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Called To Service

Today’s guest post comes from Dr. Larry Kyle, Produce Manager at Genway, the Supermarket for genetically engineered foods!

I do love it when people who work in a lab finally get some small portion of the adulation they deserve. For me, the key has always been my beautiful animal-vegetable hybrids – the celery-snake and the pumpkin that screams like a hyena. Others scientific attention-seekers less creative than I are left with the more difficult task of making progress against major diseases. That’s hard work, and the visible successes are rare.

But every now and then something comes along that feels like a true step forward – when a malady that was not fully understood quite suddenly becomes less mysterious. The latest news about how Alzheimer’s spreads is just that sort of thing – a landmark discovery. Now we know that Alzheimer’s Disease moves from brain cell to brain cell in synch with a malfunctioning protein called tau. The next steps are obvious. We know where the disease starts and how it travels. It should be a relatively simple matter to wait along the path, throw a sack over its head, smack it a good one, drag it to the car and throw it in the trunk.

Then we can drive Alzheimer’s far out into the countryside and push it into a roadside ditch, with a stern warning not to come near us again!

OK, that may not be practical. But what we need is something that works like the Endangered Species Act in reverse. A deadly illness extinct-ifying process. I’m not sure exactly how that would work, but I know it takes a special talent to take a thing that is already in the world and completely lose it. Usually a little residue always remains. And yet there are so many bad things that need to go away.

That’s why I, Dr. Larry Kyle, would like to offer myself to the next president as the first manager of a new government agency – the Department of Oblivion. At D.O.O., we would be all about thoroughly misplacing things. As Department of Oblivion Manager, I would have the coolest acronym in all government service! Under my direction, the Department would so completely lose track of Alzheimer’s it would be gone from human memory inside a year. Same with most of the cancers, all of the vascular problems, lung disease, tapeworms and mange.

Yes, I am a scientist and a capitalist at heart, but I would change my focus and join government service in this noble cause! But only to lead the Department of Oblivion, because keeping inadequate or non-existent records would be central to our mission, and not doing paperwork is one of the things I do best!

Take me seriously, Mr. President-to-be. Choose me to be your D.O.O.M.!

Like many in the private sector, Dr. Kyle overestimates how effective he would be as the head of a public entity. But you have to admire his enthusiasm.

If you ran a government agency (real or imagined), which one would it be?

Ask Dr. Babooner

Dear Dr. Babooner,

I’m not a mean person, and I love animals. I really do. The thing that got to me about our little dog Rockne is that he was, well, obnoxious. His original name was Mr. Fluffs but we re-named him after we realized he was going to be a loud, persistent, yappy pest. Calling him “Rockne” was part of our private joke. We live on a banana plantation in southern Florida and he absolutely loved the fruit. So whenever one of us went into the yard the other invariably said “Go out there and skin one for the yipper.”

I guess you had to be there.

Anyway, Rockne’s vocalizing would come in waves. Sometimes he’d be quiet for almost a day, and then the following week he’d go at it non-stop. What really grated on my nerves was when he would go off while we were in the car. Something about the enclosed space magnified his yip, yip, yip, yip, yip, and it didn’t help that he simply couldn’t abide the site of a jogger. Something in his worldview totally rejected the concept of a human being in a designer sweatsuit, running.

And we saw lots of them. Weird, I know. You’d think people wouldn’t have to lift a finger, much less a foot, to break a sweat in south Florida. But run they did, and Rockne let ’em have it every time we spied someone chugging down the road. The sound inside the car was excruciating. Finally one day I stopped to let the jogger go by before opening the door and telling Rockne to get out and chase her. It was a foolish, spiteful move. I figured he would run for a short distance, wear himself out, think better of his compulsion, and that would be the end of that. No more barking at people along the road. I was counting on the day’s high heat and humidity to drive home the point.

I’ll never forget it – just before he sprang out of the car, Rockne gave me a long, last look. There was something potent in it. Not reproachful, just … accepting and maybe a little judgmental. But it was profound. And then he was gone.

He skittered off after the jogger just as fast as his little legs would carry him, but before he got close enough to catch her he quite suddenly veered into the underbrush and disappeared into what I then realized was The Everglades.

