Today’s guest post is by Jim in Clarks Grove.

Vas and his mother, Anna, are friends of mine in Clarks Grove who lived in Czechoslovakia when it was a satellite state of the Soviet Union. I was wondering how the two of them wound up here in Minnesota, so I decided to ask. It turns out to be a harrowing story of a long, tense journey down a winding path. Ultimately, it was bravery, determination and luck that brought them to the United States.

Because he refused to join the Communist Party, good jobs were not available to Vas and his travel was restricted. In his job as a bus driver, Vas was able to gather information from passengers about ways to get out of Czechoslovakia through the Iron Curtain. In 1982 Vas, his mother, his brother, his aunt, and a friend departed by car from Czechoslovakia and with great difficulty made their way to Italy, and the the USA. Here’s how it happened.

Vas and his party were able to enter Hungry by car, but were prevented from passing from Hungary into Austria because they lacked the visa needed to do this. While driving along the border between Hungary and Austria, they were stopped by police. Vas was afraid the police would put them under arrest and send them back to Czechoslovakia where they would be put in prison. The police held Vas for several hours and then released him when he told them that he was lost and was not looking for a way to cross into Austria.

Using a passport that allowed for travel within the Soviet Union, Vas traveled into Romania and had good luck exiting from the Romania into Yugoslavia. At first the custom officer would not let Vas into Yugoslavia because he didn’t have the visa needed to make this crossing. Vas told the custom officer that he was on his way to another Soviet bloc country, Bulgaria, and the officer finally decided to let him through. Vas believes that the custom officer did him a favor because he thinks that the officer knew he really was trying to leave the Soviet Union and was not going to Bulgaria.

When Vas and his party attempted to cross into Italy from Yugoslavia, the Italian customs officers turned them back because they didn’t have a visa. They finally made it into Italy by leaving their car behind, crossing the border on foot, and walking all night to the nearest Italian town.

The police in Italy gave them a motel room, bought them a meal, and then put them on a train that took them to a camp for immigrants. A relative in Germany was only willing to help Vas’ aunt, so Vas, his mother, and his brother had to spend 11 months living under bad conditions in the camp for immigrants. Their stay in the camp ended when they were put on a list for immigration to the United States and found someone to sponsor their trip from Italy to the United States.

When have you persevered through sheer determination?

Dear Dr. Babooner,

Whenever I sit down to eat, I am careful to arrange the plate properly according to the standards I learned when I was young.

I start with a layer of bread, cereal, rice and pasta, then I put two half-layers on top of that – one that’s primarily vegetables and the other, mostly fruit. Over all that I spread meat, poultry, fish, dry beans, eggs and nuts, pour on a few servings of milk, yogurt and cheese, and then I dot the tippy top with fats, oils and sweets.

According to the drawing I go by, all this food is supposed to stack into a tidy, healthy pyramid, but no matter how carefully I assemble it the whole thing always collapses when I add the dairy. Still, I persist because this is how my government tells me to eat. I have even scolded others at my table when they dare to arrange their plates according to their own whims. I’m sorry to have to correct people, but rules are RULES!

As you might imagine, the combination of my constant hectoring plus the predictable mess that happens every time my pyramid implodes has made me quite unpopular and I often eat alone. I sometimes feel sad about this but I’ve been able to comfort myself with feelings of smug satisfaction that I am the only one eating properly.

Now I see the government has abandoned the pyramid guidelines and has given us orders to assemble something that looks more like a plate, with only one layer of food!

I feel betrayed and humiliated!

Dr. Babooner, what use is it to be obedient and respectful of authority when that authority can suddenly change the schematic and abandon its old lessons? I am seriously considering arranging my next meal not as a pyramid or a lopsided circle, but as a trapezoidal collision of potato chips, salsa and Twinkies.

Clearly there are no rules anymore.

Sincerely,
Peeved About The Pyramid

I told PATP that a fierce obedience to authority is a charming quality to have when you are 7 years old, but it soon becomes unattractive in adults. However, constantly questioning authority can also be wearisome, because life is beautiful and sometimes you can only see the sights when you are willing to let someone else drive for a while. I suggested that “Moderation in all things” is a good rule to live by, if one must live by rules. Since PATP seems to respond to graphic representations, I tried to draw that up as a diagram, but moderation is a hard concept to capture visually. It winds up looking bland and formless, like Silly Putty.

