All posts by Dale Connelly

Songs

American Idols All

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The similarities between this year’s Republican primary competition and “reality” TV are striking. The candidates have appeared together almost weekly, sometimes every couple of days. They have been together so much the nerves started to fray long ago. They’ve been forced to compete with one another on specific assigned topics like jobs, taxes, government regulation, super-patriotism, and now we’ve reached the stage where a competitor is dropped after every gathering. They have petty gripes with one another and their spats and resentments make headlines. We’re down to four now.

Who will be The Survivor? The smart money is still on Mitt Romney, who is already looking ahead to the next contest with Barack Obama.

How will the next show shape up with these two contestants? We got a hint in Iowa and New Hampshire, when Romney fell into a lyrics-reciting phase at campaign stops. Just like prime time TV, whatever gimmick gets a positive reaction from the audience will be repeated. He did this a lot.

Well, you know where this is going, don’t you?
Obama sees it, and he laid down his marker this week.

Do you think Mitt Romney has already had his first private singing lesson? I say he has. He’d better start, because he has a lot of catching up to do. Stephen Colbert is on the campaign trail now, and he can sing harmony on The Star Spangled Banner.

Yes, no matter who winds up running, this year’s presidential election will end in a sing-off! It’s obvious. America loves music and even people who don’t vote are fixated on songs. The template was well established with American Idol. Sorting through political issues is boring and hard. Caring about good governance requires time and thought. But deciding who is the best singer is fun, and we can judge it totally on emotion. There is no wrong or right – it’s all about how the singer makes you feel! Style has officially demolished substance – now it’s time for a victory lap. Get ready for the Obama-Romney-Colbert sing-off! When will we get the first Karaoke-Debate? I say it will happen by August.

What song would you sing to get votes?

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Old Brains

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I’ve been reading far too much about old brains lately.

In fact, my mind has to put up a shield of self-ignorance, essentially denying that it is also a brain, before it can help me learn anything about them. Reading that it takes billions of interconnected neurons to process the words that tell me it takes billions of interconnected neurons to process the words is the kind of bio-informational feedback loop that causes wisps of smoke to come out my ears.

It feels like some things are not worth knowing.

But the latest news about old brains sends exactly the opposite message – that we should exercise our brains to keep them fit. And while we’re at it, we should exercise everything else, too.

My one-stop-shopping site for OBI (Old Brain Information) is the New York Times, where they are clearly trying to corner the market for elder ecephalifans. The paper isn’t called “The Gray Lady” for nothing, and if you want to know what’s happening among the folds of gray under the waves of gray, they’ve got it.

It turns out there’s a new study that shows some beneficial effects of exercise for people with a heightened risk of developing Alzheimer’s.

Education was also found to be a long-term brain benefit. A different study found that education is associated with a longer life and decreased risk of dementia. “The effects of education are dramatic and long term,” said one doctor quoted in the story.

Here’s an excerpt that confirms everything you already thought about brain health, although if you’re over 50, putting it together in a string of words this smooth would have taken you a lot longer than you imagine.

Many researchers believe that human intelligence or brainpower consists of dozens of assorted cognitive skills, which they commonly divide into two categories. One bunch falls under the heading “fluid intelligence,” the abilities that produce solutions not based on experience, like pattern recognition, working memory and abstract thinking, the kind of intelligence tested on I.Q. examinations. These abilities tend to peak in one’s 20s.

“Crystallized intelligence,” by contrast, generally refers to skills that are acquired through experience and education, like verbal ability, inductive reasoning and judgment. While fluid intelligence is often considered largely a product of genetics, crystallized intelligence is much more dependent on a bouquet of influences, including personality, motivation, opportunity and culture.

Yes, that’s what I’ve got. “Crystallized Intelligence.” It sounds so sparkly!
And hard, prickly and brittle.

But I have no trouble believing that education keeps your brain alive. In a world so full of things we don’t already know, the only question is – what to study? That’s the economics question and again, the Times comes to the rescue with a blog about what the top 1% of earners majored in.

It turns out the largest percentage of 1%’ers studied “Health and Medical Preparatory Programs.” No surprise there. In second place, Economics. Even an economist could have predicted that one. Third place goes to Biochemical Sciences. A bit of a surprise! But fourth place is the shocker – Zoology. Zoology? My understanding is that Zoologists study animals in their natural environments and also in captivity. Animal behavior is a special fascination, and zoologists work in university settings, research institutions and zoos.