I was kind of heartbroken. I mean, on a certain level I was happy to be rid of him, but on the other hand I realized he probably couldn’t survive out there. I mean, the Everglades has bobcats! Not to mention crocodiles AND alligators! My wife was deeply ticked off – this was six months ago and she still won’t speak to me. And now today I see THIS!

Apparently Burmese Pythons are killing just about everything in the Everglades. My only hope is that Rockne managed, through some unexpected combination of wisdom, yappy persistence and canine guile, to convince the pythons that they were brethren, and rather than lunch he became King of the Released Pet Nation.

Otherwise, I’m feeling really, really guilty right now. But should I?

Sincerely,
Remorseful About The Fate I’ll Never Know

I told R.A.T.F.I.N.K. he should absolutely feel remorse. Putting any creature out of the car within shouting distance of the Everglades ought to be a crime, but especially a tempting morsel like Mr. Fluffs (or Rockne, if you must). But I would not comfort myself with the thought that your dog somehow became King of the Pythons. That would not be a good development for you. Just in case, you should stay far, far away from the swamp.

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

Book Worm

Here’s a note from perennial sophomore Bubby Spamden. And as usual, he needs last minute help with an assignment for some activity he’s in at Wendell Wilkie High School. But I don’t mind the last-minute, panicky attention. I’m flattered that he thought to ask.

Hey Mr. C.,

On Friday we got a assignment from Ms. Filcher – she’s the faculty advisor for our Young Moguls Club.

She gave us until this afternoon after school to come up with a business plan to save the publishing industry, which is going to disappear, if Barnes & Noble goes out of business.
Or so they say.

I remember going into Barnes & Noble when I was a little kid. We would head over to the children’s section and I had a great time pointing at stuff and begging mom and dad to buy me more than they had planned on. I was always able to come away with two or three extra books that I HAD to have – all because the folks thought it would help my education. Who woulda guessed I’d get stuck in 10th grade for, like, 20 years! Maybe it woulda turned out different if I’d read those books I went to so much trouble throwing fits to get, but reading a whole book takes time, and I just liked having ’em. They pile real nice and are a great material for building forts!

Anyhow, now I have to come up with a plan to save the publishing industry. I guess the thing about Barnes and Noble is that they’ve gone in whole hog to the e-book idea, selling their Nook e-reader in the store and trying to stay important in the book business all the way until some future time when there aren’t any, y’know, books.

Like, maybe, five years from now.

Anyway, I was hoping your blog people could tell me which one of my ideas I should present to Ms. Filcher when she asks for our plans. Here they are:

Plan 1: Barnes & Noble should give every high school sophomore in the U.S. a FREE Nook e-reader! Seriously, nobody in our generation is going to shell out money for this thing, ’cause we’ve all got computers and cell phones and our parents are on us to keep the costs down as it is. So give us free Nooks instead and who knows? Maybe we’ll use them. Or maybe we ‘ll sell them to our grandparents. Either way … Barnes & Noble would be helping the youth of today get a foothold in the economy of tomorrow!

Plan 2: Barnes & Noble should come out with a special e-reader for my age group with a name that really connects us to the kind of reading we do. I’m thinking they should call it the “Cram”.

Plan 3: Buy the company, fire everybody, sell the inventory, the fixtures and the stores, and run for president.

I’m pretty sure one of these answers will get me an “A”, but since Ms. Filcher is a lot closer to your age than mine, I was hoping you could help me decide!

I’m about the worst person in the world to ask for help with a business plan, but I have to admit I gave Bubby extra points for #3. So, how should he save the publishing industry?

Choose one of his options, or make up your own!

State of the Bunion Address

It’s time once again for that annual address by Congressman Loomis Beechly of the 9th District, representing all the water surface area of the State of Minnesota.

Greetings Constituents!

Each year around this time I make a speech where I try my darndest to sound like I’m giving you an honest overview of how things are going in the 9th District. And I’m here to tell you that the district is solid, just the way all water surfaces should be at the end of January!

