This week, I will tackle a subject that has baffled some of the brightest thinkers of our time. The issue of the missing "dark matter" in our universe? No. Child poverty? Not that either. I will try to explain: the US electoral system.

Why is this such a difficult topic? Well for one thing, scientists can't explain the epidemic levels of obesity in the US, because Americans are constantly exercising their right to vote. Indeed, a 1995 study suggested that US citizens were asked to cast their ballot approximately once every 3.5 minutes. And this was before the invention of online polls that ask crucial questions like: Should Rudy be voted off the island?

What are Americans voting for? Well, once every four years there is a presidential election, with congressional elections held at the same time. Elections for the House of Representatives are held every two years. Senators have six-year terms, with one-third elected every two years. Meanwhile State governors serve four-year terms with about half up for election every two years. All of this means three things:

1) The "Founding Fathers" - the people who set up this system - anticipated that revolving doors would be installed in every US government building.

2) These same people all had shares in companies that produced campaign promo items like bumper stickers, t-shirts, and US flag bunting.

3) It's no wonder 95% of Americans have no idea who their local representative is.

But I'm getting ahead of myself here. Let's start with something simple, like presidential elections. There are two parties in the US, one called the Democrats, the other called the Republicans. The first party has as its symbol a donkey, a pack animal known to bray a lot, and to be stubborn and gloomy. The second party is symbolized by an elephant, a war beast known for knocking down trees and stomping small things. Of course, one shouldn't read into these things too deeply.

One becomes the leader of a party by going through a marathon process called "the primaries." Leadership candidates campaign hard, state-by-state, to win delegates who will later attend a convention and select a leader. Many people believe that a successful candidate wins primaries by having a strong platform and discussing the issues. Actually, a successful candidate wins primaries by having a well-stocked campaign bus bar and fridge. This keeps the reporters assigned to cover your campaign happy and well-fed, which in turn prevents them from filing cranky stories with headlines like: "Candidate Flubs Breakfast; Expected to Drop Out of Race Tomorrow."

Rather than hold all state primaries on the same day, the campaign is waged over a period of several weeks. This means that states further down on the schedule don't get to choose between all of the candidates, just the ones that haven't dropped out because they A) collapsed in exhaustion, B) ran out of money or C) forgot to restock the bus fridge. This holds true for every state but Vermont, which votes for a dropped out candidate anyway.

Once the two parties have selected their leaders, they square off in a campaign to become president. The candidates engage in serious, informed debate, and then respectfully ask the voters for their support. No, wait, that's Finland. In the US, the candidates spend millions of dollars on TV advertisements that air every 32 seconds for about six months. Voter turn out is high in the US simply because the citizens will do anything at that point to make the pain go away.

The voting process itself is quite complex. First, because it is a secret ballot, citizens must register as either a Democrat or a Republican. They then go to a polling station where they enter a booth, confront a machine and pull a lever. Critics have compared US voting machines to Las Vegas slot machines, but really, that's not a fair comparison: the user at least has some chance at winning when they play the slots.

Finally, all the votes are tallied. Well, except the ones from people named Chad, people overseas, and anyone in Vermont because everyone knows they're going to vote for a dropped out candidate anyway. All the remaining votes are shipped, either by donkey or elephant convoy, to something called an Electoral College, which declares one of the candidates the president. No one quite knows what goes on there, but because it is a college, many suspect it involves large quantities of beer.

There. Now isn't that all much clearer?

This week, we will examine a wild and dangerous world, where scary creatures battle each other ferociously for survival using tooth and claw. No, no, I do not mean the British political scene.

I mean the actual animal kingdom where scientists are finding out all sorts of interesting things about our fellow critters. For example, a recent study on dinosaurs suggests that some of the largest dinosaurs ever known may have been able to float.

Apparently, palaeontologists have wondered for years as to why the brachiosaurus didn’t collapse under its own weight, somewhat like Donald Trump’s ego. They have also been curious about the fact that they have found plenty of preserved brachiosaurus footprints, but only from the front feet. Canadian studies of skeletons reveal they may have had an inflatable sac inside their bodies which allowed them to float and punt along in shallow water. This means two things:

1. I was severely short changed by the public education system. Nobody ever told me that we’ve only found the front footprints of these dinosaurs. Not only is that one heck of a cool mystery, just think of all the pictures I could have drawn in primary school showing brachiosaurs doing handstands.

