All posts by Dale Connelly

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Big Softies

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Today’s post comes from personal counselor and mass communicator B. Marty Barry. He’s an online relationship manager, and a bottomless well of wellness!

Yes, that’s what I do. I work as an unseen online intermediary using only words and emoticons to help people I have never met as they struggle to acknowledge each other’s humanity.

And yes, I see the irony in that job description.

But what I’ve learned is that the world is a very troubled place and it does not provide a happy environment for hard line extremists. And when I say “extremists” I’m talking about those who won’t budge concerning matters of conscience or the time of day or personal morality or the color of the sky or closely held beliefs or their harsh opinions of the habits of others or just about anything, really. They are steadfast in their opposition to everything that is not already a part of their value system.

And if you think you recognize someone in that description, please understand that I am not permitted to reveal identifiable details about any of my clients, no matter where they live in the world.

Soft_cone

And just because I know a thing or two about extremists, that does not prove I am working with a group of Taliban Commanders who have accumulated a little money and plan on opening a string of political activism and ice cream salons called Hard Lines and Soft Serve Cones and Drones. Or that they dream of expanding it to Florida by 2018.

All I’m saying is that radicals and immovable scolds are people too. That’s being proven right now by all the kinder, gentler talk coming from Pope Francis and Iran’s new prime minister.

Which just goes to show you that one of the nicest gifts a person can receive in any line of work is to have had a harsh predecessor. If the person you replaced was widely known as a party pooper, they can help you look instantly better to almost everyone!

And to all you wild eyed fire-breathers out there, keep up the good work and thanks a bunch from the rest of us! You know who you are! And although I (maybe) have never met you, I do care about you very, very, very much.

Are you a toughie, or a softie?

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Ask Dr. Babooner

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Dear Dr. Babooner,

dr_babooner_balloons

Recently I made a very public attempt to live out an ambitious dream by suspending myself under a whole bunch of big balloons with the announced intention of riding the wind across the Atlantic Ocean. My reasons for wanting to do this are not very sophisticated. I remember thinking as a child that with enough balloons, a strong piece of string and a tight grasp, a guy could travel just about anywhere.

When I grew up I gave it a try and discovered that with all three of those things a guy COULD travel just about anywhere. And I mean anywhere. Especially if the winds are changeable.

Upon lifting off with all my big balloons and setting a course towards London (I can’t really set a course, of course), I discovered that I was floating towards the North Pole instead. But then I remembered what Diana Nyad said about pursuing your goal single-mindedly and never, ever giving up. When she swam from Havana to Key West in shark-and-jellyfish-infested waters, she proved that a person with enough determination can, through perseverance, write her own story.

So I considered calling Diana Nyad to ask her if she could grab the rope in her teeth, jump in the water, and tow my balloon cluster at least 90 miles closer to England. But I decided that would be cheating.

Eventually I landed and gave up, even though I could probably have survived all my altitude and direction problems. I wanted to accomplish something that would give my life some meaning, only to realize that life is too short to waste a lot of time trying to manufacture meaning for a thing as ephemeral as life, especially if you need a lot of balloons to do it.

I mean, sure it was a dream. But not a dream that HAD to come true. It was just an interesting thing I thought of one night while trying to come up with a way to get out of school the next day because I hadn’t done my homework. I managed to get out of fourth grade anyway so I guess the need for a daring balloon escape isn’t quite so urgent. But I’d been telling people about for years, so I felt like I needed to follow through.

Now I’ll have to explain to my friends and family, who financed me and cheered me on in this wacky notion, why I’m not a big fat loser. Any suggestions?

Lightly,
Flo Tation

I told Flo there is no reason to explain anything to anybody. You tried to fly ACROSS AN OCEAN using A BUNCH OF BALLOONS. Even in your Fourth Grade Fantasies, this ended badly more than half the time (although in those cases you were usually eaten by dragons and sea monsters). Accept the attempt as a learning experience, a life lesson, and a story you’ll always be able to tell. And if it gets you a chance to meet Diana Nyad, I say you’ve come out ahead.

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

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Pill Pupper

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Our fourteen year old dog came home from the vet last week with a pharmacy – a collection of pills and ointments to treat a recurring skin condition and a recently acquired limp. As the resident canine pill and injection nurse, I’m the one charged with slipping needles under furry skin and pushing mammoth capsules past slobbery tongues. Lucky me!