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

Today is the anniversary of the first publication of the poem “Casey at the Bat“, by Ernest L. Thayer. It appeared in the San Francisco Examiner on June 3rd, 1888.

How quaint to think that there was once a time when a single poem could be widely known and symbolic of a national pastime. I love popular poems mainly for the opportunity they present for parody, and Casey at the Bat is a favorite.

The perfect poetic parody storm happened (for me) in 2002 when the great slugger Ted Williams died, and his family battled over the remains. One faction wanted Williams cremated, the other wanted him frozen at a cryonics lab in Arizona for possible re-animation sometime in the future. Of course.

The refrigerators won, and in the process I got a chance to imagine how it would all turn out on some distant sunny afternoon.

“What is science fiction, anyway, but something that might happen in the future?”
Dr. Jerry B. Lemler, chief executive, ALCOR Life Extension Foundation
(NY Times, Wednesday, July 10, 2002)

With apologies to Ernest L. Thayer –

The outlook, it was dismal for the Joyville nine that day:
The year was 2502, One inning left to play.
The fan base had eroded so, this game would be the last.
The one time national pastime’s time, alas, had finally passed.

A somber group of gravediggers were warming up their arms.
They prepared to bury baseball, the big teams and the farms.
A-Grieving in the bleachers the remaining faithful sat.
“If only we could liberate Ted Williams from his vat!”

For baseball’s mighty slugger had been frozen when he died.
They froze his sacred arms and wrists, they froze his rugged hide.
They froze him in the hope that he might someday un-retire.
But no one thought the sport itself would sicken, then expire.

And then from many thousand throats there rose as one, a breath.
A gasp of shock, surprise and glee, of victory o’er death.
For in the batter’s circle, for the multitudes to greet
In suspended animation, there hung Williams by his feet.

There was frost upon his biceps as they opened up his case.
Liquid Nitrogen was dripping from the creases on his face.
How the faithful cheered their legend as the slugger was unpacked
How he tipped his hat to greet them! How his knees and elbows cracked!

Now he stood there stiffly-legged as the light began to die
The pitcher hurled a bullet. Williams watched as it went by.
The catcher muttered softly “You took that one like a chump.”
“I’m adjusting to the temperature,” he said. “Strike!” said the ump.

The tumult from the bleachers was amazing to behold.
Not a fan among them noticed that the bat was green with mold.
Now his eyes returned an icy glare, he curled his frozen lip.
Now his red socks were de-icing. Now his cap began to drip.

Then came another missive from that demon on the mound.
Showing every indication it would splutter to the ground.
But then it rose, Phoenix-like, ’til level with his belt.
“Strike two!” The umpire said, as Williams felt his shoulders melt.

In the catered suites around the park the corporate sponsors groaned.
In the press box doing play-by-play, the glib announcers moaned.
In the stands, prevailing wisdom was, the greatest one had choked.
At the plate, the catcher noticed that the batter’s box was soaked.

For the frost upon the slugger’s brow had turned into slush.
His uniform was sodden and his mitt was leather mush.
And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now it’s on its way.
And now the air’s alive with a ferocious swing and spray.

Oh somewhere there’s a field of dreams with bleachers by the surf.
And somewhere bands are playing on some soggy outfield turf.
Although mostly it is dusty by the plate where umpires shout,
There’s a pool of mud in Joyville, for Ted Williams has thawed out.

Your frozen remains have just been brought back to life in a word quite different from the one you left. Comments?

It’s Johnny Weissmuller’s birthday today, way back in 1904. He was an Olympic champion in swimming with five gold medals, and a record contender in matrimony as well, marrying five times. Some things just come to certain people in handfuls.

And he played Tarzan, the original male bimbo.

I love these quotes in the New York Times obituary from 1984. In the first one he’s marveling at his good fortune to land the perfect job for a good looking, phenomenal swimmer who wasn’t very chatty to begin with.

‘It was like stealing,” he said. ”There was swimming in it, and I didn’t have much to say. How can a guy climb trees, say ‘Me Tarzan, you Jane,’ and make a million?”

