Another day, another exclamation-loaded flyer from Wally at Wally’s Intimida – home of the Sherpa Sport Utility Vehicle.
September is “Side With Sherpa” Month at Wally’s Intimida!
Believe it or not, Fall is just a few weeks away. And with Fall comes a change in the weather, but if the events of recent weeks are any guide, that means we’ll simply trade one violent extreme for another!
We’ve seen already seen Drought. Earthquakes. And Hurricanes! All bad!
Michele Bachmann thinks God is sending these calamities to get us to think more like she does. She’s entitled to her opinion, but that sounds a little self-important to me. If God really generates these storms to change our thinking, He’s clearly saying we should all stop being so stingy and buy a new Sherpa!
The Sherpa - It's a Butte!
Why? Only a Sherpa is big enough to withstand the worst that Nature can throw at us. And nature seems intent on emptying the arsenal! The Sherpa can straddle the largest geological fault. It can lean into the heaviest hurricane-force wind. And with 20 cup holders, there’s no reason to worry about drought, as long as you’ve got an extra bendy straw!
Yes, we’re under assault by nature! The Earth is trying to kill us! So why pretend everything is OK by putting yourself in a tiny “green” car that sacrifices comfort to placate the enemy? God is upping the ante and telling us it’s “on” in the Man vs. Environment Contest.
Yes, the Sherpa drinks gas. Yes, the Sherpa exhales carbon. Yes, the Sherpa drips oil. That’s what cars are supposed to do. It’s cultural! The Sherpa is Proud to be an Auto-American, unabashedly hostile to Air, Water and the Earth itself.
A Peak At Your New Sherpa!
Think about the happy times you’ve spent in nature, and think about the happy times you’ve spent in your car. Who wins? Be honest!
So it’s time to choose sides! You can cower while you’re crammed into your electric roller skate, if that’s what makes you feel secure. Or you can Sit Tall during “Side With Sherpa” Month, perched atop the World’s Largest Car!
Climb up and Hunker Down in a new Sherpa from Intimida from Wally’s!
It’s a Mighty Big Car!
It looks like Wally is going with the militant revolutionary class warfare script for his Fall sales pitch. Appealing to the base, or laying down the law?
Today’s guest post was provided by a correspondent who wishes his/her identity, gender and species to remain confidential, due to the usual scorn that accompanies such reports.
THE CORNUCOPIA BEE
August 27 2011
Cornelia Copacetic Gossip Columnist
Calls came pouring in to the Cornucopia Bee, as well as the Bayfield County, Wisconsin Sheriff’s Office reporting sightings of a group of baboons roaming the Bayfield Area Peninsula over the weekend. Five adult baboons and one small dog were reported at a cabin on Roman’s Point on the South Shore of Lake Superior, the Big Top Chautauqua near Bayfield Thursday evening, and the Village Inn in Cornucopia Friday morning. Sightings of groups of 2 and 3 baboons and the dog were reported at area trails, beaches and shops, as well.
Although all the callers noted that the baboons were very odd, they were not destructive to people or place and simply seemed interested in scenery, as well as sites of interest in the area. The small dog seemed particularly interested in one baboon, but our research regarding interspecies attachments have shed no light on this phenomenon. Callers did note that these great apes consumed great quantities of food, beer, wine and coffee, but that as long as they were supplied with the above named items they were placid and chatty.
Spies outside the Cornucopia cabin reported hearing singing, conversations about books, authors, music, baboon children, relatives, area history, and baboon divorces. Food also seemed to be of great importance to the apes. While no actual baboons were captured or photographed, the visitors pictured below confirmed the sightings and claimed they were under the impression that such creatures were plentiful in the region.
Nothing could be further from the truth.
L to R; Linda, Steve, tim, Krista, Jacque
Dear Bee Readers, should you sight baboons on the peninsula again, please give Cornelia a call first, then call the Sheriff should that be needed. As far as we know baboons are not native to the peninsula. Other speculation did reach my ears, however, that this may have been a group of Big Foot (or would that be feet?) invading our fair village.
