Another day, another exclamation-loaded flyer from Wally at Wally’s Intimida – home of the Sherpa Sport Utility Vehicle.
September is “Side With Sherpa” Month at Wally’s Intimida!
Believe it or not, Fall is just a few weeks away. And with Fall comes a change in the weather, but if the events of recent weeks are any guide, that means we’ll simply trade one violent extreme for another!
We’ve seen already seen Drought. Earthquakes. And Hurricanes! All bad!
Michele Bachmann thinks God is sending these calamities to get us to think more like she does. She’s entitled to her opinion, but that sounds a little self-important to me. If God really generates these storms to change our thinking, He’s clearly saying we should all stop being so stingy and buy a new Sherpa!
The Sherpa - It's a Butte!
Why? Only a Sherpa is big enough to withstand the worst that Nature can throw at us. And nature seems intent on emptying the arsenal! The Sherpa can straddle the largest geological fault. It can lean into the heaviest hurricane-force wind. And with 20 cup holders, there’s no reason to worry about drought, as long as you’ve got an extra bendy straw!
Yes, we’re under assault by nature! The Earth is trying to kill us! So why pretend everything is OK by putting yourself in a tiny “green” car that sacrifices comfort to placate the enemy? God is upping the ante and telling us it’s “on” in the Man vs. Environment Contest.
Yes, the Sherpa drinks gas. Yes, the Sherpa exhales carbon. Yes, the Sherpa drips oil. That’s what cars are supposed to do. It’s cultural! The Sherpa is Proud to be an Auto-American, unabashedly hostile to Air, Water and the Earth itself.
A Peak At Your New Sherpa!
Think about the happy times you’ve spent in nature, and think about the happy times you’ve spent in your car. Who wins? Be honest!
So it’s time to choose sides! You can cower while you’re crammed into your electric roller skate, if that’s what makes you feel secure. Or you can Sit Tall during “Side With Sherpa” Month, perched atop the World’s Largest Car!
Climb up and Hunker Down in a new Sherpa from Intimida from Wally’s!
It’s a Mighty Big Car!
It looks like Wally is going with the militant revolutionary class warfare script for his Fall sales pitch. Appealing to the base, or laying down the law?
Today’s guest post was provided by a correspondent who wishes his/her identity, gender and species to remain confidential, due to the usual scorn that accompanies such reports.
THE CORNUCOPIA BEE
August 27 2011
Cornelia Copacetic Gossip Columnist
Calls came pouring in to the Cornucopia Bee, as well as the Bayfield County, Wisconsin Sheriff’s Office reporting sightings of a group of baboons roaming the Bayfield Area Peninsula over the weekend. Five adult baboons and one small dog were reported at a cabin on Roman’s Point on the South Shore of Lake Superior, the Big Top Chautauqua near Bayfield Thursday evening, and the Village Inn in Cornucopia Friday morning. Sightings of groups of 2 and 3 baboons and the dog were reported at area trails, beaches and shops, as well.
Although all the callers noted that the baboons were very odd, they were not destructive to people or place and simply seemed interested in scenery, as well as sites of interest in the area. The small dog seemed particularly interested in one baboon, but our research regarding interspecies attachments have shed no light on this phenomenon. Callers did note that these great apes consumed great quantities of food, beer, wine and coffee, but that as long as they were supplied with the above named items they were placid and chatty.
Spies outside the Cornucopia cabin reported hearing singing, conversations about books, authors, music, baboon children, relatives, area history, and baboon divorces. Food also seemed to be of great importance to the apes. While no actual baboons were captured or photographed, the visitors pictured below confirmed the sightings and claimed they were under the impression that such creatures were plentiful in the region.
Nothing could be further from the truth.
L to R; Linda, Steve, tim, Krista, Jacque
Dear Bee Readers, should you sight baboons on the peninsula again, please give Cornelia a call first, then call the Sheriff should that be needed. As far as we know baboons are not native to the peninsula. Other speculation did reach my ears, however, that this may have been a group of Big Foot (or would that be feet?) invading our fair village.
If you saw Bigfoot (or Nessie or a Flying Saucer), would you report it, or keep mum to preserve your reputation?
