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Ask Dr. Babooner

Dear Dr. Babooner,

I write a silly blog six days a week because I like writing. But like many writers, I also like NOT writing. More than either of these things, I like Having Written.

There is satisfaction in a job well done, and also in a job that is just … finished. The doing is something I could do without, but without the doing, nothing would get done. I know this is confusing.

Once upon a time I had a job where I was paid to confront these contradictions, but in another strange reversal, for the past few years I’ve paid for the privilege of doing it. I didn’t think the money mattered very much until it disappeared.

My blog can be about anything, but one thing it is NOT about is selling stuff. I decided to spare my readers the inconvenience of looking at commercial nonsense alongside my own non-profit nonsense. In fact, I pay extra to keep my blog advertising-free. But now I’m being offered the chance to allow ads to be placed on my page with a real possibility that I will get some money in return for it.

How much money? Almost nothing, I think. But no promises have been made, and “almost nothing” is certainly not a guarantee. It could turn out to be absolutely nothing.

Dr. Babooner, I’m concerned that allowing ads on the page would clutter up the scenery and make my readers feel exploited. But sometimes when I’m writing and wish I was NOT writing, I’d like to think there was a nickel or two to be gained by persevering.

What should I do?

Sincerely,
Conflicted

I told Conflicted he should find some roundabout way of asking his readers if it would be OK to try the advertising thing. I suggested that he use some thinly veiled scenario that anybody could see is a description of the actual situation. Even if some people say they don’t like the idea and others simply don’t get it, when the ads show up and the complaining starts, he could say it was all a joke, or a mistake, or some sort of performance art.

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

Arctic Art

Although I work with words and audio most of the time, I have great admiration for anyone who can take a good photograph. As discriminating baboons know, there’s a lot more to it than point-and-click. And for wildlife photographer Paul Nicklen, there’s a whole lot of physical courage involved as he steps out into Arctic weather and submerges himself in frozen oceans. Nicklen has worked at the top of his craft, producing features for National Geographic. He’s going to be speaking tonight at the University of Minnesota – part of a program by the U’s Institute on the Environment.

If you can only watch the first five minutes of this TED talk, you’ll get a sense for depth of his commitment and the quality of his work. And if you make it through the first five, you’ll feel a strong urge to watch the rest – but be warned! There are penguin innards on display. Cute!

Another measure of Nicklen’s intensity – I’d call it a day and send in my photos after swimming with one Leopard Seal. He took a dive with 30! No wonder the photos are so good.

Describe the best picture you’ve ever taken.

Car Cover

A freshly assembled and somewhat opportunistic e-mail arrived with the warm spring temperatures and the fresh, healthy weeds sprouting from my lawn.

It’s Spring! And that means it’s time to buy a new car from Wally’s Intimida – Home of the Sherpa!

Hi, Wally here. There’s nothing that’s quite as exciting to me as a new car – especially when it comes from my store and winds up parked in your driveway, or behind your house, or in the case of the Sherpa, around your house, actually STRADDLING the structure!

Yes, that’s right! The Sherpa is the biggest car on the road today – big enough to park over the house so you get the extra measure of protection that only a 100 thousand pound car can give you! And in this time of unpredictable climate change featuring widespread and indiscriminate tornados and tsunamis, that’s an extra measure of comfort you can’t afford to be without!

You may have seen the video of a tornado throwing around tractor-trailers in Dallas. That’s a very bad thing, but no tornado would DARE do that to an Intimida Sherpa. The Sherpa is aggressively massive and distinctly aerodynamic, unlike a semi. A tornado may try to pick it up, but getting a grip on the Sherpa is like trying to grab a wet bar of soap from the shower floor. An incredibly heavy wet bar of soap! And underneath that stubborn soap sits your house, all snug and protected! Isn’t that worth having a few random drops of oil in your roof? Consider it part of the price you pay for peace of mind!

Our parents had dreams for us, and for many those dreams simply won’t come true. What did they want us to have? Good jobs and loving families, of course. But also they wanted us to have nice cars and secure dwellings. Sadly, many people lack even those basics.

