Time Travel With Tycho Brahe: My Gold-Nosed Brother From Somebody Else's Mother

I had no idea there are three different gestures in American Sign Language for "abortion", but there are. Two are particularly disturbing. This really has nothing to do with anything, except that after I learn the signs for "Your mother should have had", I will have a much better, albeit time consuming, way of telling unlikeable people what's what in public.

Actually I guess it's because I was thinking about the recent proposal to do away with government funding for Planned Parenthood, which is a ridiculous notion proposed by a bunch of churchy Republicans who still want to scare American women and stone them in the street for indiscretions like Biblical sinners in Tehran. When will this country learn what I figured out years ago: What is right for you may not be right for the next person, and in a country that is supposed to be based on freedom, it's up to all of us to make our own decisions so long as they do not harm someone else. My grandfather was an OB/GYN and an influential figure in establishing Planned Parenthood in my native backward state of Georgia in the early '70s. (BTW, Am I the only one who thinks the term "Planned Parenthood" is kind of a misnomer? I mean, since the people visiting Planned Parenthood are usually people with unplanned pregnancies?)

Anyway, this is why I gave up paying attention to politics shortly after I started paying attention to politics. I thought that when I graduated college and got a job that I'd read the New York Times everyday and follow U.S. and world news. I quickly learned that it was a short track to a heart attack and a Xanax addiction, and I'm a kind of wound-up guy to begin with. So, R.I.P., my subscription to the Gray Lady: Dec. 2005 - Feb. 2006. We had a good run, kid.

I started out writing today because I have been reading about Tycho Brahe lately, a Danish astronomer with whom I share a birthday. Searching December 14th birthdays is a who's-who of nobodys, except my man Tycho here and Nostradamus. Basically nobody worthwhile has been born on the 14th in 400 years, so I'm writing this boring blog to change all that. Back on topic: The more I read about this guy, the more I like him. Some quotes from the gospel that is his Wikipedia page:

While studying at University of Rostock in Germany, on 29 December 1566, Tycho lost part of his nose in a duel against fellow Danish nobleman Manderup Parsbjerg. Tycho had earlier quarrelled with Parsbjerg at a wedding dance at professor Lucas Bacmeister's house on the 10th, and again on the 27th. The duel two days later (in the dark) resulted in Tycho losing the bridge of his nose. From this event Tycho became interested in medicine and alchemy. For the rest of his life, he was said to have worn a replacement made of silver and gold, using a paste to keep it attached.

 and ...

He kept a dwarf named Jepp (whom Tycho believed to be clairvoyant) as a court jester who sat under the table during dinner (Ed note: YES!!!). Pierre Gassendi wrote that Tycho also had a tame elk (moose) and that his mentor the Landgrave Wilhelm of Hesse-Kassel (Hesse-Cassel) asked whether there was an animal faster than a deer. Tycho replied, writing that there was none, but he could send his tame elk. When Wilhelm replied he would accept one in exchange for a horse, Tycho replied with the sad news that the elk had just died on a visit to entertain a nobleman at Landskrona. Apparently during dinner the elk had drunk a lot of beer, fallen down the stairs, and died. 

How can you NOT love this guy? I could eat every meal for the rest of my life with a dwarf jester at my feet telling me my fortune and an elk drinking beer from his dish by my side and call existence a success. Tycho is my kindred soul, the elk my newfound spirit animal. Oh, his day job?

"Spent His Life Observing The Heavens"??? What an epitaph! Plus it's now believed he died of mercury poisoning, mad hatter style, which would be a nice addendum, and one of 11 possible deaths that I have approved for myself. (Also want to sign up to skydive on my 65th birthday, eat a bunch of drugs, have sex in the plane, then jump out without a parachute.) But back to epitaphs, Tycho's is up there with Gene Hackman's in The Royal Tennenbaums, "Died Tragically Rescuing His Family From The Wreckage Of A Destroyed Sinking Battleship." Surely there had to be something wrong with this guy, you're thinking, like some sort of crazy physical deformity or sexual deviant? You wish. Nope, straight-up ladykiller with a mustache second only to Tom Selleck or my rabbit, Martina Van Buren.

some guys have it all

History is fun.

But some history is gross, and I came across that today as well. I was spending some time today looking for inspiration in all the wrong places and reading Yahoo! Answers, the best place in the interwebs if you're looking for a little morale booster, when I came across a term that I had never heard before: "Furries." Of course I looked it up and came across this BBC clip from 2006. I don't know how I'm five years behind on this, but I am. Maybe you are too. Time travel with me back to a spooky British day in 2006, then fast forward to about 2:00 into this video, put your 2006-appropriate Sketchers footwear up, open a pre-discontinued Zima and watch.

I'm very fascinated with this. I might be even more fascinated with how many videos there are on YouTube of people who not only don't think this is funny, but outright hate the Furries. I just laugh and enjoy the oddity.

OK, that's enough for today. It's really windy outside tonight but I don't have to worry about being woken up in the night by my hammock rattling around on the back porch: It's still stuck in my neighbor's tree from last weekend. Here's some parting wisdom from kings and celebrities and me:

ruh-roh

a sister act that's hard to follow

Screw winter. Peace.