All posts by Dale Connelly

Uncategorized

Words To The Woods

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Today’s post comes from Bart, the bear who found a cell phone in the woods.

H’lo, Bart here.

Out of hibernation for sure now, and looking for food. Still a little early, though.  SO HUNGRY waiting for the berries to arrive.

The fishing opener is good, ’cause stuff gets left on shore. Sometimes chips and even burgers and hot dogs and stuff like that!  Drunk fishermen are the best kind.  Bears and fish say so!

But you can’t count on people to leave food out.  In July, yes.  Not so much in May.

That’s why I got excited to see this article about self-publishing and how there’s a lot of great opportunities to make extra $$ as a book editor.

All writers need a smart, caring, sometimes brutal, roaring rage-filled editor.  And I’m a pretty good one!  You wouldn’t expect it – me with the big paws and doing all my writing on a smart phone.  But that means I’m always cutting words.  Most writers generate a ton of blah-blah-blah that needs to be gobbled up!

Yes, I’m a Nounatarian and a Verbivore.

And it’s all done online, so you don’t have to worry about making a face-to-face impression on your clients if you have bad breath or don’t look very professional or you happen to be a wild animal who lives alone in the woods .

Some writers complain that with self-publishing, the freelance market has been flooded by unqualified people claiming to be editors and proofreaders.

Maybe so.  I’m not going to dwell on it, though.   Here’s my deal.  I edit your book, you don’t have to pay me in money.  Just ship a loosely secured bag of groceries to a campground address I’ll send you once I get your manuscript.   That’s all there is to it!

Maybe your book is good.  If so, my job is easy and your big payday still comes.  But if your book is an aimless, pointless mess, it can hardly hurt things to slap a sticker on that cover that says “Edited By A Wild Bear!”

Your pal,
Bart

How are you at proofreading?

History

Speeches That Didn’t Change The World

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Today is the anniversary of Newton Minow’s “vast wasteland” speech.  It’s a landmark in the history of broadcasting because Minow had just been elevated from his position as just a guy with a name that sounds like an idea for a fish-flavored soft cookie, to the the exalted chairman of the Federal Communications Commission, appointed to lead the regulatory agency by President John F. Kennedy.

Minow was talking to the 1961 convention of the National Association of Broadcasters and he didn’t mince words as he challenged his listeners to watch a day of television from the moment of sign on,  when the programming started, to sign off, when it stopped.

Yes, children, there was a time in history when the television stations would actually be quiet at the end of a day.

Minow argued that “a vast wasteland” was on display.

“You will see a procession of game shows, formula comedies about totally unbelievable families, blood and thunder, mayhem, violence, sadism, murder, western bad men, western good men, private eyes, gangsters, more violence, and cartoons. And endlessly commercials — many screaming, cajoling, and offending. And most of all, boredom. True, you’ll see a few things you will enjoy. But they will be very, very few. And if you think I exaggerate, I only ask you to try it.”

The speech was a challenge to broadcasters to change their programming approach and do their work in the public interest. Wikipedia claims it was selected as one of twenty five “Speeches That Changed the World,” which is a ridiculous claim.

Minow didn’t change the world.  Broadcasters pretty much ignored him and went about their business.  When Gilligan’s Island debuted three years later, the shipwrecked boat was named after Minow.

Years later, Minow said he was really advocating for providing more choices for viewers, and in 2015 we can see that technology has certainly taken care of that.   But the broadly uplifting and ardently educational medium he imagined at the time did not materialize outside the creation of Masterpiece Theater and Sesame Street.

If Minow did anything at all in 1961, he merely predicted the empty, miserable, disappointing future of broadcasting.

When have you said the thing your audience didn’t want to hear?

Uncategorized

The Peculiar Physics of Pirate Fame

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Today’s post comes from Captain Billy, the skipper of the pirate ship Muskellunge.

Ahoy!

Me an’ me boys is appalled that a famed “marine archaeologist”, named Barry Clifford, says he discovered th’ lost treasure of th’ notorious pirate, Captain Kidd.

Clifford has been lookin’ fer th’ wreck o’ Kidd’s vessel, th’ Adventure Galley, fer 15 years.  An’ now he finally claims he found it  off’n th’ coast o’ Madagascar.

This may be, but what of it?  It ain’t in the realm of imagination that a fella named Barry Clifford could ever make a dent in the legend of a alpha pirate like William Kidd.