Yes, times are still tough, but a fresh wind is blowing. It could be your local tornado. It could be the exhaust from a new Sherpa. Or it could be that people are starting to buy homes and cars again and here at Wally’s Intimida, we don’t want to be left out. That’s why all our Sherpas have to do double duty!

Some have a beautiful dream of a nice little house with a carport. I’m suggesting you make your great big car your houseport! Come on down to Wally’s Intimida today and let’s talk about protecting your abode with a topper from the road – a Sheltering Sherpa from Intimida.

It’s a mighty big, mighty hard-to-pick-up car!

Yours in Security,

Wally

You have to admire the agility of Wally’s pitch, even though pushing the windstorm security aspects of the heavyweight Sherpa on the heels of a major tornado is a bit tacky. Ok, it’s EXTREMELY tacky.

Where do you go when it’s time to take cover?

Ask Dr. Babooner

Dear Dr. Babooner,

My husband’s attention is easily captured by contests.

I patiently worked with him through the heady highs and the heart crushing lows of his sudden obsession with the Mega Millions drawing last Friday. Somehow he convinced himself we were going to win and we would be forced to do something charitable because we would simply run out of things to want for ourselves.

He became completely worked up over the difficult philanthropic choice he knew we would face – whether to set up an organization to rehabilitate invasive Asian Carp who want to stop leaping, or create a home for Facebook Orphans – the sad children whose parents won’t friend them.

But we didn’t win anything at all! Instead of planning our victory announcement, I had to help him do calm-down exercises all through the weekend. Who knew writing explanatory haiku could be so therapeutic?

Now in the harsh light of Monday morning I see that it was all for naught – he’s stuck in a pattern of serial enthrallment, lurching from one popular thing to another.

Today it’s the Final Four.

He can’t stop talking about, thinking about, and fretting over the outcome of tonight’s Kentucky vs. Kansas contest – a basketball game that, to me, is utterly meaningless because it involves two states that I could never tell apart to begin with. One of them is certain to win but I’m sure that by tomorrow morning I won’t be able to remember which one it was.

As my husband pores over the line-ups and number-crunches the statistics, I tell him that these things always seem to come down to a couple of dapper millionaire coaches shouting about fouls with 3.7 seconds on the clock, and then some gawky near-teenager who hasn’t done his calculus homework trying to make a free throw with 0.6 seconds left.

I tell my husband to skip all the pre-game and mid-game angst and just tune in for the last 12.9 seconds. He won’t miss a thing! But words are useless. He doesn’t hear me and I know I won’t be able to get his attention again until Wednesday at the earliest.

Obviously I’m frustrated.

Why do they call it the “Final” Four when everyone knows there will be four more next year? I would be able to take these major sporting events more seriously if they truly represented the end – let’s crown a champion and then never, ever play the game again.

Is that too much to ask?

Sincerely,
Mrs. Fanatic

I told Mr. Fanatic that yes, in fact, it IS Too Much To Ask.

We all find it very easy to insist that other people give up things we don’t like. After all, it would be easy for US to walk away from the lottery and the Final Four – what’s the problem? And it feels great to scoff at these hopeless addicts. But what if someone asked you to stop feeling so superior? That could be a very hard habit to break.

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

Flexi-Bull

Like all other officially registered, photo-ID carrying residents of Minnesota’s 9th Congressional District (all the water surface area in the state), I received this e-mail yesterday afternoon.

Greetings constituents!

Last summer I wrote a newsletter that, like most of my newsletters, went largely unread. That’s OK, I don’t mind. I know my people have busy enough lives without having to pay attention to me! It was a chatty and harmless lark. I talked about how changeable my mind has become, and how I see flexibility as one of my greatest political assets.

Congressman Beechly believes in Floater ID

Since then, and unbeknownst to me, “flexible” has become a dirty word. President Obama as been labeled our profaner in chief for dropping this newest “F” bomb on Russian President Dimitri Medvedev when he said, apparently thinking the conversation was confidential, that he could be “more flexible” on missile system deployment talks after he (Obama) wins re-election. As a result, a lot of people who once wanted to literally bomb the Russians are now up in arms, saying the president’s hint-hint about “flexibility” is a sign that he is getting ready to give away the farm to Vladimir after November 6th.

