We are ALL Dr. Babooner.

Dear Dr. Babooner,

I’m exhausted from years of having to think about the 2012 elections. Now that it’s over, I’m looking forward to a little entertainment. Problem is, we have only one free night this weekend.

So I invited my husband to go with me to see a big hero movie that’s opening today. The main character is iconic. Larger than life. Admired. Beloved, even. I e-mailed the trailer to him to get him excited about the prospect of spending a couple of hours in the dark with me and this well-known character. My hope is that we’d both feel all action-y afterwards. Take a look and tell me it’s not amazing!

But here’s the thing, Dr. Babooner. My husband wrote back and said he’d LOVE to go see a big hero movie that’s opening this weekend about an iconic character who is beloved and larger than life. He said he was excited at the thought of sitting in the dark with me and this well-known character. I was thrilled, until he said that afterwards we could have a really intense … political discussion.

Then I looked at the video he put in his e-mail.

Now I don’t know what to do!

Do I want frenetic spy thrills in a tense and gray modern London, or frenetic political jawboning in a tense and gray 19th century America?

My husband and I want to be together, but I’m afraid this choice is making it very difficult.

Conflictedly,
A House Divided.

I told A.H.D. she should flip a coin and live with the result. Really, it’s hard to go wrong, so why agonize? But that’s just one opinion. What do you think, Dr. Babooner?

Today’s post is a request for a personal favor that came from perennial sophomore Bubby Spamden.

Hey Mr. C.,

How about that election, eh? I was sure inspired by it, and suddenly I’m feeling really optimistic about my future!

It’s not that I’m a big Obama fan or anything like that, but I thought his speech was awesome at the end when they lit up some massive confetti fountains.

That was amazing!

I don’t know much about what he said, but finishing in a blizzard of flying red, white, and blue strips makes it all seem so much more terrific! And trying to watch the president and his family move around through that biodegradable blizzard was just a really, really cool effect – like Instagram, but in real life.

I’m pretty sure I want to work in the confetti industry when I grow up.

I’m not sure if I’m going to sell confetti cannons or just be one of the assembly line workers who cuts the paper into the shape of bats or balloons, but I know I’m going to do something to bring more confetti into the world! Call it a mission. I’m pretty sure I’m going to be totally dedicated to it.

And it’s also a smart plan because confetti is getting to be more acceptable at big public events and celebrations, including weddings! Throwing rice is out – now it’s confetti launchers and customized shapes. Confetti is OK just about everywhere, except funerals.

But that could change.

My folks used to look at the condition of my room and tell me I would only ever get hired by someone who really wanted to make a mess. I hope I can make their dream for me come true!

Do you know anybody in the confetti business who is looking for an intern or a cannon loader?

Your pal,
Bubby.

I told Bubby I would love to help him, but I don’t know anybody outside the very small industry I’ve worked in for the past 40 years. I certainly do wish him well, though, as he tries to get a foothold in the confetti biz. I assume success there is less about what you throw, and more about whom you know.

Describe a time when knowing the right person changed everything.

Parts of the New York Subway System are underwater following Hurricane Sandy. It will take a while to get things back to normal – water has to be pumped out of tunnels and salty residue must be removed from the rails. Think of all the wet garbage and drowned rats! Ugh.

There is an underground world in Manhattan. This storm-induced interruption in service will force regular subway travelers to take busses, taxis, cars, or their own feet to the next destination. I wonder how that will change their experience, and if any of them will hesitate to return to the tunnels once the subways are up (or should I say down?) and running.

A fascinating subway-based project of the New York Public Library is this extensive series of photographs of people submerged in their books. Underground. Click on any of the photos and you will find out what the engulfed travelers are reading.

In some cases the photographer doesn’t know what the rider is reading, and apparently doesn’t ask. In such a case, the question is opened up to online readers, who invariably come up with an answer. Here’s an example of a query about a book. Here’s a close up of the cover. Good luck with that. How do people figure it out?