Some gloomy negative-thinkers will say that our solidity is just barely there, that there is a lot more open water than usual and silver carp and zebra mussels are gaining ground every year. But I can’t agree with that. Because we all know there are things you don’t want to hear, and it’s up to me to remember NOT say those things out loud, even if I happen to be thinking them. Over-sharing is a terrible social error, and at times I have been accused of providing Too Much Information. This year is no different. I have a whole list of stuff I’m not going to mention to you now. If I sound a little loopy it’s not that I’ve been drinking. It’s just that I’m biting my tongue. A lot.

Some have said there’s a kind of disengagement going on, where people are too focused on their own personal problems at the expense of meeting our shared challenges, and that this widespread self-indulgent pettiness is the cause of many of our current problems. But I know you don’t want to hear about selfishness, especially not your own. And anyway, I don’t think you’re self absorbed at all. And I know it will make you happy to hear that I’ve been thinking about you so much.

One other thing that’s been on my mind pretty much non-stop that I definitely don’t want to talk about is weird thing going on with my right foot. My big toe has turned inwards and is rubbing up against all the other toes. It’s like looking at a line of plump, misshapen dominos. One irritates the other and the other and the other, right on down the line. The doctor says I have a bunion. All I know is this – I used to have toes that lined up nice and worked together. Everybody knew their role. This Little Piggy went to market, this Little Piggy stayed home, and so forth. Now they all want to have roast beef and they’re climbing all over each other and it looks like a rugby scrum inside my shoe.

But I’m not going to talk about that. I’m here to tell you that in spite of the murmurings, everything is fundamentally O.K.. And even though I’m limping a little bit I’m pretty sure that I could beat anyone who challenged me to a footrace, because I have the greatest feet the world has ever known. Even though the big toe thinks the little toes are useless, and the little toes think the big one is a greedy, self important stinker. But really, the brutal truth is that none of them smell too good.

I’ve said too much.

So if anyone should ask, my message to you is that The State of the Bunion is good, and strong, and super-powerful, and a lot of other positive words that may or may not really apply. And if anyone tells you otherwise, and that person is running for office, please tell them to run against me because they obviously have no idea what people want to hear!

Thanks for your attention, and God Bless the 9th District!

I have no idea what that was really about, but it read like a serious speech and it took up a lot of time, so I’ll have to concede that Mr. Beechly appears to be doing his job. But I am a bit worried about that bunion.

How do you feel about your feet?

Open Season

Another breathlessly hyped dispatch has arrived from once legitimate journalist and now attention-starved, sensationalist scribbler, Bud Buck.

Messenger Shot, Attacker Collects Reward
By Bud Buck

Newt Gingrich, the winner of Saturday’s South Carolina Primary, is widely thought to have received that prize as a reward for taking extreme umbrage to a question from reporter John King during last week’s CNN “debate”. Gingrich said he was “appalled” that King would open the proceedings by repeating accusations from Gingrich’s second wife that he wanted her to agree to an ‘open marriage’ so he could stay with her and continue a relationship with the woman who ultimately became his third wife.

The audience cheered Gingrich’s response, and he went on to win handily. Today, my head is spinning. How can a person who behaves like Newt Gingrich win favor with any segment of the American populace? I didn’t think such a thing was possible, but by merely attacking a reporter he has managed to pull it off.

This is alarming news for journalists everywhere. I’m afraid it is proof positive that we now have open season on anyone with a microphone, camera or notebook. If delivering a verbal slapping to John King is all it takes to make a quarter million people believe someone as caustic and overblown as Newt Gingrich should be president, no reporter anywhere is safe. And I say this with the full understanding that in South Carolina, marital infidelity and lying by high officials is as common as dirt. And I mean actual dirt.

In the immediate future, look for this trend – whenever a reporter asks a question that is uncomfortable for the candidate on the receiving end, that journalist will be told in no uncertain terms how horrid and despicable he/she is. In fact, I suspect the remaining candidates are busily scouting around right now for a reporter to lambast. If Romney, Paul and Santorum don’t get a John King of their own, this contest could be over by February.