Nobody thinks he was really talking about taking yoga classes this Fall, although I think that would be a great idea! No, it’s pretty clear that the President was talking about a necessary difference between his required pre-election positions and his possible post-election actions.

This will hurt Obama among consistency-loving voters who want their politicians to not be politicians. And I fully recognize that if there is going to be a Flexibility Backlash (I’m pretty sure that IS a Hot Yoga pose), I may be swept out of office along with the President (good thing we limbered up)! If so, so be it.

But here’s one thing I want you to remember – when I boasted about always “agreeing with the last person I talked to,” that was an iron-clad promise that I intend to keep.
As my constituent, that solemn pledge means you will always have a chance to change my mind. Get to me at the right moment and you could win the lottery – your view could carry the day! Isn’t that a little more exciting than being represented by someone whose ideas are set in stone? People want to have some hope, and I can give them that, because I’m willing to change.

In fact, all that stuff I said about flexibility almost one year ago is pretty much kaput. I only said it to lock down the prevaricator vote, which commits early in the process. Next come the equivocators, who are famously hard to gauge. All politicians have to work these crowds early. We save the one-issue voters and compromise haters for last – say the magic words and they’ll always fall into place.

And yes, by saying this I admit that I am a politician, unless you insist that you really don’t want one, in which case I might turn out to be just an ordinary guy who could greatly benefit from some stretching exercises done in a very warm room to really loud music.

The world is like that, sometimes. Lock your knees if you must, but when you straighten up too fast, it could make you dizzy!

Your Congressman,
Loomis Beechly

Can you touch your toes?

My, What Big Eyes You Have!

The latest word from the murky depths of the ocean is that the Colossal Squid has eyeballs the size of banjos. That is a surprise.

First of all, I didn’t know there was such a thing as the Colossal Squid – I assumed “Giant” was the biggest size they came in, but no. The Giant Squid is dainty compared to the Colossal Squid, though they are both larger than the Ample Squid, the Full Figured Squid and the Voluptuous Squid.

And no other creatures on Earth have such generous amounts of eyeball acreage as these Plus Sized Squids. They live in the deepest, darkest part of the sea, so it makes sense that they’d need bigger blinkers to take in more of the sparse supply of light. But a scientist quoted by the Christian Science Monitor says these vast baby blues are unusual – there are diminishing returns once one’s headlights get larger than an orange.

Good to know the mammoth squid contingent has a rebellious nature, but where does That leave us?

We humans have a fondness for big-eyed animals, judging from the number of watery, pleading looks you see on the faces of online kittens, owls, lemurs, tarsiers, and Marty Feldman, of course. And yet something tells me very few people are likely to be charmed by the biggest eyes on earth, those pleading peepers of the not-so-cuddly, but deserving-of-your-love denizens of the deep, the totally misunderstood Colossal Squid.

Too bad. So for St. Patrick’s Day, an eyeball salute to our friends who inhabit the darkest corners of the ocean floor.

When Squiddly eyes are smiling,
They see near a hundred yards.
And when Squiddly eyes are laughing,
‘Tis because they’ve read your cards.
And when Squiddly eyes are happy,
They are far removed from day,
And when Squiddly eyes are squinting,
Sure, ’tis ’cause they froze that way.

How have you adapted to your environment?

Ask Dr. Babooner

Dear Dr. Babooner,

The last few days have been glorious for the middle of March in a northern climate. I’m absolutely giddy with good feelings about warm sun, comfortable air, moist Earth and the fragrance of growing things that aren’t moldy or cancerous.

But my husband says I should be distressed about this warm spell because it is a sure sign of climate change! “Our planet is dying,” he says, “and you go around grinning like it’s some garden party.”

He tells me to get angry about our addiction to fossil fuels and insists that I should ride my bike to Inver Grove Heights to protest in front of the Koch Brothers refinery because they and their cronies are obstacles to the kind of change we need if we’ll have any hope of saving our planet.

