Welcome back to another edition of Field Guide to Humanity: The Strange and Puzzling Account of Homo Confusus.

This time out, we tackle the political animal (Spotlightus Selfinterestus) yet again, continuing to fine-comb through behavioral traits and observations, examining myth and lore, and then on to some leap-of-guesswork field scrutiny to discover the innermost secrets of this strange and almost disturbingly gregarious tribe.

Political animals, as you remember from last time, come in a handful of subsets, with two main co-ruling -- and constantly warring -- parties:  "Republicans" (Boneheadus Maximus) and "Democrats" (Spinus Missingus).

Each subject shares a number of general behavioral adaptations within the larger group, as we have discussed.  One group excels in many of those traits specified previously: obfuscation of facts, denial of responsibility, blockading and obstructing the forward motion of other groups, instilling the fear of others within tribal members under their hypnotic control, acting out of altruism (rare) or greed (typical), and so forth.

Ancient history is alive and well today -- and is, in short, old hat.

Submitted for your consideration, a tale of two worlds:

In the UK, a man is trying to decipher the intricate subtleties of symbols on a clay tablet from 3200 BCE that speaks to the current status of the home group, using the language of the time.

Across an ocean, in the US, two men will meet tonight, in 2012 CE, and use modern speech, attempting to speak to their own audience about current affairs within the home group -- providing observers can decode the oblique, nuanced language used.

The man in the UK is an Oxford University academic investigating arcane symbols, figures, and ancient language not used in more than 5,000 years.  He says he could use some suggestions in cracking open the meaning of this true prize, if we'd care to join in.

Chalk up another win to tee-shirt philosophy, with an added twist.

Many have long said, "Just because you can, doesn't mean you should."  The current version of such qualitative evaluations in life might be, "Just because you can, why on Earth would you want to?"

Upholding that basic concept, especially with that newest wrinkle, may be a sign of intelligent life down here after all, but I'm not blistering the flooring in a panicked hurry to get out and place bets.

Call me a recliner spud if you like, but I don't get the fuss over skydiver Felix Baumgartner.  OK, so he was the first skydiver to break the speed of sound.  All righty then.  Congratulations are due: Huzzah, huzzah.  I throw confetti in your general direction.  Please pretend it's ticker tape at your own private parade.  Best wishes.  Live long and prosper. And so on.

Now, do you mind if I get back to this book?  It's getting pretty good, right in through here.  Sorry -- I don't mean to, uh, taint anyone's Cheerios, but let's look at this for a sec.  Stripped to its basics, this is a guy who leaned forward out of a capsule in a pseudo-spacesuit, rode gravity to the ground, and triggered a parachute at the appropriate time.

The longer our country's history, the faster and more extreme we become, tearing off into all directions at once.  Even as we progress and go forward, it seems, we can grow in opposite directions -- while trying to juggle and reconcile our parallel lines, already skewing to the extreme, pointed and going everywhichway at once.

Some extremes may be related to the increased population effect you've noted from time to time, in which it seems there are thousands of people in every conceivable hobby or belief group, from The Intercontinental Plaid-Toaster-Cozy Aficionados to The Society of Tap-Dancing Proust Performance Artists.

Where there once were one or two fans, population swelled membership by the same percentages and proportions as the population grew, increasing numbers in all ranks, no matter how obscure.  The Internet's made it easier to find one another and band together in groups, too.

Every four years, like clockwork, two enormous trucks back up to the public troughs.  One slaps in various slime and slop, while the other one glops in some assorted goo and gorp.  Then, diners are left to choose between the two evils.

Oh, sure -- there are some sweet, well-intentioned people who drop by now and again to offer a bucket or two of much fresher food that's far better looking, smelling, and tasting. But everyone knows a bucket or two won't stretch very far, not up against these industrial-strength, corporate sludge movers that deal in mountains and not mole hills to fill public troughs.

Before you know it, everybody's been taken to market, as in the old nursery rhyme.  Only thing is, the "market" looks suspiciously like voting booths filled with easily-hacked, paper-trail-free, shaky and uncertain, electro-mechanical vote takers.  Not only that, there's no chance to go wee-wee-wee, all the way home.

Reality is confused enough these days.  Perhaps if we try to overload it, and blow all its fuses and circuit breakers, we'll pop clear out at the other end, in some sort of sane, prosperous, sensible nirvana.

Let's give it a nudge and try this one:  Yes, someone paid $65,600 for a pair of Marie Antoinette's slippers.  Green and pink silk.

They fetched five times more than auctioneers thought they would get.  They were flooded with bids from around the world -- which should give you some indication of the number of people sitting on oversized piles of cash who are hopelessly clueless about what might be constructively done instead with any of those Scrooge McDuck, dollar-sign-sporting, canvas-bag heaps they're using for sofas.