Blithe Bimbo, Brawny Bullet’s Bane

Although no people were hurt in the least, the accident in Kittredge on Sunday was tragic, nonetheless.

A cherry-red 1982 AC Cobra Special sustained moderate front end damage. The exact nature of its injuries was not available at press time, Tuesday.

Several units of the Evergreen Volunteer Fire Department responded to Highway 74 in Kittredge at about 1:30 after an accident was reported in front of the Country Roads Café. What they discovered was a minor two-car dust-up in which some of the finest Detroit steel ever to hit the streets had been cruelly battered. Sources at the scene described the event as follows.

Two Denver couples, connoisseurs of ultra-fine roadware, had driven into the mountains to enjoy a pleasant lunch at one of the area’s many fine dining establishments. After their lovely repast, they headed homeward down Bear Creek Canyon, an excellent cruise for a high-performance vehicle. Leading the small convoy was the ‘82 Special, followed by a 1972 Cobra replica, also blazing crimson with two wide, white stripes running stem to stern like a mighty, counterfeit Pepe LePew.

As the splendid roadsters entered Kittredge, a young girl driving a black Suburu Outback Limited sporting a Kerry/Edwards sticker in the aft port window blithely entered the highway from the carwash adjacent to the café, directly into the path of American industry’s proudest achievement. Despite its high-performance tires and a braking system that could stop a tank dropped from an airplane, the King of the Road lightly struck the Suburu in its Kerry/Edwards causing minor, and very clean, damage.

Alas, the Cobra was not so lucky. A finely-tuned machine, its clean-lined, manly, altogether beautiful front end was not designed to answer such an insult. The dream-machine was hors de combat, its magnificent nose – the immaculate paint job, the perfectly worked grill, the chrome impossible to look at without eye protection on a cloudless Sunday afternoon – was savaged.

Paramedics quickly ascertained that all human parties were sound and in good running condition. The Cobra, sublimely aloof and projecting an almost supernatural gravity from its muscular lines, was ignominiously loaded onto the back of a wrecker and driven away, it is hoped, to the tender ministries of a competent, licensed mechanic.

It is unknown if the young lady, though clearly rueful, appreciated how the entire community is diminished when a really cool muscle-car is mistreated. If the driver of the genuine article felt the Cobra reproduction should rightly have taken the hit, he did not say so.

The victim, in happier times

The victim, in happier times

Precocious punks plus primordial people plumb perpetual pep principles

 

Ankh: The ancient Egyptian symbol for eternal life.

Corey Baron and Peter Link sat together, last Thursday morning, at a round table in Evergreen’s Senior Resource Center. Unlikely lab partners, they were separated by less than 2 feet and more than half a century.

“How often do you eat green salad?” asked 11-year-old Corey, her freshly-sharpened #2 pencil poised over a lengthy questionnaire spread on the table in front of her.

“At least once a day,” said Peter, an active man who’ll turn 77 come November.

“What kind of snack foods do you usually eat?”

“Nuts and cashews, mostly, but I do have a fondness for chocolate.”

“My brother’s the same way,” said Corey, with a reassuring smile. “How well do you hear?”

“My wife thinks I’m going deaf, but you can just say ‘good.’”

Corey looked uncertain for a moment, but soldiered on. To her credit, Corey understood almost half of Peter’s uncomplicated jokes, or pretended to. A self-possessed girl with dark hair and a careful demeanor, she interviewed her aged friend for the better part of 20 minutes, delving into many parts of his past and present life.

A field-geologist by training and unrepentant local Curmudgeon by temperament, Peter was good-natured, deceptively youthful, and clearly delighted by his young interrogator. He answered all inquiries quickly, completely, and with as much humor as he thought Corey would tolerate.

Corey wasn’t asking all those questions just to be polite, although she was very polite. In that sunny room at the Yellow House, she and the rest of her Evergreen Middle School classmates from Laura Thompson-Beato’s sixth-grade gifted-and-talented class hoped that more than a dozen of the mountain-area’s oldest residents could help them unlock one of humanity’s most elusive secrets.