Dog_pills

Good thing the dog doesn’t realize I’m clumsy with needles. Sharp objects give me the creeps, and I get a little shaky and short of breath when I’m trying to hold the dog steady to find a proper spot for the injection. If the needle nurse at your doctors office reacted this way you’d switch clinics. I’m sure it won’t be long before I give myself a shot instead. Pill stuffing is something I’m better at – I’m not likely to miss there and my hands and fingers just happen to be a size that is dog-throat friendly. But this can be a messy, drooly business.

Some pills go down easily if I act like the medicine is actually a treat. I’m convinced dogs read faces and body language, and there is an expression I use when I’m about to hand over something tasty and fun. I smile, lift my eyebrows and hold the pill close to my chest like it’s a treasure. Then, with a quick, generous sweep forward I bestow the pill on her as a delicious prize. Small pills are gone in an instant. Large pills, however, come back out almost immediately.

Ptoooie!

Then the game is on. I have to pick the pill up off the floor and quickly re-insert it before she turns and leaves the room. It is crucial to be both speedy and watchful, because there is a serious downside to administering oral medication to the wrong end of the dog. This goes on as many times as is necessary until she swallows, usually with a gulp, and always with a look of dismay and betrayal.

How well do you take your medicine?

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Sunday Driver

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Pope Francis, that publicity hog, is getting favorable press again by simply acting like your next door neighbor. You know the neighbor I mean – that smiling, soft-spoken, humble one. The one who commands a worldwide legion of millions and has the ear of God.

This time he’s accepted a 20-year-old donated car and announcing he plans to drive it around the Vatican grounds. This seems to have taken the world by surprise. All the guys who have done the Pope job have had access to a glorious array of wonderful perks. So the position was ripe for some contrary sort to come along and flaunt his common touch. It’s not hard to seem to be a man of the people when the bar has been set so low.

But this one was way too easy. Get appointed to the papacy and people immediately forget that you’ve already lived a long life and have learned to do many ordinary things. Driving a car is not really a big deal. If Francis wants to show some “street cred”, let’s see him change the oil while wearing those white clothes of his. If he can do that and then go celebrate mass without switching to fresh robes, I’ll be impressed.

The article says the Pope’s bodyguards “were amazed” when he took the keys from the car’s former owner, Father Zocca, and “drove off.”

Karambolage!
Karambolage!

But I’ll bet “amazed” is not quite the word. Panicked, yes. Possibly apoplectic. They’re his bodyguards, after all, and the car is a Renault – not known for its crashworthiness.

When Gus turned 16 and started driving, we gave him a birthday gift that still makes me chuckle – a weirdly charming book called Karambolage. It’s the life’s work of a Swiss police officer named Arnold Odermatt whose job it was to take photographs of automobile accident scenes. Every picture tells a story – exactly the kind of story that ran through the Pope protector’s heads when they heard him release the brake and saw the PopeRenault take off.

Ever wreck the car?

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Stuff Upstairs

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Imagine being the Norwegian art collector who happened to have a painting by Vincent Van Gogh stashed in the attic. The work had been identified as a Van Gogh over a century ago, but it was subsequently dismissed as a genuine masterpiece both in 1908 and 1991.

Well now it’s back, and in 2013 it’s a superstar. All is forgiven, “Sunset at Montmajour”. You’re legit!

If you happen to own the painting this is good news investment-wise, but it’s got to sting a bit aesthetically. After all, nothing about the artwork itself has changed. It is no more lovely today than it was last year or fifty years ago – the only difference is that the experts now agree it is an authentic Van Gogh. Sure, you can put the painting on display and draw admiring throngs, but remember you’re the one who had it stashed in the crawl space for years – tucked under the eaves with those moth-eaten area rugs and Grandma’s chipped china.

What does that say about your eye? Are you unable to appreciate beauty for its own sake? Or did you deliberately ignore the work because it had a spotty history and other people put it down? Does the brand name really mean that much?

In any case, this is very bad news for people trying to kick a knick-knack addiction or those in the professional clutter-reduction industry. Because nothing keeps an attic (or a basement) full of crap as surely as the notion that “some of that stuff could be worth a few bucks.”

Artist's Approximation of Captain Billy
Artist’s Approximation of Captain Billy

But remember, that cuts both ways. Your unidentified attic treasures could be lost with the next pirate landing. I sent this story to Captain Billy, the skipper of the rogue ship Muskellunge, and he assured me that no matter where the riches are stashed, he and his boys are likely to unearth them, even if they’re not in the earth.

