Today is the birthday of Burl Ives, the round, bearded, pipe-smoking, banjo-playing folk singer immortalized in claymation as a balladeer for the 1960’s TV special “Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer.” He was also blacklisted in the 50’s and snubbed for a time afterwards for keeping his career going by testifying before the House Un-American Activities Committee.
My favorite thing about Burl Ives is that he was an itinerant folk singer during the Depression, and got arrested in Utah for singing the song “Foggy Foggy Dew” in public on the grounds that it was a bawdy song. This, in spite of the fact that no one could pin down exactly what the term “Foggy Foggy Dew” meant. Some suggestions – Tuberculosis, Virginity, Being Sent to a Nunnery, and of course, Bad Weather.
This is an infectious little tune and there are multiple versions. It is uncommonly friendly to finagling via the folk process. So in keeping with our Theme of the Week, I’ll adapt it to fit one of the more arduous tasks of my youth.
When I was a juvenile I lived with my folks
And a hungry St. Bernard.
And the only, only thing that I sang was this song
As I walked around the yard.
I walked there in the wintertime
And in the summer too.
And the only, only thing that I did all day long
Was to pick up all the Doggy Doggy Doo
One night the hound came too my rooms
Her whimpers left no doubt.
She’d stolen a whole box of prunes
And needed to go out.
She yipped, she skipped, she nearly flipped
So what else could I do?
I leapt out of the sack and I let her go out back
And she filled it up with Doggy Doggy Doo.
Now I’m older than I was and I live with my son
And a different St. Bernard.
And every single time that the dog is in the house
The kitchen has a cupboard guard.
We lock it up in wintertime
And in the summer too
And all the fibered food is protected by alarms
Just to cut down on that Doggy Doggy Doo
By the time this is posted, my one and only child will be on a school trip to China (along with my one and only husband). But as I write this, we are just about a week away from her departure, and we’re going through a flurry of last-minute shopping, packing and planning.
It’s going to be a grand adventure for both of them, and they are both getting excited about everything they’ll be seeing and doing there. We’ve done a great deal of preparation by researching some Chinese history and culture, looking at the route they’ll be taking on the flight over, and discussing the many things that will be different there than they are here. While my daughter has been outside of the U.S. a few times before, she’s never been to a place where things are as radically different from what she’s used to as they will be on this trip.
Out of everything we’ve discussed during our preparations, one topic has been the focus of more questions and concern than any other: using China’s notorious public restrooms.
Those of you who have visited China before already know what I’m talking about. Chinese restrooms are entirely different from what we Americans are used to. Think of the worst public restroom you’ve ever seen here in the States. Think of the overflowing wastebaskets, the empty toilet paper dispenser, the lack of soap or towels at the sink, the broken locks on the stall doors, the puddles, the stink, the general “Ewwww!” factor.
Now multiply all of those things by 10, add the fact that there are no actual toilets to sit on, and you’ve got yourself a typical Chinese restroom.
You Know What To Do
For the most part, the only Western-style toilets in China are found in hotels, and in some of the bigger restaurant chains like McDonald’s. Anywhere else you go, you will be hard-pressed to find public facilities, and those you do find will be squat-style, which is really no more than a porcelain-covered hole in the floor. Chances are you will not have a private stall to yourself, since many restrooms are simply a line of holes in the floor located within a few feet of one another. The soap for washing up afterward is generally non-existent. Come to mention it, so is the sink. Toilet paper is never available – not because they’re always running out, but because it is not provided in the first place. If you want to do that fancy “wiping” stuff, you need to BYOTP. And you must remember not to flush it once you’ve used it, since Chinese plumbing can’t handle paper – which leads us to the overflowing wastebaskets, stink, and “Ewwww!” factor that I mentioned earlier.
As it happens, I ran across an article just last week regarding the state of public restrooms in Beijing. It seems officials there are trying to crack down on the general uncleanliness by instituting what is being called the “two fly” rule. As stated by city officials, there will be “no more than two flies allowed” in a restroom at any given time. This rule has already become the target of much ridicule among residents of Beijing, with commentary online and in local news publications pointing out the absurdity of such a provision, and the futility of any attempts to follow or enforce it. As ludicrous as the new restriction may be, it does illustrate the widespread nature of the sanitation issues plaguing public facilities in China’s capital city.
This problematic bathroom scenario is the one thing that has been causing my daughter anxiety as she prepares for her journey. My husband and I thought we’d finished potty training her years ago, but now we find ourselves lecturing her on how to pee all over again. She has been told to carry toilet paper, wipes and hand sanitizer with her at all times, to wear clothing that won’t touch the ground, and to make sure she wears shoes that completely cover her feet and won’t slip on wet surfaces. We’ve even practiced the basic squat maneuver, trying to see how to best balance over an imagined hole in the ground while simultaneously preventing your pants from hitting the floor and/or getting caught in the flow of things. After all of this, I have started feeling slightly less upset about the fact that it is my husband taking her on this trip, and not me. I may be missing out on seeing the Dragon Throne in the Forbidden City, but at least I’ll be able to visit the Porcelain Throne in comfort whenever I want.
