Goats usually wind up in the news for one of two reasons.

1) Grazing on prominent or public lands as a cost efficient way of clearing weeds.
2) Being locked in the trunk of a car, sometimes painted to look like Brett Favre.

Thank goodness it’s option number one this time, as it appears there is no limit to our amazement that goats will do an efficient job of nibbling a field. The latest media stars are a group of animals who are munching away at the Palos Verdes Nature Preserve in California. Among their constant companions are a keeper (goatherder) and his dog, referred to by the L.A. Times as Choi and Troy. You’ll have to read the story to figure out which is which. Ultimately it doesn’t matter – they both have pretty cool entry-level jobs on the ground floor of what may turn out to be our coming goat-based economy.

In the sports department, I’m sorry to say the Chelan High School Goats lost to Granger at the state basketball tournament in Yakima, Washington. You won’t find a lot of high schools flying the goat banner. When it comes to mascots the sports world is heavily weighted towards big cats and birds of prey, but it’s hard to think of an animal more hardy and nimble than a goat. Too bad climbing up the backboard isn’t allowed!

In Potomac, Maryland, there are quadruplets! That’s almost a complete basketball team in one litter.

In the arts section, there’s word in the St. Paul Pioneer Press about a play called “Goats” which is being presented by the Minnesota Jewish Theater.
There are no actual goats in the show, which might be a disappointment for literalists in the audience. But then there were no real cats in “Cats”, either. The production is on through March 27th at the Hillcrest Center Theater, 1978 Ford Parkway in St. Paul.

As long as we’re on the topic of ungulates in show biz, here’s a shot from the MeadowWild Farm Barnies, being awarded perpetually at Barb and Steve’s blog, Out to Pasture.

In a science fiction movie, this is what would happen if those animals clearing the Palos Verdes Nature Preserve accidentally wandered into a top secret military testing area, ate radioactive weeds, got past Choi and Troy and began to mingle with the Hollywood folk.

Crimes Against Nature? Yes, but they’re award winners too!

What current news story might be improved by the addition of a few goats?

Beth-Ann wrote the other day with a link to the Minneapolis contemporary furniture design company, Blu Dot. This is the quirky local firm that announced the opening of its Manhattan store a year and a half ago by abandoning several dozen chairs on the street corners of New York just to see what would happen.

Now Blu Dot is trying a new technique to get its furniture into the hands of customers – barter. Online barter, with voting. They’re calling it a Swap Meet.

Here’s how it works – you go to the company’s website, find a piece of furniture you covet, and then propose to trade something for it. Other readers have the opportunity to endorse your offer (or not).

Fun gimmick, and it’s interesting to see what people think they have that’s worth a fold out bed or a futuristic looking metal chair. I’m most impressed with Kirk McCall’s offer of some authentic, artistic 17th century sound effect machines (for opera) in exchange for a sofa. Invaluable, especially if you’re about to produce an opera in a venue without electricity! Blu Dot has already accepted a proposal to trade a sectional for a full sized motorcycle sculpture made out of 9,000 popsicle sticks. Smart move.

I wrote about Blu Dot for The Line and KFAI, and as part of my research visited the company’s one retail outlet in the Twin Cities, a little store called Roam, across the street from the International Design Center in Minneapolis. Of course the thing I found that I liked the most was an expansive, futuristic desk called Desk 51 – physically solid and heavy but visually light and sleek. Unfortunately, I can’t think of a thing I have that’s worth $699 in trade, unless it’s fawning publicity, and I’ve already delivered that for free.

Besides, there might be ethical concerns. A few.

Speaking of barter, it’s time once again to offer an opportunity for you to trade your writing and your unique perspective on the world for fantastically valuable rewards – my gratitude and the rapt attention of your fellow baboons. I’m hoping to run a string of guest blogs during the week of March 21st. Sherrilee and Barbara in Robbinsdale have already submitted some excellent posts. Four more will get us through the week.

Any takers? You can e-mail me directly at connelly.dale@gmail.com

UPDATE: Clyde, tim, Beth-Ann and Jim have stepped forward. We’re set for the March guest spots. Thanks, bartering baboons!

What goods and services have you exchanged through barter?

Dear Dr. Babooner,

I’ve been very worried about something personal, but I don’t know how to talk about it politely.

I recently heard a doctor on a TV show describe … well, you know when you go to the bathroom? Not number one, but the other one? This TV doctor said if you’re a healthy person, the deposit should be shaped like the letter “S” because it stands for “Super”, which is how you’re supposed to feel once you’re done.