He’s probably right, Dr. Babooner, but on such a beautiful day I just want to put the top down and go for a ride in my convertible. Is that so wrong?

Sincerely,
Guilty About Feeling Fine

I told GAFF that her husband is a fool. You can’t harangue people into feeling differently than they do, especially when it’s about something we take as personally as the weather. Climate change is real, but no Minnesota human can win a popularity contest against a 70 degree day in March. Although he has a point about the driving addiction, she should continue to feel fine. What’s wrong with putting the top down on the convertible and sitting in the driveway with a picnic dinner and a bottle of wine?

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

Casey Einstein

Today is both the birthday of Casey Jones (1863) the brave engineer, and Albert Einstein (1879), the Nobel Prize winning physicist and brainy icon.

There are a couple of famous songs about Casey Jones. This one is by Johnny Cash.

And there’s this not very well known song about Albert Einstein.

But there’s no song at all that combines the two of them.

Well I’m gonna tell you if you insist
Of an engineer who was a physicist
Casey Einstein was the fella’s name
With some fancy calculations, boys, he won his fame.

The Dean called Casey at a quarter to 8
Put him on a train, said “Don’t be late.”
He was goin’ to Stockholm with some other guys
And they’d all be comin’ back here with the Nobel Prize.

C. Einstein, no one else is greater.
C. Einstein, no one else can be compared.
C. Einstein didn’t need a calculator
When he figured out that E is just like MC squared.

The train set out but it was far too slow.
They would never get to Sweden for the Nobel show.
Had a speech in his pocket he might never give
Casey thought it was a good one but that’s relative.

Einstein told the fireman to pour on coal.
‘Cause the speed of light is our final goal.
There’s no speed more speedy and it ain’t been topped.
When they hit it Casey saw his pocket watch had stopped.

Casey Ein. Gonna finish his name later!
Casey Stein. See, you didn’t have to wait!
If you don’t malign or manipulate the dater
The consistency of time is open to debate.

Spelling Speed Of Light starts with S.O.L.
It’s an acronym for other shocking things as well.
Which we won’t discuss, ’cause we’ve got reserve.
But S.O.L. is what they felt when Casey hit that curve.

Now they say the train kept going and it’s going still.
Casey Einstein left the world without a final will.
All he had was just a fiddle and a coffee cup.
And a train that goes forever and keeps speeding up.

Casey E. he was born to be a thinker.
Casey E. had ideas you can’t resist.
Casey E. wasn’t nasty or a stinker.
Just a brilliant engineer and a brave physicist.

Who shares your birthday?

Wake Up Call

First off, an appeal to all baboons (the ones with seniority as well as those who are new – I’m planning to take a vacation the week of March 19th. I won’t be writing then, but I’d be happy to fill the week with guest posts if only some guests would step forward to post them. Send an e-mail with your idea. Write to me at connelly.dale@gmail.com!

I say this because I can’t count on getting a timely text from Bart – the bear who found a Smart Phone in the woods. He speaks up on occasion, but like cell phone reception itself, Bart is unreliable and a bit fuzzy at times.

Bart - The Bear Who Found a Cell Phone

Yo. Bart here.

Just letting you know I’m awake. I’m not the only one, either. Word is the bears of Aspen might be out of their dens early enough to hit the slopes before all the snow melts!

I kinda started to come around during the Oscars a few weeks ago because whoever had this phone before me subscribed to some kind of “alerts” whenever an Oscar winning celebrity would do something. And they’re always doing SOMETHING. The constant buzzing was driving me wild, and that’s saying a lot ’cause I’m wild to begin with.

Anyway, that kinda ended my hibernation for this year. Oh, I tried to go back to sleep, but it started getting so HOT. At this time of year we’re usually getting some pretty intense snow storms and crazy, wild, windy weather. When that stormy stuff starts to go down, I’m good for another coupla weeks of dozing. But this year – nothing. And I just can’t sleep when I’m too warm. Plus, everybody (and everything) else is waking up. Try lying down in a shallow hole in the woods when the little creepy buggy things are getting active – ugh! I really don’t like to have stuff crawling on me, which I know sounds weird because I’m, like, a bear and I carry around all this itchy fur. But really, when something burrows down to my skin, I get a little freaked out.

