All posts by Dale Connelly

Ask Dr. Babooner

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

Dear Dr. Babooner,

I can’t seem to get my pacifist niece to like me, even though I’m really a gregarious, lovable guy.

OK, it’s true that I have lined the perimeter of my property with barbed wire, own more guns than some third world countries, and will expound at length about why jack-booted government thugs are planning to surround the house to take away my freedoms.

But that doesn’t mean I’m not a nice person. I laugh. I’m kind to children. And I like puppies and Disneyland, just like every other proper American. So why doesn’t she warm up to me?

I will admit that some people who feel the same way I do about certain things have committed terrible acts, and they can be kind of scary, especially when you get them going on the Second Amendment. But if you could see me the way I see me, I’d seem perfectly reasonable to you.

Noble, even.

I tried to convince my niece that I’m not insane, but she says if the government really wants to come after me, my arsenal will be useless. But in my mind I am George Washington – the leader of a popular uprising that will prevail against overwhelming odds and become a beacon for the world before it morphs into a merciless tyrant that will try to crush another brave someone exactly like me more than 230 years from now!

That would make me incredibly famous forever – and she’d be famous too because she’s my niece! But she just doesn’t get excited about it in the same way I do.

It’s not that different from those who imagine being the winning quarterback in the Super Bowl or a global singing star by impressing the judges on The Voice. These are harmless fantasies that people need to help them face another day.

I sometimes hear my niece say things like “follow your bliss’ and “be the most authentic version of you you can be”, which I think she picked up from Oprah. Not my thing, but I’ll defend to the death her right to watch it.

So why does she scoff at my dream?

Intensely,
Gregarious Uncle Needs Niece’s Understanding To Survive

I told G.U.N.N.U.T.S. his dream is unsettling for his pacifist niece because its realization relies so heavily on firearms, which are the opposite of harmless and much more frightening than football or singing. Everybody wants to be celebrated, but perhaps if he wants to win over his niece, he needs to construct a more benign hero fantasy for himself.

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

Final Resting Place

Far better than anything coming out of the Super Bowl was Sunday’s news that the Brits have discovered the bones of Richard III under a parking lot.

Lovely.

There were no parking lots when the hunchbacked king died on the battlefield in 1485. He was buried in a church but the church was later razed and the parking lot put over him. So it goes. But having an intact skeleton may help to rehabilitate Richard’s image, tarnished by Tudors, Time and the Theater, most notably that reputation-killer, Shakespeare.

But it does put an exclamation point on the notion that once dead, you are no longer in the driver’s seat. You could be under it. And it’s up to those who follow you to honor your memory – or not.

Ultimately, does it matter where the remains land? Here are three songs making last requests about final arrangements. Short of drawing up legal papers that say essentially the same thing as your lyrics, I don’t think putting your internment instructions in a song brings any hope of success, and certainly no guarantee.

You just don’t get to call the shots after you’re gone.

You can ask for one place NOT to be buried. Maybe we will listen.

Super Rhyme XLVII

Here’s a Super Bowl poem from Trail Baboon’s rhyming poet laureate, Schulyer Tyler Wyler.  A common question on the Monday after the world’s largest remaining Roman Numeraled Event is “Did you watch the Super Bowl?”  I suggested that phrase as a title for the poem, and told STW he could come up with the rest as long as it doesn’t go on for too many verses.

STW said he was willing to take on this project under three conditions:

  1. He could base the poem on the rhythm and rhyme scheme of the song “Do You Hear the People Sing?” from Les Miserables. “I just saw the new film version and that stupid song is stuck in my head,” he said. “‘Do You Hear The People Sing’ and ‘Did You Watch The Super Bowl’ have the same number of syllables, so I should be able to do it in ten minutes flat, and maybe this will help me banish the thing from my brain at long last.”
  2. I would not require him to actually watch the game or know anything about it.
  3. I would pay him in advance.

Since I AM interested in watching the game and did not want to have to come up with a blog post for today, and since STW and I always deal in make-believe money,  I agreed to pay him $1,000 pretend dollars and he got to work immediately.

For reference, here’s the original song, from the 1998 film version.

Did you watch the Super Bowl?
There was a lot of stuff to see.
There was a ton of advertising
pushing stuff that’s not for me.

There were men who came to play
fighting about an oblong ball
but what they did I cannot say
for I don’t recall.

I saw puppies and a baby.
Sloppy kissing and a car.
Some beer was drunk by people
but don’t ask me who they are.
It all was a blur, and so noisy.
I watched in a bar!

Did you see the Super Bowl?
Yes but it all went by so quick.
There was a time when I blacked out.
I’m sure the nachos made me sick.

There were fortunes that were lost.
There was a bunch of money won.
But it did not appear to me
anyone had fun.