I’m guessing the Zoologists who are making the huge bucks took their knowledge of animal behavior out of academe to some more lucrative arena, like Wall Street. After all, what better place to apply all those hard-learned lessons about the law of the jungle?

What have you done for your brain today?

The Baboon Congress

This Isn’t About Goats

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Today’s guest post is by Barb in Blackhoof.

Well, ok, I lied. For the last five years I haven’t really been able to talk about much outside of the context of goats. I can listen, but my reply may be shaped around a goat experience I had or something I read or something I watched about goats. Frequent visitors to Trail Baboon know this very well already. But this was not always so.

About 12 years ago when my father-in-law died, my husband had to clear out the family home. On one of the last days all the sibs were inside taking things they wanted, but I stayed outside (being an in-law) waiting for Steve to emerge with something. He came out with some small memento and asked, “Don’t you think you’d like something??” I said no (not wanting to get in the way), but he persisted, and I finally said, “well, ok – I’ll take the Goat.”

The Goat was a down-sized, plaster of paris version of Picasso’s La Chevre (often called “Pregnant Goat”) that Steve’s Mom had given his Dad for some gift because she called him “the old goat.” (Remember when Dayton’s eighth floor had that section where you could buy copies of sculpture and art?)

I only wanted this piece because I liked the story behind it and I liked the looks of it. At that time there was no farm, no idea of animals of any kind in my mind. I was working full time and just looking at farms or acreage for fun, thinking my City-Boy, English Professor Husband would never agree to move anywhere further than 100 yards from a library.

Fast forward to 2002, October. Blah, blah, blah, I bought the farm. There were two outbuildings, empty and very clean. One stored about three cords of red oak fire wood. The other was completely empty. Many days I’d stand in the pole barn and wonder how I could put it to use. Then, in 2005 at the State Fair I was wondering through the goat barn, when it occurred to me that these animals were pretty cool. Like Tim’s daughter, I stayed most of that day in the barn talking with goat owners about housing, caring, cost, etc. Then at the 2006 Carlton County Fair, I met a woman who needed someone to care for her animals for five days that October. Great. I can help and in exchange learn about goats first hand. So, in October of 2006 I milked a doe for the first time. (I milked six goats twice a day for five days – at the end of that time I could not feel my hands ☺.) During those five days, I fell in love with Georgette, an Alpine doe who was calm and had a little hairy white “G” on her brown nose. Georgette let me lean my head on her belly while I milked her (forever, it took me, since I was a newbie!) and I decided dairy goats were for me – not just any old dairy goats, but the Alpine breed. And it occurred to me that Georgette looked a lot like La Chevre. In May of 2007 we moved to the farm and I bought two does (one being Dream) and in March 2008 Alba was born. Dreamy will be five years old soon, and looks more and more like that pregnant goat.

And this all started with a little sculpture that I took home, not knowing what was in store for us just seven years (and a lifetime) down the road. Spooky.

When has a moment’s random choice later revealed itself as the first step on a good path?

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The Silent Treatment

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An anguished dispatch came in late last night from perennial Sophomore Bubby Spamden, still swimming upstream at Wendell Wilkie High School.

Hey Mr. C.,

Boy am I confused!

I have a paper that’s due today in World History and I don’t think I’m going to get it done, all because of two mean girls named SOPA and PIPA. I don’t know who they are, but they’re so upsetting they’ve shut down the whole Internet, almost. Everywhere I look, it says the website is “closed in protest of SOPA and PIPA”. Geez, what did they do? The shut down even includes Wikipedia, which is, like the storehouse of everything that would be in my brain if I studied and was able to remember the tiniest details of things I don’t care about at all.

All I know is that when I look for Wikipedia information on the Barbary Pirates, I can only get it in Portuguese.

Piratas da Barbária, Piratas da Berbéria, piratas barbarescos, piratas berberescos, piratas berberes ou corsários otomanos, foi a designação dada aos piratas que até meados do século XIX operaram no Mediterrâneo ocidental e no Oceano Atlântico nordeste a partir de portos sitos na costa da Berbéria, ou seja na região litoral do Norte de África correspondente hoje às costas da Argélia, da Tunísia, da Líbia e a alguns portos de Marrocos.

I don’t have a problem with that personally, ‘cause it makes as much sense to me as the English version. But I can’t just cut and paste it and hand it in as my report because that would be wrong. To be ethical you have to go in and change a bunch of words around so you can legitimately pretend the writing is really yours. How can I do that if I don’t know what the words mean? I tried that and then ran it through a translating website and all I got back was useless hash.