“They’re studying the secrets to living a long, healthy life,” Thompson-Beato said. “It’s part of an international study to find out why some people are able to stay healthy and vigorous when they’re over 80, 90, or even 100 years old. What they find out today will be pooled with information from around the world and could someday help people lead longer, better lives.”

The students’ friendly grilling was part of a special curriculum called the Blue Zone Program, named for those curious pockets around the globe where, for reasons unknown, local populations tend to longevity and folks remain vigorous even unto triple digits.

“I call the program ‘live long and prosper,’” Thompson-Beato laughed. “It’s hard to keep old age relevant to an 11-year-old. How much interest can they have in somebody who’s 80? They really get into the financial part of it, though. As far as they’re concerned, compound interest is the 8th wonder of the world. This is the first time we’ve done this, but I’m definitely going to do it again next year.”

Student Samantha Raeder spent a pleasant half-hour prospecting the bright nuggets of wit and wisdom collected over the years by Josephine, a gentle soul of 81. It was time well-spent for both.

“I was surprised she doesn’t exercise very much, but she’s pretty religious,” Samantha said. “I think it’s interesting that people who have deep religious faith tend to live longer. I want to be a Buddhist, but I haven’t really started yet.”

“This was a lot of fun,” said Josephine, looking at least 10 years younger than she had an hour before. “It sure takes me back to my younger days.”

Of course, each detailed questionnaire was simply prologue to the Big Question – what must a youngster do to ensure a long, healthy, happy life? Jackie McFarland, who just turned 80, still looks 60 and laughs like a 20-year-old, gave young Kelsey the 411.

“I told her she should be considerate of her elders and others, eat a balanced diet, and stay socially active,” Jackie said. “I also think it’s very important for kids to be responsible, especially today. Every action has consequences. That’s something my own grandchildren haven’t learned yet.”

Though Peter couldn’t offer Corey the secret to eternal youth, he presented her with plenty of solid counsel and a few surprises. Born at the dawn of the Great Depression, Peter walks several miles a day, splits his own firewood and plays softball on the semi-fearsome Curmudgeon squad. And he looked pretty energetic for a man who recently returned from an arduous exploration of Antarctica. Age and well-being, he told Corey, are mostly states of mind.

“I like that he thinks that your attitude is the most important thing,” Corey said. “That’s what I’ve always thought, and this just proves it.”

Perhaps most importantly, she discovered that she and Peter, despite the long reach of years between them, are more alike than she would have supposed.

“I learned that just because somebody’s old it doesn’t mean it’s weird to talk to them, and I don’t have to be nervous about it,” said Corey, seriously. “He’s a very nice man. He’s just a regular person.”

Playboy Cabeen

Sin1Is there anything more picturesque than a rustic cabin nestled amid snow-kissed pines before a rushing mountain stream? How about all of the above plus a red-hot coed lounging around totally starkers?

If that sounds like every guy’s favorite recurring dream, it’s really just a day in the life of Clear Creek County. Well, one day, anyway. Two weeks ago, Friday, to be exact. But let’s not reveal too much, too quickly.

A few months ago, Evergreen residents Diane and Roger Turek purchased a cabin in Mill Creek Park, a superb bit of nowhere in the boondocks about three miles north of Dumont in Clear Creek County. Bounded by Arapahoe National Forest, the wooded property dips its mossy toes in 450 feet of chuckling brook – a fitting stage for the charming 1,300 square foot, two-bedroom, cedar-clad chalet thereon. “We’re absolutely in love with it,” Diane said. “We’re going to retire there, someday.”

Someday is not today, so when the Tureks aren’t enjoying their alpine hideaway, they offer it for rent over the internet.