Of course no respectable journalist can hold back on the tough questions in this charged environment. And yet it is by asking tough questions that we will make it possible for the politicians to deflect attention from the miserable things they’ve done. And not just politicians! I expect the captain of that Italian cruise ship to go after the media very soon. What could he possibly lose? The world already thinks he’s a cowardly, selfish boor.
A little bit of scribe bashing could only help his image.

That is why I, Bud Buck, would like to offer myself as a reportorial sacrifice. Yes, I am making myself available to any campaign that would like to have a journalist to chide, browbeat and abuse. I’ll be your hapless media elite. I can ask Romney about the dog on the roof of his car. I can bring the “Google search” question to Santorum. And I can get in Ron Paul’s grill about those old newsletters. Why would I set myself up for such harsh treatment? Because it’s obvious – American hates journalists. And if that’s the only kind of spotlight that’s truly available for the reporting class, I want it all. The most despised journalist in America is, by default, number one! Newt Gingrich learned this long ago.

Getting attention is the only thing that matters.

Candidates, call me! This is Bud Buck!

I doubt any major campaigns will choose Bud Buck to be their designated whipping boy, but Mitt Romney has to go ballistic on someone, and soon. Who will it be?

When have you been yelled at?

The Silent Treatment

An anguished dispatch came in late last night from perennial Sophomore Bubby Spamden, still swimming upstream at Wendell Wilkie High School.

Hey Mr. C.,

Boy am I confused!

I have a paper that’s due today in World History and I don’t think I’m going to get it done, all because of two mean girls named SOPA and PIPA. I don’t know who they are, but they’re so upsetting they’ve shut down the whole Internet, almost. Everywhere I look, it says the website is “closed in protest of SOPA and PIPA”. Geez, what did they do? The shut down even includes Wikipedia, which is, like the storehouse of everything that would be in my brain if I studied and was able to remember the tiniest details of things I don’t care about at all.

All I know is that when I look for Wikipedia information on the Barbary Pirates, I can only get it in Portuguese.

Piratas da Barbária, Piratas da Berbéria, piratas barbarescos, piratas berberescos, piratas berberes ou corsários otomanos, foi a designação dada aos piratas que até meados do século XIX operaram no Mediterrâneo ocidental e no Oceano Atlântico nordeste a partir de portos sitos na costa da Berbéria, ou seja na região litoral do Norte de África correspondente hoje às costas da Argélia, da Tunísia, da Líbia e a alguns portos de Marrocos.

I don’t have a problem with that personally, ‘cause it makes as much sense to me as the English version. But I can’t just cut and paste it and hand it in as my report because that would be wrong. To be ethical you have to go in and change a bunch of words around so you can legitimately pretend the writing is really yours. How can I do that if I don’t know what the words mean? I tried that and then ran it through a translating website and all I got back was useless hash.

Pirates of the occidental person, Pirates middle of the Berbéria, pirates, pirates, berberes or Ottoman privateers, were the assignment given to the pirates who Barbarism of century XIX had even operated in leaving the Mediterranean and the corresponding ports Atlantic pirates of the barbarescos ports sitos in the coast of the Berbéria, that is in the coast of the North of Africa to the coasts of Algeria, Tunisia, the Lybian and to some of Morocco region.

Even I can see that doesn’t make any sense. Mr. Boozenporn is bound to figure it out. This is horrible and I’m going to get an F in World History all because of SOPA and PIPA. They are really messing up my head, which is something that is already being done by KATIE and ASHLEY and GLORIA! GLORIA especially, who I thought kinda liked me but lately she’s been hanging out with this guy CHRIS, who is, like, a super basketball player. Yesterday I went up to her at her locker and she said she couldn’t talk – she was going to go watch CHRIS practice. So I’ll show her – I’m usually nice to her and all chatty but I’ve decided I’m not going to talk to GLORIA at all today.
When she realizes how rotten it is when I’m all silent, she’ll realize CHRIS is a moron and she’ll tell me she loves me.

That’s what I’m counting on, anyway. That, and that Mr. Boozenporn can’t read Portuguese.

