Dear Dr. Babooner,

Show trials really turn me on.

I feel horrible about it because the court cases I like the most always revolve around tawdry acts supposedly committed by selfish, despicable people who display no remorse. When one of these trials comes along, I totally immerse myself in the case. I read everything and watch live coverage on TV. I think about it constantly and can talk about it non-stop. Normal people cannot be around me until the jury rules and the case is over. I become intolerable.

My wife says this is typical behavior for a miserable, self-loathing creature with an insatiable hunger to feel better about himself. My fascination with accused wrongdoers is, she says, a coping mechanism. By pickling my brain in the sour brine that overflows from the jars of an endless string of black-hearted individuals, I am trying to convince myself that I am, by comparison, fairly normal.

I tell her that I am passionate about justice, and thoughtlessly spouting all this amateur psychology makes her look dumb. I may not be a perfect person, but I am far from being obsessed with my own shortcomings. I do, however, feel that wrongdoers should be thoroughly and mercilessly punished.

That’s why, when I believe a person is guilty and a jury lets them go in spite of the evidence, I fall into a terribly deep funk until some measure of payment is exacted. After the Casey Anthony verdict yesterday, I forced myself to sit in an ice-filled bathtub until my toes turned blue.

But that’s not the worst of it. For a year after O.J. Simpson was acquitted, I lined my underwear with crushed glass and went barefoot every day.

“More evidence of a bizarrely twisted self image,” my wife said.

“Just trying to restore some balance to the world.” was my answer. But I understand why my wife would find me to be a human smash-up, terribly moody and impossible to live with.

Oddly, she says I’m not so bad.

Dr. Babooner, why is she lying to me?

Sincerely,
Unworthy.

I told Unworthy that it is pointless to beat yourself up just because somebody else thinks you’re self-loathing. So what if you are? I don’t think that reflects negatively on you! A lot of decent people are overly critical of themselves. By constantly telling yourself you are a black-hearted wretch who deserves to suffer Hell on Earth, you demonstrate a strong preference that the world should be better than it is. Your self-directed pessimism is a sign of outward optimism. Stand up and be proud of your inwardly directed hatred!

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

Today is the birthday of the American showman and promoter, P.T. Barnum, in 1810.

Barnum had a genius for marketing anything people were willing to gawk at, whether it was a blind old woman, a dwarf, an elephant, a monkey head sewn to the tail of a fish, or a Swedish soprano.

Part of Barnum’s gift was to recognize that people need a story and a powerful name to spark their interest. Thus the blind old woman was amplified to majestic proportions, and in Barnum’s world was presented as not just an old woman, but George Washington’s former nurse. To make the math work, her age was said to be 161 years.

The dwarf was also age enhanced, transformed by Barnum from a 5 year old to an 11 year old, and re-named “General Tom Thumb”. Though he was actually from Connecticut, Barnum advertised him as being brought from overseas “at great expense.”

The elephant was dubbed “Jumbo” and actually was brought from overseas at great expense, and proved to be a huge moneymaker for Barnum, only to die tragically in a head on collision with a locomotive. The monkey/fish concoction was billed as “The Feejee Mermaid”, and soprano Jenny Lind won hearts as “The Swedish Nightingale”.

Barnum is said to have been an advocate of “humbug” as a useful tool for promoting various acts, meaning it’s OK to exaggerate and tell outright lies if the public gets its money’s worth and enjoys the show.

He made a lot of money and did extravagant things with it, including building a palace in Bridgeport, a Xanadu he named “Iranistan” (really!). Jenny Lind claimed that seeing an image of Iranistan is what made her want to come to America to be put on display by Barnum – his success was evident from the majesty of his home.
Never mind that Iranistan burned to the ground 9 years after he built it.

Barnum would feel right at home in the world of 2011, and would thrive online, a vast kingdom made up almost entirely of humbug. In fact, everything I know about P.T. Barnum came directly from Wikipedia. How much is true? Who cares?

Does the world need promoters?

Good discussion on Friday about admiring those you don’t agree with. Thanks to Clyde for the thoughtful guest post, and for bringing up Jon Hassler, whose writing provides a comfortable place for so many readers.

And so far, so good on the state government shutdown.

At least as far as my personal comfort is concerned, and what else matters? I’ve already got money, food and good health. Why should I worry about suddenly absent services that only other people need, especially if they’re people I don’t know and can’t see?

A friend forwarded a video for those who adhere to the old Ronald Reagan saying –
“Government is not the solution to our problems, government IS the problem.”

I can’t deny that government is sometimes inefficient and bureaucratic. But unnecessary?
It’s handy to have someone or something to blame for all the problems you see. But you may not want to wish it away entirely.