What is the most difficult adjustment you’ve ever had to make while visiting a foreign country.
Congratulations to all the graduates at every level, college, high school, middle school and kindergarden. This is a necessary ceremonial marker to remember significant transitions and major accomplishments.
OK, maybe not for the kindergarden graduates. That one might be more for the parents.
But for those who put on robes and hats at this time of year, it is important that we all acknowledge the achievement of completing a course of study. It was my great pleasure to attend a graduation last Sunday and to honor my son, Gus, and his friends as they moved into a new phase of their remarkable lives. Here they are, giddy with relief and tossing out a leg to take the next big step.
While I am filled with a father’s pride in my graduate and overwhelmed with admiration for excellence of his friends and the education they were offered, I did find parts of the final rituals a little comical.
Saturday night featured a ceremony where the graduates gathered in the chapel, heard speeches from classmates, sang a few songs, and then went out onto the campus grounds to find a lantern with their name affixed. Over 700 lights were aglow in the falling dusk. To hasten the search, the lanterns were arranged alphabetically. It was a beautiful scene with lovely symbolism, and weirdly appropriate that the final test after 16 years of schooling required a public demonstration that one had mastered those confounding ABC’s.
The next day was even better – I loved the sight of all the scholars marching in orderly lines to their rows of assigned seats – something I had just seen on an old videotape of a preschool holiday pageant. Major difference – as pre-schoolers, they were allowed to bang drums on the way.
And then came the ordeal – sitting under a merciless sun in 90 + degree heat for two hours wearing black robes and caps – something no truly educated person would choose to do. I wondered if the administration would unveil a late stunner of a surprise and award diplomas only to those who had the sense to skip the ceremony.
But no, this was a final, necessary hurdle, and will be remembered forever by the graduates for their sense of educational accomplishment and the light headed feeling of stubborn pounds most certainly lost through perspiration. On a molecular level, this graduation was a race between the need for the learned speakers to say every word they had carefully written, and the assured disintegration of the student’s bio-degradable robes. Moisture always wins in the end!
Congratulations Graduates! Now you know how to be patient and obedient, and if you hadn’t learned it before, now you know how important it is to hydrate!
What is your favorite memory from a graduation ceremony?
About ten months ago, I was asked to give the commencement speech at a local university and I said “yes,” not thinking that the time would come when I would actually have to do it. But now that time is here and I’ve done nothing to prepare. The speech is tomorrow and all I’ve got is a head full of nonsense and clichés.
When I think about the speech I’d like to give, it’s full of wisdom and fun and the students love it they’re glad they came and grateful they had the chance to sit in the 90 degree heat while wearing black robes under a full sun to listen to it.
But in reality I don’t relate to young people very well, and even if I did I don’t suppose there’s anything anyone could say that would make them grateful at this point. They’re tired, broke, in debt, and are being sent out into the economy to find work when job prospects are impossibly bleak. There’s a huge backlog of highly educated people just like them who have been sitting in their mother’s basements for the last decade, playing video games and picking up pocket change through intermittent babysitting and landscaping jobs.
I looked online and found lots of advice on giving commencement speeches – most of it in the form of pithy clips from talks given by celebrities and earnest instructions from well meaning haiku writers who will never, ever, be asked to do what I’m about to do.
I’m frightened. Right now, this is the text I’ve got.
“Congratulations, Graduates. You’ve already been though a lot, and that has prepared you as you head out into the world. Because whatever it was you went through, there’s a lot more of it out there, and some of it has your name written on the side.
So work hard, conduct yourself with integrity, and whatever you do, always, always know your audience. In particular, always try to be aware of the boundaries – those places where your audiences’s interest in what you have to say abruptly and permanently ends. And whatever you do, do not step across those lines.
Because, whoever you are, politician, priest, or professor, one thing remains true. Unless you are a magnificent singer or a brilliant genius, people are almost always grateful and appreciative when you finally sit down and shut up.
Thank you very much.”
Do you think I can get away with that?
Sincerely,
Fully Gown Man
I told Gown Man he should not, under any circumstances, give that speech. Condescension and self deprecation are never as enlightening or entertaining as you think they will be.
People expect an uplifting message at graduation. It should be about the graduates and not about you. And yes, it should be presented in as few words as possible. If you truly know your audience, you will give them what they want, but prioritize.
“Uplifting” is job number one.
“About them” is job number two.