As swashbucklers are wont to do, he shared some drinking song lyrics that speak to the topic.

When pirates swarm across a port
they has techniques of every sort.
There’s some that comes in with the tide
and ravages from side to side.

While others who is much maligned
sneaks up on cities from behind.
But all of them, or so I’m told,
relies on maps to find the gold.

They looks for signs and uses stealth
to target ostentatious wealth.
No matter what the markers show,
there’s no direction they won’t go.

If “X” is drawn upon the ground
A hearty pirate plunders down.
But if it’s buried overhead
He’ll pillage towards the roof instead.

What’s in your attic?

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Of Two Minds

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Today’s post comes from Congressman Loomis Beechly, representing Minnesota’s 9th District – all the water surface area in the state.

beechly-speech

Greetings Constituents!

I had a wonderful time in the 9th district during my extended August break, floating around Lac du Loon on my executive inner tube. But now I’m back in our nation’s capital for what will be, I’m certain, a very exciting September. I am already starting to adjust my way of thinking. 

As an unaffiliated and unacknowledged member of the House of Representatives, I’ll have some serious choices to make over the next few weeks.

  1. Should I stand with the president on striking at Syria in some meaningful, attention-getting, but non-invasive way?
  2. Should I hold the line on the budget by refusing to raise the debt ceiling, thereby risking a default?
  3. Should I give a hoot about passing laws, or do I just want to UNpass some?
  4. Should Congress act to take control of Miley Cyrus’ career before she spirals completely out of control and winds up in Lindsay Lohan territory?

These are the pressing issues of the day, and I wish I had quick, easy answers.

But I don’t! As a member of Congress, I’m usually too busy talking about various things to be able to take the time necessary to know anything about them. So on the mysterious questions listed above, I’ve decided to use the zig-zag voting strategy. That’s where I alternate votes to keep my opponents guessing and to give the Law of Averages a chance to make me right sometimes.

So I’ll vote “Yes” “No” “Yes” “No.” In that order.

And I do this fully aware that the public will not love me for it.   Americans’ approval rating for Congress is remarkably low. The irony is stunning. Every two years we run so hard in our districts to try to get everyone to love us. And for our success, the reward is to be stuck in a job where we are routinely and robustly despised.

I know this, and yet I don’t know it, because I’ve concluded that in order to make a decent life in public service, you need to have two brains where each one does not quite know what the other one is up to. One brain can stay convinced that you are brilliant, charming and good, while the other brain absorbs criticism and says all the things that are necessary to raise campaign funds.

And of course with two brains, you always have deniability. Though sometimes it helps to have three in case the first two start comparing notes. By now I might be up to as many as five – I’m not entirely sure. But no matter how minds I have running at any one time, I’m proud to say that at least one of my them faithfully represents Minnesota’s fabled 9th District!

And the other one is, of course, thoroughly appalled.

Your Congressman,
Loomis Beechly

How many minds do you have?

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Kittens In Peril

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A couple of Manhattan subway lines were halted for a time last week when authorities became aware that two very young felines were last seen heading down one of the tunnels.

EPSON MFP image

You have to be impressed at the power of baby animals to move the hearts of humans. It turns out nobody, not even rough-tough New Yorkers, wanted to be held responsible for mangling kittens beneath the wheels of a subway car. That’s a super-villian level of nastiness that most of us can only aspire to.

The people who decided to stop rail traffic to support the kitten search did so knowing full well they were inconveniencing commuters and costing the transit agency a considerable amount of money. Still, they took the risk expecting to be forgiven. And who can fault them? It looks like everything worked out for the best because the kittens were found and returned to their owner.

When it comes to pets in trouble, we seem to instinctively know the right thing to do.  It does make you wonder what other decisions might be made easier by juicing the narrative with pets in jeopardy. These examples of real news copy have only a few minor word changes.

From the Star Tribune:
A group of metro leaders voted Wednesday to reject a $330 million deep tunnel for the future Southwest Corridor light-rail, citing opposition to cat carnage.

From The Wall Street Journal:
The U.S. economy expanded at a modest to moderate pace in recent months, led by consumer spending on puppy armor, according to the Federal Reserve’s survey of regional economic conditions released Wednesday.