“One of the bedrooms is a loft,” Diane said, “and it has a conversation pit – real après-ski, you know?” Early on, she and Roger discussed losing the architectural anachronism, but their friends wouldn’t hear of it. “It’s classic Colorado, isn’t it?”

Don’t worry, men, we’re getting there.

About three weeks ago, the Tureks were relaxing in their mountain redoubt, listening to Lewis and Floorwax on 103.5 FM and reflecting on the duo’s thoughtful analysis of the day’s events. On that day, the popular radio hosts were interviewing some college students of the female persuasion who’d been chosen to represent their particular institutions in Playboy magazine’s “Women of the Big 12” issue, presumably because of their academic excellence. Between asking the hard questions and congratulating the girls on their manifest virtues, the sober pair broadcast Playboy’s phone number and urged anyone who knew of a suitably Coloradan venue for the University of Colorado’s shoot to dial it without delay.

“You know what?” Diane asked her husband. “Nothing says Colorado like this place.”

She called the magazine and left a brief message including the web address where pictures of the Mill Creek Park estate could be viewed, and wasn’t especially surprised when nobody called back. Some days later, just to satisfy herself that she and Roger had been snubbed, she rang Playboy’s Chicago office again and was connected with the project’s art director.

“He said they’d be here on Friday.”

“They” were the art director, a photographer, a makeup artist, sundry union hacks and, of course, the exquisite centerpiece who would probably have to make up that day’s physics lab, or whatever, another time. According to Diane, the Playboy crew was pleased as punch with the location.

“They were giddy-happy,” she said. “In the pictures on the internet, everything’s dry, but it snowed the night before and the trees were all white.” Better still, the water in the stream out front was rimmed with shimmering, icy arabesques. “You could just picture Pete Coors standing next to it.”

The crew spent about seven hours capturing the young beauty as God made her, first in front of a roaring fire the couple built in the cabin’s stone fireplace, then outside amid nature’s naked grandeur.

“They pitched a tent by the creek and put a couple snowshoes in front of it,” Diane said. “It was supposed to look like a Colorado winter camp, and they took pictures of her lying on a blanket in front of the tent.”

What are the Boy Scouts not telling us?

The Tureks were able to uncover little information about the young scholar, other than that she attended CU in Boulder, was above-average gorgeous and seemed to know her way around a photo-shoot.

“She was very comfortable in her own skin, and completely comfortable with the camera,” Diane said. “I think she’s probably done some modeling on the side.”

That’s just conjecture, though, because the girl’s name, age, professional skills and field of study never came up.

“I got the feeling they didn’t want to give too much information about her, probably to protect her privacy.”

As opposed to her modesty.

Sin2Late in the afternoon, the little party stowed their gear, thanked the Tureks for the use of their charming forest realm and headed back down the canyon. Miss CU left with them, fully clothed.

“It was really interesting, and just a lot of fun,” Diane said. “And everything was done first-class – really tasteful.”

Though Roger was prudently unavailable for comment, it’s fair to suppose that he found the episode equally rewarding.

A Call to Action

cat7-citizenPeople who know me will tell you I’m a good citizen.

That’s very gratifying to me, because I have always endeavored to serve as a civilizing example to those of less taut moral fiber, and it’s nice to know my efforts aren’t going unnoticed. Fact is, while doing one’s civic duty can at times be tiresome, the burden of responsible behavior can be managed to a great extent by the imposition of a Code. “Brush my teeth,” would be a thoughtful personal mandate, for instance, or “Pay for things”, or “Don’t bother Steve.”

Being exceptional, of course, my own bar is set much, much higher. For one thing, my own Code strictly forbids me to commit crime unless there’s a chance that personal or financial advantage might be gained thereby.

Also, I will never engage in productive work if letting someone else do it for me might give them a sense of accomplishment, or perhaps a mild aerobic benefit.

By my scrupulous rule regarding personal property, upon finding somebody’s lost wallet I don’t waste precious time and energy attempting to locate the careless clod that is its rightful owner, but instead pump its contents directly into the economy through retail channels, helping to foster prosperity for all.