And “few words” is job number three.
But that’s just one opinion. What do YOU think, Dr. Babooner?
Today’s guest post is by Dr. Larry Kyle of Genway.
I know what you’re thinking, but I did not enter a bid on the Blood of Reagan!
Oh, I was tempted! As the founder and produce manager of a grocery store that specializes in genetically engineered foods, I am well aware of the value of even the smallest drop of celebrity DNA. And to have a sample from the man who arguably represents the first and most blatant intersection between show business and political power … I’m still amazed that I was able to resist.
Think about the possibilities inherent in introducing Reagan DNA into our produce section alone – like Corn on the Teflon Cob – grill it all day, it’s impossible to burn! Or Supply Side Grapes! Each bunch comes with a poor person whose job it is to feed them to you! The more you eat, the better they live! Or should I say, “the better you’ll feel about they way they live”. I know it doesn’t make sense but people will accept it anyway – that’s the Reagan DNA at work!
So why didn’t I bid on the Vial of Reagan’s Blood when I had a chance?
It was a business choice, pure and simple. In my line of work, it’s bad for the profit margin to do anything that pushes up the market value of raw DNA. That’s because DNA is the material that gives my style of unsupervised and under regulated experimentation its great potential.
Sure, a whole line of Reagan-infused produce would prove irresistible to my staunch Republican customers, but once shoppers got used to the idea of foods branded with their own peculiar political persuasions, I’d have to produce Palin Pomegranates and Santorum Celery. And you thought the sweater vests were ghastly!
Of course Democrats would do the same. I don’t know about you, but I’m just not ready for Obama Okra.
I can only hope that Reagan’s Blood will be safely kept from commercial misuse by the Ronald Reagan Presidential Foundation. Although like the powerful One Ring in that Tolkien trilogy, Reagan’s Blood may have the power to corrupt whoever possesses it. Pay close attention – if the foundation begins to explore cloning … watch out!
It sounds like Dr. Kyle has mellowed with age – he’s actually saying “no” when in years past his answer to every harebrained idea was always “yes, yes, YES!”
First, I’m planning to take a week off June 4th through the 9th, so a selection of guests posts would be much appreciated to keep Trail Baboon fresh each day. Many thanks to Clyde, Steve, Jim, and Barbara in Robbinsdale, who have offered spontaneous guest blogs over the past few weeks and months. If you have an idea for the week of June 4th, please send me a note at connelly.dale@gmail.com.
Clyde sent this eclipse photo, relayed by his son in San Francisco.
It makes me think of raised eyebrows, a facial reaction it must be a tough to elicit in the world wise and libertine city by the bay.
But raised eyebrows is just one person’s reaction. Maybe this spray of crescent shapes makes you think of Paul Bunyan’s fingernail clippings, or eye-less smiley faces.
Perhaps they’re smiling about this: A man got picked up for drunk driving after leaving an Iowa bar when they refused to serve him alongside his two companions – a zebra and a parrot. The man, Jerald Reiter, thought he could bring his pals into the establishment because he recalled seeing animals in there before. The bar is called “The Dog House.”
Reiter told the Des Moines Register he’d had three mixed drinks at home with his dinner. He wanted to get away from his farm because he hadn’t left for several months. “I’ve been planting corn and everything else,’” he said. “So I opened the door, the zebra jumps in, the macaw loves to go for a ride, so we went for a ride.”
What could be more normal? In rural Iowa, I believe getting tipsy and piling into the car with your zebra and your parrot is known as putting on your “Poor Man’s Zubaz“.
Today is the anniversary of the dedication of the main branch of the New York Public Library, a landmark which was officially opened on May 23, 1911. This is the iconic library building on 5th Avenue, with an entrance guarded by two stone lions (Patience and Fortitude) and a grand reading room that is a wonder to behold.
“Photo by DAVID ILIFF. License: CC-BY-SA 3.0”
The room is 77 feet wide and 295 feet long – longer than a Boeing 747 and able to take people more places. It is a shrine to knowledge, a temple of learning, and is lined with thousands of books – exactly the type of place where it would be impossible for me to read a book.
As a child, teenager and even as an adult, I am almost unengrossable. Oh, I love to read, but no matter what I’m doing, my head keeps lifting up to gaze around the room. It takes me twice as long as most people to read a book because of all the necessary daydreaming that has to happen at the end of chapters, after significant paragraphs, and often in between words.
The New York Public Library is magnificent. But if you’re building a reading room, give me something with the grandeur removed – a shabby closet, some pillows and a desk lamp.
That’s not just my opinion. A lot of people say that. The city is also very welcoming and hospitable, which is not a commonly held view among humans, but I think millions of other creatures would agree.
And by “other creatures” I mean rodents, cockroaches, ants, flies, bees, bedbugs and pigeons.