Pirates of the occidental person, Pirates middle of the Berbéria, pirates, pirates, berberes or Ottoman privateers, were the assignment given to the pirates who Barbarism of century XIX had even operated in leaving the Mediterranean and the corresponding ports Atlantic pirates of the barbarescos ports sitos in the coast of the Berbéria, that is in the coast of the North of Africa to the coasts of Algeria, Tunisia, the Lybian and to some of Morocco region.

Even I can see that doesn’t make any sense. Mr. Boozenporn is bound to figure it out. This is horrible and I’m going to get an F in World History all because of SOPA and PIPA. They are really messing up my head, which is something that is already being done by KATIE and ASHLEY and GLORIA! GLORIA especially, who I thought kinda liked me but lately she’s been hanging out with this guy CHRIS, who is, like, a super basketball player. Yesterday I went up to her at her locker and she said she couldn’t talk – she was going to go watch CHRIS practice. So I’ll show her – I’m usually nice to her and all chatty but I’ve decided I’m not going to talk to GLORIA at all today.
When she realizes how rotten it is when I’m all silent, she’ll realize CHRIS is a moron and she’ll tell me she loves me.

That’s what I’m counting on, anyway. That, and that Mr. Boozenporn can’t read Portuguese.

Seu Amigo,
Bubby

I told Bubby it is always a risky choice to withdraw with the expectation that certain people will miss you and will wait and wish for your return. The world is a busting crossroads and once you go out the door there are plenty of others conveniently nearby who are just as fascinating as you. Ignoring a person does not make you more attractive. If you want GLORIA to notice you, turn towards her, not away. For that matter, SOPA and PIPA might be worth your attention too.

How do you feel about the silent treatment?

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Benny and Al

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Today is the shared birthday of two American icons, Benjamin Franklin and Al Capone, in 1706 and 1899 respectively. One is widely respected but also known as a bit of a scoundrel, and the other widely known as a scoundrel but also a little bit respected.

I’m not about to suggest they would have been friendly, though it’s possible Franklin would have found Capone interesting. And Capone? He might have found Franklin a pine box to lie down in, given the right circumstances.

Of course the Internet is lousy with quotes from each, and who knows if they’re accurate? But by process of elimination, it’s easy to tell who said what.

This one is not from the author of “The Art of Virtue”:

“Today I got a letter from a woman in England. She offered to pay my passage to London if I’d kill some neighbors she’s been having a quarrel with.”

And this one is not from the author of “The Valentine’s Day Massacre”:

“Be civil to all; sociable to many; familiar with few; friend to one; enemy to none.”

These, I suppose, could have come from either one:

“My booze has been good and my games on the square.”
“Drive thy business or it will drive thee.”
“I’ll have to hand it to Napoleon as the world’s greatest racketeer.”
“Energy and persistence conquer all things.”
“Public service is my motto.”
“He that is of the opinion money will do everything may well be suspected of doing everything for money.”

Could there be a book or a movie in the meeting of these strange fun-loving bedfellows? All it would take is a nifty solution to the problem of time travel, and finding a proper wig for Mr. Capone or a suitable hat for Mr. Franklin.

Nominate someone to be your foil in a true “Odd Couple.”

Songs

Hey Nelly, Nelly

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Last year on Martin Luther King Jr. Day we had a discussion about songs and performers who spoke to the cause of civil rights. I posted a video of a Mavis Staples song and some well-known names like Nina Simone, Pete Seeger, Joan Baez and Bob Dylan were mentioned.

Near the end of the string, Barbara in Robbinsdale came up with this unexpected one – Shawn Phillips, and a folk song I had never heard before – Hey Nelly, Nelly. BiR was kind enough to give us the words, also.

Hey Nelly Nelly, come to the window
Hey Nelly Nelly look at what I see
He’s riding into town on a sway back mule
Got a tall black hat and he looks like a fool
He sure is talkin’ like he’s been to school
And it’s 1853

Hey Nelly Nelly, listen what he’s sayin’
Hey Nelly Nelly, he says it’s gettin’ late
And he says them black folks should all be free
To walk around the same as you and me
He’s talkin’ ’bout a thing he calls democracy
And it’s 1858

Hey Nelly Nelly hear the band a playing
Hey Nelly Nelly, hand me down my gun
“Cause the men are cheerin’ and the boys are too
They’re all puttin’ on their coats of blue
I can’t sit around here and talk to you
“Cause it’s 1861