If you saw Bigfoot (or Nessie or a Flying Saucer), would you report it, or keep mum to preserve your reputation?
My brother, his wife and their two snotty kids are coming to stay with us for the weekend and maybe longer – refugees from their home in lower Manhattan.
They never miss an opportunity to tell us how wonderful and cosmopolitan it is to live in the heart of one of the world’s biggest cities, about all the restaurants they have down there, the transit, the music, the pulse and the pace and the privileges of having everything close at hand.
Wherever we like to go, they’ve been someplace nicer. Whatever we prefer to eat, they’re used to something better. However we decide to entertain ourselves, they’ve seen, heard or done something more interesting.
But now they and at least 369,999 others have been ordered to evacuate from low-lying areas of New York City. The transit system will shut down, and they’re coming to live with us in New Jersey.
Oh, and by the way, the storm is coming here too.
They say the system is so massive and full of moisture that the greatest danger will be from flooding. And it is possible that the wind will push over trees that can’t stand upright in the sodden ground, taking down power lines and causing widespread blackouts.
What’s worse, all the major league games have been cancelled.
Great. My brother’s family in the house, and we can’t even ignore each other by watching sports on TV. I’ll have to sit there and see their ugly mugs in high-def AND 3-D!
Dr. Babooner, I know I don’t have a choice because they’re family and they’ve been forced out of their home, but how can I survive the triple stresses of these obnoxious visitors, a hurricane AND a blackout?
Storm Victim
First off, Dr. Babooner doesn’t appreciate “ugly mug” references. Take a good look at Dr. Babooner herself! I’ve made my portrait unusually large today to mirror the size and intensity of Hurricane Irene. I believe you can grow to love any face, given time and a positive attitude. And a positive attitude is certainly lacking in this scenario. Storm Victim, you should try to look on the bright side of all the disruption, damage and despair that is about to descend on your extended family. Fallen trees and power outages are permanent memory-makers! Our typical day-to-day dealings quickly fade into the background and are eventually forgotten. Even people who are accustomed to a higher-than-usual lifestyle come to find the luxurious details of their lives rather dreary. By contrast, the weekend you are about to spend, staring at your brother and his family in the dim candlelight as an 80-mile per hour wind tries to tear the roof off your house, is one that you’ll never forget. Enhance the memories by creating keepsakes. Plan an art project everyone can work on – something that involves torn chunks of asphalt shingles, ceiling insulation and wax drippings!
But that’s just one opinion. What do YOU think, Dr. Babooner?
It’s odd to see news about New York City preparing for a possible direct hit by Hurricane Irene. Even though the chances are still slim at this point, it takes time to batten down so many glittering hatches, so New Yorkers are taking the prudent course by calling off concerts, moving up the timing of sporting events and even preparing to shut down the transit system.
In Washington, they’ve regretfully cancelled the dedication of the Martin Luther King Jr. Memorial. Harry Johnson, the president of the foundation that built the memorial, spoke of disappointment and resignation. The dedication won’t happen on the anniversary of the “I Have a Dream Speech”, but there will be other opportunities to celebrate.
“The memorial is going to be there forever,” he said.
And Hurricane Irene will come and go. The sooner it goes, the better. Here’s a famous old song to send it on its way.
Yesterday my mom told me she was taking me out for ice cream.
I got kind of excited about that but instead of going to Jake’s we wound up at some thing in a parking lot where all these geeky people were standing around talking and waiting in line to meet this one guy who looked like he just walked out of a magazine picture.
Somebody said he’s the Governor of Texas and I thought ‘What’s he doing here in New Hampshire?’ I know from school that Texas is a pretty big state, so you’d think whoever was Governor of it would have to be watching it pretty much all the time or he’d miss something.
Anyway, my mom told me we were going to wait in line and meet this guy no matter how long it took, and I said, ‘What about my ice cream?’
And she said I would get my ice cream after I talked to him and asked him how old the Earth is.