There were folks with painted faces
wearing beads for Mardi Gras.
There were men so overweight
they needed girdles and a bra.
And that was my family, I hope that
nobody else saw!

Did you see the Super Bowl?
Well yes I knew that it was on.
And I suppose I watched a little
bit while stifling a yawn.

I am sure they’ll play again.
Two super teams will get their shot.
And which teams played the game this year
I will have forgot.

I’m pretty sure I did not get my make-believe money’s worth from rhyming poet laureate Schuyler Tyler Wyler, but that’s what the morning after the Super Bowl is for – waking up with the feeling that you’ve just thrown away a bunch of time and money on something meaningless.

And I think he was lying about not watching the game. That line about blacking out is a clear reference to the 3rd quarter power failure at the Super Dome.

What do you do when the electricity goes out?

Still On Foot

I’m fascinated by the first entries in Paul Salopek’s Walk Out of Eden, his seven year project to travel by foot from Africa’s rift valley to Tierra del Fuego at the southern tip of South America. In one of his recent posts we discovered that African nomads, who live lives very different from our own, are increasingly reliant on their cell phones.  One catch is the absence of an electric grid for re-charging, so services are springing up to provide desert plug-ins.

Shida_monument

Let that be a lesson for the American luddite who has every new tool at his disposal but refuses to use them. You may see computers and smart phones as meaningless and inauthentic, but nomadic Ethiopian shepherds are using digital technology to stay current on the price of goats. They’re also walking great distances in light, inexpensive plastic sandals – to such an extent that the footwear has been memorialized by a public sculpture in Eritrea.

While the nomads are leaping forward technologically, Salopek is turning back time when it comes to modes of travel, abandoning modern conveyances for the most basic transport of all. It’s an attention-getting move to decide to take a long walk in the modern western world.  

It got my attention, anyway.

Taking a Big Walk is still an eye-opener here in the “developed” west – as surprising in our culture as it would be to the nomads if one of their own loaded his goats into the back of a Hummer and drove off into the sunset.  A remarkably long list of people have trekked across the USA to lose weight, change their attitude, honor a friend or relative, or raise money for a cause.

If you are thinking of doing the same thing, there is plenty of advice available. But it appears the stakes are rising.

When I was still a teenager, Dan Walker walked almost 1,200 miles across Illinois and wound up winning the state’s top political office. I think people were impressed that he managed to actually set a goal and accomplish  it – a rare feat in some political circles.   Walker later became one of Illinois’ imprisoned Governors – not a great distinction but I suppose he can take some pride in the knowledge that his jail-able offenses were committed AFTER he was in office.  Apparently on his long walk one thing he did NOT think about was whether or not there’s a significant difference between a federal law and a banking regulation.

Regardless, you have to respect the magnitude of the walk.

It would be hard to match the outsized significance of Salopek’s pilgrimage, but if you had the time, the stamina and the shoes for it, where would you take your 1,500 go 3,000 mile walk?

Destination Hospital!

Today’s post comes from idea generator Spin Williams.

Hello future patients!

Here at The Meeting That Never Ends, we’re all abuzz about the just-announced, urgently hoped-for expansion by the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesota. The grand vision is that with a 6 billion dollar investment, including over a half billion from the state, the famous medical complex will grow to employ another 25 to 30 thousand people and be even bigger in size and more influential, clout-wise.

Already in those two key categories, the Mayo is massive and irresistible.

But we love big, powerful things, and we’re most excited by the announced intention of all this money-funnelling – to create a “Global Destination Medical Center.”

Around the table at T.M.T.N.E., we were unanimous in our reactions – “Yes! Yes! Yes!” What the planet needs is a Global Destination Hospital – a medical Disneyland! This is a place you come to celebrate the joy of feeling better even when you’re not sick to begin with. Because nothing feels as good as feeling good, unless it’s feeling good in the company of people who are feeling a whole lot worse!

As freelance commercial opportunists, we at The Meeting That Never Ends would like to build a ring of hotels around the outskirts of the Global Destination Medical Center – lodging (and more) for patients and partygoers. The rides would be awesome – a Whirling Gurney Glider, the Bedpan Panic Plummet, The Co-Pay Coaster, the Tilt-a-Hurl, It’s a Small Intestine, and of course an M.R.Imax Theater.

And who knows? While on vacation at Mayo World, you might feel like you’re coming down with something! No worries – you’re already in the happiest place (for doctors) on Earth.

In fact, you could make a strong argument that we’re ALL headed for one Destination Hospital or another eventually. Why not make your ultimate destination the best one in the world? In fact, mixed in with the on-site hotels we can have hundreds of retirement community buildings so people over 65 can just go LIVE at the hospital. And another housing development would cater to families with young children – they’re always going to the emergency room anyway.

Why not?

Mayo World is a brilliant idea, and we’d like to get in on the ground floor. Or even a second floor walk-up would be acceptable. How about you?

