I admire a good headline, and my eye was caught by one in the Wall Street Journal the other day – “Prices Soar on Crop Woes”. Basically the story is that a worldwide reduction in various agricultural harvests is causing food prices to go up.

Cheery, eh?

But despite the dire news it delivers, I decided I really, really like the sound and the rhythm of the five word sequence “Prices Soar on Crop Woes”. (Note to young musicians: “The Crop Woes” would be a great name for a band.)

I told myself that a global food shortage spurring higher prices everywhere is the kind of catastrophe that, if it can be averted, should be. And I resolved to come up with an inventive solution that had not yet occurred to anyone, because my brain is so unique. Hmmm.

I’ve never been good at anagrams, but the thought slipped into my head that maybe there’s an unseen angle on this problem hidden somewhere inside the 20 letters of the headline “Prices Soar on Crop Woes,” and it would reveal itself through re-arrangement. I was fairly sure no one had tried to solve the problem this way, so I started to puzzle it out.

The headline has 20 letters. When you group them by type and arrange them alphabetically, it looks like this:

a
cc
ee
i
n
oooo
pp
rrr
sss
w

Does laying it out this way make it easier to see new words inside the headline? I’ll leave it for you to judge. After thirty minutes of noodling, this is all I could come up with:

Poor Cows Are In Process
Sow Opera Ropes in Crocs

What does it all mean?

“Poor Cows Are In Process” could certainly be a problem in the global food supply. We beef eaters shouldn’t dine on poor cows if rich, hearty, healthy ones are available. A partial solution to the crisis! I was pretty proud of that.

“Sow Opera Ropes in Crocs”, however, was baffling. An opera by pigs might reduce our planetary appetite if we can get enough people to listen to it, but it won’t do anything to stop hunger. Although if crocs attended any opera put on by pigs, those particular pigs would never make it to any human’s table, so that’s a potential food supply problem, though probably not the worst one that we face.

Obviously my letter juggling approach to finding a novel solution to “Prices Soar on Crop Woes” was going nowhere. In desperation, I turned to the Internet Anagram Server, which is a place to go if you want evidence that your poor brain is not up to the task of competing with a computer.

On the Internet Anagram Server, type in a phrase and the software will re-arrange the letters for you. In the “advanced” menu, you can ask the server to include specific words. Since I already knew “sow” and “cow” could be made with some of the 20 letters, I included them. Unfortunately the headline doesn’t have the letters to spell “chicken”, so to represent the third most common meat to appear on American plates, I asked the server to find anagrams that included the word “coop”.

Here are some results:

Reprocess a Poor Cow? Sin.
A Porcine Cow Sores Pros.
A Nice Cow, or Oppressors
Poor Cow. A Prison Recess.

A Poor Sow, Sincere Crops
A Precise Sow Croons Pro
Sow A Sonic Pop Sorcerer
Sow Conspires a Coop Err

Coop Row Coarseness Rip
Sorrows Nip Coop Crease
Carrier Sews Coop Spoon
Spacier Coop Sore Sworn

What does this tell us?

It tells us that it is unbelievably easy to lose 90 irreplaceable minutes of your life online, even if you have nothing to play with but a 20 letter headline.

Aside from Trail Baboon, what is your biggest online time waster?

My cellphone chirped in the middle of the night with a rambling message from a restless friend who lives in the woods. It has been translated from the original Ursus Textish.

Hey, it’s Bart.

I know, I’m supposed to be hibernating but I couldn’t sleep. Know what that’s like?
Being awake in the middle of January is a real bummer. I’m afraid when April comes, I’ll still be tired. I’m dug into a hole under a big tree that fell over. It’s good. Out of the wind. Snow packed all around – that makes it cozy.

But when I open my eyes it’s just … you know. Bark. Not much to look at. I’ve tried counting sheep but it doesn’t help. Makes my stomach growl. We bears are already good at growling, so our stomachs get real loud. Somebody passing by could hear it and figure, ‘Hey, there’s a bear under the tree.’ Then I really wouldn’t be able to sleep. Rumor is, there are scientists in the woods.

Yup, I get a little paranoid.

But there’s good reason. Some of the bears say home invasions are on the rise. You’re sleeping and suddenly the door opens and these people reach in with needles and electronic collars and tags. They’re putting their hands all over you and poking you and measuring you, whispering all the while like it’s some secret mission. Then they go away! But when you get up in spring, all their merchandise is hanging off you, like you’re a Christmas tree that got decorated and forgotten. Then you have to drag that stuff around with you through the whole summer and maybe the rest of your life, clattering and beeping … slows you down. And the lady bears really don’t go for guys with flashing, humming collars. It feels like you’re being watched. Or so I hear.