2. Some dinosaurs came equipped with driver’s side air bags.

If true, this study has profound implications on our theories of how the dinosaurs died. Clearly, the air bag was the beginning of the end. After that came cup holders, encouraging the consumption of fatty, over-caffeinated drinks. Then came the DVD players which were highly distracting. This means the dinosaurs might have died in one big multi-species pile up, which would be ironic, given how we use “fossil fuels” today.

Meanwhile, researchers in England have discovered how pigeons find their way home. Do they have tiny natural sensors in their brains, attuned to the magnetic forces of the Earth? No. (Actually, it has yet to be proven that pigeons have brains.) Do they use tiny pigeon maps, carefully preserved over the generations and neatly folded into those little tubes we keep strapping to their legs? Nope.
They follow the roads.

Using satellite tracking, scientists were absolutely stunned to find that pigeons use our highways as guides. In one release, they followed the road to the first junction where they all turned right, and then a couple of junctions on, they all turned left. At least one pigeon, obviously British born, even flew in a circle over a roundabout before making his turn.

Scientists have yet to determine how pigeons decide which road to follow, although there’s some speculation that it might have to do with the number of clean cars on it at any given time. Researchers also aren’t sure why pigeons have adapted so readily to following cars either; it may be they’ve overheard us saying they’ve flown the coupe.

Finally, US biologists now think that rattlesnakes may be caring, social animals with rich family lives. Granted, the family atmosphere might be like that in the British parliament, but the point is, snakes are more interesting than we thought.

The US study has shown that snakes tend to hang out with their relatives more so than with strange snakes. In scientific terms, this means they exhibit kin recognition. In layman’s terms, it means they know their family hisstory.

As yet there is no connection between rattlesnakes and driving or highways, except that snakes make particularly long and squishy bits of road kill. Also, pigeons try to avoid rattlesnakes, as they don’t want to be the Sunday dinner around which the happy, social snakes gather.

Next week our feature topic will be: Strange, Irrational Animal Dominance Behaviours - The American Electoral Process Explained.

It’s autumn here in North America: the leaves are falling, the
temperature outside is warm but not hot, and ... thousands of people are paying perfectly good money to sit in freezing cold arenas.

That’s right, it’s exhibition season for the National Hockey League
and hockey fanatics everywhere are waiting for the regular season
with breathless anticipation. This means that lawns are not being
mowed, dishes are not being done, and loved ones are writing letters
that begin with “Dear Sweetest: The kids and I moved out during 2nd
period. We might send a forwarding address when we find a new
apartment.”

So, following my longstanding policy to promote relationship harmony,
I am going to try to help non-hockey fans understand what all the
fuss is about. With that in mind, I proudly present:

CHANDRA’S NHL HOCKEY GLOSSARY

Hockey: Hockey is game where 10 very large men move around at top
speed on an ice surface while balancing on what amounts to oversized
razor blades. The players carry around hunks of lumber called sticks,
which they used to hit a slab of hard rubber called a puck. The first
object of the game is to use the puck to pick off as many spectators
in the stands as possible. The second object is to try to hospitalize
members of the other team. Occasionally, players will also try to
score goals. The game is divided into three 20-minute periods, each
of which lasts a little over an hour.

Stanley Cup: A) The championship trophy coveted by all hockey
players. B) A piece of protective equipment belonging to a guy named
Stanley.

Penalty: A punishment handed out by a referee to a player who gets
caught doing something that is against the rules, such as: slashing,
knifing, thumping, elbowing, evading taxes, cross-checking,
embezzling, kneeing, biting, gunning down, tripping, or saying nasty
things about the other guy’s mother.

Referee: A position created by kindhearted NHL officials to employ
players who have become vision-impaired as a result of slashing,
knifing, thumping, elbowing ...

