This Can't Be What They Mean By 'Sweating The Small Stuff'
Dateline: Last night. Before me a dilemma of dorktastic dimensions. What book to read next? It was down to two non-fiction heavyweights. First, The First Human: The Race to Discover Our Earliest Ancestors. I've been a little lax in keeping up with the latest in early hominin evolution (for instance, I didn't know that 'hominin' was a term, as opposed to 'hominid') and I've always enjoyed rolling phrases like "Koobi Fora" and "Taung Baby" around on my tongue. Plus, you know, paleoanthro is exactly like rap, with its feuding for old school cred. There's hot shot Donald Johanson on one side comin' and callin' that Kenya scene bullshit; he rolled Ethiopia style and whatnot. And then there are the Leakeys and the Hominid Gang, which is like the G Unit of the Rift Valley. They're badass and they've got lineage. So, that book seemed like it was gonna rock.
Then there was Windswept: The Story of Wind and Weather. I know, I know. I sound like I'm jumping all over the hot topic with Katrina and whatnot, but I'm no Roker-come-lately to the weather world. I was on that back when John Hope was doing the Tropical Updates at 49 past the hour and shit. There's nothing I love more than hot cyclonic action. And if you think I'm lyin' we can take this to the Intertropical Convergence Zone and settle it.
I gave 30 minutes of my life to this decision so lets hold back that laughter please.