And this, regarding his dance with fame:

”The public forgives my acting because they know I was an athlete,” he said on another occasion. ”They know I wasn’t make-believe.”

I’m guessing Weissmuller would be a reality TV star today. He was well built, amorous and carefree. And he got along OK with animals, which will always make you popular with the American public. In fact, people would approach him in public and request that he perform his character’s victory cry – the Tarzan Yell. Imagine being out to dinner and having to deal with an endless string of strangers asking to hear this:

Really, it’s no wonder he was divorced by four of his wives.

Tarzan was raised by apes. If you could choose to join a family of animals ….? (Please, NOT baboons!)

This is the season for commencement addresses, and lucky indeed are the schools that can draw a high profile speaker who is also inventive and succinct.

And then there are the others – places where exhausted and anxious graduates have to endure lengthy speeches from self-important outliers who thrive in the place where science, business and insanity meet.

Text of the Commencement Address by Dr. Larry Kyle, founder of the supermarket Genway, to the graduating class at the Designing Nature Academy (DNA), a Genetic Engineering School.

Hello Graduates,

Looking at all of you waiting to get your B.S.’s from DNA, it makes me think of my most favorite letter of all – I!

When I was in your position, I thought I would get a job in a big scientific laboratory, posing impossible questions and squinting at test tubes all day. I imagined that I would draw a huge paycheck for this work because my mind is nimble and original and I like to think up things that no one has ever thought before.

Little did I know how weak the demand is for unusual thoughts. Unusual thoughts are suspicious and are treated with disdain by the world at large. What the world wants are USUAL thoughts that are guaranteed to make money, but that no one else has ever thought of.

Some of you will manage to convince your clueless employers that you can come up with this kind of magical idea. I hope you’ll be gone with the money before they realize they’ve been hoodwinked.

A very select few will follow my path.

I have found that to do the truly weird, genuinely “out there” work that the world needs but can’t ask for, you must go on a personal crusade with three “I”’s to guide you.

Independence. Ingenuity. And Insanity.

I am that three “I”’d monster! That’s what allowed me to create some of Genway’s most famous genetically engineered produce, like Bumble Grapes, Screaming Pumpkins and Crayfish Kohlrabi!

When people heard about the kind of work I wanted to do, many of them said things like “No”, and “Stop” and “Great scott, your irresponsible ideas will end up destroying life as we know it!”

This was hard to hear, especially since I discovered early on that I am motivated by the approval of others. Yes! And yet true pioneers are seldom lauded by anyone at the beginning. Or ever. That’s why I took steps to ensure that my supply of approval would never run out.

I hired a yes man, and you should too!

The people who are the CEO’S of major corporations are smart, but they’re no smarter than you. The difference? They have yes men (and some yes women) who bolster their confidence and give them the energy to proceed with their crazy ideas. Confidence is what got them where they are, and confidence will keep them there. It all starts with the word YES.

Now, I realize that many of you don’t have the resources to hire a yes man to personally approve all your impulsive whims, and you might have to start being someone else’s yes man. But eventually, the goal should be to surround your self with feckless enablers!

Allow me to get you started. I want you to think of your weirdest, wildest, wackiest idea that does not involve nudity, gunfire, or invading someone else’s personal space.

Got it? OK.
I think it’s brilliant, and you should do it.
As soon as I leave campus.

Thank you very much, and good luck to all of us!

What is the key to success?

Reputable-journalist-turned-attention-hog Bud Buck has been thinking about recent criticism of Internet search personalization, and it has activated his dander.

Of all the empty complaints that are being thrown around these days, the one that really annoys me is the one about Internet search personalization. People say that when Amazon, Netflix, Google and all those other web companies collect information about what you’re looking at and use it to edit the results you get, it creates an “echo chamber” where you’re only exposed to things you’ve already said you’re interested in. As a result, they say, you don’t get to hear about the other stuff that you really don’t give a fig about.

This is a problem? I say thank God!

Every day I have to fight off truckloads of information that bores me. It’s in my e-mail. It’s on TV. They yammer on about it endlessly over the radio and plaster it across the front page of the newspaper. If the technology exists that will insulate me from all the news I don’t want to look at and all the music I don’t want to hear, I’m for it.