No matter which name he uses, whether “Capt. Barry” or “Capt. Clifford”, neither one is intimidatin’ enough t’ strike fear into th’ hearts of his crew an’ his adversaries.

But then up from down below he brings a big bar o’ silver an’ lays it in front o’ th’ Madigascar president sayin’, “this here booty, what used t’ belong t’ Capt. Kidd,  is now  yours.  It belongs t’ th’ Madigascar people.  Meanwhile, I’ll take the fame what comes wi’ finding it.”

But me an’ me boys says  Clifford’s gambit is full o’ holes, on account of he don’t understand th’ peculiar physics of pirate fame.

  1. Pirate fame don’t ever transfer t’ non-pirates.
  2. A halo of pirate fame surrounds any booty stolen by th’ aforementioned pirate.
  3. That halo magnifies the value o’ the booty many times over, an’ also makes it completely useless.

Th’ undeniable fact o’ th’ matter is that th’ treasure will always be known as Capt. Kidd’s Silver , no matter who is holdin’ it.  An as such, it will always be more valuable an’ interestin’ than an identical amount of silver held by, say, Warren Buffet.

An’ also as such, it can’t never be cashed in fer anything else on account of you can’t buy nothin’ wi’ it that’s as valuable as th’ moment when yer able t’ point at it an’ say, “That there’s Capt. Kidd’s treasure.”

Therefore, me an’ me boys respectfully suggests that Barry Clifford hand th’ treasure over t’ some REAL  LIFE modern day pirates – th’ only sorts in the whole wide world what can take proper care an’ withstand th’ pirate fame what has accrued t’ this particular collection of precious metals.

An’ yes, we has some candidates in mind!

Helpfully,
Capt. Billy

When you find something of value, how hard do you look for its rightful owner?

News, Poems

Less Air Apparent

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Header photo by Frankileon from Flickr

I asked Trail Baboon poet laureate Schuyler Tyler Wyler to craft an ode to sports figures who, more probably than not, cheat.

Of course he wanted to know who I was talking about.

“No one in particular,” I said.  “But everyone, sort of.”

Naturally he wanted to know what sort of poem he should write, which was a funny question because STW only writes one kind of poem.

“Just give me some immortal lines that deal with taking advantage of a situation and lying about it afterwards, ” I told him.  “If it means you have to steal someone else’s poem,  just don’t tell me about it.”

Within the hour, he had produced this:

If you can grip footballs when all about you
With jealous stares are criticizing you.
If you commit such fouls that tall men doubt you,
And call your claims of innocence, “Untrue”;
If you’re a pitcher who is fond of scuffing
Or muscled batter – super steroid size.
Or a striker –  injured?  No, but bluffing!
Who fakes so well he even cries:

If you can bet on games and not have fans desert you,
Or ride the Alps while chemically enhanced,
And still the masses want to wear a shirt you
signed and wore while pedaling through France.
If scandals sprout around you, and get covered,
just pray your own malfeasance never shows.
There is a chance your sins won’t be discovered.
But – if it is – Hey, welcome to … the pros!

I told STW this was such a blatant ripoff of Rudyard Kipling it was an embarrassment and even I couldn’t look the other way. “What is more”, I said, “you didn’t even steal the whole thing. If this lousy poem was a football, it would be deflated by about half.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. “I’m an artist. Where’s my money?”

How far should rules be allowed to bend?

History

Bad Day for Gasbags

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We’re dipping into the archive today to re-visit a Trail Baboon post from two years ago.  Did you realize that next month this online conversation will have been going on for five years?    That’s just an eye blink in the vast span of human history, but it represents a prodigious amount of tippy-tapping on various keyboards throughout Baboon-land.  

Today is the anniversary of two cataclysms, the Sack of Rome in 1527 and the explosion of the Hindenburg in Lakehurst, New Jersey in 1937. Both were sudden and somewhat unexpected, though there were hints of what was to come – Rome had been sacked before (in 410) and a string of other hydrogen-filled airships had already crashed and burned.

Still, one always hopes for the best and an optimistic soul is surprised when things turn out otherwise.

In our time, the Hindenburg is a better-known calamity, but only because there isn’t compelling footage of the Sack of Rome.

Historians say the Sack of Rome marked the end of Italy’s High Renaissance, and significantly pushed forward the protestant reformation. The Hindenburg disaster called an abrupt end to the development of rigid airships – most certainly those filled with hydrogen.