As is his habit, Spin is already ahead of the crowd on this one. Of course the world is ready for a medical care theme park / resort / gated community. But why stop there? Cemeteries are also looking for new marketing angles – mostly to compensate for the increasing numbers of people who are choosing cremation and having their ashes spread, rather than buried. Why not establish a Global Destination Eternal Resting Place, where people can go to enjoy some recreation and relaxation before they eventually go back for disintegration?

What kind of fun attraction would you like to see at Mayo World?

Happy Thoughts

Today’s post comes from Trail Baboon’s Living and Loving correspondent B. Marty Barry.

I just want to take a moment here to congratulate everyone who hates hates hates hates winter. You know who you are – you’re the person who sees the months of November through March as a miserable ordeal that must be endured.

I’ve been having some extra sessions lately with my clients who suffer from Seasonal Affective Disorder, so I’m more-than-usually attuned to the plight of the light-starved and warmth-hungry among us. The cold, the ice, the darkness, the Super Bowl – all of it is an affront to your senses.

Here’s the good news. You’ve almost cleared January!

January is the worst month of the year by far. All of January’s excitement happens at the beginning and then it’s dreary and painful and endless. January is ten times longer and fifty times nastier than any other month.

If the months of the year were all assigned a planet, January would be Jupiter. Big and cold, heavy with gravity and gas, marred by an unsightly blot that turns out to be a permanent storm. Blah! No wonder people find it oppressive.

Well all that awfulness is about to come to an end – tomorrow is the first of February! February is a giddy sprint by comparison – it’s groundhogs, hearts, presidents and kaput. Blink and it’s over. Then we’re into March, the leprechauns come out, and suddenly the end is in sight.

So smile because it’s January 31st! The end is nigh. It’s true we still have to endure the Super Bowl, but by Monday afternoon that will be forgotten and then it’s clear sailing! Before you know it we’ll have April flowers, May showers, June blooms, July fireworks, August fairs, September leaves …

But I’m getting too far ahead of myself. My message today is to enjoy this moment and smile, even if it happens to be horribly, perversely cold! And if you can’t smile, that’s OK too. Maybe your face is frozen. Maybe you’ve discovered that buying more assault weapons doesn’t perk you up the way you hoped it would. I’m not here to judge or to impose anything on you – I just want to cheer you to the furthest extent that you can be cheered, and not a single smile more.

But if you’re having trouble coping, think about Jim Nabors. He just got married to the love of his life and he’s 82! Doesn’t that warm your heart? His too-long wait for a change in status has finally come to an end. He also lives in Hawaii, but try not to think about that part of it. But if you do anyway and you’re still sad, remember that you’re not a failure. Your seasonal malaise may be justified but it doesn’t define you.

Not in my eyes, anyway. Because although I’ve never met you, I care about you very, very, very much.

Your friend and (I hope) confidant,
B. Marty Barry

What makes you happy when you know it’s finally over?

Wide Shot

NASA released this nice infra-red photo yesterday, showing us all of the Andromeda Galaxy with colors assigned to indicate relative temperature. For some reason, blue represents the warmer parts and red, the cooler ones.

andromeda

Trying to challenge our expectations, NASA? That’s quite a risk to take when you consider we are situated at a moment in time just before the dawn of commercial spaceflight for the well-heeled tourist. Revelers who save up an entire lifetime for one amazing interstellar trip will not take kindly to their disappointing arrival at the exotic destination. Remember when planning your Andromeda getaway that the most comfortable beaches will be found at the center.

Not that we have to go out of our way to get there, since Andromeda is scheduled to merge with our Milky Way Galaxy in about 4 billion years.

But never you mind, I like Andromeda just fine. It’s pretty to look at.

In fact, the jaunty angle at which the NASA stylists framed this makes me think of the Fascinators that were so predominant during the most recent British Royal Wedding.

Kate_Hat_Galaxy2

The right hat can put an exclamation point on a crisply stylish look. But does wearing an entire galaxy on your head qualify as overstatement? We’ve all known people with their heads in the clouds and others with stars in their eyes, but what does it mean when you have clouds of stars in your hair?

Describe your favorite headgear.

Restless Old Brains

Today’s post comes from perpetual sophomore Bubby Spamden.

Hey, Mr. C.,

I was just about to ask you an important question about girls, but as soon as I started to write it I realized that you don’t know the answer. Not that you’re not old enough to have wisdom and all, because I’m pretty sure you are! But all the old dudes I’ve talked to about this kind of thing are pretty sure they know less about girls than they used to, which I think is totally weird.

How can you live such a long time and get dumber as you go? That doesn’t make any sense.