Beats me why she wanted me to ask the Governor of Texas how old the Earth is. What I learned in school is that people from Texas don’t care about much that isn’t all about Texas, and last time I heard, most of the Earth wasn’t, so why would HE know how old it is?
I don’t really care how old the Earth is either. But I do care about ice cream, so I said I would do it if it meant I could have a waffle cone.
And then she said if I asked about Evolution I could have a slice of cake also! Man! What sweet deal!
Or so I thought! But you’ll see in the video that I didn’t even get to ask that question.
With mom feeding questions into my ear like that, it got to be real hard to concentrate on what was going on around me. I got confused and didn’t even ask him why he didn’t believe in science like mom told me to. And then she said we weren’t going for ice cream ’cause I hadn’t earned it!
Dr. Babooner, is it fair to get punished like that for not asking questions that weren’t even your questions to begin with? I hear all those big TV anchors have something in their ear where somebody is always talking to them, and if this is what it’s like, I guess I don’t want to be Brian Williams or Wolf Blitzer anymore. It’s just too tough to concentrate! If I had been allowed to ask what I wanted, I would have asked to see a horse, or if he didn’t have one of those, a gun, because I hear that everybody from Texas carries one.
But instead I got all this whispering and arm squeezing, a real snootful of the Governor of Texas and his after shave, and no ice cream and no cake. Not even a candy bar or a bag of Peanut M & M’s. And definitely no horse.
Should I have done something differently? I feel cheated!
Respectfully,
Mom’s Mouthpiece
I told Mom’s Mouth that he had every right to feel cheated. His mom went back on her word because if I read the story properly, there were no conditions applied to the initial idea of going out for ice cream.
To add qualifying events as a trigger for the ice cream AFTER the arrangement has been proposed and agreed to is unethical, and your Mom should be told to stop manipulating you that way.
Next time your mom offers to take you out for a special dessert, get it in writing first, and be sure to read the fine print in case there are any weird conditions or expectations.
After all, learning from previous mistakes is what evolution is all about!
But that’s just one opinion. What do YOU think, Dr. Babooner?
Ever since I got interested in theater in high school, the thought of moving to Minneapolis took hold of me. Whether instinct, destiny, fate, or what have you, I was drawn to the City of Lakes, home of the famed Guthrie Theater and the Jewel of the Midwest. Green Bay, Wisconsin was not a small town, but back then it was just Packers, beer and cheese it seemed.
After a year and a half of college in Green Bay and a year stint working in a creamery, I was definitely ready to fulfill my dream of acting and finishing my degree at the U of MN. The final step was registering for classes in person during the summer at a prescribed day and time at the Minneapolis campus. I took a few days off work from the creamery and got a friend to drive with me. I didn’t want to go alone to the “big city”, so we found a cheap motel room close to campus. Anybody know of the Gopher Motel? There was no internet to check these things out, so I just winged it as best I could using a (paper!) map.
We arrived at our seedy hotel room early in the evening on a Monday night, excited about our adventure. On a whim, we called the Guthrie just to see what was playing. Back then, they had Monday night Rush tickets with a show at 8pm – and they had a few seats available for Monsieur de Moliere playing that night. It was nearly 7:15pm – should we do it? The person at Guthrie ticket office assured us we were only 15-20 minutes away. With frantic excitement, we called a cab, got dressed and ready for our special night on the town.
We arrived with just enough time to buy the last $5 (five dollars!) rush tickets and the last ones seated. Unbelievably, these were the best seats (known as house seats, which are saved to the last minute in case of mistakes or surprise VIPs). While local critics panned this particular play, I was absolutely enthralled. I think it was about the life of Moliere and his benefactor, King Louis IV. Everything about the production was amazing to me.
I was seated on the aisle, close to front and center. I’ve never had such excellent seats again at the Guthrie! At one point in play, the actor playing King Louis XIV was in the aisle next to me, seated on his “throne” while watching or talking to Moliere onstage. I just stared at him. His costume was magnificent – a white satin with rich gold brocade material on everything –hat, waist coat, pantaloons, shoes – with poufs, gold braid and lace accenting every detail. A long elaborately curled wig adorned his head. The costume was gorgeous, excessive yet tasteful as was the fashion of the period.