Coach: A man who’s job it is to A) swear at the referees, B) swear at
the players and C) swear at the spectators. As a rule, these men are
physically incapable of smiling, even after their team scores a goal.

Goalie: A masochist who has to catch rock hard pucks with various
soft bits of his body (i.e.., face, stomach) as 250 lb. men rush at
him on skates without reliable braking system.

The Bench: An area where the players sit between shifts on the ice.
In a TV broadcast, the camera will zoom in for extreme close-ups of
The Bench area so you can see your favorite player bleed, spit, or
clean his nose.

Butterfly: A) A goal tending style in which the goalie keeps his knees
together and feet slightly apart. B) What a player sees after being
cross-checked into the boards. See also Stars, Chirping Birds, and
Large Blue Spots in the Field of Vision.

Intermission: A pause between periods when fans are entertained by a
large, unattractive piece of ice-resurfacing machinery called a
Zamboni.

Butt-Ending: A) A penalty for striking an opponent with the top of
the shaft of the stick or B) what I landed on the last time I tried
to skate.

Rink Music: Rousing tunes played during lulls in the action. For
example, enthusiastic hockey fans can often be heard
yelling “chaaaaaarge!” after the cavalry tune is played.
Confused curling fans, who figured they’d purchased World Curling
Championship tickets from the scalpers outside the arena, will yell
“sweeeeeeep!” after this tune is played.

Faceoff: A threat issued by one player to another, i.e.., “Call my
mother that again, and I will rip your faceoff.”

Clutch and Grab: A) A defensive style of play often used by slower
teams to prevent faster teams from using their speed. B) What a
player does to his Stanley Cup region after he gets kneed by an
opponent.

Next week: Cricket, Sumo Wrestling and Aussie Rules Football made
easy.

Researchers have recently discovered some amazing things about dogs that will absolutely astound you ... if you're a cat owner.

In one study, scientists found that dogs may have personalities. That is, dogs apparently have enough unique characteristics and traits that you can actually tell them apart.

If you've ever been owned by more than one dog, you know this already. However, as a self-confessed dog companion you have shown yourself to be mentally suspect, and thus scientists don't trust your judgement. This is because you regularly allow yourself to be smooched by something that may have just drunk out of the toilet.

So, how did scientists come up with hard proof of doggy differences? They recruited a thousand Labrador Retrievers and had them fill out the "What's Your Party Style?" quiz in a recent issue of Cosmopolitan magazine. A control group of was asked to complete the "Which Star Trek Captain Do You Most Resemble?" quiz. (Incidentally, scientists had to choose this particular breed; otherwise it wouldn't have been a lab test.)

The results showed that 40 percent of the test subjects wanted to play phaser fetch with James T. Kirk, while 30 percent wanted to discuss time travel with Captain Janeway over a cup of coffee. The remaining subjects went to the door and asked to be let out.

Okay, not really. What the study did do was have dog owners rate their dogs for various personality traits (aggressiveness, curiosity, friendliness) and then had strangers rate the dogs the same way. Most of the time, the owner's assessment and the stranger's assessment agreed, thus proving that dogs probably do have recognizably different personalities. Either that or they downloaded the personality test answers for their owners from the Internet.

A second, more interesting bit of research has demonstrated that dogs are very good at reading human social cues - better, in fact, than their cousin the wolf, or our cousin, the chimpanzee.

In this study, a graduate student approached a group of dogs, a group of chimpanzees and a pack of wolves, pointed at a wet spot on the carpet, and said "Bad! Very bad!"

No less than 100 percent of the dogs responded by ducking and whining apologetically. About half of the chimpanzees threw a banana at the investigator, while the other half pointed indignantly at the dog. No one is sure what happened with the wolves, as they're still waiting for the graduate student to get out of hospital.

Right, okay, what really happened was that researchers hid a bit of food under one of two cups. The experimenter would then indicate which of the two cups the animal should investigate by either looking at the right cup or gesturing at it. Dogs were much better at recognizing the clues given by the human.

