Via Treehugger, via BB: If you want to be really kind to the environment don’t have any kids.

Of course, then you’re breeding altruism out of the gene pool. That’s probably for the best, though. Altruism is apparently a survival counterindication now, best not to torment the consciences of the little darlings. Of course, if you have kids anyway congrats! You didn’t need to worry: You’re not an altruist! Now head down to your local GM dealer and buy all the SUVs you need to protect your oxytocin-high-inducing munchkins.

Poor humanity: Smart enough to know about degenerate prisoners’ dilemmas, but too stupid to solve them.

To complement my bitter, bitter outlook I had onions drenched in vinegar today for lunch. I realized how far gone I was when I received terrific customer service from the counter — it actually kind of freaked me out.

“Wow,” thought I, “these people are helpful, prompt, friendly, smiling, and laugh at my ironic mannerisms… How uncomfortable.”

I think I’m getting a kind of assholishness Stockholm Syndrome. I vacillate between “Mean People Suck” and “Fuck Nice People, They’re Just Stupid” pretty regularly.

Anyway, that was certainly not the customer service experience I’m used to. On the way back to the firm I ruminated on my discomfort, and my lunch. I thought about Every Hand Revealed and my tangy, salty, crunchy, bitter, batter-fried onions. So good I wish I had more RIGHT NOW!

You have to adjust for the wry Scandinavian-ness of the book (“My objective today is to avoid any dastardly Finns!”, “Uh oh, it looks like we’re in Swedish territory!”), but The Great Dane mentions at least once that a particular card in a particular situation tastes bad. I wonder: Synaesthesic poker decisions, perhaps?

Every poker player has a couple of wild ideas. Doyle Brunson’s original Super System contains a chapter on why he thinks ESP exists based on decades of him reading his opponents’ minds. Barry Greenstein’s fabulous Ace on the River has a chapter about how all high-powered people — sports stars, politicians, business people, etc — need a regular supply of extramarital sex to keep on top of their games, poker included.

My crazy poker theory is much less inflammatory, for once. I think that it’s possible for our incredibly powerful pattern-matching brains to pick up shuffling algorithms, particularly live. This could be why a card “tastes bad” — the right brain is banging on the senses saying, “danger, poker Robinson, danger!”

Alright, that’s it for lunch hour. Back to the Accounting mines. I’m up to the interior to be burned alive for Spacekat’s wedding for the next five or six days. I doubt I’ll have my computer with, so: Hiatus! I’ll see if I can get some pics of one of these 2,000ha superfires that’re roasting away in the backcountry.

And when the Lamb opened the seventh seal, there was silence in Heaven about the space of half an hour… And the seven angels which had the seven trumpets prepared themselves to sound.