11/15/02’s illustrious band:

Nyctalopia

There are certain conditions under which we are all blind. When I was married to that loser Mr. Ex, I was blind to his veracity impairment. I used to work for someone who was blind to the no-work ethic of a longtime employee. Financial wizards had dim spots in their crystal balls about the whole Enron thing.

The question is, how do you know you’re blind to something if you can’t see it in the first place? You don’t know it’s there.

Maybe we, like astronomers, have to be alert for effects the “mystery body” may be having on our surroundings and trace our way back to it following the trail it leaves. Or maybe we must learn to rely on the reports of observers with different perspectives. Or maybe we should all just wear helmets so that when the mystery orb smacks us upside the head, it doesn’t do so much damage.

This reminds me of a song. It’s a song by that great à cappella group The Bobs from their My, I’m Large album. It’s a jaunty little tune titled, fittingly enough, “Helmet.” Read the lyrics below and see if you don’t think they’ve found the answer.

Before I forget, here’s a big porn star shout out to Spooky St. Charles and Zippy P. Zippy P writes:

“In 'find your name' option one, I would be Zippy P. I don't think that's going to get me too far on the 900 lines, but I might do well as a spokeschick for Proscar (the drug that reduces the size of the aging male prostate, allowing them to achieve my name). I might not look much like a babe to these aging gents, but I'm certainly nonthreatening!”

You go, girl!