Seu Amigo,
Bubby

I told Bubby it is always a risky choice to withdraw with the expectation that certain people will miss you and will wait and wish for your return. The world is a busting crossroads and once you go out the door there are plenty of others conveniently nearby who are just as fascinating as you. Ignoring a person does not make you more attractive. If you want GLORIA to notice you, turn towards her, not away. For that matter, SOPA and PIPA might be worth your attention too.

How do you feel about the silent treatment?

Benny and Al

Today is the shared birthday of two American icons, Benjamin Franklin and Al Capone, in 1706 and 1899 respectively. One is widely respected but also known as a bit of a scoundrel, and the other widely known as a scoundrel but also a little bit respected.

I’m not about to suggest they would have been friendly, though it’s possible Franklin would have found Capone interesting. And Capone? He might have found Franklin a pine box to lie down in, given the right circumstances.

Of course the Internet is lousy with quotes from each, and who knows if they’re accurate? But by process of elimination, it’s easy to tell who said what.

This one is not from the author of “The Art of Virtue”:

“Today I got a letter from a woman in England. She offered to pay my passage to London if I’d kill some neighbors she’s been having a quarrel with.”

And this one is not from the author of “The Valentine’s Day Massacre”:

“Be civil to all; sociable to many; familiar with few; friend to one; enemy to none.”

These, I suppose, could have come from either one:

“My booze has been good and my games on the square.”
“Drive thy business or it will drive thee.”
“I’ll have to hand it to Napoleon as the world’s greatest racketeer.”
“Energy and persistence conquer all things.”
“Public service is my motto.”
“He that is of the opinion money will do everything may well be suspected of doing everything for money.”

Could there be a book or a movie in the meeting of these strange fun-loving bedfellows? All it would take is a nifty solution to the problem of time travel, and finding a proper wig for Mr. Capone or a suitable hat for Mr. Franklin.

Nominate someone to be your foil in a true “Odd Couple.”

Ask Dr. Babooner

Dear Dr. Babooner,

My girlfriend has got this thing for extreme winter sports. She is after me to go with her to see “Crashed Ice” in St. Paul this weekend, which I have read a little bit about. It appears the idea is to go as fast as you can on ice skates down a steep hill inside the padded boundaries of a course that ends, thankfully, near a hospital.

There are sudden drops, awkward turns and bumpy stretches and it all seems so wrong, Dr. Babooner. Ice is supposed to be flat and smooth and enclosed in a heated arena where I can buy a beer and a hot dog. That’s winter sports, to me! But she says my ideas are “too tame.” Friends tell me I should be thrilled to have such a fun-loving, outdoorsy girlfriend who can get excited about a raucous event where weekend daredevils risk concussions and broken bones just for the privilege of saying they did it!

I don’t get a kick out of seeing blood on the ice and limbs twisted at weird angles, but I’m starting to wonder if my girlfriend does!

Dr. Babooner, I’d rather go to “Crashed Couch”, an event where I throw myself on a short, padded course that sits in front of the TV, and the crazy, impossible goal is to stay awake all the way to the end (of the movie).

Are we incompatible?

Sincerely,
Jack, a Dull Boy

I told Jack that yes, he and his girlfriend are incompatible and if he doesn’t want to spend the rest of his life standing outside with his frozen toes surrounded by empty cans of Red Bull, he should break off the relationship right now. That, or encourage his girlfriend to become a Crashed Ice participant so he can go wait for her indoors, in the emergency room.

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

More Junk From Overhead

We now know that Russia’s Phobos-Grunt Moon-of-Mars expedition will come crashing back to Earth sometime soon – probably next week.

The spacecraft looks like an elaborate wine-cork removal system I once had. “Corkscrew” was too simple a name for it, and it worked about as well as Phobos-Grunt.

While the mission had been to learn more about the Martian Moon Phobos, instead we will find out about more about how big, heavy, out-of-control things re-enter our atmosphere, explode, melt, and plummet. There might even be some advances in debris field plotting, based on the exact location of the uncontrolled landing of 20 to 30 pieces of the spacecraft.