Hey Nelly Nelly, Come to the window
Hey Nelly Nelly, I’ve come back alive
My coat of blue is stained with red
And the man in the tall black hat is dead
We sure will remember all the things he said
In 1865

Hey Nelly Nelly, come to the window
Hey Nelly Nelly, look at what I see
I see white folks and colored walkin’ side by side
They’re walkin’ in a column that’s a century wide
It’s still a long and a hard and a bloody ride
In 1963

I was a fan of this song before it even started because half the writing credit goes to Shel Silverstein. You can see that sly, bald devil at work as the lyrics set in context the long, long process of moving towards justice. And he gets Abe Lincoln into the starring role without ever mentioning his name. Ah, the power of a hat.

There are few things less fashionable today than earnest folk songs about changing the world, and there are even fewer songs that mention historic dates in a way that would be meaningful to anybody. “Hey Nelly Nelly” manages to do both, and it would be completely unknown today if not for a handful of recordings by Judy Collins. Still, you have to admire Silverstein and co-writer Jim Friedman for giving it a try.

What song do you know that almost no one else remembers?

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Ask Dr. Babooner

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Dear Dr. Babooner,

My girlfriend has got this thing for extreme winter sports. She is after me to go with her to see “Crashed Ice” in St. Paul this weekend, which I have read a little bit about. It appears the idea is to go as fast as you can on ice skates down a steep hill inside the padded boundaries of a course that ends, thankfully, near a hospital.

There are sudden drops, awkward turns and bumpy stretches and it all seems so wrong, Dr. Babooner. Ice is supposed to be flat and smooth and enclosed in a heated arena where I can buy a beer and a hot dog. That’s winter sports, to me! But she says my ideas are “too tame.” Friends tell me I should be thrilled to have such a fun-loving, outdoorsy girlfriend who can get excited about a raucous event where weekend daredevils risk concussions and broken bones just for the privilege of saying they did it!

I don’t get a kick out of seeing blood on the ice and limbs twisted at weird angles, but I’m starting to wonder if my girlfriend does!

Dr. Babooner, I’d rather go to “Crashed Couch”, an event where I throw myself on a short, padded course that sits in front of the TV, and the crazy, impossible goal is to stay awake all the way to the end (of the movie).

Are we incompatible?

Sincerely,
Jack, a Dull Boy

I told Jack that yes, he and his girlfriend are incompatible and if he doesn’t want to spend the rest of his life standing outside with his frozen toes surrounded by empty cans of Red Bull, he should break off the relationship right now. That, or encourage his girlfriend to become a Crashed Ice participant so he can go wait for her indoors, in the emergency room.

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

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Artichoke Bruschetta C.S.I.

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Yesterday’s post was intended to start a conversation about marketing, but I’m amazed at how carefully at least three baboons examined the photo of my Artichoke Bruschetta jars for evidence about what goes on behind the scenes here at Trail World HQ. I guess it’s just human nature. Because I say so little about it, my life must seem mysterious and exotic and just a tiny glimpse allows fertile imaginations to run wild.

Oh, what tales they tell!

How else can I explain Dan in Woodbury’s generous compliment – that I am as careful and organized as Dan and his grandfather – that I clean jars and use them to save nuts and bolts in a basement workshop. A basement workshop? Dan, I can only imagine you have something downstairs that resembles the Bat Cave. My basement is a workshop for mice!

Or tim’s observation that one jar was dated (“11/14”) and one wasn’t – a clear indication that somehow I knew the second jar would be gone soon, thus there was no reason to date it. Yes tim, but how does this connect to the fact that the victim had a glob of Artichoke Bruschetta lodged in his windpipe? C’mon, put the pieces together, man!

And then there’s Steve, who took the time to learn that Artichoke Bruschetta is a delicacy in the frozen midwest, with one jar costing in excess of $7 at Cub! Outrageous! And here you thought I was eating the low-priced spread! Am I no longer one of the 99%? What did you expect, Steve? Of course I have extravagant tastes – I own my own blog! And believe it or not, at this very moment I AM drinking a glass of champagne, flavored with Grey Poupon!

Truly I am flattered by your interest, and sorely tempted to concoct some elaborate explanation as to why I saved the jars, why one had the date written on the label, and how I can afford to live the extravagant life of an Artichoke eater when by rights I should barely be able to afford ordinary groceries. But that would take some extra effort, and at this point the truth is easier.