I clearly remember ogling that costume so close to me and thrilling to the amazing acting I experienced during the production. My first few years in Minneapolis, I felt the Guthrie could do no wrong.. Every time I attended a play there was a thrilling event for me. Before kids arrived, I had season tickets for 2 years for cheap seats on Sunday matinees (I hate driving at night). Eventually, I realized even the Guthrie had occasional clinkers, but it never dimmed my enthusiasm and the special thrill I felt each and every time I went to that magical place.
There is always a bigger town somewhere. Name one that boasts a unique and intimidating experience you’re excited and afraid to have?
I loved this New York Times story about Hamid Chaudhry, the Pakistan-born operator of a Dairy Queen in Reading, Pennsylvania. He has made his shop a cornerstone of the community by getting involved and giving back. The reporter, Dan Barry, describes the proof he saw of a special relationship between an immigrant and his adopted home town, all of it posted on the walls –
The Cumru Elementary School thanks Hamid. The Mifflin Park Elementary School thanks Hamid. The Brecknock Elementary School thanks Hamid. The Governor Mifflin intermediate, middle and high schools thank Hamid. The Boy Scouts and the Girl Scouts, the soccer leagues and the baseball leagues, the Crime Alert program, the home for adults with mental retardation — they all thank Hamid.
And here comes the owner, Hamid Chaudhry, in the midst of another 80-hour workweek, fresh from curling another soft-serve. As he makes his way to a corner table, customers hunched over chicken-strip baskets and sundaes call out his name, and he calls back theirs.
“Hi, Tracey; I have that check for you.” “Bye, Mrs. Brady. All good for the homecoming?” “Bye, Mr. Rush. How was the Blizzard? Want another one?”
Great guy. Great story. Even better because it includes ice cream. It sounds like Chaudhry’s DQ has become the town square.
The biggest surprise in the story? It cost him $413,000 to buy the place. Yow! Even if I had that much, I don’t think I’d bet it all on people’s love of Dilly Bars, and I find Blizzards irresistible. I guess that’s the difference between me and a real entrepreneur.
The sort of business where so many people feel welcome and connected is a boon for any town – large or small. When I was growing up in Montrose, New York, our gathering place was the convenience store down on the State Highway – a centrally located establishment with a big sign that featured the cutout of a police officer blowing a whistle, and a huge halting hand outstretched, commanding you to “Stop N’ Shop”.
What did they have there? Everything. Who did I see when I went? Everyone!
Ever live in a town with an unofficial meeting place?
A fascinating article about trains and autism in the New York Times got me thinking about the ways we each try to make sense of a nonsensical world.
The article profiles an autistic 5 year old named Ravi who has an amazing command of train and bus schedules. He, his older brother and mother visit the New York Transit Museum weekly because “People with autism have difficulty processing and making sense of the world, so they are drawn to predictable patterns, which, of course, trains run by”.
The article also quotes the museum’s assistant director, who said she had been besieged by field trip requests from schools that serve children with autism, so she established a program that indulged the young people’s need to dig deeply into the details of routes and timetables while also offering a chance to build social skills.
One parent said her child finds trains especially soothing, and he gets upset when they are not on schedule. Apparently one very effective bridge between loving trains and developing social skills is an old favorite – Thomas the Tank Engine. But a word of caution – if you’re comforted by vehicles that have to stay on their proscribed path, this mini-episode is bound to be unsettling.
Only on children’s TV is the idea of a locomotive crashing into a house made infinitely worse by the undeniable fact that a collapsing plaster wall can ruin your breakfast. Some calamities are too big to take in – you have to view them through a lens that minimized the damage. Perhaps this is how Tim Pawlenty feels today.
But it does make some sense that any person who has a hard time adapting to quick, unannounced change might find a bit of happiness in the carefully planned environment that’s on display in a transit museum.
Where do you like to go when things feel out of control?
