and now.

The scare is said to be an old-wives tale on an Internet that encourages those wives to talk, a joke made upon ourselves that could never blossom to fruition. The Internet is too large and too widely dispersed. Even if some were effected, the rest would recover and repair. It’s just a joke.

We attended a humorous farce of a play yesterday afternoon. The actors were moving so fast and talking so quickly that the audience was forced to fall into unbridled laughter as a most pleasant palliative of first resort. Faced with the witty insanities of the emergently complicated interpersonal situations and the apparent impossibilities of any filial, spousal or culinary resolutions, laughter was the only course. It made little sense to do else. The information received was so great and so absurd that the theatrical performance teetered on the brink of disaster and was intensely funny.

The assault of mixed and moving signals must have affected the synapses of our minds in some strange and unforeseen manner. In the hall outside afterward, we talked of EMP. It was after the end of the insanity of words that the insanity of electrons gone wild popped easily to our heads. After the guffawed hilarity of a house collapsed in laughter, we could somehow see the hem-hawed reality of a way of life fallen to disorder.

Order and disorder were perhaps the linchpins connecting our thoughts.

Great disorder may be funny and entertaining, but it is difficult to put right. The confusion was too great. We did not understand the play in the end.

Great order may be just as entertaining and funny, and it may in its way be just as difficult to put right. The potential for confusion may be too great. We do not understand how the Internet could end and can only watch as it does.

If you put all your eggs in one basket, does it matter how big that basket is?

If you put all those funny words in one play, can you really put that play back together again?

If you put all those word bytes onto one Internet, can you really put that Internet back together again?

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.
All the king’s horses and all the king’s men
Couldn’t put Humpty together again.

The lesson, I think, is this: In too much order resides the disorder of the jabberwocky of EMP.

To protect the order of information and prevent the fall of an overloaded Mr. Dumpty, perhaps we should try not to put any more weight on that wall. And, in that, net another approach to the Internet. Place the worrisome and tipsy Humpty on a diet and move on down the line. It may be just as entertaining and effective, and we’ll be much less worried about scrambling our only egg.

We may find that there are other ways to laugh.

“And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?

Come to my arms, my beamish boy!

O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!”

He chortled in his joy.”

Enjoy the play,

Grandpa Jim