Anyway, thinking about this is gonna keep me awake for days unless I figure it out, so if you’ve got advice about going back to sleep … something other than counting sheep … let me know, eh?

What cures insomnia?

With some sharp language-related news cutting through the air of late involving the U.S. Navy and some people standing in the road in North Carolina, I thought it would be enlightening to consult with someone I consider to be an expert in the field of salty talk, the skipper of the pirate clipper Muskellunge, Captain Billy.

I tossed some relevant press clippings into a bottle and launched it down the Mississippi through a hole in the ice near Fridley about a week ago, and much to my surprise a reply from the Captain arrived on my desk late last night, boldly dashed on a piece of damp parchment by someone using a parrot feather dipped in pomegranate juice. I deduce that it came from somewhere in the southern climes. Maybe Mendota Heights or even as far away as Cottage Grove!

Ahoy!

Many thanks fer yer question about public language an’ what is an’ what ain’t considered foul!

As Cap’n of a pirate ship, people automatically assumes I has a sharp tongue, a form of stereotypin’ which I resents. Me and me boys labors under heavy expectations from landlubbers regardin’ our manner of public discourse.

Fer instance, if’n one of me boys enters a waterfront saloon anywhere in th’ world, he ain’t taken serious until he either punches somebody’s lights out or utters at least a half dozen choice curse words in th’ local dialect. This gets t’ be a problem on account of th’ vast number of places we visits an’ all th’ different local standards fer rough talk. We ain’t scholars out here, an’ it’s quite a chore t’ keep up wi’ current foul language fashions.

Believe it or don’t, a surprising number of me boys is kind hearted souls who took t’ th’ life of piratin’ t’ get away from uncouth situations at home, an’ they ain’t much inclined to employ harsh language anyhow. They often declines shore leave, on account of th’ fact that it’s too much work to make th’ kind of impression a pirate has to make merely to get served a beer in some places.

But I caution’s ye against thinkin’ pirates is in any way refined. I prefers t’ think we’s Libertarians, language-wise. On board th’ Muskellunge there’s no rules about what a pirate can or can’t say, an’ that goes both ways. Most standard obscenities is allowed as well as any kind of precious, non-piratical sissy words like “Gosh”, “Jeepers” an’ “Swell.”

Where I draws th’ line is attitude. Me boys is not permitted t’ be mean spirited towards one another or anyone else, unless it has t’ do wi’ official pirate business, such as pillagin’ a quiet coastal town or ransackin’ a defenseless vessel.

Th’ one spoken word I never wants to hear on board th’ Muskellunge is th’ last name of that famous FAKE movie pirate, Johnny Depp. If’n one of me boys curses another with a “God Depp” or a “Depp You” or a “you’s a no good barnacle Depper,” I’ll wash his mouth out with a fruity wine cooler – a horrible insult t’ any boy what loves his grog.

Yers in love o’ th’ language,

Capt. B.

The captain has a strong point that the “bad”ness of words is more a question of local custom than universal truth, and the attitude we bring to any exchange is more important that what is actually said. Given that, I do think he is a bit of a hypocrite for taking such an uncharitable attitude toward Johnny Depp.

Do you have to watch your language?

Dear Dr. Babooner,

This may seem strange, but when terribly bad things happen, I usually know who is responsible right away, even before any reliable information is released.

Call it what you will – a second sense or just my keen understanding of the ways of the world, but once I have figured out who is guilty, I don’t think about it over and over. I’ve already done my thinking. I speak up, because people who commit horrible acts should be punished immediately! The problem with our legal system is that it’s got too much room for revisiting decisions that have already been made!

Sometimes, when the “authorities” finish their “process”, they claim the culprit is not who I said it was, but is actually someone kind of preemptively judgmental, like ME! Then people say I’m a hothead who rushes to conclusions. But judging is so fun, why not rush to get there?

Dr. Babooner, it seems like everyone these days is an amateur blame-placer or else some kind of a wait-and-see sissy! How can I get everyone to accept my view of things and not to waste any precious time arguing or fact-checking? I am ready to be the Global Blame Czar, but the world is pretending that there is some kind of problem with that!

Sincerely,

IKWIK (I Know What I Know)

I told IKWIK that (he/she) should try crawling to a conclusion sometime, just to see how it feels. I try to take that approach and it gives me space to change my mind several times before I arrive at a point of view. I don’t get many raves for decisiveness, but people still seem to think I’m smart when really, the truth is, I’m just slow. Sometimes intelligence is simply a matter of waiting to be the last one to speak.