And, as a good citizen, whenever I perceive a threat to the public weal, I act swiftly to expose it. I do now, selflessly and without any thought of remuneration, sound the alarm on what I believe to be an insidious menace of such colossal proportions that, left unmitigated, it may very well spell catastrophe on a planetary scale.

If you keep rolling your eyes they could freeze that way. Would you like that?

I count myself among that number of uncritical thinkers who suppose the Ancients possessed important knowledge and advanced insights long since lost to Humankind. Take the Egyptians – although utterly lacking modern technologies, the ancient Egyptians were able to raise enormous stones to dizzying heights. Clearly, they were privy to amazing secrets that made it possible for Egyptians with swords to induce Egyptians without swords perform difficult and dangerous tasks.

Indeed, only arcane knowledge can explain ancient Egypt’s marvelous irrigation systems – great ditches, miraculously free of their original dirt and capable of directing moderate quantities of water in a single, downhill direction. And what long-buried scientific inspiration led that desert-dwelling people to discover that desiccated flesh liberally treated with naturally occurring salts would not immediately spoil?

cat6-conePerhaps most remarkable, it was the ancient Egyptians who first divined that, after several hours under the broiling sun, women with melting cones of beeswax, honey and spices affixed to their heads tended to smell more fetchingly than women not so equipped.

Magical!

 

 

And they invented beer.

So we see that the Pharoahs knew a thing or two about a thing or two. And it turns out that one of those things was biology. It has recently come to my attention that a particularly reflective sect of ancient Egyptian philosophers was the first to scold otherwise happy diners with the admonition “You are what you eat.”

It was the contention of those courageous scientist-priests that the flesh of all living creatures must
necessarily accrete from what stuff they consume. It was their further contention that all living creatures consume pretty much the same stuff, or at least stuff that’s already consumed pretty much the same stuff. Taken together, those two irrefutable principles tend to suggest that all creatures are composed of pretty much the same physical substance.

Except they’re obviously not.

Those canny contemplators were also perfectly aware that there exist good creatures and bad creatures, not to mention a whole lot of creatures exhibiting varying degrees of good and bad characteristics, which patent truth presented a knotty logical inconsistency. If we all eat the same stuff, why aren’t we all the same? Their answer to that philosophical question was both elegant and, I think, inescapable.

Everybody poops.

Because animals, good and bad, are material constructions of the food they eat, it was their belief that the general food supply must contain both good and bad components. If some creatures are better than others, it must be because they retain a greater portion of food’s positive elements and excrete most of its negative ones. Likewise, creatures that fall toward the bad end of the spectrum must necessarily absorb a larger part of what is evil in their diets, while expelling the greater part of what is good.

An illustration ~

cat5-bat

The ancient Egyptians hated bats. To their way of thinking, bats were sneaking and cowardly and carried disease and exalted the darkness and weren’t really birds and weren’t really rats and they squeaked. It would have been quite impossible for an ancient Egyptian to hate bats any more than they already did. By the reasoning outline above, bats clearly retained virtually everything vile in their food, and pooped out its every redeeming ingredient.

cat1On the other hand, ancient Egyptians loved cats. Cats were sacred to them. They weren’t gods, exactly, but they were high enough on the divinity chain to hobnob with all the best deities. Cats had dash, and polish, and a naturally superior attitude that just screamed “quality.” The only thing an ancient Egyptian loved more than a cat was two cats, And so forth. They spent small fortunes mummifying their cats so they wouldn’t have to face the Land of the Dead without them. And if cats were so very, very good, they plainly extracted every ounce of goodness from their sustenance, but incorporated no part of its badness.

If we are to accept the ancient Egyptians as authorities in all fields scientific – and we’ve already established that they invented beer – then we must also yield to this gastronomical analysis and its unavoidable conclusions. Call it the Unified Theory of Doody.