Naturally, I took a look the next time and was shocked to discover that mine formed the letter “L”. I don’t know how I managed to make my offering turn such a sharp corner, but I was sufficiently concerned that I approached my next bathroom visit with quite a bit of consternation.

It was justified, as I issued forth a perfect letter “O”. Horrified, I called the nurse’s line at my HMO and though I think she was laughing at me under her breath, the nurse told me it was probably just the result of excess gas in the intestinal tract and I shouldn’t worry. Things would return to normal on their own.

Sure enough, the next time I produced the doctor-recommended perfect letter “S”. Relieved, I returned to my usual peaceful and confident frame of mind until a day later when I forced myself to look once again and discovered a remarkably crisp-looking block letter “E” floating in the commode.

Dr. Babooner, I’ve stopped eating because I’m afraid to continue with this particular bodily function. What if the next letter is an “R”? Could my own intestines be telling me I’m a total waste?

I don’t think I can bear the thought of it.

Sincerely,
K.O. Pectate

I told K.O. that doctors who give advice on popular national TV shows are desperately needy individuals who apparently aren’t satisfied scaring people on a one-to-one basis. They have to freak us out a million at a time.
If your lower digestive tract is, in fact, trying to spell “LOSER” as a message to you about your place in the world, I would consider it miraculous and something to be proud of. It’s a talent that America should honor, and if there is not already a reality show on TV designed to show it off, there will be one soon.
And if you continue to be concerned about your health there are at least 50 things you should change before you even turn around to look at the shapes you’ve left in the bowl, starting with a realistic assessment of the junk you’ve been eating.

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

The Trail Baboon Interview – March 2011

Today is the first day of March, and you know what they say about its famous entrances and exits. I was up late last night and was able to grab the tempestuous month for a brief interview.

TB: It’s just seconds after midnight and you’ve barely started. How are you planning to come in this year?

March: (sigh) I wish there wasn’t so much attention paid to that, frankly. There’s all this pressure to make an impressive entrance, but a few years ago I decided to just go with the feeling. I’ll come in however I come in.

TB: Don’t you worry that people will be disappointed if you’re not very lion-like?

March: What is a lion like? Do you even know?

TB: Ferocious. Hungry. Vicious.

March: Lions also sleep a lot. They have quiet moments. There’s even self doubt, sometimes.

TB: Self doubt in a lion? Really?

March: Sure. A lion can ask, “What am I all about? Does it always have to be growling and posing and tearing apart he weakest antelope in the herd? What’s it like to have a bowl of cold soup and a few crackers?” Raising some really basic questions can change your whole attitude.

TB: So you’re coming in like a pensive lion?

March: I’m an important month with my own style. I’m sick of apologizing for it or trying to hide behind some animal mask.

TB: So you’re not taking requests.

March: I’m coming in like the way I feel today. Not like a lion or a lamb, but just me.

TB: But you’ve got to admit you can be moody and blustery.

March: What, there’s no wind in November?

TB: Of course there is, but …

March: OK then. Stick the “blustery” tag on November. It needs something brutal to balance off all that goody-goodness around Thanksgiving.

TB: Right. And you don’t have a holiday, do you. Except St. Patrick’s Day.

March: (a low moan of anguish)

TB: You don’t like St. Patty’s Day?

March: It’s a fake holiday for slackers. Like Halloween and Valentine’s Day, it’s just an excuse for strange behavior. As soon as the green beer started to flow, I knew I wasn’t going to get any respect for hosting St. Patrick’s Day. Easter, now THERE’S a holiday. If I could have Easter every time … really be able to count on it … that would re-define me.

TB: You’ve got March Madness.

March: A basketball tournament? You’ve got to be kidding. That’s an insult. Ask the other months – I don’t think any of them would want to be known for “madness”. Especially since it’s all about posturing and gambling and the excitement peaks at the final game, which is when?
In April!

TB: I’m sensing resentment.

March: I’m frustrated because people don’t understand that some of us have to be early-stage transitional. And maybe that’s not so easy to love. Lots of flowery poems have been written about April and May, but they’d be impossible without March. Think about that!

TB: Any plans for snow?

March: Snow is part of my act, but I’m well aware it’s been done to death this year. It’s hard when the opener steals your material and does it so badly. But I’m not going to shelve one of my best routines just because some other month was trying to compensate for being short.

TB: Ouch. So there might be snow.

March: March snow is special. Try to have a positive attitude about it.

TB: And your exit this year? Can we count on something lamb-like?

March: Lambs are a lot more complicated than you think.
Be careful what you wish for.

What would you like to get from March this year?

