Squirrels Suspected in Holiday Rampage

Header photo by William N. Beckon

During the quiet hours before a scheduled Easter morning candy-filled egg hunt last week, wild marauders apparently invaded a local backyard and literally crashed the party. At least two dozen brightly colored plastic eggs filled with wrapped chocolate candy and jellybeans were found cracked, smashed, bitten, clawed and broken open by unknown agents who may harbor a grudge against fake animals and pretend nature.

Chix Licken with a basket of ravaged plastic eggs

Battery-operated poultry impersonator Chix Lickin’ is pictured here with a portion of the carnage – a basketful of phony eggs wantonly invaded by what she calls “egg-sucking, bushy tailed candy hogs.” She says the attack was premeditated. “Not that they think all that much,” Lickin’ sniffed. “All the contents of the compromised not-really-eggs were completely fouled,” claimed the false fowl, furiously.

Her comments were echoed by Coco Hollow, a one-eared confectionary rabbit who is only visible in profile, and a squishy marshmallow hatchling simply named “Peep”.

“We are Easter Kitsch, modeled after natural things,” said Hollow, with a hint of pride, “but we take it to places nature is unable to go. That causes some resentment.”

Hollow is made entirely of chocolate and confesses to being “… unnatural in the extreme.”

A culprit poised for mischief

Peep, though fashioned from basic foodstuffs, is so saturated with chemicals she admits “I’ll live forever if I’m not eaten by someone who will be immediately disappointed afterwards.” This, she said, may indicate that the underlying conflict is related to a Natural Creature vs. Manufactured Product rivalry.

“They say nature abhors a vacuum,” Peep mused. “But I think nature hates plastic even more.”

“And loves chocolate,” added Hollow.

“It’s very complicated,” said Peep, sadly.

Squirrels: Social Misfits or Anarchists Bent on Overthrow of the Human Race?

Caught Walking

Yesterday’s Boston Marathon was one of the hottest on record, literally. Readings well into the 80’s led the event organizers at the Boston Athletic Association (BAA) to discourage participation by a particular class of athletes who had already registered to run. According to the Boston Herald:

Race organizers pleaded for runners to leave the 26.2-mile course to only the most experienced athletes. Those who have not met a qualifying time should bow out, the BAA said, warning the risk of running is “higher than normal.” “Only the fittest runners should consider participating,” the BAA said in a statement.

Our Goat Raising Community will certainly find some amusement in the notion of official pronouncements of any sort being issued by “the BAA.”

But what if, rather than telling people to stay home, the BAA had bleated that they slow down or even walk? If you had planned to run 26.2 miles, would it feel like a terrible defeat of some sort to walk it instead? Worse than not going at all?

Running is seen as active and worthwhile. Politicians “run” for office, they don’t “walk.” The only one I can think of who actually DID walk for office was the one-term Governor of Illinois, the appropriately named Dan Walker. Walker got a lot of attention in 1971 for walking 1,197 miles across his state to get the Democratic nomination against the formidable opposition of the Daley Machine in Chicago. The next time the Governor’s office was on the ballot, Walker lost in the primary to the Daley-backed candidate. Years later, he was charged with bank fraud and eventually plead guilty, serving 18 months in prison for irregularities that occurred after his time in office.

One could argue that he wound up in a familiar place for Illinois Governors – it just took Walker longer to get there.

But we do seem to have a thing about walking – there’s an assumption that it is the least desirable way to get someplace. Tom Vanderbilt, who has written volumes about our driving habits, just did a series in Slate last week about Walking In America. Surprise! As an activity, it’s just not that popular. In spite of efforts to promote it.

In a study back in 2003, it was determined that Americans averaged 5117 steps per day.

Seems like a lot, but it turns out we walk less than most other people, including those in Switzerland and Japan, two countries with a lot less walking room. Certainly the USA has more than it’s share of flat, wide open spaces where walking should be easy. But we’re just not that into it.

