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Dr. Bridget Bergquist is back to talk about how we got started on this rock and how the rock got started. This one is sciency but in a good way. It’s the kind of science that comforts. It gives perspective and is drenched in facts and not just stories. This kind of talk I find to be the antidote to the bull-slingers predilection for anecdote. As Paul Bloom says in his new book “Against Empathy: The Case For Rational Compassion”, and I do not quote: Politicians can sometimes generate a more emotional response by citing anecdotes instead of facts or statistics. The “Let me tell you about a girl I met in small town, fly-over state. Her name is Donna. Donna doesn’t have any legs…” That kind of story. It’s a great talking point but it’s not a great way to write legislation. Stories shouldn’t always been the only thing that determines laws or who your president is.

On this episode Dr. Bridget and I discuss the idiocy of cheetahs and how polar ice caps aren’t necessary. We also talk Carbon dating, life without oxygen, isotopes and parenting. It’s a well-rounded episode.

As always I thank you for spending some of your precious time with me. I really do appreciate it. And so instead of the usual salutations that accompany this time of year I would like to gently invite you to remember that time and our calendar are all just imaginary constructs that we’ve agreed upon. There is no new year. Today is no different than December 31st. We don’t have to wait around to be better. We can start in this moment. And then in the next, if you’re anything like me, you’ll forget what you started and you’ll have to start over again. It’s in the trying. There is no panic, there isn’t anything to worry about unless worrying actually helps. I haven’t found that to be the case but who knows, I could be wrong.

So this is another month and another day but 2016 wasn’t a bad year and 2017 isn’t going to be any different by virtue of it having a different name.

We’re stardust baby! Champagne and orgasms every Sunday!


I love ya with all my heart,

J.B. (Toronto, -23 degrees, fuck)