Yes, I would like to have a constant diet of me-centric information. My hobbies, my favorite foods, my issues. Back when I was a media elite, I could foist my preferences on everybody else in the name of “good” programming. Now I’m just trying to hang on to them for the sake of my own satisfaction and entertainment.

Eli Pariser is stirring things up with his new book decrying “The Filter Bubble”, claiming that because of Internet Personalization, we don’t know what we’re missing. If it’s so effective, how come I’m not missing out on Eli Pariser? He’s everywhere!

Put more power on the baloney shields, Google! I just stumbled across his TED talk again!

I don’t blame you if you didn’t watch it. I try not to, but it’s always there! I love the part where he realizes Facebook has been “editing out” dispatches from his conservative “friends” because he hasn’t been clicking on their links. Pariser thinks this is an example of the corporation getting in the way of his open mind and making his world smaller. Oh yeah? Wait ’til his conservative “friends” find out he’s only been pretending to be interested in them! Click on their links if you’re so fascinated by their ideas!

Honestly, the if the Internet were a body of water it would be totally overrun with Asian Carp by now. There’s too much stuff thrashing around. We need less of everything, and if Google and Facebook can turn this big, sprawling world into something more like the corner table at my favorite cafe where me and my buddies can spend the morning talking about how right I am about absolutely everything, sign me up!

This is Bud Buck!

One proven strategy for getting attention is to attack people who are getting more attention than you are. But in this case, I think Bud is over reaching. I wrote to him and told him he should start by ranting about someone closer to home and work his way up from there, but he didn’t answer. I might be beneath his notice, or totally off his radar.

How open are you to new experiences and fresh ideas?

Having an extended weekend can open up a bit of time for busy people, especially if you don’t have to drag yourself up to a cabin or host some special event. Saturday’s post asked what arts and crafts project Babooners could do over and over.

Clearly, sitting around posting comments on blogs is only one leisure time activity that occupies our little community. I offered to post photos of any projects people found time to work on during this long weekend, and several crafty souls stepped forward, first in the Saturday comments, and then by e-mail to connelly.dale@gmail.com.

Lo and behold – Babooners at work (and play)!

Joanne

You guys are all so talented and crafty. After reading the posts, I got motivated to try making a pop can tab bracelet, but I forgot how to do the weave. So I made a pan of homemade granola bars instead. I’ll find my instructions and give it another try though; maybe get a picture to send in of my recycled jewelry.

The one is made with just a black shoelace and the other uses a gold elastic cord used for wrapping packages. If you like that punk or goth look, they’re kind of cool looking. Using a nice velvet or satin ribbon, they could actually look somewhat nice I think. I’ve seen them on Etsy for $10 using colored tabs from energy drinks woven with a clear elastic cord.

Steve

An artsy project I can do forever, loving it all the time, is editing digital photos. It is restful and lovely and utterly satisfying to “fine tune” the look of a photo. Is the sky in that landscape too bright? Now it is not. Would that woman look a little more stunning if she had whiter teeth? Fixed that! Does that Labrador retriever need a little work on his face to make his eyes and mouth more expressive? Done! And that little girl on the carousel, is she really as bored as she looks? Well, I can go in and give her mouth the tiniest tweak to cause her to smile. And now everyone is happy.

UPDATE: Steve sent the original photo this morning and describes it in the comments, below. I’ll repeat (or is it PREpeat?) his description here for your edification:

I cropped, turned the light WAY up, intensified color, erased fences and powerlines and barnyard crap, smoothed out the texture and increased the sharpness. In other words, the original photo was pretty awful! Silk purse from a sow’s ear.

Barbara in Robbinsdale

My claim to fame is… (drum roll) … making placemats out of used greeting cards. This started last year when I saw a set of Christmas card placemats at my mom’s senior residence. Cut into 4″ circles, 12 of these are arranged around a large center card and some border, which becomes a contact paper sandwich – clear over the cards, backed with something pretty so it’s reversible. I branched out from Christmas cards, and now do “theme” placemats, like seasons, flowers, etc. It’s so tacky, and appeals to the recycler in me – I always hate to toss those beautiful cards. Save your prettiest ones for me, Babooners.