Only in New York could you do this sort of thing. May the subways be restored quickly!

Can you read while in motion? What would you read on the subway?

Today’s post comes from perennial sophomore Bubby Spamden of Wendell Wilkie High School.

Hey Mr. C.,

We were talking in class today about the latest evolution news – that maybe some of our recent ancestors were spending more time than we think up in the trees.

Our substitute biology teacher, Mr. Leakey, really got excited, and he kind of challenged us to think about it, which is what a teacher is supposed to do I guess but it sort of took us by surprise. Our regular teacher, Mr. Scopes, doesn’t even say the word “evolution” in class without looking out in the hallway first to be sure there’s not some parent or someone out there listening. I think he’s nervous about getting complaints. They say a teacher can’t get fired for stuff like that, but some kids think Mr. S has a few fossils hanging in his closet and he just wants to keep a low profile.

But Mr. Leakey was tossing out the “E” word like nobody’s business, and he kind of got me excited about it too. He talked about the shapes of shoulder blades in these old skeletons, and some really key changes that happened when our kin came down out of the trees and stood tall on the savannah, looking out over the tops of the grasses to see predators more easily and freeing up their hands to do stuff like using tools and learning how to deal blackjack.

I mean, I like to climb trees anyway so the thought of coming from tree-swinging relatives is kind of cool. All the Aunts and Uncles I’ve met are pretty boring ground-based life forms. I couldn’t picture any of them on a stepladder, even. Not to mention being up in the canopy, y’know?

But my neighbor Bethany P. thought it was gross to say we came from apes and she said she was going to tell her mom, who is kind of a big wheel in some mega-church out in the suburbs. That was alright with Mr. Leakey. He said “Tell her to swing on down here if she has a problem with it. I’ll tell her what I think and check her over for lice at the same time.”

Bethany got a little ticked off. Mad, I mean. I don’t think she has ticks.

Anyway, Mr. Scopes is back tomorrow and I’m guessing we won’t see Mr. Leakey again. He was too interesting to last very long at Wilkie High, anyway. But he did get me thinking. It’s kind of been a few years since I’ve done this, but now that the leaves have dropped off, I’m going to go out and see how high I can get in that maple tree in front of our house.

I hope Bethany is watching!

Your pal,
Bubby

Share a tree-climbing memory.

Raking the yard yesterday afternoon, it occurred to me that I would enjoy the chore a bit more if I could convince myself that each leaf was actually a $100 bill. Because I’ve seen only one or two $100 bills in my entire life, my natural disbelief willingly disengaged from the task at hand, and this idle fantasy became real.

Yes, money DOES grow on trees. And then it falls at your feet. The lawn was littered with Benjamins. Quite suddenly I felt that I WAS scooping up armloads of crackly, crunchy cash.

“So this is how Carlos Slim Helu feels,” I thought, as I stuffed another fistful of wealth into a bio-degradable plastic sack. “There is too much money! At least there’s too much out where people can see it!”

I felt the neighbors looking at me as they drove by.

The air was full of dollar dust as I knelt on the bag and squeezed the air out. The thin plastic skin was so tight I could see enigmatic smiles on all the air-starved Franklin faces inside.

“How much cash is on this lawn?”, I wondered. I tried to estimate but quickly realized I would need the help of a fifth grader to do that, and they were all in school learning that you have to become educated because you will not find a fortune in the crabgrass.

It didn’t matter. I had become the kind of person who doesn’t need to count stuff because I have stuff counters on retainer! So rich, I do not need to think about how rich I am, or what it takes to support my extravagant lifestyle. Just get the moolah out of sight so people won’t bother me while my it keeps me afloat. And as I piled my moneybags by the curb for pickup, I thought about all my trucks converging on Switzerland, or the Cayman Islands.

It was a craven, selfish daydream, but it got the lawn nice and clean. I am sorry about fighting with squirrels for the scraps. But it’s MY YARD!

What would you do with a bag of money?