Terse texting is not misunderstood at Meadhouse.

Received in the middle of the night:

Meade intended to say: Please add that to our Audible account. But by hitting a share button, Amazon added the seemingly friendly generic message, "I think you might like this book." The book is "How to Die"! I think you might like How to Die....

In case you want to buy the book — and send us a commission — here's the Amazon link: "How to Die: An Ancient Guide to the End of Life (Ancient Wisdom for Modern Readers)."

I'm glad to see that I already had a "Seneca" tag, and I like that this is the second post of the morning that reminds us that men are always thinking about the Roman Empire. 

Actually, I think the "Seneca" tag originated as a commenter name, here. Back in 2009, someone with the pen name Seneca helped me distinguish a butterfly from a moth (and another commenter made a comic animation out of my photograph of a rather moth-y butterfly).

At the Mourning Cloak Café...

... you can write about whatever you want.

***

The butterfly is "Nymphalis antiopa, known as the mourning cloak in North America...."

Red spotted purple and sandhill cranes.

Yesterday, at noon:

This morning at sunrise:

Fungus of the Day.

And here's the current state of the fungus of the day from June 2nd, which I now agree is Chicken of the Woods:

Bonus: a butterfly. Seen today in the woods by Lake Mendota. I believe this is a red-spotted purple:

Monarch.

Photo by Meade:

"The 5,000-square-foot Insectarium... features a slew of digital exhibits and maps, along with artfully pinned butterflies and beetles, oversized models of bees and mosquitos..."

"... and an 8,000-pound resin model of a beehive. It also houses 18 different species of live creatures, including giant cave cockroaches and spiny flower mantises. Visitors also can pass under a transparent sky bridge to see 500,000 leaf-cutter ants transporting pieces of blackberry bramble to create their colony’s fungal food.... On three of the four floors open to the public at the new center, floor-to-ceiling glass displays reveal a slice of the 4 million specimens that are housed in the building — from butterflies collected by 'Lolita' author Vladimir Nabokov to 'cleared and stained' sea horses in jars....."

From "New $465M American Museum of Natural History center is crawling with bugs" (NY Post).

This post was written for good luck!

By the way, what's the stupidest argument you ever got into with a smart person? I won't name the person, but he objected to my categorization of butterflies as insects. I couldn't believe I had to argue about this. I remember, at what point, saying, "Well, what do you think they are? Birds?!"

The female black swallowtail.

Papilio polyxenes.

[T]he black swallowtail [engages] in a lek mating system. These butterflies satisfy the four criteria for lekking behavior... (1) there is no male parental care, (2) males aggregate at specific sites for display, (3) the only resource females find at the lek are the males themselves and (4) females can select their mates.

There were no males around yesterday at 4:26 pm when I caught this lady lolling on a redbud leaf just outside our door.

IN THE COMMENTS: Fritz says, "Alas, this is not an actual Black Swallowtail. It's a swallowtail, and it's black, but it is the black morph of the Tiger Swallowtail...."

A restaurant and a café are trying to be open on State Street — despite boarded up windows and with the help of some slap-dash painting.

Photographed by me yesterday...



Look closely — it cries: WE'RE OPEN...



The word "PEACE" is right next to a fist...

"A second worker at Mexico’s famed monarch butterfly sanctuary has been found murdered..."

"... sparking concerns that the defenders of one of Mexico’s most emblematic species are being slain with impunity.... The deaths again called attention to the disturbing trend in Mexico of environmental defenders being killed as they come into conflict with developers or local crime groups, who often have political and police protection."

From The Guardian.

At the Yell and Swallow Café...

... you can speak in an intense tone of voice and gulp whatever you've got there in your cup.

(And you know there's that the Althouse Portal to Amazon, where you can buy Yellies and whatever the hell else you need?)

"This makes the butterfly in my chest alive."

A comment submitted for the old post, "Please don’t give them those eyebrows that look like black electrical tape or they won’t get job":



I hit delete, of course, and yet I did not want to crush the butterfly. Fly, butterfly, fly.