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

I don’t know if you’ve heard about this, but goats have a tendency to climb on things. You can fight it or try to argue them out of it, but they climb anyway. Here’s a guy who has decided to go with the flow:

I admire anyone who is willing to put some effort into improving the life of an animal, though I’m guessing the goats don’t truly appreciate the clever names he has given all the parts of their obstacle course. He might think of it as a feather in his capra, but I suspect these are puns they’ve all herbivore. The structure they are most grateful for? The fact that he provides rumen board.

And here’s another goat-centric amusement. If this bridge-to-over-there was in my back yard, I’d be concerned about keeping the (human) kids off it.

When I was 8 years old we were fortunate to have a park nearby with swings, slides and a jungle gym. Unfortunately it was right by a river and before long we had left the safe thrills behind to go clambering over the high, sheer rocks that rose out of the water, daring gravity to humble us. It was nothing but luck that kept me from slipping off the moss covered stone face to go crashing into the boulders strewn riverbank below.

What was your greatest climb? (or is it still ahead of you?)

Here’s a note that came in early this morning from 10th grader Bubby Spamden.

Hey Mr. C.,

Your friend Bubby here, just wondering if you or any of your blog people could think of a way for me to get beyond this terrible routine I’m in of always being held back.

I know you already know that I’m Wendell Wilkie High School’s “perennial sophomore” and that I’ve been in 10th grade for about 25 years now. I think it’s turned into kind of a tradition here to not let me become a junior. Every day I’m used as a scary example for the younger kids (work hard or you’ll wind up like Bubby) and as a point of pride by the older kids (sure I got a D, but I’m better off than Spamden). I don’t think the teachers even look at my homework anymore.

And my parents are in on it! This is their way to keep themselves young – they prevent me from growing up! As long as I’m still a sophomore in high school, they can belong to the PTA, hang out with the parents who are still good looking, and dodge the high cost of college.

I admit that I’m not crazy about moving on myself, but what I’m wondering is this – is it possible to regress? It kills me to find out that in some elementary schools, little kids are being given iPads! I want to go back to the 4th grade! Pleeeeeease? I wanna!

Really, why can’t I start over and have a cool education like that?

Your friend,

Bubby Spamden

I told Bubby you get the education you seek, and he should not attack his school district to fight his own failings, real or imagined. And going backwards isn’t an option. Wilkie High School has already courted disaster by keeping him in the 10th grade for so long. “No Child Left Behind” is an act designed specifically to prevent Bubby Spamdens from happening everywhere! At the very least he should threaten to take his case to state education authorities. That possibility might be enough of a lever to make something good happen for him this spring. That’s what I told him.

As far as being given an iPad is concerned – there is nowhere in the wide world of education where that particular gift is going to be given to you, Bubby. Sorry, but any librarian will tell you – as soon as you learn how to turn off the family filter, handing you a computer becomes a very risky business.

What’s the coolest thing you were allowed to use while you were in school?

There’s some good news in the headlines for car manufacturers. Although not all models have rebounded, there are signs of hope on the sales floors. As evidence, I submit an e-mail that came in late last night!

Hi everybody! Wally here, from Wally’s Intimida where you can get a great deal on a 2011 Sherpa – still the largest passenger car on the road and even moreso since so many of the other cars have gone tiny! And now is the perfect time to buy, because other people are buying too! Sales numbers for December 2010 are up and enthusiasm is contagious, so throw caution to the wind and plunk down some cash to start the New Year in a car big enough to make its own weather! That’s right, each Intimida Sherpa is like a geographical feature that affects air currents and cloud formation. We’re not kidding when we say the newest model is a butte! Park one in front of your house and see what happens! I’m betting your Sherpa can’t cause weather that’s any worse, and it might make things better!

People are also saying the minivan is cool again. That’s great for minivan lovers, but why try to jump on that bandwagon when it may have already left the soccer field? You know how trends are – by the time you catch on, it’s usually over. Remember – the SUV humiliated the minivan, and the Sherpa emasculated the SUV. So if you want to stay ahead of this curve of resurgence, go straight for the Sherpa right now! You can take it home this afternoon and by the time you have it broken in, it’ll be hip again!

Not that I ever thought the Sherpa had lost its hipness. But there was a time when a car as big as a mountain range struck some people as a bit over the top. And getting over the top of a Sherpa requires a lot, even for very tall people. But I know they’re being purchased and driven – all you need for evidence is to read those reports of birds being knocked out of the sky in Arkansas and Louisiana. What could possibly make that happen? Loud noises? Disease? What if those birds were hit by a car while they were still up in the trees? What kind of car could do that? Not a Mini Cooper, I can tell you that!