Sherrilee

This is easy… stamping, cards, scrapbooking. Give me rubber stamps, ink and cardstock and I’m set. (Of course, I’m more set if you add ribbon, die cuts, sparklies and paper punches.) In fact, last Sunday, when it rained all day, I made 38 cards! I bought my first stamps to placate my sister, who was having one of those home parties. They sat in a drawer for over a year until a friend also had a party. I went just to see what I could actually do w/ said stamps and got hooked that night. Except for reading, it’s my favorite sport – I find it incredibly relaxing to sit in my studio and stamp and cut and paste!

Linda in West St. Paul

My tendency is to be too scattered and unfocused to finish anything complicated, but I do like working on small craft projects. Sometimes jewelry-making, painting things, stenciling, woodworking on a small scale. I have done some quilting and embroidery, but not so much lately. I’d like to get back into that. I’d also like to try making mosaics. Maybe the photo challenge is what I need to get something done this weekend.

(Linda says about the above project: “A simple window bird feeder, made from stuff I had around the house. Scrap wood, leftover pieces of square dowel, an L-shaped piece of plexi that came from who knows where, four screws and two screw eyes. The sole purchase I had to make was the suction cup.”)

Jim in Clark’s Grove

Here is a picture my wife took of one of the gardens I have been working on this weekend. Actually, gardening is my main hobby which I guess is sort an arts and craft project. This flower bed is an example of the kind of somewhat out of control gardening that I do and that I would like to have more under control. The white flowers are Sweet Cicely which is way out of control and many of them will need to be thinned out. The ferns are also in need of thinning out and the purple flower is Jacobs Ladder which I hope has enough space due to some thinning I did this spring.

Anna

Oh, and thanks to you lot, I am freshly inspired to break out my fine new (pink) ukulele on a more regular basis when I get home. I have taught myself a few things – I like how quickly I can learn a new chord or two and get a tune working. I do find, though, that sometimes Rise Up Singing has a chord progression that don’t quite match up with the tune in my head.

Anna didn’t send a picture of herself with that pink ukulele, so I’ll offer this inspirational substitute. If nothing else, it gives new meaning to the term “playing covers”.

UPDATE: Some accomplishments from Jacque, sent Monday morning.

Last night I finished my garden day by baking 2 strawberry-rhubarb pies ( our garden rhubarb ) which I will photograph for the Dale’s Show and Tell tomorrow. The pies are for a going away party tonight. Yesterday was a luscious gardening day, starting with enough time to go to Farmer’s Market. We then returned home to plant some purchases or cook and eat other items. We did both! Then it rained just enough so I did not need to water the new plantings much.

The 4 year old boy next door came over to “help” me plant while he talked and asked questions. A lot of questions. You forget about that over time. He was so cute and enthusiastic. Then right in front of my husband Stevie said, “Jacque, you are amazing.”

I said, “Thanks, Stevie. Lou, (husband) did you hear that? I’m amazing if you ever doubt it.”

UPDATE: Krista sent along these crafty examples:

I also get carried away with crafts like embroidery and/or bead embroidery. I took a North House Folk School class from Jo Wood and learned about how she paints with beads. I’ve done a couple of pieces that way and am ready to move on to something a little bigger. The embroidery is on a surplus French army backpack. I did the same design on a surplus French army coat too. The bracelet and earrings are my own design.

And I, dear readers, have been working on transferring some family videos from VCR to DVD – an arts and crafts project that is more craft than art, with mixed technical results and a few moments of revelation. Who knew we all used to be so jumpy and grainy – looking? Of course that might be the fault of the rudimentary camera we used when the shots were first taken, the old VCR I’m using for playback, the analog-to-digital converter, or one of the connectors I’m using along the way. Once HD video becomes the norm, a new generation will marvel at the visual textures of the old days.

I’m sorry to report that I have lost that happy feeling about this being the Friday before a three-day weekend. I blame Bathtub Safety Officer Rafferty, who stuffed the following flyer in my mailbox:

Attention Civilians!

I strongly advise you to obey the following Safety Alert for the Memorial Day Weekend! We should all be in a heightened state of awareness.

I know the Department of Homeland Security has done away with its system of color coded warnings, but I’m not thinking of the terrorist threat here. I’m thinking of our personal self-threat level, which is always high, and on a three-day weekend it should be listed at Double Cherry Red.