Cerebral_lobes

But then I read a newspaper article about this study that says your brain changes when you get older, and old brains have a harder time getting good sleep than young brains do. And it’s when you’re sleeping really good and deep that the stuff you just learned makes its move to transfer over just-found-out-about-it mode to long term memory! So if you can’t get what they call long wave sleep, it’s harder to learn anything new!

So now it kinda makes sense that you’re so clueless about a lot of new things, and haven’t really picked up any fresh insights since, say, 1975.

But don’t get me wrong. I still respect you for your wisdom and experience and all. I just have a better understanding of why you don’t know anything. So I’m forwarding you a link to the article. Take a look at it! Read it a couple of times for all the good it will do you.

One thing in there that sounds kind of cool – the idea of using electrodes pasted to the scalp to simulate the right brain waves to get the best kind of sleep. How long will it be before you older guys are plugging yourselves in at night, just like a cell phone or a Chevy Volt?

And since I know you’re going to ask anyway, the question I had about girls is why does my girlfriend get mad if I start to fall asleep while she’s talking to me? It’s not like I can help it. But to smooth things over, I told her it’s because I’m trying to commit what she’s saying to long term memory as soon as I hear it. I don’t get it, though. That argument just makes her madder. It’s like she doesn’t believe in science!

Your pal,
Bubby

I think Bubby has been a High School sophomore for so long, he’s the closest thing we have to a teenager/old man hybrid. Still, the most surprising thing in this message is that he thinks he has a girlfriend! I can only assume she comes from the same place as the one that beguiled that Notre Dame football player – Fantasyland. Although she sees through his sad explanation just as clearly as a real person would, so who knows?

What’s your most effective memory-keeping technique?

H.B., A.A.

Today is the actor Alan Alda‘s birthday. He’s 77.

He was born with a name that was much more of a mouthful – Alphonso Joseph D’Abruzzo. You might be able to get away with a name like that in showbiz today, but in the middle of the last century they wanted things to be simple and catchy. Wikipedia tells me that the name Alda is a portmanteu, a word created from two or more other words, or in this case, two other names. Alphonso Joseph DAbruzzo.

Of course you should take a moment here to think about what your Portmanteu name would be if you followed the Alan Alda template. I’d be Dale Dalco, which sounds like a good name for a NASCAR driver, although I would be the worst race car driver ever and would certainly wind up disqualified or dead or both in the first lap.

R.I.P. Dale Dalco. We hardly knew ye.

Fortunately for the rest of us, Alan Alda turned out to be a very effective name for making it big in the entertainment industry, and many are the lives that have been enriched by Alda’s work as Hawkeye Pierce on the long-running TV series M.A.S.H. Apparently he is the only person who appeared in every single episode. My recollection is that in many of them, he is talking almost constantly.

Not all actors are comfortable facing an audience without a script, but Alda seems at ease and is quite the storyteller. He has written a couple of volumes of memoir – “Never Have Your Dog Stuffed“, and “Things I Overheard While Talking To Myself.”

A guy who likes the spotlight and is a natural raconteur should need no prompting at all to churn out a couple of books, but Alda claims the inspiration for these volumes came only after a near-death experience.

When has a single experience changed the course of your life?

That’s How We Roll

You gotta love dung beetles.

All day, every day, they’ve got their faces in the worst stuff we can imagine. To them, it’s no big deal, but to us, spending life as a dung beetle is literally what it would mean to lose the reincarnation lottery.

By Kay-africa (Own work) [CC-BY-SA-3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)], via Wikimedia Commons
By Kay-africa (Own work) [CC-BY-SA-3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons

The good news is a dung beetle’s life is less than three years long.
The bad news is … for the entire time, you have to be a dung beetle.
But the latest bit of redemptive good news is … dung is not your entire world – there’s more. In fact, there’s the entire Milky Way.

Researchers have discovered that dung beetles use the stars to navigate their dung ball placement. But it’s not just a couple of little stars, it’s the center of the Milky way – a strip of light crossing the night sky that apparently gives them the reference point they need to know their dung ball is traveling in a straight line.

And by “dung ball”, I mean “your day’s work”, whatever that is. And pushing it in a straight line is quite an achievement. I’ve been putting my shoulder to various dung balls around for almost 40 years, and I can say with certainty that they haven’t traveled in anything like a straight line. I’m certain I’ve done some curlicues and loop-de-loops, and for quite a long time sat still in the very same place. But dung beetles reckon by the stars, and their efforts are rewarded with measurable progress. If a beetle veers off course, it climbs up on top of its dung ball and does a little “dance”, by which it gets its bearings and resumes its task.

I assume dung beetles will remain here after we’re gone because everything poops, and a key factor in survival is to have steady work. But in 4 billion years, when The Milky Way collides with the Andromeda Galaxy, the beetle’s sky-marker will be re-arranged. Will that signal the Dung Ball Apocalypse?

When you feel you are headed off-course, how do you find the right direction?