Yes, fellow Martians, felines and others, birthdays may be pagan in origin, or something – is there anything Professor Google doesn’t know? – but there’s cake, and your peeps, and even others, tend to be kinder on your ‘special’ day. Of course, they may not be kinder to you exactly, but there’s something in the air, don’t you agree, and it isn’t all pollen-based.
In any case, here is a special hello and happy day of days to our fellow Martian, Emma. May the wishing well of excellent occasions on which to eat cake, or cheesecake if you’re very lucky, bestow its every blessing upon you.
So I made a quick trip to the third rock this weekend and look what I saw! And you, too, fellow, planetarians and Martians, can see it in its full splendiferous and colourful magnificence on SBS TV tonight at 8.30. Any minute now, in fact, if you live in the southern states with their funny hour-ahead cult of the sun. Probably on SBS on Demand, too, maybe, perhaps, check it out anyway. And if you need more about Mardi Gras – and who doesn’t? – check out the Mardi Gras website.
And don’t forget to remember as you count sheep to sleep tonight, and every night, that love is all there is, really, in the end, and forever and always. That’s what we kittens remember, and also, tuna melts on sourdough with just a hint of parsley and a sprinkle of freshly crushed peppercorn, yeah …
While I’m not given to effusive celebrations here on the red planet at this time of year, I fully appreciate the excitement gathering speed on the third rock.
I well remember Mama and Papa and my sibling, Sibmo, enjoying each other’s company way, way back when we’d dip a delicate paw into the backyard pool before emptying it so we could stretch out and sleep on those cool, cool yule tiles in the midst of tropical summer heatwaves.
And is there anything more sublime than Bill Evans on the old CD player as you barbecue your tuna steaks and sip a delicate and frothy tunanog while swaying along to one of the coolest dudes in the jazziverse? I think there is not, my dearest friends, so I’m off to get in some practice before the big day in my rainbow robes of wondrous, all-inclusive hue.
Meanwhile, let’s all send healing vibes of peaceful energy from wherever we may be to surround and suffuse little mother Earth with kindness and the calming balm of love. I mean it, dudes, let’s start vibing the positive before the place does itself an irreversible injury, okay?! Okay-a-rooney.
Hello, patriots, and other parrots. Here on Mars we don’t see many members of the Psittaciformes order, if you want to be all KIngdom-y and Phylum-y about it. And who doesn’t?
Anyway, it’s imperative that we all act now to save this bird called the Orange-Bellied Parrot, who lives in south-west Tasmania – I know, tropical types like me find it hard to understand the virtues of the cooler states of being.
But it doesn’t stop us from helping these little (not much bigger than a budgie) and very, very cute birds. What better reason could there be for making a donation to the Australian National University’s Pozible crowd-funding appeal – they’re severely endangered, dudes, and severely endangered dudes.
Go to the ANU’s Difficult Birds website to learn a lot more and see some more lovely photos.
Go to the Pozible page to view a video by Professor Robert Heinsohn who will tell you all about the project to save these other little Tassie devils and what else they’ll be able to do if they get even more moolah.
Go there now, to Pozible and check out the wonderful things you can get for being a first-class member of the Chordata Phylum in return for a measly donation – make it thousands, friends, or at least several tens. Good on you.
The wonderful people at the European Space Agency in Darmstadt, Germany are a bit sad, but hopeful, just as I am hopeful for my shiny (and rather glary) new friend, Schiaparelli lander’s recovery. It’s touch and go, and yes, the chocolate bars helped, but you can never be certain on the Red planet, especially with all these jostling space-o-nauts scurrying around and recklessly stealing tuna pies.
In the meantime, my dearest Earth peeps, keep dreaming of Martian playing fields just as I dream of my feline ancestors who lived a mere furball’s toss up the A5 from Darmstadt, in Frankfurt am Main. Many are the imaginary plates of tuna-wurst helpfully digested with a litre or three of catnip schnaps I’ve shared with my great-great grandparents, Charles Gustav and Margaret (or Meowgaret, as she was known in the family). Ah, those could have been the days but for pesky physics. Dream on.