Even as bats suck all the badness out of their food, so does iron-clad logic dictate that their excrement must be entirely good. Bat guano, despite its undeserved reputation, can only be the most sublime substance in existence.

Conversely, the defecations of cats can only be the most vile and toxic emissions imaginable, having been efficiently stripped of every last particle of good.

But why, you may in your tragic ignorance wonder, is this explosive information relevant to inhabitants of the 21st Century?

Americans own something like 90 million cats. The average cat defecates twice daily, producing approximately three ounces of poop during each episode. That’s something like 18,000 tons of concentrated evil flowing into the nation’s pristine landfills every single day. Add to that the 10,000-ton holocaust waged daily by another 50 million feral felines, and the magnitude of the crisis becomes plain.

The horrific truth is that if something is not done to stem this toxic tide – and done quickly – we’ll soon confront a calamity of Biblical proportions. The ruin that awaits us beneath that relentless accumulation of devilish distillation will make the specter of death at the hand of Global Warming seem a mercy.

So what must be done to save Humankind from looming litter-box Armageddon?

Don’t ask me. I’m a thinker, not a doer.

cat2I’m also a good citizen.

Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Getting Back to Nature

Stereotypes are easy.

Funny? Or nefarious?

That’s why we like them. Easy is, um, easier.

And yet, we are endlessly reminded, stereotypes are unfair. Inaccurate. Harmful. Because everybody’s different; unique; special; insert-your-own- stereotype-defying adjective-here.

That’s true enough, so far as it goes. For every drunken Irishman of my acquaintance, there’s a Mick who won’t touch the stuff. For every arrogant German, a Teuton of more temperate attitude. I’ve known many a Greek who lives out loud on Ouzo and bouzouki music, and I’ve know many another to be bookish and retiring.

Yet stereotypes persist. Despite all assurances to the contrary, the weight of observational evidence would seem to indicate the existence of general personality trends among persons of similar ethnic background. A lot of Frenchman really are rude, for example, and the Danish tend to diffidence.

A dispassionate observer might conclude that good reasons underlie bad reputations. For myself, I always assumed that, over a reach of centuries, individual societies evolve in direct response to prevailing circumstances, naturally emphasizing those social and behavioral patterns best suited to survival in specific climatic, social, economic and political conditions. The Swedish, for instance, are taciturn because it’s dark all the time, and the Irish like to drink because the English used to pick on them so much.

I didn’t invent the idea – that’s pretty much Cultural Adaptation 101 – but I’m a bit abashed in hindsight that I was for so long willing to blithely toe a straight “nurture” line on cultural development when common sense suggests a strong “nature” component. In my defense, I wasn’t alone in that deficiency. For more than 50 years it’s been an article of faith among sociologists, educators, and those ardent levelers for whom “social justice” seems an attainable goal, that we all emerge from the womb a “blank slate” upon which individual experience inscribes our personality. In view of what we know now – and, more to the point, knew then – about genetics, such an unyielding stance seems naïve at best, and at worst intellectually dishonest.

Hard-line Nurturers seem happy to ignore the contradictions underlying their own assumptions. They insist, for example, that a child’s success in school is informed solely by the quality of instruction and encouragement they receive, yet have no problem demanding increased funding to chemically treat and medicinally mitigate presumed biological barriers to learning like attention deficit disorder and dislexia. Nurturers see no disconnect between their belief that boys who are nurtured in feminine environments don’t grow up to be violent and their dearly-held conviction that all men are naturally violent. They can as easily argue a purely environmental foundation for infidelity as a purely genetic basis for homosexuality. Fact is, I don’t think you can have it both ways.

Dyed-in-the-wool Naturers, on the other hand, are as quick to attribute virtually all behaviors to the manner and quality of our physical construction, in blind defiance of the obvious and singularly human ability to adapt our mental and personal conduct at will. Not one of us, between sunup to lights-out, doesn’t modify our thinking or actions at least once, and in direct odds with our natural inclination.