From CBS News:
Former President Bill Clinton, once dubbed America’s “secretary of explaining stuff” by President Obama, laid out a rigorous defense of the Affordable Care Act on Wednesday, urging supporters and detractors of the health care reform law to work together on its implementation instead of “flat-out murdering defenseless kittens.“

From the St. Paul Pioneer Press:
For as long as anyone in Marine on St. Croix can remember, dogs have been welcome at the village’s post office. No more. Residents learned last week that a longstanding U.S. Postal Service policy barring all dogs except service dogs in the post office would now be strictly enforced. Blaire, Linda Tibbetts’ West Highland white terrier, was crushed when she learned the news.

Actually that last one was unchanged. How can they get away with crushing terriers at the Marine on St. Croix Post Office?

As we’ve already established here on Trail Baboon, our pets tend to be more likable than most people and are considered to be members of the family.
In addition, they are:

  • True to their own nature, no matter how disgusting.
  • Possessed of distinct personalities.
  • Not inclined to do chores.
  • Allowed to nap as much as they wish.
  • Quickly forgiven for misbehavior.

A person fitting the above description is probably not someone they’d shut down any part of the New York City subway system to protect, should he wander into a tunnel.

I can think of two instances when other people went a little nuts because I might be in jeopardy, and by “other people” I mean my one and only dear departed mother.

One was when I wandered away from the group on a Scout trip to a theme park, and the other was when I decided to walk home alone from an after school program because she was late in picking me up.

When I was finally found, I was roundly (and deservedly) scolded.  Both times.

When have you wandered away from the group?

History

Contract Talks

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Today is Labor Day, a national holiday set to recognize the economic and social contributions of working people. Rally away! It’s a day of pride for those in organized labor and it’s also a seasonal transition point marking the unofficial end of summer and a return to a more intense work schedule.

Labor_Day_Rally

If you feel like you’ve been working too hard since forever, disregard that last point and carry on. Not everyone has the luxury of being able to dial it back a bit. Celebrity banker Jamie Dimon can shift in and out of summer hours, but the woman who works the drive-through at your local McDonald’s doesn’t have that option. The Locked Out Musicians of the Minnesota Orchestra would love to be able to ramp it back up, but are blocked from doing so. It can get complicated.

Some jobs you do solely for the purpose of putting food on the table. Other tasks you perform out of a sense of duty. Still more work can be done for fun, education and/or personal satisfaction. But ultimately there are only 24 hours in a day and when all of them are spoken for, something has to give.

I’ve come to such an intersection with Trail Baboon, and need to create some space in my personal schedule. While the quality of the writing may not always reflect it, I’m in the habit of setting aside a couple of hours each evening to identify and explore blog topics, and then to struggle to create some text that applies to the question at hand. How can it take so long to arrange such a few words? I wish I could explain it but I’m baffled. The fact that we have now exceeded one thousand posts is, to me, a miracle.

Whatever the reason, the six-days-per-week posting schedule, even with the generous contributions of Trail Baboon’s wonderful guest writers, is too much. And there’s clear evidence that less can be more when it comes to this type of writing. Many people do not want to sign up to receive a daily post from me or anyone – I’ve learned that an over active blog becomes exhausting for readers, too.

But I’m also aware there is a community, the Gentle Baboons, who congregate each day to have a civilized, insightful and hilarious conversation around the chosen topic. In fact, when you look at the number of RSS feeds (subscriptions to receive notification when a blog is posted), the comments section rivals the blog itself as an area of interest for readers. This is a rare thing that is worth preserving. So I’d like to try something different.

Here’s my plan for September. I will cut back from posting six times to posting two or three times per week on Trail Baboon. On the days that I don’t post, I’ll create a space on a new, connected blog called The Baboondocks. Baboondocks entries may be anything from a single line with an embedded link for more information, to a question that will provide raw material that may lead to an eventual Trail Baboon post. But I won’t spend the necessary time to have Dr. Babooner or Bubby or Spin Williams riff on a topic in The Baboondocks. That’s a Trail Baboon thing. The Baboondocks will be a place to get you talking quickly, without a lot of verbiage from me, and to let the conversation go where it may.

Over the course of our usual six day week, I will post each day on one blog or the other – Trail Baboon or The Baboondocks.

If you’ve been praying for a reduction in the seemingly endless string of Trail Baboon posts, stay with that single feed and you will feel some relief. But if you are one of the people who enjoys being part of the daily gathering, sign up for both feeds and your e-mail traffic from me will remain the same.

Change is hard, but necessary. At least in this instance it’s Just the Internet, and we can try new things without causing harm to the innocent.

Have you ever successfully re-negotiated the terms of your employment?