Dan, the jars are clean because I recycle them, and I read somewhere that they’re supposed to be clean before you put them in the bin. I always try to do what I’m told. Boring, I know.

tim, one jar is dated 11/14 because that’s when I opened it and I wanted to remember how long it had been in the fridge for the next time I decided to make pizza. One unfortunate characteristic of Artichoke Bruschetta is that it looks like a science experiment from the first moment you twist off the top. I didn’t trust myself to know if the stuff could be safely eaten the next time I opened the jar, which turned out to be about six weeks later. Being cautious, I decided staying healthy was worth the expense and I bought new jar, dumping the old and yes, rinsing the container.

And Steve, what can I say? Yes, I am an effete Bruschetta-eating snob who is out of touch with the common American. I have worked at government funded non-profits all my life while indulging in a hard-to-support fondness for foreign delicacies served on toast! For this reason alone I decided it would be a waste of my time to run for President. And yet, though I have forsaken my opportunity to lead this nation as I was meant to do, you insist on smearing my name in this way, just as a blob of Artichoke Bruschetta is smeared across a piece of anti-American crisp bread! At long last sir, have you no decency?

As for the not-so-subtle suggestion that my spending is out of control, I refer to tim’s question about the second Artichoke Bruschetta jar. tim guessed that I must have known jar #2 would not be around long because I didn’t take the time to write a date on the label. Yes, Mr. Holmes, that is correct. Not wanting to waste another overpriced jar, I used only the amount that was necessary for that night’s pizza, and bagged the rest in carefully pizza-topping-sized amounts that are now waiting in the freezer so they won’t spoil like the unlucky contents of the jar labeled “11/14”.

I’m sorry that the truth is so dull, but there it is. Believe it or not, that bland flavor in your mouth is very similar to the taste of Artichoke Bruschetta!

Have you ever been misled by a photograph?

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New & Improved!

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When it comes to marketing, I’m promotionally impaired. I never could get the hang of touting stuff, so it should come as no surprise that I’m baffled by my Artichoke Bruschetta. When I bought and opened a jar in November, it was just fine, especially as a substitute for red sauce as a base on some homemade pizza. But when I went back and bought another jar of the very same product in January, the label had changed.

New recipe? How much of a recipe is required to make Artichoke Bruschetta? Both jars list the same ingredients (Artichokes, Sunflower Oil, Red Bell Pepper, Yellow Bell Pepper, Fresh Garlic, Lemon Juice, Salt, Fresh Parsley, Oregano, Sodium Acid Sulfate, Pepper and Ground Chili Pepper) and the very same “Nutrition Facts”, right down to the last single gram of protein.

Maybe they did change something significant in the formulation, but why paste a “New Recipe” banner on the label? I can imagine only three possible thought balloons hovering over the heads of Cub shoppers as they take note of this product on the condiment shelves.

1) Bought it and liked it.
2) Bought it and hated it.
3) Artichoke what?

For the person who bought and liked it, the banner is reason to worry.
For the person who bought and hated it, the banner confirms their initial reaction – Yuk!
And for the the rest, the banner says Artichoke Bruschetta is hard to get right.

I don’t know beans about marketing. What am I missing? How does “New Recipe” move the product? Especially when you could use the same valuable label space to say something that might actually improve sales, like “Now With More Artichokes!” or “Now With Fewer Artichokes!”

What phrase would YOU add to the label?

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Happy Landings

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Today is the anniversary of Amelia Earhart’s 1935 flight from Honolulu to San Francisco.

She’s not famous for this one, though it was a long solo ordeal that could have ended badly. Earhart is best known for the trip from which she didn’t return, inaccurately memorialized in my favorite song about a real event – Amelia Earhart’s Last Flight.

That last flight, still a mystery, is exceptionally song worthy. It’s hard to imagine a better chorus than this:

There’s a beautiful, beautiful field,
far away in a land that is fair.
Happy landings to you, Amelia Earhart.
Farewell, first lady of the air.

I thought it would be fun to listen to the song on this, the anniversary of a flight where she actually DID have a happy, though tired, landing. The Aberdeen, South Dakota American-News published this as part of its account:

“I had a lot of sandwiches with me but I didn’t eat any of them. I did eat a hard-boiled egg, which was quite a luxury, and drank some tomato juice. I feel just filthy and I want a bath.”
Miss Earhart said commercial flights between the islands and California were “entirely feasible.”
“They are inevitable,” she said, “and we’ll be flying everywhere in a short time.”

She was right, of course.

Describe your most arduous airplane journey.