Americans are buying cars again! That new car smell is filling our noses with pride! Do your part and tower over the pack with a new Sherpa from Intimida – it’s a mighty big car!

Wally is always optimistic about the Sherpa, but it may be too big to catch on again. Though how many have lost money by assuming Americans desperately want whatever they’re looking at, but one size bigger?

What kind of product do you tend to buy on impulse?

Dear Dr. Babooner,

Last night we took the Christmas tree down and dragged it out to the curb to wait in a snow bank for the truck that will cart it off to some dreary compost site. I know that I shouldn’t anthropomorphize an evergreen tree, but I’ve seen too many stop action holiday cartoons and Disney movies to completely banish the thought that my Christmas tree has feelings and enjoyed being decorated and kept in the cozy bosom of our home for all those weeks! How could any living thing (it was still drinking water!) NOT sense the togetherness and joy of our holiday celebration, and feel included? If a family gathered around YOU and sang pretty songs and opened delightful gifts, wouldn’t you feel like an important member of the group? And wouldn’t you be shocked when those same people suddenly stripped you of all your bright baubles and tossed you out the door?
I can’t sleep. The truck will be here soon and I’m thinking of going back out to get the tree. I could bring it back in and put it in the basement. Nobody ever goes down there but me. But what will I do in the springtime?

Tormented Over the Tannenbaum

I told TOTT it is perfectly natural to have separation issues regarding the Christmas tree, but perhaps it is the end of the holiday season being mourned, not the tree’s possible feelings of rejection. If you must endow the tree with human emotions and attitudes, consider how it would feel to be chopped down and carted away from the only home you have ever known, then forced into a smelly container (your house), humiliated by being made to wear all those garish lights and heavy ornaments, all while being fed chlorinated water and forced to stand just feet away from a fire – your mortal enemy. Being put out on the curb, nude, was probably a Godsend for your tree. Which is not to suggest that the tree believes in God.

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

That’s one way to write the date today, though some prefer 01/01/11, which I think is a bit fussy. Why go out of your way to tell people there’s nothing there? Let the nothingness speak for itself.

Apparently some feel 1/1/11 is a lucky alignment of numbers, and some couples have chosen to get married today to increase the likelihood that they will have a happy life together. And if both parties happen to think this wacky notion is a good idea, they probably will be happy together.

Some expect the year itself, 2011, to be about “getting things in order”, all because 2+0+1+1=4, and orderly, “universal” number. (1/1/11 ALSO equals 4!) Nice try “Universal 4” fans, but clearly you haven’t thought about the political imbalance in the 112th Congress, which will strive with all its might towards universal disorder if all the preliminary indications are correct. Did I say 112th Congress? 1+1+2+4! Egads!

People who are superstitious about numbers can become adamant about the importance of days like this. Later this year we’re bound to get some hand wringing over 11/11/11 – a preview perhaps of the hysteria surrounding 12/12/12.

The great thing about numbers is that they’re open to interpretation by people who want to prove something without any real facts to rely on. You know the famous line – “There are three kinds of lies. Lies, damned lies, and statistics.” You can use numbers to say whatever you like, or infer what you can’t even bring yourself to say.

For instance, the world should have been extremely wary about my birthday, though everyone but the closest observers completely missed the cosmic significance of 10/4/1955.

How was it important? Let me count the ways.

If you add all those numbers up as single digits (1+0+4+1+9+5+5), you get 25. Twenty five is the number of players that can be carried by a professional baseball team, and 10/4/55 is also the date that the Brooklyn Dodgers won their first (and only) World Series. Ebbets Field was 25 miles away from the hospital where I was born!

That’s not all. If you add them as 10, 4 and 55, you get 69. 15 plus 69 is 84, which is the atomic number of Polonium, a very radioactive substance. It was also my jersey number for that one season I was on the high school football team, getting pummeled by a series big guys who outweighed my by an average of 84 pounds each. Polonium poisoning is very bad and can gradually, but quite certainly, kill you. What happened to me on the football field also felt like slow death. Coincidence? I think not

Finally, if you add the numbers of my birth date as 10, 4, and 1955, you get 1969, which is a year nobody wants to re-live. There you have it. Bad omens all around.

See? Numbers can illuminate the important relationships between things that scientific, fact-driven minds might see as totally unrelated!

Are you superstitious about numbers?