So it goes.

Although we try to prevent catastrophic events and want to have some positive influence over the great changes that sweep over our world, it often feels that we are stuck in the role of an interested, but powerless, observer. Perhaps this explains the popularity of parallel-world games like Minecraft, where one can start from scratch and construct an environment with just a few elements, an assortment of building blocks, and a blank canvas.

You could take advantage of this technology to try to build a make-believe world without Kings, Armies, Popes, Nazis and New Jersey. But you’d still probably need gravity, fire, hunger, ambition and hydrogen.

Things might turn out pretty much the same.

Is there such a thing as creative destruction?

Uncategorized

Ask Dr. Babooner

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We are ALL Dr. Babooner

Dear Dr. Babooner,

I bet pretty much all my life savings on the three principal names I thought Britain’s Royal couple would give their new daughter. In my defense, it felt like I was really on to something when I entered the office pool with  “Mayweather Tesla Skywalker”.

A lot of people were trying to second-guess William and Catherine on this, analyzing their public statements and debating each other on Facebook to get some kind of a crucial advantage in knowing which way the couple leaned, baby name-wise.

But Wills and Kate are my favorite royals precisely because they’re so normal.  I figure they’re probably thinking about the same things I am most of the time, so I went with my gut, which was totally wrapped up in the big fight on Saturday night between Floyd and Manny.

I knew that everybody else knew that Mayweather was going to win, so why gamble on that when I could go All In on something that had a much higher chance of delivering a mammoth payoff?

Imagine my surprise when they came up with Charlotte Elizabeth Diana – a totally predictable and profoundly uninspiring choice.

For my money, “Princess Mayweather” is very British-sounding and would have become a much-beloved name.   Much more beloved than Princess Floyd, Princess Paquiao, or Princess Manny, which were some of my other choices.

Now all my money’s gone, but if that bet had come in, I’d be richer than everyone.  No exceptions!

Dr. Babooner, why can’t dreams come true?

Sincerely,
Long Shot

I told “Long Shot” there’s a distinct difference between investing in a genuine dream and throwing away your life savings on some crazy idea you pulled out of a dark crevice.

A dream is inspirational, especially if it includes an element of self-betterment and rises out of a desire to improve the world. But guessing that the royals would decide to call their daughter ‘Mayweather Tesla Skywalker” is flat-out crazy.

But it’s better that you were parted from your cash in this picturesque way. At least you got a good story out of it, and you were going to lose that money anyhow. It was simply a matter of time.

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

Science

Battery Flattery

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Elon Musk’s announcement that Tesla will develop and sell solar energy storage for the home brings to my attention something that I did not know I needed.

A big honking battery in the house.

Musk said, “The obvious problem with solar power is the sun doesn’t shine at night. The issue with existing batteries is that they suck. They’re expensive, large, and unsightly. The 51-by-33.8-by-7-inch Powerwall, on the other hand, looks like a beautiful sculpture.”

There’s another thing that has not been a high priority when going over the family budget.

Buying a big honking sculpture for the house.

But now that I know I could get art AND reliable solar energy all night long from the same purchase,  I’m re-thinking the possibilities.

And since these are all carrying loads of electricity, the sculptures could be outfitted with lights!  The imagination reels with possibilities.

What famous sculpture would you install in your home? 

 

 

Music

Stand By Me

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It’s sad to say goodbye to Ben E. King, who died Thursday at the age of 76.

King, whose name at birth was really Benjamin Earl Nelson, made the song Stand By Me famous.

When I read that Stand By Me was a concept King had tucked away, almost forgotten until King was casually questioned by Leiber and Stoller at the end of a writing session about any other song ideas he might have, it’s a reminder of the lasting importance of small moments and that  “hits” often (always?) happen  for reasons that are beyond our control.

The story goes that Atlantic Records producer Jerry Wexler harbored a grudge against Stand By Me because hiring the orchestra turned out to be overly expensive.

Odd thought, given the enduring success of that original recording. We too often obsess over the momentary cost without considering the possible long-term payoff. Although it is weird to see King lip synching it here in a room that contains many more dancing-challenged white teenagers than orchestral string players.

The New York Times obituary included this King quote: “I still think my whole career was accidental. I didn’t pursue it. I feel like I’m cheating sometimes.”