We are our own worst enemies.

Do not, I repeat, DO NOT let your guard down just because you happen to be “on vacation”. As a CDR (Certified Day Ruiner) and PSS (Professional Safety Scold), I know that whenever people “relax”, “kick back”, “cut loose” or “let their hair down”, they are setting themselves up for a wide variety of self inflicted calamities.

We, who are in the business of worrying about the worst that could happen, consider three-day weekends to be the black holes of the yearly calendar. Our work increases in direct proportion to the speed in which your work melts away. And the three-day weekend that opens the summer season is the very worst of them all because it offers the widest differential between the fun people think they are going to have and the fun they are actually having. All winter long, minds race with dreams of outdoor recreation. When the season finally arrives, the urgent drive for summer fun takes over and outruns common sense.

For instance, just because you can picture yourself waterskiing from a barefoot standing start off the end of a dock because your brother in law has an extremely powerful new boat that’s he’s itching to try, that doesn’t mean you should run out and do it.

I can express it as an equation. Imagination + Anticipation + Water times “Look At Me!” = Emergency Room.

I heard a theoretical physicist say on TV the other night that time is just an illusion. That’s the way I feel about vacations. People who think they are on one are embracing an artificial reality that could lead them to step off a cliff, unawares.

Please, try to have a little less fun than you think you deserve this weekend.

Yours in Stability and Safety,
Bathtub Safety Officer Rafferty

I do think he enjoys this.

When have you rained on someone’s parade?

Please forgive me, Baboons, but I’d like to go back to outer space for a moment.

NASA has announced that its future human space travel projects will be based on an astronaut container alluringly called the Multi-Purpose Crew Vehicle.

Regardless of how you feel (if you care at all) about NASA’S planned direction away from near earth orbit (NEO) projects and towards deep space exploration, you have to be concerned about this clear victory of the Acronym Based Entitling Lobby (ABEL) over the Name It After Something Real Caucus (NIASRC).

I know they’re engineers and bureaucrats, but please! Every human being is capable of a little poetry. Something attracted these decision makers to the difficult work of planning our off-planet future, but they are keeping their inspiration under wraps with this forgettable name. For anyone dreaming big dreams about traveling into space, it’s hard to get excited about climbing into an MPCV.

And remember, somewhere in the far distant future, historians will look back to this vehicle as the real beginning of the space program because it is the ship that will routinely take us away from our planet. Pilots of much more sophisticated craft will look back and recognize this as the charming low-tech starter model. Calling it “Space Pod 1” would be an improvement. Even “Commodore II” would work for me. In this photo, it looks like a large, fetching black bump that you might see on a movie idol’s cheek. How about “Star Mole”, “Beauty Mark”, or just plain “Marilyn”?

If this thing is going to carry us into our deep space future, can we help launch it with a proper name?

Today is the birthday of a great American entertainer, Bill “Bojangles” Robinson, in 1878. Both parents died when he was an infant and Robinson was raised by his grandmother. He started dancing as an 8 year old and made his name in vaudeville, and later, movies.

He was a man of many talents, with an inventive mind and lightning fast feet. It is said he could run backwards faster than many could run forwards, once covering 75 yards in 8.2 seconds. That alone would make him a You Tube star today.

He also was known for his ingenuity in developing a dance routine to be done on a flight of stairs – something Bojangles said he came up with on the spur of the moment as a creative way to go up some steps to receive an honor from the King of England. However he developed the act, it served him well. Here he is doing it in 1932.

And here’s Bill Robinson working the stair routine in a film with Shirley Temple three years later.

Although many think it was written about him, Bill “Bojangles” Robinson is not the inspiration for the Jerry Jeff Walker song “Mr. Bojangles”. In this fine recording, David Bromberg takes a moment in the middle to tell the story.

Even though it’s about an entirely different person, I couldn’t resist – the song is so good. I suppose it speaks to the popularity of the real Bojangles that a broken down bar dancer in New Orleans would adopt the name.

Bill Robinson is remembered for his cool, his skill, his generosity, and his “stair dance.” Not a bad legacy to leave.

If historians lift up one part of your “act” to define you, what will it be?