Dodo

I've been thinking a lot about Darwin, leading up to the bicentennial of his birth next week. Though I was nominated for several Darwin Awards in my youth, I did in fact live to breed, and have now passed into that portion of the population largely irrelevant to the survival of the species. Anyone who has gone through a few North Country winters knows that humans did not evolve here, but in some more blessed clime. Had we always needed to fight the ice along with all the toothier types around us, human culture would now consist of nothing but flapping our furry arms for warmth and grunting. It's a measure of our ancestors' desperation that they would think to take on a snarling mountain of fur with nothing but a stone knife, just so they could cut off its skin and climb inside to get warm. Been there.

Last night I was watching a documentary on hip-hop in Cuba. Now that's a climate I could evolve in. Palms, sand, houses painted mango and lime and the color of the sea. Cool breezes, hot music and a 100% fleece-free wardrobe. Instead I look out onto this glaring moonscape of snow. What a dodo.