This gets the "translation" tag. I don't know whether that phrase is a literal translation of a phrase that's idiomatic in another language or whether the English phrase "I've got butterflies in my stomach" has been translated into a foreign language into something that then literally translates back into English as "This makes the butterfly in my chest alive."

"That's great! Love the butterflies. More butterflies. You can't have too many butterflies, that's for sure. You don't see as many butterflies in hotel rooms as you should."

That's the third-most-down-rated comment at "Artist Damien Hirst unveils the most expensive hotel suite ever at $200,000 for TWO nights...." (Daily Mail). The most up-voted comment is, "It's hideous." Yes, but that's such a flat-footed response. It really is hilariously horrible. Click for the photographs.

... Hirst's personal touch appears in nearly every aspect of the villa [i.e., the hotel suite]: from specially designed furniture and textiles that incorporate Hirst's signature spin designs, butterfly and pharmacy motifs, to large scale works of art, including a large pill cabinet filled with diamonds.

It's a place to take drugs, right? Which drugs? Maybe you can tell me. I'm just saying I can tell you don't want to be there on normal.

ADDED: The "two bull sharks suspended in formaldehyde in a white tank set into the wall of the suite" got me picturing it as a place where Donald Trump could watch television with Stormy Daniels. (Background: "Here’s the Shark Week Show Donald Trump Allegedly Watched Instead of Making a Pass at Stormy Daniels.")

Sometimes Scott Walker reminds me of Mr. Rogers...

Beautiful butterfly on my shoulder. 🦋 pic.twitter.com/mYwAFryxYJ

— Scott Walker (@ScottWalker) February 13, 2019

And I just want to say, thanks, Scott, for keeping us out of the high-speed-rail boondoggle.

But I'm also thinking — and this is just aspirational! — couldn't we power the Unites States with butterfly wings?

"What's the most pointless argument you've been passionately involved in?"

A Reddit discussion. The top-rated answer is:

My junior year of high school I got into a very heated debate with my friend over whether Cheetos were considered chips. After half an hour of yelling about this he finally called frito-lay headquarters to ask their opinion on the matter. I was right, they're not chips :)

Via Metafilter, where somebody says:

I remember an epic argument about whether Minnesota is "almost in Canada."

And:

A famous argument I remember having was whether or not the crust of the bread is indeed considered to be "bread" itself, or if it is in fact another, distinct product known as "crust."

I'm amused by that use of the word "famous."

Here are some things I've found myself arguing about far longer than sanity would advise:

1. Whether butterflies are insects. I found myself resorting to statements like: "If you don't think they're insects, what do you think they are? Birds?!!???"

2. At what age do you become "middle aged"? I was in my 20s and saying "middle age" must start by 40 or 45 because it's considered the longest period of one's life, and I was talking to a woman who was almost 60 and wouldn't even concede that she was middle aged. One of her arguments was that the President of the United States — Gerald Ford, in his early 60s — shouldn't be considered middle aged yet because he played golf.

3. Who was conceived in the "immaculate conception"? I was at a dinner party with Madison academics and their spouses in the 1980s and got hooted down by people who sure the answer was Jesus. I was hampered by: a. No iPhone and no Google to make the correct answer obvious, b. Not seeing any social benefit in arguing about religion at a dinner party with people who were ready to be so ignorant and assholian about religion, c. Thinking about how much money I could make taking bets and distracted by the static of the idea that it would not be religiously correct.

4. Whether it is possible to picture infinite planets. I was willing to concede that there could be an infinite number of planets, but stood firm on my own personal subjective inability to imagine such a thing. How can you argue with that? I was with someone whose point of view was: How can you NOT argue with that? I could not be left alone with my imaginative shortcoming. I said I understood the idea of infinite space and could imagine infinite space, but a whole planet.... I'm picturing each one with a number on it. You never run out of numbers. So how could there be any planet that could not have a number to go with it? I don't need you to agree with me, you can even pity me in my disability, but leave me alone with it. NO!!! It's as though my non-infinite-mindedness was contagious and he had to cure me so he didn't catch it. Or maybe he was so angry because he did catch it and it horrified him.

