Governed

The fuel gauge reads "empty" (literally--whatever little annoying alert sound went off a while ago), and you're still on the road, in fact, let's make it the freeway. You're pushing it, obviously; your eyes consistently travel from the red line which that white hand has negatively passed, yet you persist in thinking that it's probably a little off, that it's an inexact science, this fuel gauge mechanism, that you're really-actually-truly not as low on gas as the inanimate car insists you are. You hunch forward in the seat, as if to will the vehicle forward for just a little longer...

My you're optimistic! It's that relentless pursuit to the finish line, be it to the next sightable gas station or across a triathlon finish line, that makes us winners. Cue the "Governor Theory". The brain is a savvy sucker. During exercise, it has its own fuel gauge which monitors the levels of energy you have for the activity's exertion and the amount of oxygen present in your muscles and organs as well as correlating data based on past training experience to know how far you've pushed yourself in the past, independent of the feeling you have that you may "die". In fact, the Governor Theory takes it one step further to account for the conscious process you're going through as well, with respect to motivation and expectation. Prior to the Governor Theory, it was widely believed that one's expectation for success (during physical exertion) resided in and depended upon the muscles and organs solely. However, as most any champion will attest, the brain has a seriously significant role.

This is perhaps to endow routine practice with even more merit. "Practice makes perfect." And, practice can in fact govern the outcome. Training = learning what one's body is capable of = robust results for the brain to correlate and gauge during strenuous activity = better control during performance = winning* (hopefully).

*not running out of gas mid-freeway

Life sometimes can be governed.
Governed: --verb
  Ruled over by right of authority. 

Acrocephalosyndactyly

Apert syndrome is a congenital disorder; characteristics include skull malformations and fusing of the hands and feet.  Eugene Apert is the French physician who, in 1906, first documented patients presenting symptoms of this syndrome.  The BBC reported on "Finley", a one-year old, who underwent skull surgery for his Apert's.  The surgery was described involving removal of the skull and, like a 3D puzzle, breaking it apart and putting it back together again.  With Apert's the sutures that typically enable the skull's brain growth get fused together in utero.  So, Finley had a bit of a horn effect because the plates weren't allowed room to grow around his brain, so they moved up and out.  Yet, skilled surgeons corrected this in about four hours.

The disorder is thought to possibly be autosomal, which means that the mutation is a trait which hangs out on the X and Y chromosomes (these combos being the place where sex is determined).  While the sex-determining chromosomes are thought to be the loci for the trait, males and females are equally affected.

While Finley will need additional surgeries in the future as his facial features require room for growth, it is admittedly pretty amazing that in the span of a little more than a century, when Monsieur Apert first "documented" the disorder and perhaps could best advise a beret to hide the atypical bone growth, to now when his physician successors can literally remove the skull and reconfigure it--simply, remarkably a human puzzle, which, of course, we all are, pieces upon pieces of ourselves, unique and alike simultaneously.

Life sometimes can be acrocephalosyndactyly.
acrocephalosyndactyly:  --noun
  a congenital syndrome characterized by a peaked head and webbed or fused fingers and toes

Non-Sequitur

This blogger got thrown in a dark brick box yesterday on a wild goose hunt for a return to work opportunity for someone.  To make a tedious research task brief (and to preclude blogger's second attempt at frustration induced self injury), we'll skip to the chase which is to say: there was an advertisement for a sales position that didn't involve cold-calling but touted following "warm leads".  A little serendipitous digging (and skilled, googling, I have to admit) later, this blogger learned that the position was for a crematory service.  Warm leads indeed!  Which brings me to Laz...

The "Lazarus Position" occurs in freshly dead or brain dead bodies immediately following passing (hence, "freshly dead"...hence..."warm leads").  A small percentage of bodies have been charted to fling their arms out airplane style, then raise them parallel and then fold them in classic corpse pose across their chest.  Ummm...let it be noted, return to work possibilities should not include undertaker duties.  Which brings me to just plain old cold.  Ice cold...

Been thinking, why doesn't Starbucks use coffee ice cubes in their iced coffee?  It would preclude the watered down effect.  (Of course, it's cheaper for Sbux not to use coffee ice cubes); irrespective, coffee ice cubes seems like a delightful summer treat.  That is surely a shower worthy indulgence.

Life sometimes can be non-sequitur.
Non-sequitur: –noun

  an inference or a conclusion that does not follow from the premises

Disastrous

Pulling into my driveway this afternoon and I noticed a bright yellow kidnapper-style van in a parking space a few spots down.  The back doors were printed with the phrase "Disaster Restoration".  Immediately, I thought of my best friend.  I thought A) how kind that someone took the initiative to be concerned enough about my well-being that they sent a house-calling psychologist to my doorstep and B) who knew that psychologists made housecalls, well...and, I suppose C) how kind of strangely ironic that the psychologist drives a kidnapper van.

Naturally, by the time I got to my front door I recalled that I was not the imminent disaster on the street and that, in fact, the phrase "disaster restoration" must be a fancy way of saying "the service who cleans up after the mysterious fire on Highland".

The mix-up does prompt an interesting concept, one that I think could be rather lucrative.  If mental health professionals were willing to make house-calls, that would probably be a way more effective way of attending to the general public's mental/emotional/nervous breakdowns than hotlines.  It would probably cut suicide and murder rates alike.  They could come and calm you or your family down, watch a movie with you, check the premises for poisonous substances and sharp knives and leave a gallon of ice cream with their calling card.  I suppose the equipment wouldn't be all that different than the hose unit and hazmat suit that the current "disaster restoration" professionals are equipped with, but the van would probably need a more inconspicuous name to quell the neighbors' gossip fodder; ("And then she threw the skillet at his head.  Uh-huh...I heard his skull crack, I swear.  Then she called him a dirty rotten soundrel even dirter, rottener and scoundrelier than her ex-ex-boyfriend, and that she was tired of it all.  Yup, then the van pulled up.  They sure are quick, and shoot if that psychologist wasn't hot!").

Life sometimes can be disastrous.

Disastrous: –adjective

  causing great distress or injury; ruinous; very unfortunate; calamitous