Where is the most lawless, unregulated place you’ve visited?

Dear Dr. Babooner,

I’m having a terrible problem at work!
See, there’s this guy!

We were both assigned by our boss to work on the same project. He says he promised the boss he would do it one way. Trouble is, I promised the boss I would take pretty much the opposite approach! If we can’t get it solved in two weeks, the company shuts down. We both believe our core principles are at stake, and we’re each getting messages from above that we should stick to our guns.

In the end, we can only agree on three things:

1) The one who shows the greatest weakness (compromise) will probably get fired.

2) If we can’t settle by the end of the month, we’ll both certainly get fired.

3) The boss might be schizophrenic.

Dr. Babooner, I don’t want to wind up feeling like a pathetic loser, but I also don’t want my ulcer to flare up again. What can I do to get out of this miserable situation with some dignity?

Stale Mate

I told Stale that there is actually nothing wrong with feeling like a pathetic loser. Most losers are decent people. I know a few quite well and have actually been one for a time or two. That’s the blessing of loser-dom, it’s temporary and situational. Totally in the eye of the beholder. That said, it’s very nice to win. Just don’t feel like you have to do it every single time. The greatest emergency here is with your deeply conflicted boss, who should consult a professional therapist ASAP.

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

Leaving work yesterday, I found the following note stuck to the windshield of my car with a humongous blob of oily cream that smelled like a pina colada.

Avast, landlubbers!

Me and me boys is mighty disappointed in the USDA fer steppin’ in where it ain’t wanted, darin’ t’ re-write th’ flimsy rules what governs th’ labelin’ and sellin’ of sunscreen!

They’s tinkerin’ with somethin’ that’s mighty near an’ dear t’ this here group of pirates!

Bein’ out at sea most of th’ time, me an’ the boys is always payin’ attention t’ the exposure our skin gets t’ th’ harmful rays o’ th’ sun. Skin cancers an’ heavy wrinkles ain’t pretty. An’ while “pretty” has never been a word used t’ describe any pirate who wasn’t also Johnny Depp, we is normal humans like the rest of yas and naturally wants t’ look our best!

Accordingly, it has been our habit, while pilferin’ and raidin’ domiciles on shore, t’ look fer, an’ acquire fer our own use, any sunscreen boastin’an SPF of 50 or more! This is due t’ th’ general pirate’s code, which sez the bigger th’ number value of anythin’, th’ more desirable that thing must be! In fact, some of me boys has collected vast reserves of Coppertones an’ Neutrogenas and Banana Boats, totallin’ SPF fortunes in the billions when they is all added together.

As Capt., I is mighty pleased t’ have me boys trackin’ their wealth in this manner, rather than arguin’ with me over who gets t’ have how much of the silver an’ gold! That way lies danger! Better t’ have them tussle over the sunscreen!

This strange predilection might have somethin’ t’ do with a strange but widespread belief among me boys that SPF stands for “Sexy Pirate Face”.

I don’t know where they got that idea.

An’ now th’ USDA is considerin’ a rule t’ outlaw any sunscreen claimin’ t’ have a SPF over 50, on account of some scientific opinion that SPF numbers higher than 50 is “meaningless”! Meaningless?

Well it ain’t meaningless t’ us! T’ us, sunscreen with SPF’s up in the hundreds represents currency, wealth, and that fresh cocoanutty smell that makes us think of girls in bikinis an’ tall drinks with umbrellas!

I’m warnin’ ye! Don’t mess w’ our economy, or we’ll be forced to mess with yours!

Yer friendly scourge of the seas,
Capt’ Billy.

What unusual commodity is as good (to you) as money?

Today is the anniversary of the debut of the CBS-TV variety show “Hee Haw” in 1969.

This program employed every possible rural stereotype. It defined “cornball” and “uncool”. Here’s a typical bit, made slightly more absurd by You Tube’s unfortunate misalignment of sight and sound.

I remember seeing this number done on the show when I was just 13 years old. Hee Haw was ridiculous in every possible way, but we howled at some of the jokes, and I admit I liked watching the Daisy Mae-like characters in their tight blouses and short shorts as they perched on hay bales.

And some legendary country musicians appeared on the show, including Johnny Cash, Dolly Parton and Merle Haggard.

Speaking of legendary musicians, also on this day, but in 1843, the Norwegian composer Edvard Grieg was born in Bergen. What does he have in common with a goofy American TV show, aside from a fondness for rural themes? Not much. But put some overalls on him, and Grieg looks like he could have fit right into Kornfield Kounty.

I’ve heard that Grieg didn’t like his own composition, “In the Hall of the Mountain King”. He thought it was too commercial. I wonder what he would have thought of “Pickin’ an’ Grinnin'”?