My brother, his wife and their two snotty kids are coming to stay with us for the weekend and maybe longer – refugees from their home in lower Manhattan.
They never miss an opportunity to tell us how wonderful and cosmopolitan it is to live in the heart of one of the world’s biggest cities, about all the restaurants they have down there, the transit, the music, the pulse and the pace and the privileges of having everything close at hand.
Wherever we like to go, they’ve been someplace nicer. Whatever we prefer to eat, they’re used to something better. However we decide to entertain ourselves, they’ve seen, heard or done something more interesting.
But now they and at least 369,999 others have been ordered to evacuate from low-lying areas of New York City. The transit system will shut down, and they’re coming to live with us in New Jersey.
Oh, and by the way, the storm is coming here too.
They say the system is so massive and full of moisture that the greatest danger will be from flooding. And it is possible that the wind will push over trees that can’t stand upright in the sodden ground, taking down power lines and causing widespread blackouts.
What’s worse, all the major league games have been cancelled.
Great. My brother’s family in the house, and we can’t even ignore each other by watching sports on TV. I’ll have to sit there and see their ugly mugs in high-def AND 3-D!
Dr. Babooner, I know I don’t have a choice because they’re family and they’ve been forced out of their home, but how can I survive the triple stresses of these obnoxious visitors, a hurricane AND a blackout?
Storm Victim
First off, Dr. Babooner doesn’t appreciate “ugly mug” references. Take a good look at Dr. Babooner herself! I’ve made my portrait unusually large today to mirror the size and intensity of Hurricane Irene. I believe you can grow to love any face, given time and a positive attitude. And a positive attitude is certainly lacking in this scenario. Storm Victim, you should try to look on the bright side of all the disruption, damage and despair that is about to descend on your extended family. Fallen trees and power outages are permanent memory-makers! Our typical day-to-day dealings quickly fade into the background and are eventually forgotten. Even people who are accustomed to a higher-than-usual lifestyle come to find the luxurious details of their lives rather dreary. By contrast, the weekend you are about to spend, staring at your brother and his family in the dim candlelight as an 80-mile per hour wind tries to tear the roof off your house, is one that you’ll never forget. Enhance the memories by creating keepsakes. Plan an art project everyone can work on – something that involves torn chunks of asphalt shingles, ceiling insulation and wax drippings!
But that’s just one opinion. What do YOU think, Dr. Babooner?
It’s odd to see news about New York City preparing for a possible direct hit by Hurricane Irene. Even though the chances are still slim at this point, it takes time to batten down so many glittering hatches, so New Yorkers are taking the prudent course by calling off concerts, moving up the timing of sporting events and even preparing to shut down the transit system.
In Washington, they’ve regretfully cancelled the dedication of the Martin Luther King Jr. Memorial. Harry Johnson, the president of the foundation that built the memorial, spoke of disappointment and resignation. The dedication won’t happen on the anniversary of the “I Have a Dream Speech”, but there will be other opportunities to celebrate.
“The memorial is going to be there forever,” he said.
And Hurricane Irene will come and go. The sooner it goes, the better. Here’s a famous old song to send it on its way.
The Russians launched an unmanned rocket loaded with several tons of supplies bound for the International Space Station earlier this week and while it got off to a good start, the delivery faltered and the mission fell back to Earth.
News reports explain that this event is cause for serious concern now that Russian boosters are the only reliable method we have for getting to the space station. The shutting down of the U.S. Space Shuttle program means the next American in space will have to get there atop a rocket similar to the one that just had an unplanned landing in Siberia. No doubt NASA’s decision makers are looking at this very closely. But before we point fingers, let’s remember that our own space program has suffered several genuine disasters that involved tragic losses, and yet we sent good people back up in what was basically the same equipment.
This recent Russian space failure resulted in no loss of life, so far as we know. But there were several intriguing line near the end of the article which forces me to hedge …
The rocket and Progress ship crashed in the dense Siberian forest. The Russian Ministry of Emergency Situations said rocket debris landed in three separate areas of the Altai region in southern Siberia, which borders Mongolia.