By all accounts these are some of the primary non-human beasts that thrive in the urban jungle, and New Yorkers like to talk about what they can do to keep their uninvited house guests under control.
And yet there is also an air of acceptance. If you live in New York City this assortment of two, four, six and eight legged strangers will share it with you, whether you want to share it with them or not. Which may come as a surprise to the owner of the city’s highest priced (and still unbuilt) piece of residential real estate.
What do you do when you see the first cockroach skitter across the kitchen floor in your 90 million dollar sky palace? Even if the creature is dressed for dinner in top hat, white tie and tails, the sight of it gives one pause. And if the intruder happens to be a rodent, the sight of it gives one paws – “How much money would it take to be totally alone?”
The feature I love most is that we talk it up and then tell people not to look. Properly paying attention to an eclipse requires discipline. In our media-saturated, spectacle hungry world, that doesn’t happen very often.
Sunday evening’s annular eclipse will present an obscured sun with a bright “ring of fire” around the outside edge for those in the prime viewing area. The moon is a bit distant from the earth right now (wasn’t it just SUPER?) so its disc won’t cover the sun completely.
For we Minnesotans, there’s a chance we’ll get a view of a partially covered sun at sunset. This nifty animation from NASA shows how the moon shadow will cross the earth from West to East, with the “ring of fire” viewing area represented by the startling red dot that makes a quick entrance at daybreak over Asia, lingers longest just south of the Aleutians, and zooms eastward at sunset over the USA. I expect to see plenty of cool photos Monday morning.
Here in the upper midwest I think that means we’ll get a Sunday sunset missing a chunk, assuming the clouds let us see it. But remember, don’t look! Use the camera obscura technique, projecting the image on a viewable surface. To help you remember not to look, here’s a little warning poem.
Don’t look directly at the sun
Whilst it becomes eclipsed
A pinhole camera shows it
as a backwards crescent, flipsed.
If you don’t have the time or interest to make a pinhole camera, find a leafy tree placed between a low western horizon and a blank wall. Apparently spaces between leaves work effectively as pinhole cameras, casting lots of tiny eclipse images. You might get something like this.
Images of the sun during a solar eclipse through the leaves of a tree. October 3, 2005, St Juliens, Malta
Or we could just get a cloudy western sky and a gloomy sunset. Don’t get your hopes up, but don’t get your eyeballs fried. Seriously. Avoid looking directly at it.
Today’s post comes directly from everyone’s favorite PDA (Personal Downside Anticipator), Bathtub Safety Officer Rafferty.
Egads! Another horrifying science story!
Last time I wrote to you, it was about the deeply troubling exploration of Lake Vostok – a line of scientific inquiry being conducted by Russian geniuses without any allowance of the dangerous precedents set in countless science fiction and horror movies!
Now scientists are making progress in an area where their abilities and imagination are sorely needed, doing work that will someday yield great benefits for millions of deserving paralyzed individuals and through them, all mankind, by making it possible for injured people to operate artificial appendages with their brains.
But! Once again science has failed to allow for what I call the EGF – the Evil Genius Factor.
There is no question that the usual assortment of black-hearted lab rats will appropriate any technology used to create a mind-controlled robot arm, and will turn its power towards the dark side.
No Question! One need look no further than a Spider Man nemesis, Doctor Octopus! Do I want powerful hydraulic arms controlled by my thoughts? If you think the answer could possibly be ‘no’, I will pick you up by the heels with my metallic fingers and shake you like a Homer Hanky.
Science will create it, industry will provide it, and villains will put it to work!
In fact, thought controlled appliances of every kind are on the way and will soon be ubiquitous, multiplying just like the wireless devices we thought were so nifty just ten years ago! Even you Baboons, based on your impulsive conversation yesterday about coffee shops, would certainly fall for the thought-triggered Mr. Coffee drip-pot now being developed in a secret underground lab outside Seattle. Every time java crosses your mind, this infernal brewt will produce another $3 drink and charge it to your account. How long will it take to put you in the poor house once that machine hits the market?
I don’t need proof. I know this will happen! The question is – once your brain is wired like a garage door opener, how much trouble would it be to reverse the circuit and operate YOU like a model airplane?
It’s too bad that Evil Geniuses have to ruin something good for all of us once again, but When I think about all the different ways this amazing technology can be misused, I shudder. And what if your robotic arm also responds to your dreams? You know which ones I mean – the truly weird ones! Who will be responsible for the mayhem that rises out of that connection?
Sorry, paralyzed people. Thought controlled robotic arms must be stopped!
Your paranoid friend,
Bathtub Safety Officer Rafferty
BSO Rafferty has a point, but just a minor one. I can’t help but think this technology will do a lot of good -more than the evil he imagines.