Again though, if you have ever been owned by a dog, you know this already. This is because you have to spell things like "car ride" or "chocolate" or "veterinarian" so that your dog won't know what you're talking about. Your dog will wake from a sound sleep and go to the door because he can tell you're wrapping up that phone call. Or she will hide because she can tell that's flea shampoo you've just taken out of the medicine cabinet, and not your own body wash and loofah.

Will there ever be definitive proof about cat personalities or a cat's ability to read humans? We'll need more subtle and sophisticated tests. When asked to fill out the personality quiz, 95 percent of cats tested bit the investigator's ankle and wandered off. When asked to find the food under the cup, 97 percent of cats scratched the investigator's ankle and wandered off.

So for now I guess, the dog is having its day, while the cat remains resolutely out of the bag.

First, let's get it out of the way: So, how y'all doing?

I had to start this week's column with y'all, you see, because it is about Texas, which is where I was for about 10 days last month.

Texans say "y'all" about as often as Canadians say "eh?" – that is, about once a year. However, some years ago, a Texan made the mistake of saying it in a movie, and so now everyone knows that people from Texas say y'all in every sentence. Sometimes twice.

So, having dispelled that myth, I'm now going to start another: what Texans really do is eat a lot of jalapeno peppers. You can find them everywhere – in chili sauce, in rice dishes, your morning coffee, and in the chocolate cake. Texans eat so many of these hot peppers that I'd bet cash that it's the Official State Vegetable. [Okay, so that's easy money: the only other vegetable ever served in Texas is refried beans, so I've got 50/50 odds there.]

The extensive use of jalapenos means that food in Texas comes in just two flavours: Thermonuclear Tex Mex and Blow Your Taste Buds Out Barbecue. This makes perfect sense because Texas has hot weather all year round, so obviously the one thing you want to do when sitting down to a meal is sweat some more. [Actually, it seems to be a natural law that hot regions have hot cuisine. You would never, for example, find a Hot N' Spicy Reindeer Burger on the menu in say, northern Finland, where it might actually do you some good. See also India vs. Iceland or Mexico vs. Russia.]

Another myth about Texas is that everything is big. Coming from Canada as I do, where just one of our provinces is bigger than the countries of France and Spain combined, I have a slightly different sense of the word "big." But I will say that Texas, and in particular the city Houston is "sprawling." It was so sprawled, in fact, that for my conference at the new George Brown convention centre, I needed both a day's rations and a GPS unit to make it from one end of the exhibition hall to the other. At some point, Texas architects are going to have to learn how to build "up" instead of "out."

This is not to say that Houston is all ugly and urban. Unlike other cities I could name (which I won't name, but will call by the pseudonym "Detroit"), Houston is making a real effort to beautify the streets and bring in some greenery. Unfortunately, municipal workers are doing this with such enthusiasm that if you stand still for more than two minutes on a bare patch of ground, you risk being drilled with a tree planter, and stuffed under a sapling.

The other problem with all this arboreal exuberance is that Houstonites have not chosen their tree species wisely. The tree roots tend to grow "out" instead of "down" (see also Texas architecture, above), which means that you need a pair of sturdy hiking boots to climb over sidewalk paving slabs that have been shoved up at 45 degree angles in all directions. It's really only a matter of time before someone trips and falls. If they are holding a coffee and a burger at the time, given the legal history of the US, I predict a massive lawsuit involving unsafe sidewalks, traumatic coffee burns and corporate enforced obesity.

Assuming of course, that the plaintiffs don't try to travel to the courthouse by train. In a moment of foolish romantic travel idealism, I had decided to see a bit of the US on my way to Houston and booked a trip by rail. What I did not realize was that the US train system consistently operates in its own time zone, which is Local Time + 1 or 2 hour delay. This meant that I sprinted across several states just trying to catch missed connections.

The other fun bit was that major metropolitan train stations in America are apparently, by law, placed in hard to find and incredibly rough neighbourhoods and then made to close on weekends. This ensures that you get to meet the locals, even if you try to look inconspicuous and just want to be in a Lonestar State of Mind. After a couple of nervous hours, you'll feel that All the Eyes of Texas Are Upon You.

Which is why I was glad to get back, All The Way From Texas.