And you don’t want to see me when I’m freaked out.

Plus, the clock changed weird again. I saw it happen the other night when I was lying awake trying to figure out what kind of critter was marching across my forehead … the numbers went from 2:00 to 4:00. I KNOW there’s supposed to be a 3:00 in there, but it jumped. And that means trouble. Last year when this happened, people started showing up in the woods near the end of the day, like they suddenly had extra time or something.

Don’t get me wrong – I like people. But they can’t be trusted. You don’t want to be sleeping, or even in a state of torpor, when there are people around. They’re too dangerous. So I am kind of worried, and also hungry. The stuff I normally eat isn’t really available yet. There’s a house not far from here that has some garbage out where I can get it, but … I dunno. I kinda think I’m better than that, y’know?

I see some folks in Wisconsin got scolded for throwing food at a bear.
If any of them are reading this – you should come over here and try that. No, I mean really. Come try it. Bet you can’t toss a Twinkie right into my mouth! Try it! Best out of a dozen?

Your pal,

Bart

I quickly texted Bart back to tell him Twinkies are horrible for his digestion, terrible for his teeth and useless as nutrition, and he should run the other way if people throw Twinkies at him. But I know he won’t. If he winds up getting hit in the mouth with one, that could be the beginning of the end. There’s nothing good that can come out of a wild bear with an insatiable Hostess habit.

What’s your favorite snack food?

Ask Dr. Babooner

Dear Dr. Babooner,

OK, so I’m a flight attendant. Every time I go on a trip, it’s the same. From the moment we board we run from one task to another until the moment we step off. We hurry because everyone is on a schedule and the plane has to leave the gate on time or it will create anxiety all down the line. Anyone can see we’re working like mad to stay just ahead of a total breakdown. No wonder some flight attendants freak out.

I never saw the romance in flying. In fact, when I was a kid I wanted to be a TV anchor. To deliver the nightly news in some mid-sized market was my dream. I didn’t want to work in a big city – that’s too much pressure. Small-time local celebrity would be just right – to be the person who is called on to cut the ribbon at the opening of the new Costco but is still able to have a quiet dinner at The Olive Garden brings the happiest kind of fame there is. In my opinion.

When I was just out of college I actually tried to do it and got pretty far, winding up on the production crew at a station where I soon discovered that the owners were clueless dolts, the anchors were alcoholic morons and the news director was a blithering idiot. Being stuck there forever would be worse than a lifetime sentence of working in a tiny, pressurized restaurant full of angry people. Or so I thought. So I took to the skies!

That’s why I liked doing the cabin announcement – at first. But I quickly noticed that nobody was paying attention. Nobody! The news that “in the event of a decompression, an oxygen mask will automatically appear in front of you” and “to start the flow of oxygen, pull the mask towards you” is vital information. Look up from your iPad, dammit! I told you to turn that stupid thing off!

I realized that the people on TV are lucky. They can’t see how the audience is ignoring them. I felt diminished every time I grabbed the intercom and took out my demonstration seat belt. I don’t care what they say about water boarding. The ultimate torture for a human being is to be visibly and pointedly ignored.

I soon found out there are three things that can get the bastards to look up. The phrases “mechanical problems”, and “returning to the gate” always draw a quick response. And the single, resonant word, “crash” hits like a thunderbolt. Every time. Saying any one of these things instantly turned me into a rock star. Saying all three in a single minute got me put in restraints.

Dr. Babooner, is it true that all attention is good?

Sincerely,
Look At ME!

I told LAME that it is definitely not true that all attention is good. In fact, aside from being close to several family members and a couple of good friends, it can be argued that receiving NO attention is preferable. And being totally ignored might be the ideal situation for a human being, as long as food and comfort are available.

But the people who achieve this blissful state will never be able to tell us about it, because by definition, we have no idea who they are.

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