Silly questions

One I've had since grade school--

Why is it called "evaporated milk" when it's still a liquid?

They taught me that "evaporated" meant 'boiled away'. So when you open a can of evaporated milk, you should get a puff of milky gas. (That sounds lovely, doesn't it?)

One almost as old--

Why can girls have 'girlfriends'--which are, obviously enough, friends who are girls--but boys can't have 'boyfriends' without being flaming queers?

I wrote an essay on this in high school, and again in university, without coming any closer to an answer. 

Why is so many of the same people who call themselves 'pro-life' also for the death penalty?

That's just one of many vexing correlations I've noticed--the two issues seemingly have nothing to do with each other and are, at first blush, anyway, kind of contradictory. 

I've noticed, too, that  people who like cats tend to like books. Do cats like books? Let's turn to Bill Richardson, for today's helping of poetry:

Cats Are Fickle Things

They say that cats are fickle things,
Impervious to laws:
Except the rule that when one reads,
They'll knead you with their claws.
The reason that they need to knead's
Instinctual perhaps.
We only know for certain that
They hop into our laps
The moment that we lift a book,
Then splay upon our loins
And rake their nasty nails along
The stretch from knee to groin.
Each time you take a book in hand,
It's never known to fail,
They try to lie upon the page,
Manoevering their tails
So that they brush against one's lip:
They then assume a pose
That's possitively yogic,
With their butts against one's nose.
And if you put them on the floor,
They carry on abominably;
The only way they're happy is
To know you well abdominally.
Oh kitty cat upon my lap,
You know I love you well;
Though why you have to read with me,
I simply cannot tell.
But love, I want my book in peace,
And so I'll risk your wrath,
By dumping you upon the floor 

And reading in the bath.

--from The Bachelor Brothers' Bed and Breakfast

Moving on...

What is the purpose of cursive writing?

I ask that one in all seriousness. A quick look online gives one reasonable answer: it's quicker. (In Australia, it's sometimes called 'running writing'.) But then the question simply shifts: what is the purpose of printing?

I still have vivid, unpleasant memories of "learning" cursive script. (I never really did: despite my mother's best efforts, my writing is atrocious.) Part of the reason I hated the experience was that I never saw the point of it all. Mom made me write out page after page of cursive capital Ks--to this day, the K I sign Ken Breadner with looks more like a printed capital C squinching backwards against a small l like it wants to mate with it, or something. I wanted to crumple every last page and set fire to the lot, because I already knew how to "write" a capital K. 

Why does the body crave sugar--which is, in fact, a poison? What possible evolutionary advantage does that serve?

Why are thundersnowstorms so rare (but not unheard of)?

I posed that to the sci.weather newsgroup in 1991 and sent it off to The Weather Network some years later. Never got a response either time, which means it's either a stupid question or nobody knows.

How is it that the human race took its first baby steps towards interstellar civilization--landing on our only satellite--thirty years ago, and then, trembling on the verge of growing up, abruptly lost interest?

There's enough raw wealth in this solar system to make multibillionaires of every person living on earth today. Getting at it is difficult, but possible even with today's technology. Moreover, the tech used to get us to Luna has had untold positive spinoff applications here on Earth. But "we shouldn't waste our money on space when there are so many problems here on Earth."

Stupid, stupid, stupid.