What totally unrelated but somewhat interesting thing happened on the day you were born?

A sad note from our cell phone holding, lengthy message-texting friend in the woods.

Word got to me this weekend about that wolf at the zoo who squeezed through a fence, jumped a barrier and got shot. Bummer. And I say this as an animal that is not big fan of wolves. Sorry, but we really don’t get along, especially when there’s only one of me and a group of them, which is pretty much always.

Still, we wild animals have to stick together. Humans like to come into our territory and make a mess of things, assuming they can do the same things here that they do on their cul-de-sac back in suburbia. Wrong! So we free creatures have to do whatever we can to remind them that we’re the ones who put the “wild” in “wilderness”. Sorry if I steal your food and ruin your convertible top in the process. It could be much worse.

But that’s how we behave out here. Constantly doing critter stuff. If you wind up inside the zoo, however, that’s a different story. It’s the show biz side of animal life, and one of the sad rules of the entertainment world is – you have to stay in your enclosure. You can pace around, play a little bit and take your meals in public. If you want, go ahead and exhibit some wild “behaviors”. If you were born in captivity and don’t know what those are, listen to the tour guides – they’ll tell you what you’re supposed to be doing. Every animal has its “greatest hits”, and that’s what the public wants to see. For us bears, it involves a pool of water and rolling on your back, for some reason.

Human entertainers have the same problem. Ask Lady Gaga, if you can get close enough. Based on the public reaction to her act, she’ll be wearing those machine guns on her chest when she’s 50, and it won’t be pretty, or even very interesting. But the market makes its demands and the paying public has to get what it wants. Tough work, though there are perks. You certainly don’t have to struggle for food, and it’s nice to have an adoring public.

But don’t try to jump the fence.

Your pal,
Bart

Is no business like show business, or is every business like show business?

Happy Monday, and many thanks to Anna, Jacque, Donna, Steve, Jim and tim, the guest bloggers who kept the trail busy during my absence. I was in central Illinois, visiting my father for the better part of a week. We worked around the house doing some routine maintenance – cutting grass, plugging woodpecker holes, fussing with the water softener, replacing broken windows, slathering roofing tar on a leaky overhang, etc.

We did all this in the midst of a prodigious hatch of 13-year cicadas, which is a humbling event for humans who are accustomed to feeling dominant, or even merely significant. The bugs are calling the tune around Decatur this spring – a tune that literally fills the air, resembling the constant ring of a busted wheel bearing early in the day, and by mid afternoon becoming a steady rattle, like the nonstop shaking of a huge tambourine. It’s the males who make the loudest noise, relentlessly advertising their sexual availability.

Why can’t they just quietly post some images of their parts on Twitter?

Working outside, we were subjected to a random sideways rain of buzzing, bulgy-eyed revelers who covered the trunks of trees and erupted in clouds from the shrubbery whenever branches were disturbed. At a nearby grocery store, the girl who tended the cart corral did her work with one hand wielding a flyswatter to keep insect invaders from getting tangled in her hair. This small gesture gave her necessary courage to face the onslaught, though she was bailing the ocean with a teacup.

The cicadas will do their work. They have an assignment to hatch, mate, and die, planting the next generation in the process. Six weeks of glory and see you in 2024! There’s no confusion about purpose or wondering ‘what I want to do when I grow up’ in the cicada world. I envy their focus and devotion to the task at hand.

For those who have followed my progress since I got bounced from my previous job last summer, you may have felt like you were watching an overturned cicada marooned on his back, helplessly waving his legs in the air, spinning in a circle, rattling like the doorjamb when you get buzzed into grandma’s apartment building. It’s been about that much fun.

Today I get my feet back under me, starting a full time job with radio station KFAI as its news director. I’ll be off-air for the most part, supporting volunteer newscasters and reporters, helping with a summertime program for young journalists, and doing whatever is asked of me to assist the staff of this famous station in delivering the funky magic of community radio. And I’ll be working my preferred hours – 5am to 1pm!

Right now it is my intention to keep Trail Baboon going as we have for the past year. The blog has evolved into something more than my personal billboard. I’d rather not close a public space that people enjoy visiting just because my agenda has shifted. Besides, where else would you go for recreation this summer, a state park?

You might notice a little more fatigue in the posts, with less wordsmithing, and more open-ended questions. Forgive my sloppiness and jump straight to the comments. That’s where the action is anyway. And if you have a guest post in mind, don’t hesitate to send it to me at connelly.dale@gmail.com. After all, I will be using most of my mental energy to remember names and faces and to get my bearings in a new environment. I’ll look to the blog when I get off work, though it always makes for a happy evening at home when mom doesn’t have to cook.

What is it like to start a new job?