Award acceptance speeches can be so difficult and potentially embarrassing. Words that might be perfectly acceptable in normal conversation or as part of a drunken brawl simply aren’t appropriate on a global stage with a billion people watching.

In short, it’s a good idea to write down your thoughts before accepting the little golden man.

And yet movie stars lead such complicated lives. People watch them to see the glamour, but they also enjoy a little bit of dirt. And you know how it is in show biz – you have to give the paying customers some of what they want. How much, however, is up to you.

Some complain that prepared remarks sound “canned”, and are not as memorable as more unscripted, genuine moments. Often this is true, but a bit of preparation shows respect for the audience and for one’s self. If you take the time to deliver a message that has been crafted and proofread and re-written, it will represent you better in the long run.

One year the actor Mark Rylance accepted a Tony award by reciting a prose poem written by Minnesota author Louis Jenkins. There are good things about handling it that way – including economy of language. A poem has rhythm and timing, and so it is easier to fit inside the 45-second acceptance speech time limit than, say, a bit of off-the-cuff drunken rambling.

The bad thing about using poetry – a lot of people won’t get it. Others will find it annoying or will simply ignore it. And it’s not as splashy or revealing as off-the-cuff drunken rambling.

Unless you go Seussian / dysfunctional / confessional on them.

I’ve won the prize at last, Oh My!
And now it’s time for speeches.
Thank you, thank you, mom and dad,
And no thanks to the leeches.

Did I say “leeches”? Heavens dear.
That’s not what I’m about.
And we all know of whom I speak.
No need to call them out.

No, I don’t want to dwell on that.
On agents and producers
And all the stabbers, front and back
The users and seducers.

No, this is such a happy night
And I’ve already chewed
through half of my allotted time
with anti-gratitude.

So thanks to all those who endured
my antics without cringing.
My tantrums and my selfishness.
My pouts and fits and binging.

I’m so in awe of everyone’s
commitment to perfection.
My rehab staff. My temper coach.
The guards at State Corrections.

My family – the spouse and kids.
I haven’t thanked you yet.
I know I made you happiest
when I was on the set.

I’ve only got five seconds now.
So here’s to all the rest.
The fans who paid to see me
though I’ve been an awful pest.

That’s a solid 45 seconds, if read briskly. And it would run on You Tube forever.

If you had to accept a major award, would you go with stream-of-consciousness, or carefully prepared remarks?

After yesterday’s kerfuffle over a prank phone call made to Wisconsin Governor Scott Walker by someone posing as businessman David Koch, I’m become very hesitant to accept the stated identity of anyone I can’t see. How can I possibly know that the people I’m talking to aren’t scheming, lying bloggers trying to embarrass me?

And don’t tell me bloggers who do this sort of thing are today’s equivalent of the pioneering broadcast journalists. Go to the CBS archives. Where are Edward R. Murrow’s prank calls? You won’t find them! And I can say that with certainty, not because I’ve been in the CBS archives, but because I’m a blogger and I can make stuff up.

In the Walker call, the prankster, a fellow identified as Ian Murphy (again, who really knows?), sounds just the way a scared guy would sound if he were trying to imitate the chummy, towel snapping way billionaire puppet masters are supposed to yuk it up with their boys in the back room. He is completely unconvincing when he attempts to encourage Walker with “Now you’re not talking to any of these Democrat bastards, are you?” There’s no fire in his voice when he exhorts the Wisconsin Governor with “Beautiful, beautiful. Gotta crush that union!”

There are plenty of movies where the villain is a fabulously wealthy lout who wants to control the world. Can’t we practice our maniacal cackle a little bit before trying it out for an audience?

The prank call achieved the remarkable feat of making me feel a tiny bit of sympathy for Wisconsin’s Governor. I’ll try not to get carried away, though it has changed my outlook in some key areas. That’s why I’ve taken to recording all my phone calls and producing a daily transcript, just in case someone tries to hoodwink me.

Here’s one from yesterday:

(phone rings)

?: Reference Desk.

Me: I’m looking for a book about prank calls. How to make them, how to record them, that sort of thing.

?: A whole book about prank calls? Phone calls?

Me: Yeah. Some of the social ramifications of it. Legal too.

?: I’ll check the catalog. I don’t think anyone’s written a whole book about it. There might be some magazine articles and … how about a movie?

Me: They made a movie about prank calls?

?: When A Stranger Calls. 2006.

Me: That sounds like a joke answer to my question, and I was looking for real information.

?: There’s also a book by Walter Mosley called “The Wave”. It says here one of the plot points has to do with a character getting phone calls from someone claiming to be his dead father.