Here’s a message that came in early this morning from our text-crazy friend in the woods, Bart the Bear. I think he was up all night, picking at the keys, trying to make up for his lack of thumbs.
Bart - The Bear Who Found a Cell Phone
Hey. Bart here.
Some campers were up here yesterday and I got kind of excited because they were talking about getting blackberries out of their backpacks.
“I can’t live without my blackberry,” one said.
“Me neither,” said the other one. “I’ve got it in my hand, like, all the time.”
I’m thinking these are my type of guys. I can’t live without blackberries either.
But then the first one said “My wife yells at me and says I can’t play with my blackberry at the table.”
Honest, it didn’t sound like these guys even KNEW that blackberries are food. And lookin’ at ‘em and playin’ with ‘em? They’re pretty, I admit, but geez! And what use is just one? You confuse me. How did you humans get to be so … everywhere … if you don’t know the difference between what’s good to eat … and toys?
Anyway, I almost charged in there and ripped open the backpacks myself, but I figured it wasn’t worth it for just two bites. When I have blackberries, I eat bunches.
Then they got to talking about other stuff I don’t care about, but my ears perked up when one said “this drop is gonna put us in a bear market.”
A bear market is a really interesting idea to me. Is that a market where you buy bears, or a place where bears go to buy the stuff that they like? I’d like it to be the second type, of course.
The other guys says “Put us in a bear market?
We’re already IN a bear market.”
Then the first guy answers with “It’ll be a SUPER bear market. A bear-a-palooza market!”
I started drooling ‘cause that sounds awesome. I can think of all sorts of things I’d like to get at a bear market, especially if I don’t have to pay. And I don’t, usually. I just take the stuff that looks good to me – as much as I can carry – and I come back for more, later. Unless the ranger shows up.
That’s Bear Marketing 101.
Anyway, I know lots of other bears – polars, grizzlies, koalas, black bears, brown bears and wooly bears too. If there’s someplace you guys are hiding from us every body calls a bear market, especially a SUPER bear market, let me know. I thought I heard them mention where it is, but I can’t remember if it was by a wall or near a street. One of those. Anyway, send me a map. I’ll organize a buying trip and we’ll give ‘em a day of commerce at the bear market like they’ll never forget!
Many thanks to Steve for two guest blogs last week. We’re in a guest blog free-fire zone. No need to ask – just send one whenever you have an idea! connelly.dale@gmail.com
On this day in 1815, Napoleon Bonaparte set sail for the Island of St. Helena in the south Atlantic, his second exile. They had already tried to put him on ice at Elba, but he didn’t stay.
Don’t get the wrong idea. I really don’t know anything about Napoleon, except that led the French when they were successful at war, that he was short, he liked to tuck a hand into his vest, and he married Josephine.
Oh, and he has a lovely pastry named for him. Although this one wants to be called Alice. And why not? Alice is a friendly name, and being served a dessert named Alice is not an instant reminder that you are a zero when it comes to French History.
It is pitiful to be so clueless and I would blame the American education system except that I have been out of it a long time. Several of my beloved teachers are long dead and at any rate they can’t be held responsible for my ignorance anymore. I have had plenty of opportunities to complete my education, but decided to watch TV instead.
So no historical facts or meaningful observations come to mind when I think of Napoleon’s final exile, but I have been able to come up with two songs.
This one by Mary Black is very specifically about St. Helena.
And this one, named for the battle that sent Napoleon into his final exile.
If I had appeared on television in any of those outfits, I would want to go away for a while too. But the thought of total exile seems quaint today. Where is exile, exactly? And what is it? Can our compulsively interconnected world even imagine it?
And is there a place on the globe where they haven’t heard of Abba? Anywhere?
You are responsible for punishing a military mastermind so threatening he can’t be allowed to raise another army. Prison would be a dangerous place – too many impressionable minds waiting for a leader. And dropping him on a barren island somewhere? That’s just a reality show waiting to happen. His influence would grow!
Construct some sort of exile to keep him in check.
