Remember when you first got the Internet? I don’t, but maybe you do. Maybe you remember how kooky those first few spams were? Penis enlargement! Baldness! Impotence! Bwahaha! Nigerian princes with money trouble! Bwahaha! Etc.
Alas, those days are gone. Spam remains dude-centric, like all manifestations of patriarchal culture, but now it’s all banal lists of links to niche porn, or worse, the spammer just phones it in with a monotone “nice post, thnks. britni sex tape” or “how to fix my credit … I must put a bookmark on this website!…”
O the tedium.
Until today. I’m not sure what, precisely, is being expressed here, but whatever it is, it’s totally got a vigorous, sutra-esque, cosmic truthity thing going on.
Eating, loving, singing and digesting are, in actuality, the four acts of the mirthful opera known as freshness, and they pass like bubbles of a grit of champagne. Whoever lets them break without having enjoyed them is a entire fool. Sent from my iPad 4G
Meanwhile, today’s No. 1 Science Information takes the shape of the tomato hornworm, a moth larva belonging to the popular sphinx family of moths. In larval form, the tomato hornworm is known primarily as a pest of the first water. This fat caterpillar is precisely the color of tomato vines, which pigmentational situation we here at the lab attribute to a science-process known as freshness, or, as some folks like to think of it, natural selection.
The tomato hornworm can exceed lengths of 3-4 inches, and will make short work of your eggplant, bell pepper, and tomato plants, which insatiable pillaging you’re likely to take personally, but really, just let it go.
The spike, or “horn,” on its butt is intimidating, but doesn’t sting.
After the tomato hornworm spends the winter pupating deep in the cold, hard ground, it emerges in spring as a humongous — and I mean a 5-incher, bigger than some hummingbirds — bark-hued sphinx moth with orange spots on its sides. At dusk, the moth ransacks flowers, relieving them of nectar.
Observations by the Twistitute for Arthropodical Enstudiement, Lepidoptera Dept include:
The tomato hornworm poops out enormous (1 cm) capsules (or, as the entomologically-inclined like to call it, frass) shaped like radiatore pasta.
The tomato hornworm emits very disturbing clicks when you pry it off your tomato vine (which is difficult, because that fucking caterpillar does not want to go). This alarming sound may be interpreted by heartwarming nature crappists as the voice of a sentient being declaring “As a goddam tomato hornworm I assert my natural right to be here on this vine so piss off, you grotesque pink savage.”
It’s all part of the mirthful opera of freshness.
No. 1 Tomato Hornworm Information Notes
Drees, Bastiaan M. and Jackman, John A. A Field Guide to Common Texas Insects. Houston: Gulf Publishing. 1998.
Dave’s Garden, “Definition of tobacco hornworm”. June 4, 2010 < http://davesgarden.com/guides/terms/go/3080/ >