I don’t pretend to know all the answers. I’m not a scientist, although I once sat next to one on a plane ride from Tucson to Denver. Astrology is a science, right? Turns out copper is my lucky metal. Anyway, I may not know where Nature ends and Nuture begins, but I suspect it’s somewhere in the middle. About a year ago, I was somewhat surprised to be supported in that contention by National Geographic, a stubbornly Nurture-centric and unabashedly relativistic publication on all matters cultural.

Separated at birth

‘Twas in January of the year 2012, and the article was “A Thing or Two About Twins.” As it happens, diverse teams of researchers from universities and agencies across the country have for 20 years been waging a campaign officially titled Twins Reared Apart, but usually just referred to as the Minnesota Study. In brief, their method is to locate identical twins who were separated in youngest childhood and reunited as adults, then minutely (and figuratively, of course) dissect their lives and characters. The study’s purpose is to learn how the separately-nurtured pairs are alike, and discern whether Nature or Nurture might best explain their similarities. To date, 137 pairs of reunited twins have come under the microscope, and the findings are astonishing.

“For people raised in the same culture with the same opportunities,” the article reads, “differences in IQ reflected largely differences in inheritance rather than in training or education.”

For revealing that little piece of hard, cold, statistical data, one researcher, a college professor, was targeted by far-left campus groups for immediate dismissal. And the figures grow more compelling, and more interesting, with the reading. For instance, if one identical twin has a criminal record, there’s a 50-percent greater likelihood their identical counterpart has also run afoul of the law “suggesting that genetic factors somehow set the stage for criminal behavior.”

Further, the Minnesota Study indicates a strong genetic influence on the strength of a person’s religious commitment, though not on choice of faith, and strong statistical evidence for genetically ordained aggressiveness, aesthetic sensibilities and romantic tendencies. Curiously enough, the article’s author, and the researchers themselves, seemed a bit crestfallen by those discoveries, but soldiered on anyway, in the name of science, and because there’s plenty of evidence for other factors that can, and do, mitigate genetic imperatives.

For one thing, a new field of study called “epigenetics” makes clear that genes are only as good as the strength to which they are “expressed” in the organism. Imagine that Mozart and Yoko Ono are identical twins, each with an identical gene potentially conferring great musical ability. Now imagine that gene is an amplifier, and Yoko’s dial is stuck on 2, while Mozart’s is cranked up to 11. Same gene, different expression, vastly divergent results. You get the picture.

For another, a genetically increased probability of criminal behavior isn’t the same thing as knocking off a liquor store or producing the criminally bad “Double Fantasy” album. The very fact that a percentage is applied speaks to the many way in which environmental factors can influence genetic predilections. Unless your delinquent gene is turned up to 11 all the time, a strong law-abiding environment could well suffice to keep you on the righteous path, and running with a pack of no-count hoodlums could land you in jail however clean your DNA.

The thing is, as fascinating and scientifically valid as the Minnesota Study may be, those are all truths that reasonable people of average intelligence should be able to deduce without resort to twins, scientists, or math of any kind.

Virtually everyone will agree that our physical characteristics – from height to freckles to genetic disorders like cystic fibrosis – are direct manifestations of the blueprint contained in our specific DNA. Why would anyone assume our psychological characteristics are somehow exempt from that relationship? If DNA can make Peter a faster runner than Paul, can’t it as easily make Paul a better thinker than Peter? The brain is, after all, a physical organ that functions and is sustained by the same processes as a lung or a liver, and the operating efficiency of individual lungs and livers is no more uniform than their owners’ ability to bluff at poker. In terms of mental acuity, the same genetic variations that make one person a track star and another asthmatic must necessarily result in varied mental landscapes, each in no small part the product of genetic inheritance.