But there’s no doubt King had true talent and a legitimate, lasting effect. Back in 2008 this tremendously impressive global rendition of Stand By Me was pieced together by the organization Playing for Change.

All of this came about because a guy with the unusual name of Lover Patterson was persistent about finding talent  in Harlem and kept returning to the luncheonette run by Ben E. King’s father, asking if there were any young guys around who could sing.

Turns out there was at least one.

Can you sing? 

 

The Baboon Congress, Travel

Sleepless Seated Sightseeing

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Today’s guest post comes from Edith.

Recently I took a long trip, and was very lucky to have window seats the entire 3 days and 3 nights.

I boarded Amtrak late at night in Kansas City, MO, “slept” through most of Kansas, and woke up to a red sun rising over the prairie behind us.

NM_train9 (1)

During the first day the train went through New Mexico. I never had been to that area before, so was fascinated by the scenery: shrubby trees, hills, some mountains. Lots of browns, but other colors, too.

When I woke the next morning we were running about 1 ½ hours late, but somehow, by 8:30, we had made up 1 ¼ hours of that. The train arrived almost on time in Los Angeles. A good thing for me since there were only 2 hours between our scheduled arrival and the departure of my next train.
Wow, the train depot at L.A. was something else! Huge! Busy! Full of people hustling and bustling around, and all of them knew where they were going; I was the only one who wandered around in circles before I figured out the gate where I was to board my next next train, the once-daily Coast Starlight.

Then I went to the waiting area – to wait, of course. But I got restless. When I noticed people coming in some side doors. I got up to investigate and found a charming courtyard. Trees. Birds singing. Benches. A fountain. Tile work. Grass. Blue Skies. Very refreshing.

The Coast Starlight was pretty full, so I had a seatmate. She spent a lot of time in the observation car. No need for me to do that – not only did I have a window seat, it was on the ocean side.

But we sat in the same spot for a long time while the train was stopped because of a gas leak somewhere near the tracks up ahead. I had a great view of a parking lot and some empty tennis courts.

Lovely.

After 4 hours, we were able to move on.

Lucky me! The train goes very close to the ocean, in spots, so I had great view after great view.
Very cool!

The problem with the train being late was we no longer had any stops where we could get out and stretch.

Uffda, my legs ached from sitting. Even after we left the coast, the scenery in northern California and Oregon was lovely, but i had trouble appreciating it.

My trip_CA17

Finally, after what seemed like an endless time of trying, never very successfully, to sleep in a train seat and wanting to do anything but sit still another hour, I arrived in Portland.

I wanted only to take a shower, sleep in a real bed, and look forward to a day with fellow baboon Steve. Still, despite all the discomfort I had endured, I felt lucky that I was able to see so many beautiful sights from the train window.

How long can you stand to sit?

Poems, Science

Control Issues

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In today’s hyperactive social media environment, it does not take long for good reputations to get ruined by a bit of breathless over-reaction to common problems.

A quick tweet, a tossed-off Facebook post, a carelessly shared You Tube video, or a thoughtless headline might be all it takes to permanently shame a good citizen.

Or a starlet.

Or a spacecraft.

Yesterday’s New York Times headline, “Russian Space Station Cargo Ship Is Said to Be Out of Control“, smacks of the same type of discriminatory treatment given to a string of young, boisterous female celebrities, all of whom were declared, at one time, officially O.O.C.

Trail Baboon Sing-song poet laureate Tyler Schuyler Wyler insisted that I give him a moment to come to the defense of the poor, maligned Progress 59 capsule with a few lines of soon-to-be-forgotten verse.

 

One cannot be a star today without a robust hide.
And for anyone who reaches high, expect a rocky ride.
But as long as I’ve got pitch and yaw, a cargo, and a goal.
It’s unfair to try to shame me with that trope – “out of control.”

While it’s true I’m not mature, (this is the first time I have flown)
I’m more stable and more focused than that wingnut, Lindsay Lohan.
I admit our mission so far hasn’t made the throngs admire us,
But I’m not as O.O.C. as that sad train wreck, Miley Cyrus.

I may tumble out of orbit very soon, it now appears.
But I won’t completely self-destruct like gaudy Britney Spears.
So I don’t feel like a failure, though I’m sinking by degrees.
I will simply resupply a patch of Earth that lacks debris.

What’s the worst thing that’s been said about you?