"I was looking at a butterfly today and thinking: Why do we love these things more than a flying cockroach?"

"What if the cockroach had really large wings? No, that would make it even more disgusting! What if the very large wings had some pretty colors? Oh, then we would love it! Or... not. What do you think? A butterfly-looking insect that nested inside the walls and flew around indoors and left teeny tiny turds on the counter... we'd hate that too, right? Why do indoorsy insects look so drab? So we don't kill them. What an impossible evolutionary road it would be to tart up sufficiently that we'd refrain from smushing them. Drab is the way to go, for the lowly cockroach. And come to think of it, refrain from flying. That will only activate your antagonists."

A meditation, posted by me, at Facebook, a propos of a news story, "It's So Hot Out Cockroaches Might Start Flying in NYC/All American cockroaches have wings and the ability to take flight, but don't typically do so unless they're in humid climates."

At the Late Night Café...

... you can talk about whatever you want.

In the weeds.

The butterfly weeds.

"Wisconsin GOP Advances Bills Controlling How People On Welfare Eat And Pee."

Headline at The Huffington Post.

I know. I should punish The Huffington Post for distorting things to such an absurd degree, but it is so absurd that it's self-undermining — the "pee" part is just about requiring drug tests — and, besides, HuffPo also has this headline: "Florence Henderson Describes How Former NYC Mayor John Lindsay Gave Her Crabs."

Look how handsome John Lindsay was:



If you're going to get crabs from a New York City mayor, he's the one. There have been 109 NYC mayors, going all the way back to Thomas Willett in 1665. I can't say I know what they all looked like — and did they have crabs? — but here's DeWitt Clinton, who's not that cute, but I love the painting:



DeWitt Clinton (March 2, 1769 – February 11, 1828) was also a U.S. Senator and, most notably, a governor of New York. His great achievement was the Erie Canal:

Many thought the project was impracticable, and opponents mocked it as "DeWitt's Ditch." But in 1817, he got the legislature to appropriate $7,000,000 for construction.... The cost of freight between Buffalo and Albany fell from $100 to $10 per ton, and the state was able to quickly recoup the funds it spent on the project through tolls along the canal... [T]he New Hampshire Sentinel [wrote:] "His exertions in favor of the great Canal have identified his name with that noble enterprise, and he will be remembered while its benefits are experienced... Yield credit to Clinton, and hail him by name."

Hail, Clinton!

By the way, "crabs" are pubic lice, pthirus pubis. From Amy Stewart's "Wicked Bugs: The Louse That Conquered Napoleon's Army & Other Diabolical Insects":

Body lice evolved from head lice about 107,000 years ago, around the time humans started wearing clothing. Pubic lice, however, are more closely related to gorilla lice— and were transferred to humans through some sort of intimate physical contact with gorillas, the precise details of which remain a mystery....

Pubic lice... lock their claws around a strand of hair and almost never let go. Their habit of feeding in one place for most of their life means that their feces accumulate around them, making for a truly unpleasant situation. They inhabit all parts of the body covered in coarse hair, including eyebrows, chest hair, mustaches, armpits, and, of course, pubic hair.... Because pubic lice can only survive a few hours off the host... [s]exual contact is really the most efficient means of transmission, which is why the French call pubic lice papillons d’amour, or butterflies of love.

Now, here's Florence, singing about the butterfly of love:

To make a prairie it takes a puffball and one monarch...

One puffball...



and a monarch,



And a bookmark.
The bookmark alone will do...



If monarchs are few.

A beat-up old butterfly...

... on his her last sips of zinnia-nectar.

ADDED: The correction responds to commenters who tell me the color of this tiger swallowtail means it's a lady.