Remember how the life we share is nothing but a song--

According to this story from The Scientist, Lonesome George, the last of a particular subspecies of giant Galapagos tortoise that inhabited Pinta Island in the Ecuadorian Galapagos, was found dead over this past weekend. His body was discovered by his keeper of 40 years. When Lonesome George was discovered back in 1972, his species was believed to be already extinct. That was not the case then, but it has become so now. By best estimates, Lonesome George was around 100 years old, which is relatively young for his subspecies, which is known to live to 200.

I just find it wonderfully humbling to try to imagine 200 tortoise years.

And the geek in me imagines a Doctor -- one with big ears and a leather jacket -- finding Lonesome George and having a quiet sit-down, the two of them watching the sunset glowing in the Pacific together. Then many years later, maybe putting on a bow tie and finding his reptilian companion. Just two lonesomes who were very, very young and very, very old.

In the meanwhile, I'm turning into fucking Betty Crocker. The problem with things requiring milk is that I don't drink milk as a beverage -- used to do two or three glasses per day until the lactose intolerance of my infancy came roaring back with a vengeance in my early twenties -- and recipes usually require a cup or less, leaving me scrambling to use up as much of the cow juice as I can through cooking before it goes bad. This goes doubly true for buttermilk, because while I'm sure there are people who drink straight buttermilk, I think that they're probably a much greater minority than regular cowmilk-drinkers.

Anyways, clearly, the solution to this was to make more buttermilk biscuits. I went with a more savory, less dessert-y recipe this time, and it came out pretty well, though I would use less salt next time. Also, the baking temperature/time was a bloody lie, as it called for 325 degrees for 15 minutes, and I had to pump it up to 375 degrees to even approach doneness in something like 30 minutes. It wins points for simplicity, though.

Combine 3 cups flour, 2 tablespoons baking powder and 2 teaspoons salt. (I'm going to try 1 teaspoon, if there's a next time.) Add a stick of butter, chilled and cubed, because we don't care about our fucking cardiovascular systems. Stick your hands in the bowl and mix that shit together. Toss in a cup of buttermilk, and stir it into a dough. Dump it onto a floured flat surface, and pound that sucker into a slab about a half-inch thick. Some people might use a rolling pin, but I prefer my fists. Be really classy and use the mouth of a drinking glass to cut circles approximately two inches in diameter -- you should get about 9 or 10, by the end of it. Stick them on a baking sheet or on the bottom tray of a broiler pan, that works, too. Bake those little motherfuckers until they're just turning golden brown.

Of course, they taste best straight out of the oven. This is an unfortunate fact if you're not cooking for anyone and, thus, have no reason to save a certain number for anyone else. I controlled myself after two, though, and my body also told me that that was really enough damage to inflict on it for the night.

Little does it suspect my plans for bacon, egg and biscuit sandwiches for breakfast.

Not tomorrow, though. I think that I'll try some of my leftover cooked quinoa to use as a breakfast cereal, breakfast cereal being another one of those things that I don't usually consume, due to lack of milk. (Not that that stopped me as a kid. To this day, I prefer shredded wheat dry.) Today, I decided to do a little actual quinoa research, by which I mean that I googled the Wikipedia page. I'd known that it was highly prized by the Incas but not that the invading Spanish not only disdained quinoa but suppressed its cultivation due to its place within the indigenous culture. Also, apparently, the United Nations has declared 2013 to be the International Year of Quinoa. So when you eat quinoa, not only are you getting a complete protein as well as significant dietary fiber, iron and calcium, but you're sticking it to The Man and supporting global harmony.

At this point, I'm starting to fade out for the night, which is pretty insane, given that it's usually a great success if I manage to get myself into bed before 2:00am. I'm trying out a discipline thing while my life circumstances allow for it -- i.e., while any challenge to get myself into bed before 2:00am isn't because I still have work to do or, hell, am still at work -- where I remember that yes, I actually do love mornings and can be much more productive during them. I'm not sure if I'll be able to keep up this unprecedented two-day writing streak, but by golly, I'm going to try.

I think this means that one of the next things coming up is my annual Summer Resolutions (Third Edition, this year's subtitle being "Better Late Than Never.")

But for now, good night. This one goes out to Lonesome George. I hope that Nora Ephron is giving him a good ending. Although I'm imagining it right now, so it's not just a hope, after all, is it?