We’ve had several discussions here about walking the Superior Trail and the Appalachian Trail, and even one about the right musical tempo for walking. But what about walking as a way to get to the grocery store?

Is the built environment just too hostile to pedestrians, or is it that we don’t feel we have the time to walk someplace?

What kind of change would make it possible for you to walk more?

Caught Looking

We are being watched.

Webcams and security systems are catching all the activity in selected science labs, hotel lobbies, public plazas and convenience stores. If you walk into the scene, you’re part of the permanent record. You may say “I’m not important enough to spy on. I’m not doing anything WORTH watching.” Probably true. Nevertheless, any time you’re out of your home, there’s a chance you are on camera.

People who are “more important” than you may be behind some of those cameras, but don’t envy the V.I.P.’s. They are also under surveillance. In fact, one V.I.P. is probably more watched than anybody else on the planet. The President of the United States has highly trained experts observing him constantly. And though the Secret Service is supposed to be, well, secret … if you’ve seen a president – ANY president – you’ve seen his detail. The sunglasses, the earpiece, and the dour expression give it away. That, and the fact that they’re all clustered around the big cheese. The Secret Service also keeps an eye on everyone who comes near, so if you’ve seen the president, chances are good you’ve been seen as well, and sized up.

But now the tables have been turned and it’s the Secret Service being surveilled. Details still to come – but right now we’re on high alert. If a Columbian prostitute comes anywhere near that stern looking man in the dark suit, I may have to throw myself in harm’s way to keep something terrible from happening.

The lesson? No one is immune.

Perhaps you thought a humble Senior Citizen could stay out of the glare of the know-everything society, keeping to his mundane routine in an apartment building hidden away somewhere. But a new industry is springing up to keep track of our elders, tracking them as they move around their retirement cages, using sensors to note when they get out of bed, turn on the TV, go to the bathroom and make a meal.

There is a genuine and truly beneficial purpose to this sort of privacy invasion, especially in those cases where the person being monitored is all alone in the home. Were they to fall or otherwise become incapacitated, the interruption in their data stream might be enough to save a life.

But the fact remains – we’re all being watched … or CAPABLE of being watched at any time. Which brings us to the Hawthorne Effect. It’s a term business students come to know, based on a decades-old study of worker productivity at the Hawthorne Works, a Western Electric factory in the Chicago area.

Basically, people’s productivity improved during the study and slacked off once the study ended. The reason? People tend to respond when interest is shown in them. Because the workers knew they were being observed, every study-related change led to higher productivity. When the researchers stopped watching, a lull ensued.

Maybe we’re moving towards a world hyper-charged by the Hawthorne Effect, with everyone super-productive and on their best behavior! But what if I NEED a lull?

Back to our senior citizen whose movements are being remotely monitored in his home. Good thing, yes? But if you knew your daughter in San Francisco would get an e-mail every time you went to the bathroom, would you hold off on having that midday beer?

How do you respond to being watched?

Lover Word

Late in the day in yesterday’s comments section for the post “Word Lover”, Clyde had an interesting observation that some may have missed, so I’ll repeat it here:

True, there seems to be a missing word. “Master” is the logical choice, but the powerful connotations of that word really don’t line up with what we think of as “mistress” role. We have to think again.

For sheer economy, it’s hard to top “Misteress”. But I’m guessing most people wouldn’t catch the slight difference in pronunciation. The Urban Dictionary says the right word is “Manstress“. That’s better, but still wrong to my ear. I hear “Manstress” as your male friend who is agonizing to be around.

The commentators across the pond at Yahoo Answers in the UK and Ireland had some better ideas. I like “Histress”, “Consort” and “Kept Man”.

But still, none of these strike me as carrying the same quality of ownership as “Mistress”. As Clyde points out, that fact that a man HAS a mistress carries some added significance. Why doesn’t the mistress HAVE the man?