The regional governor, Yuri Antaradonov, said the police had cautioned people to stay clear of the wreckage, as it could be contaminated with toxic fuel. His only concern, he said, was that some people may have been camped in the forest at the time of the crash because “it is the season of collecting pine nuts” in that part of Siberia.
Forget the East Coast surprise Earthquake and the looming menace of Hurricane Irene. What if you were out in the beautifully dense Siberian forest collecting pine nuts when you noticed your reindeer was gazing up at a rapidly growing, rumbling speck in the August sky?
Does this mean pine nuts are going to be even MORE expensive?
What is the most surprising thing you’ve seen overhead?
The lyrical half of the legendary songwriting team Leiber and Stoller, Jerry Leiber passed away yesterday in Los Angeles at the age of 78.
What a shame, but what a great life he had, doing work he loved with his friend (and sometimes adversary).
Leiber was the lyricist, but he and Stoller worked as a team, sometimes quite quickly. Here’s a great exchange from a 1990 Rolling Stone interview:
Leiber: “Hound Dog” took like twelve minutes. That’s not a complicated piece of work. But the rhyme scheme was difficult. Also the metric structure of the music was not easy. “Kansas City” was maybe eight minutes, if that. Writing the early blues was spontaneous. You can hear the energy in the work.
Stoller: In the early days we’d go back and forth note for note, syllable for syllable, word for word in the process of creating.
Like telepathy?
Leiber: We’re a unit. The instincts are very closely aligned. I could write, “Take out the papers and the trash” [“Yakety Yak,” by the Coasters], and he’ll come up with “Or you don’t get no spendin’ cash.”
Everybody has a favorite Leiber and Stoller song, maybe several. There will be a lot of attention placed on “Hound Dog” and the work they did with Elvis, but my favorite from the L & S oeuvre is this one.
Here’s what Jerry Leiber said when asked what makes “Stand By Me” so appealing.
“It’s the bass pattern. There are lots of great songs. But that is an insidious piece of work. It can put a hole through your head. It’s not a great song. It’s a nice song. But it’s a great record.”
Here’s another favorite – the first act ending sequence from the Leiber & Stoller musical, “Smokey Joe’s Cafe’.” Simplicity and humor make Leiber’s lyrics stand out.
Song lists and accolades are everywhere today. What’s your favorite Leiber and Stoller song?
Yesterday my mom told me she was taking me out for ice cream.
I got kind of excited about that but instead of going to Jake’s we wound up at some thing in a parking lot where all these geeky people were standing around talking and waiting in line to meet this one guy who looked like he just walked out of a magazine picture.
Somebody said he’s the Governor of Texas and I thought ‘What’s he doing here in New Hampshire?’ I know from school that Texas is a pretty big state, so you’d think whoever was Governor of it would have to be watching it pretty much all the time or he’d miss something.
Anyway, my mom told me we were going to wait in line and meet this guy no matter how long it took, and I said, ‘What about my ice cream?’
And she said I would get my ice cream after I talked to him and asked him how old the Earth is.
Beats me why she wanted me to ask the Governor of Texas how old the Earth is. What I learned in school is that people from Texas don’t care about much that isn’t all about Texas, and last time I heard, most of the Earth wasn’t, so why would HE know how old it is?
I don’t really care how old the Earth is either. But I do care about ice cream, so I said I would do it if it meant I could have a waffle cone.
And then she said if I asked about Evolution I could have a slice of cake also! Man! What sweet deal!
Or so I thought! But you’ll see in the video that I didn’t even get to ask that question.
With mom feeding questions into my ear like that, it got to be real hard to concentrate on what was going on around me. I got confused and didn’t even ask him why he didn’t believe in science like mom told me to. And then she said we weren’t going for ice cream ’cause I hadn’t earned it!
Dr. Babooner, is it fair to get punished like that for not asking questions that weren’t even your questions to begin with? I hear all those big TV anchors have something in their ear where somebody is always talking to them, and if this is what it’s like, I guess I don’t want to be Brian Williams or Wolf Blitzer anymore. It’s just too tough to concentrate! If I had been allowed to ask what I wanted, I would have asked to see a horse, or if he didn’t have one of those, a gun, because I hear that everybody from Texas carries one.