Me: I think you’re pulling my leg. Are you a real reference librarian or is this some kind of cheap put-on for your juvenile GOTCHA website?

?: You called ME.

Me: That’s exactly what a prank caller would say!

?: All I did was pick up the phone.

Me: You mean you prank answered!

We went around and around for a while, but I didn’t fall for any of her cheap gags. Some people are just too smart to be fooled!

How can you prove you are you?

Dear Dr. Babooner,

I am a middle-aged person who used to feel very special and “with it”, but in recent years it has become obvious to me that I’m not anyone’s 21st century poster boy.

And yet I feel I still have something to offer!

So I started a blog. It helped me feel like I was at the forefront of technology – doing things the modern way, not stuck in routines that are considered “old school.” I’ve been at it for over two years now, and while no one would call me a “successful” blogger (on the Ariana Huffington scale of success), I do feel like I’m making progress.

My reader seems pleased, anyway. At least that’s what she says on those days when she has time to stop by.

Writing a decent blog requires some discipline. You have to spend time sorting through your ideas. You consider your opinions and try to give some shape and structure to these thoughts before posting them online. In an ideal world, you’ll even proofread your blog once before offering it to the world.

But just yesterday I learned that things have changed again, and blogs are over. Only the clueless and the lame continue with it. Blogging is simply too time consuming and the payoff is virtually nil – like setting up your lemonade stand on a street with no traffic. In winter. During a blizzard.

The new thing is to constantly rain your short, random thoughts on the universe using multiple bursts of text delivered through Facebook and Twitter. Communicating with only pictures, videos or emoticons is even better. Blogs are too writer-y.

Dr. Babooner, how can I start over AGAIN? I feel like I can’t keep up and time is running out. Am I just meant to be behind every curve?

And should I blog about this, post it on my Facebook page, or Tweet it?

Sincerely,
Increasingly Irrelevant In Indianapolis

Here’s what I told Four I’s: “Just stay open to new ideas without expressing automatic disdain for things that are old. When young people abandon a thing, that’s no reflection on the thing itself. Young people abandon everything eventually, including being young. Draw some comfort from the fact that they will someday feel as useless and out-of-step as you. So do what feels right and consider using the full range of options, including “old school” communication. So what if ‘blogging is SO 2004’? As for your next carefully considered post, I suggest you scrawl it on a scrap of paper, stuff it in a bottle and throw it into the sea. You can’t call it a mass audience, but there are people stranded on a desert island somewhere who are desperate for something to read.”

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

This past Tuesday I grabbed a shovel and headed into the back yard to address some of the difficult issues dog owners face when the thaw begins and it becomes horribly evident that Fido has not been telling the whole truth about his business dealings. I should have suspected that story about desperate, out-of-work squirrels acting as personal valets was a mere fantasy. I chose to believe it because it made my life easier. Temporarily.

Walking with grim determination down a south-facing hill that the sun had cleared of snow, I stepped on a patch of brown grass that turned out to be covered with ice. As gravity took over I felt a tearing sensation in one of the major muscles of my left leg. I’ll spare you the spluttering and thrashing around and the Biblical oaths that followed. The result is that I can’t drive my car because I can’t lift up the foot that operates the clutch. I am suddenly impaired, but feeling lucky. I might have hit my head or fallen on the shovel, or toppled into the area that the dog has been decorating for the past three months with … well, let’s just say it could have been worse.

Yesterday my dear wife was kind enough to give me a ride to the doctor, but then she had to go to work and I undertook my errands by hobbling from one city bus to the next. It opened my eyes to part of a public transportation system that I had overlooked – namely, the part where I climb on and use it. I went from Shoreview to Rosedale to the University of Minnesota’s St. Paul Campus, then to the Minneapolis campus, downtown Minneapolis and back to the northern suburbs. It all went smoothly and just as the Metro Transit website had predicted. The only drawback was my sudden inability to hurry from one thing to the next.

It was a pleasant surprise to be forced to take things very slowly. The weather was fine. There was plenty to watch. At one point I had to kill 40 minutes at the central library in downtown Minneapolis. Was that a problem? Yes, the bus came too soon. Next time I’ll try to arrange it so I have to waste a couple of hours. And then there was the U of M stop where I felt compelled to fill the interlude with a cup of coffee and an apple fritter. The wait was no problem but the fritter was about 30% too big. I should have shared the extra chunk with the campus squirrels, but a misunderstanding about squirrels and chunks had gotten me into this situation in the first place.

In between rides I got from place to place the way Marty Feldman did when he played Igor in Young Frankenstein. Remember when he said “Walk this way”? That was me, minus the hump.

When have circumstances forced you to slow it down?