Some say the absence of a proper word for this relationship is the result of centuries of male domination – women haven’t possessed the power to play the same role in the relationship as a man does with his mistress. The fact that we’re talking about it now may indicate that times have changed enough to make the coining of a new word possible.

That means this is a moment of great opportunity!

I can think of at least one contemporary reference that may have enough unique strengths to carry forward as the new term for a man who is in an inappropriate relationship with a powerful woman who is not his wife. But I’m not sure we are really ready to hear this:

“That man isn’t her husband. Don’t you know? The rumor is she has a brodkorb.”

What makes a coined word or phrase catch on and become part of the language?

Word Lover

Beth-Ann sent along this fascinating story about a French experiment to find out if baboons can recognize four letter words.

It turns out they can.

Shown a series of letter clumps such as BRUU, ITCS and KITE, the baboons were able to distinguish word from non-word about 75% of the time. The highest scoring baboon got it right 80% of the time.

Does that mean baboons can read? Probably not. After all, the best word-baboon still got 20% wrong. I think my job is safe.

But it does show that baboons are able to recognize patterns with some consistency. And that they will do just about anything for a wheat pellet. But baboons telling words from non-words is just a first step. Though they don’t know anything right now about putting sentences together, can baboon poetry be far behind?

Baboons knows what words is
Baboons knows words what ain’t
In tests baboons shows plenty brains
baboons got no poclaint.

Poclaint – that one be not a word
It did not get me treat
I know them patterns pretty good
And which werarrds is sweet.

Werarrds? Is just a pile of sticks
I not be muchh correct.
But what baboon kind be would me
if always so perfect?

Do you compare yourself to others, smarts-wise? If a baboon was a better speller than you, would that hurt?

Wherefore Bart Thou?

I just got another voluminous text from a friend without thumbs. I can only imagine the amount of time it takes him to write these!

Bart - The Bear Who Found a Smart Phone

Hey there. Bart here.

My old pals at the DNR sent out this press release that kinda ticks me off – all about “nuisance” bears. If any particular kind of critter deserves the word “nuisance” in front of their name, it’s NOT the bears. I’d explain just who I’m talking about but you already know I’m right.

The DNR gives us a long list of things that people are NOT supposed to do – things that supposedly encourage “nuisance” bears. I hate lists.

* Do not leave food outdoors from barbeques and picnics, especially overnight; coolers are not bear-proof.

Why do you make more food than you can eat? And yes, we know how to open your coolers! If you ate what we eat in springtime, you’d need something cold to wash it down!

* Replace hummingbird feeders with hanging flower baskets that are also attractive to hummingbirds.

What makes you think I don’t like pretty things? Bears aren’t barbearians!

* Eliminate birdfeeders or hang them 10 feet up and 4 feet out from the nearest trees; use a rope and pulley system to refill them and clean up seeds that spill onto the ground.
Where bears are a nuisance, birdfeeders should be taken down between April 1 and Dec. 1.

This is perverse. You’re punishing birds because I’m fat.
Have you no shame?

* Pick fruit from trees as soon as it’s ripe and collect fallen fruit immediately.

Greedy! Who has time to do this?

* Limit compost piles to grass, leaves and garden clippings; adding lime can reduce smells and help decomposition

Love the lime. And add tequila for a Compost Margarita!

* Clean barbeque grills after each use, and store them in a secure shed or garage away from windows and doors.

I have never seen a human clean a barbecue grill. And believe me, I’ve spent a lot of time in the shadows, watching.

* Elevate bee hives on bear-proof platforms or erect properly designed electric fences.

You’ll get on a ladder with an active beehive? If you’re THAT daring, might as well be sure the electric fence is plugged in before you start to put it up. I’ll definitely watch!

* Do not put out feed for wildlife (e.g., corn, oats, pellets, molasses blocks).

Molasses comes in BLOCKS? WANT!

Here we go with another whole dang summer of you trying to keep me from having fun eating stuff. Just remember – I was not the one who asked you to stay out of the woods, and I definitely did not ask you to come without your food. You’re perfectly welcome to bring it here if you want.