But instead I got all this whispering and arm squeezing, a real snootful of the Governor of Texas and his after shave, and no ice cream and no cake. Not even a candy bar or a bag of Peanut M & M’s. And definitely no horse.
Should I have done something differently? I feel cheated!
Respectfully,
Mom’s Mouthpiece
I told Mom’s Mouth that he had every right to feel cheated. His mom went back on her word because if I read the story properly, there were no conditions applied to the initial idea of going out for ice cream.
To add qualifying events as a trigger for the ice cream AFTER the arrangement has been proposed and agreed to is unethical, and your Mom should be told to stop manipulating you that way.
Next time your mom offers to take you out for a special dessert, get it in writing first, and be sure to read the fine print in case there are any weird conditions or expectations.
After all, learning from previous mistakes is what evolution is all about!
But that’s just one opinion. What do YOU think, Dr. Babooner?
Ever since I got interested in theater in high school, the thought of moving to Minneapolis took hold of me. Whether instinct, destiny, fate, or what have you, I was drawn to the City of Lakes, home of the famed Guthrie Theater and the Jewel of the Midwest. Green Bay, Wisconsin was not a small town, but back then it was just Packers, beer and cheese it seemed.
After a year and a half of college in Green Bay and a year stint working in a creamery, I was definitely ready to fulfill my dream of acting and finishing my degree at the U of MN. The final step was registering for classes in person during the summer at a prescribed day and time at the Minneapolis campus. I took a few days off work from the creamery and got a friend to drive with me. I didn’t want to go alone to the “big city”, so we found a cheap motel room close to campus. Anybody know of the Gopher Motel? There was no internet to check these things out, so I just winged it as best I could using a (paper!) map.
We arrived at our seedy hotel room early in the evening on a Monday night, excited about our adventure. On a whim, we called the Guthrie just to see what was playing. Back then, they had Monday night Rush tickets with a show at 8pm – and they had a few seats available for Monsieur de Moliere playing that night. It was nearly 7:15pm – should we do it? The person at Guthrie ticket office assured us we were only 15-20 minutes away. With frantic excitement, we called a cab, got dressed and ready for our special night on the town.
We arrived with just enough time to buy the last $5 (five dollars!) rush tickets and the last ones seated. Unbelievably, these were the best seats (known as house seats, which are saved to the last minute in case of mistakes or surprise VIPs). While local critics panned this particular play, I was absolutely enthralled. I think it was about the life of Moliere and his benefactor, King Louis IV. Everything about the production was amazing to me.
I was seated on the aisle, close to front and center. I’ve never had such excellent seats again at the Guthrie! At one point in play, the actor playing King Louis XIV was in the aisle next to me, seated on his “throne” while watching or talking to Moliere onstage. I just stared at him. His costume was magnificent – a white satin with rich gold brocade material on everything –hat, waist coat, pantaloons, shoes – with poufs, gold braid and lace accenting every detail. A long elaborately curled wig adorned his head. The costume was gorgeous, excessive yet tasteful as was the fashion of the period.
I clearly remember ogling that costume so close to me and thrilling to the amazing acting I experienced during the production. My first few years in Minneapolis, I felt the Guthrie could do no wrong.. Every time I attended a play there was a thrilling event for me. Before kids arrived, I had season tickets for 2 years for cheap seats on Sunday matinees (I hate driving at night). Eventually, I realized even the Guthrie had occasional clinkers, but it never dimmed my enthusiasm and the special thrill I felt each and every time I went to that magical place.
There is always a bigger town somewhere. Name one that boasts a unique and intimidating experience you’re excited and afraid to have?
Since I happily made a big fuss over the birthday of cockroach and cat poet Don Marquis a few weeks ago, it would feel wrong somehow to neglect another towering name in the pantheon of not-really-taken-too-seriously rhymers.
Today is Ogden Nash‘s birthday, born in Rye, New York in 1902.
He tried being a stock broker and a school teacher before turning to making up words for a living. It was his good fortune to live during a time when people enjoyed puns. His funny little poems made him famous. Nash was a familiar guest on radio in its heyday, though I can only imagine the pressure he was under to keep the clever quips coming. I hope it was easy for him.