No doubt Bathtub Safety Officer Rafferty would tell us to take cover for the next fortnight, sitting under the stairs beneath a pile of old mattresses until he sounds the all clear. But where’s the fun in that? If a speeding, molten-hot Russian space chunk scores a direct hit on your house, there’s probably no safe spot anywhere inside, unless you have built a reinforced bunker in the basement.

And maybe that bunker is not such a bad idea. The new age of private space exploration means more launches are in our future – possibly MANY more. How many will be poorly planned and ill-advised? If this is the dawn of a new Age of Exploration and the rockets are modern schooners setting out for distant, uncharted continents, then we are the creatures who live at the bottom of the sea – filtering through the stuff that settles and watching for shipwrecks that happen over our heads.

I have often wondered what such denizens of the deep thought of the sudden, catastrophic arrival of the Titanic. Weird, I know. But really – it would come as a bit of a surprise, don’t you think?

And some day in the far, far distant future, when the explosion of our own sun becomes a real threat and we have identified other Earths in “Goldilocks” zones near distant stars, you can bet the well-to-do of our planet will plan their exodus in vessels loaded with their accumulated riches. Why? Because people will always try to take it with them.

Naturally, some of these panicked expeditions will founder.

The good part – Priceless booty rains down all around us.
The bad part – A lot of it is on fire.

Still, it’s always lovely to gaze at the stars.

We blast off for a new planet in ten minutes. What’s in your suitcase?

Millard Fillmore’s Bathtub

The phone rang at midnight. It was America’s Safety Scold – Bathtub Safety Officer Rafferty, obviously unable to sleep.

BSOR: Today is Millard Fillmore’s birthday. Do you know what he’s famous for?

Me: For being the only person named Millard that anyone has ever heard of?

BSOR: No. He’s famous for being the first President to install and use a bathtub in the White House.

Me: Along with the many other things he did when he was President.

BSOR: There’s nothing. I checked. The bathtub is it.

Me: That’s sad.  All that power and no accomplishments?

BSOR: It gets worse. The bathtub story is a lie. Totally made up by H.L. Mencken to fill a newspaper column one day. It was one of the first recorded instances of somebody inventing a “news” story that other people bought, completely. Even after Mencken announced that the story was false, people continued to believe it. Some folks buy it to this day! It’s incredible. And you know why? Because the story sounds right, and people feel comfortable with it. Just like they feel comfortable in a warm bath on a winter’s night.  But you should never feel comfortable in the bathtub, because the bathtub is the most hazardous appliance in the most dangerous room in the entire house.

Me: And why did you call me at midnight to tell me this?

BSOR: Because Millard Fillmore’s birthday always reminds me that we should never lie about bathtubs!

Me: Or lie about IN bathtubs, right?

BSOR: You do not realize how serious this is.

Me: I guess not.

BSOR: The fake article said doctors were against bathtubs as a general principle because they were a threat to the public health. When Mencken admitted the whole thing was a lie, people assumed there was no threat at all. But Mencken was right! The combination of water, soap, and a smooth, hard surface plus the ever-present devil – gravity … make your bathtub is the most dangerous thing you own!  More dangerous than a snowmobile.  Or a wood chipper!   Or any combination thereof!

Me:  That sounds like an exaggeration worthy of H.L. Mencken.

BSOR:  And yet, each year more people are injured in their own bathtub than are hurt by wood chippers on snowmobiles.  Fact!

Me: Then why is this not the focus of a major public policy debate?

BSOR: Because most people use their bathtubs in private while they are naked. The bathtub-interaction moment is so intimate, there’s a huge sentiment that says the government has no business there. But there are good doctors who seriously question whether we should be allowed to operate bathtubs without a license. They remain silent for fear they will be laughed at.  No one takes the bathtub menace seriously, thanks to Millard Fillmore and H.L. Mencken!

Me: Then this is truly a dark day.

BSOR: That’s why I can’t sleep.

Our conversation went on a lot longer than I care to admit here. If obsessive worrying was classified as a pervasive threat to the public welfare, Bathtub Safety Officer Rafferty would have to cite himself for multiple safety violations, every day. As it is, the possible long-term effects of the Millard Fillmore Bathtub Hoax keep him engaged and annoyingly alert.

Have you ever helped to spread a lie, believing it was true?