Really.

Most of the other stuff they say about keeping your distance from me is true. I’m kind of shy and will go away if you give me the chance. But if you’re coming to visit me, be a good guest. I’d like a hostess gift, please. In fact, Hostess makes great gifts. I love Twinkies! Now they come in Chocolate Creme!

Just as I feared the last time he wrote, Bart has developed a Twinkie habit. Dang! Sometimes we have to protect our friends from the bad things they love. On the other hand, it sure is nice to see their faces light up when you deliver the contraband!

Fill in the blank – “Friends don’t let friends ________.

War Games

The following note was found wrapped inside a soggy, salty sweater vest that was plastered to the side of a river barge just below Lock & Dam #2 on the Mississippi.

Ahoy, landlubbers!

Lately me and me boys has been watchin’ with considerable interest th’ modern day equivalent of what you might call a classic sea battle. Th’ epic contest of the Santorum vs. the Romney – a tiny pipsqueak of a vessel what runs on hot air an’ moral superiority tryin’ to bring down a juggernaut what is loaded with guns an’ riches an’ is guided by an imperious Cap’n riding far above th’ fray.

Of course we was all rootin’ fer th’ Overmatched Challenger in this one, on account of we is pirates, and siding with th’ underdog is our natural tendency. So we is sorry to see th’ Santorum has called off its ill advised an’ unsuccessful attack.

As far as our support goes, there was nothin’ political in it. We don’t even know what th’ Santorum was after, ain’t that right boys? Aye. Probably nothin’ we’d agree with, seein’ as how as pirates our platform is mostly about th’ redistribution of wealth – primarily in a direction what benefits us, of course.

I heard a few things in th’ wind what suggested the Santorum was opposed to that sort of thing, and also might not look too kindly on a bunch o’ men sailin’ around together more or less permanently as lifelong companions the way we has been for well nigh on 20 years or so.

But to each his own, I say. Unless, of course, “your own” is somethin’ I wants. Then, according to my habits an’ the demands of the life I has chosen, I’ll have to take it!

Right boys? Right!

Anyhow, we was entertained by th’ antics of th’ Scrappy Santorum and we hopes to see an encore in some future, hopeless battle.

Your salty man among men,
Capt. Billy

And your loyal men among man,
The Crew of the Muskellunge

When have you had to fly the flag of surrender?

Here Come the Groceries

Ooops. My apologies for the late post, Baboons. It was ready to go but I forgot to push the right buttons – perhaps the whole process should be automated.

It feels like some of the impossible stuff we used to enjoy in movies is, in part, coming true. I’m sure I’ve already seen this image of a pilotless cargo pod docking with the space station in one of the Star Wars movies.

But this really happened last week – 7 tons of supplies just showing up, all bright and futuristic-like in something called an Automated Transfer Vehicle, or ATV-3. Welcome, mechanical stranger. Meet R2D2 and C3PO. They say the space station crew stayed up late to watch this operation unfold, and who wouldn’t? The beauty of space plus the sophistication of the technology plus the colorful lights and gas jets plus the tension of wondering if it will really work plus we get to have a new flavor of space food sticks on board FINALLY because I’m getting tired of Banana Nut!

And here’s a surprise – the cargo pod is disposable. According to the Christian Science Monitor report, the Space Stationites are supposed to fill it up with garbage and then release it to burn up completely in the atmosphere on an uncontrolled re-entry. It’s history’s most expensive Hefty bag, and not all that different from what my dad liked to do in his burning barrel out in the side yard. Bring out your junk! Anything that leaves here in a wisp of smoke is forgotten. Isn’t that how we got into this climate change mess?

They say the space program is a preview of coming attractions here on Earth.

Would you trust a drone to deliver groceries to your door?

Coulda, Woulda, Shoulda

Today is the Home Opener for the Minnesota Twins. People who love baseball see this as a special, almost sacred day. At the beginning of a new season, the faithful need not apologize for their championship hopes – all things are still possible.