Ogden Nash is best known for his very short works. As in:
Candy is dandy
but liquor is quicker.
And:
The ostrich roams the great Sahara.
Its mouth is wide, its neck is narra.
It has such long and lofty legs,
I’m glad it sits to lay its eggs.
But here he breaks the pattern, stretches it out, and gives us something that still feels true today:
I find it very difficult to enthuse
Over the current news.
Just when you think that at least the outlook is so black that it can grow no blacker, it worsens,
And that is why I do not like the news, because there has never been an era when so many things were going so right for so many of the wrong persons.
And then he gets extremely wordy (and funny). At least I recognize myself in this one:
There is one thing that ought to be taught in all the colleges,
Which is that people ought to be taught not to go around always making apologies.
I don’t mean the kind of apologies people make when they run over you or borrow five dollars or step on your feet,
Because I think that is sort of sweet;
No, I object to one kind of apology alone,
Which is when people spend their time and yours apologizing for everything they own.
You go to their house for a meal,
And they apologize because the anchovies aren’t caviar or the partridge is veal;
They apologize privately for the crudeness of the other guests,
And they apologzie publicly for their wife’s housekeeping or their husband’s jests;
If they give you a book by Dickens they apologize because it isn’t by Scott,
And if they take you to the theater, they apologize for the acting and the dialogue and the plot;
They contain more milk of human kindness than the most capacious diary can,
But if you are from out of town they apologize for everything local and if you are a foreigner they apologize for everything American.
I dread these apologizers even as I am depicting them,
I shudder as I think of the hours that must be spend in contradicting them,
Because you are very rude if you let them emerge from an argument victorious,
And when they say something of theirs is awful, it is your duty to convince them politely that it is magnificent and glorious,
And what particularly bores me with them,
Is that half the time you have to politely contradict them when you rudely agree with them,
So I think there is one rule every host and hostess ought to keep with the comb and nail file and bicarbonate and aromatic spirits on a handy shelf,
Which is don’t spoil the denouement by telling the guests everything is terrible, but let them have the thrill of finding it out for themselves.
When someone begs you for a compliment, do you deliver?
I loved this New York Times story about Hamid Chaudhry, the Pakistan-born operator of a Dairy Queen in Reading, Pennsylvania. He has made his shop a cornerstone of the community by getting involved and giving back. The reporter, Dan Barry, describes the proof he saw of a special relationship between an immigrant and his adopted home town, all of it posted on the walls –
The Cumru Elementary School thanks Hamid. The Mifflin Park Elementary School thanks Hamid. The Brecknock Elementary School thanks Hamid. The Governor Mifflin intermediate, middle and high schools thank Hamid. The Boy Scouts and the Girl Scouts, the soccer leagues and the baseball leagues, the Crime Alert program, the home for adults with mental retardation — they all thank Hamid.
And here comes the owner, Hamid Chaudhry, in the midst of another 80-hour workweek, fresh from curling another soft-serve. As he makes his way to a corner table, customers hunched over chicken-strip baskets and sundaes call out his name, and he calls back theirs.
“Hi, Tracey; I have that check for you.” “Bye, Mrs. Brady. All good for the homecoming?” “Bye, Mr. Rush. How was the Blizzard? Want another one?”
Great guy. Great story. Even better because it includes ice cream. It sounds like Chaudhry’s DQ has become the town square.
The biggest surprise in the story? It cost him $413,000 to buy the place. Yow! Even if I had that much, I don’t think I’d bet it all on people’s love of Dilly Bars, and I find Blizzards irresistible. I guess that’s the difference between me and a real entrepreneur.
The sort of business where so many people feel welcome and connected is a boon for any town – large or small. When I was growing up in Montrose, New York, our gathering place was the convenience store down on the State Highway – a centrally located establishment with a big sign that featured the cutout of a police officer blowing a whistle, and a huge halting hand outstretched, commanding you to “Stop N’ Shop”.
What did they have there? Everything. Who did I see when I went? Everyone!
Ever live in a town with an unofficial meeting place?
Trail Baboon 