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Ask Dr. Babooner

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Dear Dr. Babooner,

Please help settle a family dispute.

The weather has been discouraging and we (and many others) have put it off too long, so today is pretty much our final chance to go to the Minnesota State Fair.

We know it’s going to be horrible.

We are ALL Dr. Babooner
We are ALL Dr. Babooner

In fact we expect to encounter a perfect storm of overpopulated misery, shuffling shoulder-to-shoulder around the fairgrounds with tired and smelly strangers just like us getting completely in our way at every ride, food booth and attraction.

And yet there is no question that we will go, because we are like spawning salmon swimming upstream and we feel compelled to throw ourselves against the rocks in a vain attempt to satisfy some primal urge. It doesn’t matter that bears are waiting to bite our heads off. We must return to the source.

Speaking of Fish Heads on a Stick, there is a fair food sequence in place for almost every member of our group. We each know the treats we must have and the order in which we will eat them. But one person is agitating for a break in the tradition – Aunt Peggy says since we are going super early to avoid the crowds, we should all make space in our calorie chart to enjoy a healthy breakfast at the State Fair.

Peggy has been a breakfast scold for ages, always eating fresh fruit, non-fat yogurt and Grape Nuts to start the day, and she harps that we will not regret it if we try something healthy and energizing.

Blah blah blah.

From my perspective, stomach real estate is a precious natural resource on my one-and-only State Fair day and I don’t want to waste a square centimeter of it by eating food that bears any resemblance to any kind of nourishment that nature would provide.

There is no way that Aunt Peggy can make me consume a bowl of oatmeal on the fairgrounds. That would be a travesty. But I’m afraid I’m going to have to stand around and wait while she eats her Tofu Sausage and berates me for my selfish, gluttonous ways.

Dr. Babooner, we’re a family and we always go to The Fair together. But would it be so wrong to ditch Aunt Peggy in the Swine Barn so the rest of us can have the kind of day we expect and deserve?

Sincerely,
I Want What I Want When I Want It

I told I.W.W.I.W.W.I.W.I. that Dr. Babooner has had an alarming number of complaints this year from people who feel they are being forced by others to experience The Fair in a way that is painful to them. Dr. Babooner is mystified that any person would try to direct the Fair experience of another, since we all have traditions that are so distinctly satisfying only to our selves. There is no “right” way to do The Fair.
That said, Dr. Babooner believes in eating a balanced and healthy breakfast, and one can never experience anything new unless one takes a chance from time to time and is brave enough to break the routine. Perhaps a small but healthy meal first thing on the fairgrounds would provide a reasonable start to an unusual and difficult day, and it may have the secondary beneficial effect of placating Aunt Peggy.
Plus, ditching people in the Swine Barn is cruel and unusual punishment.
But that’s just one opinion. What do YOU think, Dr. Babooner?

Travel

The Great Gulch

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It isn’t too often that we get to pin a name on something new since everything here has pretty much been seen already and called something-or-other by somebody.

scenic_overlook

But a new opportunity may have emerged with the mapping by radar of an amazingly extensive canyon in Greenland. Accounts say that to behold the still-unseen geologic feature is an experience that is breathtaking, in that you would have to be under two miles of solid ice to see it.

That’s exactly the sort of detail that can take all the fun out of tourism. Scientists say the Mammoth Furrow is not as deep or as wide as the Grand Canyon, but is much longer (470 miles to 277). But it would be worth the trouble of burrowing and shivering and enduring the bone crushing pressure of the ice sheet above to be able to stand on the rim of this frozen wonder and give the thing a name.

In the one story I read about the feature, it is repeatedly called “the canyon”, which is undeniably an accurate description but it lacks poetry. I think we can do better, so here’s our chance. Let’s name it! Less is more. Let’s keep it short – five syllables or less. “The Grand Canyon” has an undeniable power that comes from a magical combination of brevity and majesty. The bigger a thing, the shorter its name should be, I think.

I’m a sucker for alliteration so of course I’m attracted to “The Great Gulch”, “The Greenland Gap”, “The Terrific Trench”, “The Deep Divide” and “The Swell Swale”. But it’s important to speak to a modern audience, so there’s a lot to be said for something like “The Totally Awesome Valley”.

Let your mind roam to sights you have seen (or wish you’d seen) and names that have made you want to visit a faraway place. Because at the rate our climate is warming, we may get a chance to gaze on this thing yet.

What would you name Greenland’s vast under-ice canyon?