Although in their first series at Baltimore, the Twins have emerged as champions for a more stark reality, finding new ways to show us their limitations.

But don’t give up just yet. Things can change over the course of a long season. Miracles happen. Talents emerge. And fade. That’s sports. We hear a lot of complaints about the way elite athletes can overdose on self-esteem, but for each of them there is a reckoning not too far down the road. Once they lose a step or swing the bat a half second slower, even the greatest are pushed towards the exits. The pressure to perform and win is merciless. The greatest are exalted and given special status, but humiliation is also part of the package.

And then there are the rest – the vast majority of amateur players who love the game but don’t have what it takes to play professionally. They might dream big league dreams in the early going, but for reasons related to size, speed, and ability, they soon realize that learning to balance a spread sheet or sell insurance or be a radio engineer will ultimately do them more good than continuing to try to hit the curve ball.

A lot of fine athletes have walked this path. One of them was my friend, Tom Keith, who died suddenly and far too early last October of a pulmonary embolism.

Tom had a great career as a ballplayer, starting out in the backyard working on fundamentals. Here he is scooping up a grounder. You can see he’s having a great time with this. Even as an adult he would happily instruct anyone who asked (and many who didn’t) on the proper technique.

At Sibley High School he was a star center fielder. Not very fearsome a presence at the plate, he made up for it on the base paths. In one pivotal game he took four bases, propelling his team into the state tournament.

You can see him here, sliding into third with another steal.

I’m not surprised to learn that Tom was a talented and successful thief. Speed is only part of base stealing. Another crucial factor is the ability to observe the pitcher closely, understand his motion and find an opening. Tom was very, very good at picking up the odd cues and funny quirks of other people. He was an excellent mimic, and could play yourself back to you, capturing your way of speaking, your posture, your words and even the gaps between words.

Timing is everything in base stealing and comedy.

Tom went on to play a season with the University of Minnesota Gophers, but his inability to hit and his less than imposing size made it unlikely that he would ever wear a professional jersey on opening day.

He joined the Marines and later took an engineering job at MPR. The rest, as they say, is history. But he always loved baseball, and this was an important day to him.

What’s your high school sports story?

Ask Dr. Babooner

Dear Dr. Babooner,

I write a silly blog six days a week because I like writing. But like many writers, I also like NOT writing. More than either of these things, I like Having Written.

There is satisfaction in a job well done, and also in a job that is just … finished. The doing is something I could do without, but without the doing, nothing would get done. I know this is confusing.

Once upon a time I had a job where I was paid to confront these contradictions, but in another strange reversal, for the past few years I’ve paid for the privilege of doing it. I didn’t think the money mattered very much until it disappeared.

My blog can be about anything, but one thing it is NOT about is selling stuff. I decided to spare my readers the inconvenience of looking at commercial nonsense alongside my own non-profit nonsense. In fact, I pay extra to keep my blog advertising-free. But now I’m being offered the chance to allow ads to be placed on my page with a real possibility that I will get some money in return for it.

How much money? Almost nothing, I think. But no promises have been made, and “almost nothing” is certainly not a guarantee. It could turn out to be absolutely nothing.

Dr. Babooner, I’m concerned that allowing ads on the page would clutter up the scenery and make my readers feel exploited. But sometimes when I’m writing and wish I was NOT writing, I’d like to think there was a nickel or two to be gained by persevering.

What should I do?

Sincerely,
Conflicted

I told Conflicted he should find some roundabout way of asking his readers if it would be OK to try the advertising thing. I suggested that he use some thinly veiled scenario that anybody could see is a description of the actual situation. Even if some people say they don’t like the idea and others simply don’t get it, when the ads show up and the complaining starts, he could say it was all a joke, or a mistake, or some sort of performance art.

But that’s just one opinion. What do YOU think, Dr. Babooner?