To remove the argument from the speculative and into the empirical, consider that when the union of two Caucasians result in a Caucasian offspring, nobody ascribes that outcome to environmental factors. When two tall people give birth to four tall children, most accept the childrens’ tallness as an inherited condition. And when the children of two smart people excel at their studies, most are comfortable asserting that intelligence “runs in the family.”

The most common argument against a genetic component to human mentality is at once historical and largely emotional. To wit ~ allowing the possibility that intelligence and behavior are hereditary would be to somehow legitimize the various politically-driven eugenics programs attempted by, among others, Adoph Hitler. Put another way, because a scientific principle has been – or could be – put to evil purpose, it can only be wrong and must be expunged from the catalogue of human learning. It’s a bit like saying that because atom bombs are terrible weapons, the atom can’t really be split. Sorry to break it to you, but that genie’s out of the bottle. And if the field of nuclear physics has resulted in great suffering, it has also yielded great benefits, and a greater understanding of it is no less essential to human advancement than the study of medicine.

Secrets revealed!

Likewise, the fact that a more comprehensive knowledge of genetics could potentially be put to malicious use doesn’t diminish its potential for good, its importance to the body of human knowledge, or its essential truth. To maintain that our psychological proclivities are somehow insulated from our genetic legacy is to deny both science and the testimony of one’s own eyes, and to bury one’s head in sand no less deeply than the Christian fundamentalist who insists the Earth is 6,000 years old because the Bible says so.

If, at this point, you haven’t found more rewarding diversion watching funny animal YouTubes, you’re probably wondering

“What’s his point?”

I’m glad you asked because, believe it or not, I have one.

Although awake only intermittently during Introduction to Physical Anthropology, I came-to often enough to know this much: The longer a population remains relatively static, the more concentrated certain genetic traits become within that population. On a vast stage, that’s why Africans have dark skin, Chinese have shoveled teeth, and Caucasian males can’t jump. On a more intimate scale, it’s why Inuits tend to be short, the Swedish tend to be blond, and the English tend to have bad teeth. The operative word here is “tend.”

Anybody who’s ever spent time among the Swedes and didn’t take their own life as a result knows that not all of them are blond. Far less than half, in fact. As it happens, blond hair is a relatively rare human trait, but long genetic isolation has concentrated the genetic formula for blond hair within the Swedish population, increasing the relative  incidence of blond hair within the Swedish population. All Swedes may not be blond, but enough of them are to make it a justifiably distinguishing characteristic of Swedishness.

Now, if we assume that mentally determinant genes distill in the same way that physically affective ones do – and I think we just decided they do – then specific populations must necessarily display a greater incidence of certain characteristic behaviors, aptitudes and attitudes.

This is where I step in it.

Maybe, just maybe, a statistically large percentage of Chinese students excel at mathematics because their brains are built for it. And perhaps the Germans are known for making really good cars because a mental machinery conducive to engineering has been concentrating in their gene pool for a hundred generations. And what if the Italians are traditionally adept at organized crime because whatever gene is reponsible for thumbing one’s nose at the cops and courts is more frequently represented in Italian DNA?

Makes you think, doesn’t it?

What it makes me think is that maybe stereotypes are not really unfair generalizations so much as the intuitive application of sound scientific principle. And that by such meticulous and logical method we may reasonably conclude that – as a function of statistically relevant frequency, of course – the Irish really are shiftless louts. And Bulgarians really are thuggish hoods. And the French really are insufferably snooty. And Arabs really do hold grudges. And Poles are mule-headed, and Russians are paranoid, and Greeks are as reliable as a pack of feral cats, and the Chinese really are inscrutable.

It’s liberating.

Even better, since America has never had a static population we may freely and accurately stereotype each other based solely on our respective last names.

Think of the time it will save.

Best of all, now that we have established a solid and unassailable foundation for them, ethnic jokes can once again be plied without reservation.

Did you hear the one about the Indian couple that didn’t know the difference between Vaseline and window putty?

Go ahead – it’s not insensitive.

It’s science!