Today is Tony Bennett’s birthday! He’s 85, and he has a new album – more duets with people 1/4th his age.

In celebration of longevity and recycling proven material, two things Tony is known for, I offer a reprise of a blog entry from long ago, when Tony was a spry 83!

Dr. Larry Kyle of Genway, the supemarket for genetically engineered foods, has announced a repeat of his Bennett birthday special!

While other old bananas turn brown and quietly liquefy, the Bennett Forever Banana stays a vivid, tasty yellow with firm, flavorful flesh! Just when you think it’s as good as it can get, it gets a little bit better! That’s a remarkable advance in fruit preservation, all thanks to a little bit of Tony’s DNA, which he graciously contributed one night by putting his hand on a pen I gave him to sign a concert program.

In fact, these Bennet Forever Bananas are SO GOOD, I’m still offering some of the bunches I put on sale two years ago. They’re as fresh and yellow as a taxi in a car wash!

Look for Genway to use the magic of Bennett DNA on a whole line of fruits and vegetables that will benefit from extended shelf life. Lettuce, grapes, strawberries, asparagus, broccoli … even Tony Tomatoes and Bennett Beets will amaze and delight you long past the time you thought they’d be compost.

It’s a brand new day for the produce section. Find these beauties under the Bennett Forever Banana banner and pick up a banana hat for yourself or the kids! It’s not an actual hat, but rather, a new way of carrying a bunch of bananas (pictured) that I think has great potential to be a fashion trend for the rest of the recession! Carmen Miranda on a budget! That’s the kind of innovation you expect from Genway, the supermarket for genetically engineered foods!

Do you eat food that’s past its “best by” date?

It has been almost one month since we heard from perennial sophomore and chronic underachiever Bubby Spamden. I started to think he had gone on vacation with his parents … but no! The Spamdens never go anywhere!

Hey Mr. C.,

I’m kind of bummed today because it looks like the U.S. government won’t go into default after all. I have to admit I was kind of hoping it would.

Oh, I know what people say –that it would bring an economic catastrophe that would last a long time and seriously wreck my Potential Standard Of Living, not that my P.S.O.L. was ever anything to get excited about. In fact, each time my teachers at Wilkie hold me back for another year, they make it a point to sit down and have a talk, lowering my expectations about the kind of future I might have. It got to the point where I was kind of hoping a national economic super-collapse would create a level playing field where everyone could be down at MY level of sub-standard achievement, just so I wouldn’t feel so alone.

See, the teachers always tell me when I don’t hand in my assignments on time – “You better learn how to get your work done, Buster (yes, some of them still don’t know my name!), because out in the REAL world if you don’t get your work done, you wind up all out of money and not able to pay your bills.” Like that’s so unusual! It describes, like, everyone I know!

I mean, I used to think it would be horrible to be a no-account deadbeat, completely unreliable and financially stressed all the time. But this summer it’s just another name for government!

I see the U.S. might still lose its AAA bond rating, even though they got a deal worked out. Just as well. I always thought three A’s all bunched together like that was kind of showing off. What’s wrong with a C or a D thrown in there just for variety, huh?

So the next time a teacher calls me a lazy bum and predicts my personal economic collapse and a future that’s all about living in an appliance crate and eating cat food casserole every Wednesday night, I’ll ask what diff does it make and how does she like her under-funded pension plan?

I’m writing down the names of the teachers I will invite to share my cardboard box someday! It’s a very short list.

Your pal,
Bubby

Ever go camping in your own back yard?

Dear Dr. Babooner,

I’m very, very involved with my whole extended family. Maybe too involved.

I’m the de facto leader. They call me “The Power”. Everyone looks to me for making key decisions and being a fair referee. It’s like I’m the government or something. Of my whole family, which is, you know. Weird.

And while it’s true I have a bit of a problem controlling my spending, every dollar I drop goes to pay for a good thing that’s really important (to me). I do like to be a key player in a lot of things all at once. When I see that my brother or sister is hungry, for example, I buy lunch. Is that so wrong?

When our whole family gets together it can get pretty intense.

There are cousins who really encourage me to keep stepping in and being generous and taking control whenever things look even a little bit bad – they see me as a “safety net” for everyone else. And there are the cousins who say I’m always “in the way” and if I would just step back, it would free them up to do all the things they want to do and be who they really want to be – J.C.

That means “Job Creators”.

But I don’t see what’s stopping them. I think they’re just using me as an excuse. They might have slight delusions of grandeur and could maybe be a little bit jealous. I don’t mind. I’ve got bigger problems.

I’m about to run out of money.

I can’t ask the family to chip in any more dollars to tide me over. The complaining gets so loud when I do that, and everybody is already irritated. The cousins who have the dough don’t want to hand over any more. The cousins who need stuff want to camp out on my front stoop until this is resolved. I’m afraid I’ll have to step over their starving bodies before long. Ish. And I did promise grandma I’d help pay for her teeth. Nobody wants to watch her gumming fried chicken at the next reunion picnic.

Dr. Babooner, we’re a family! I know we can agree with each other if we try! It’s just the money that poisons the atmosphere. Or is it the power?

Sincerely
Uncle S.

I told Uncle S., that the money/power combination is usually at the heart of most arguments, and they are seldom separated. Some say the key to happiness is to give up both, but I say hang on and buy some earplugs.

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

The latest newsletter from my favorite Congressman.

Greetings Constituents!

Usually at this time of the year, we members of Congress are back in our districts thinking about the next election – touting our achievements, pressing the flesh and shaking the trees for more money. But this year is different! We’re stuck in Washington, thinking about the next election – defending our principles, stomping out of meetings, disparaging the inflexible opposition and shaking in our boots! We don’t want to wreck the economy but it might have to happen so we can be positioned with the best possible advantages for the Fall of 2012!

Yes, that’s really what it’s all about!

I know some of you are so mad you want to throw ALL the bums overboard, but I’m pretty sure that between now and then I can convince you that the other guys are much, much worse than I am.

I’m not the problem because I like compromise! I compromise all the time. I compromise with the opposition, with people in my own party, and I even compromise with myself!

Many mornings I wake up with this sure feeling that I know exactly what’s what and I will never yield an inch on the points that are most important to me.

Like yesterday, when I started out pretty certain that all this gay marriage that’s going on is just not right and we ought to make a clear statement that some things are simply not acceptable! C’mon! Who are our great couples? Adam and Eve! Tarzan and Jane! George and Gracie! Fundamental stuff, right?

I said something in our staff meeting about how we ought to make an issue out of this, and a couple of our summer interns looked disappointed in me, like I’d really bummed them out. That was too bad because I really like them! That’s the reason I have interns – to help me feel young and hip. It hurt to think that they thought I was even a little bit lame. But darn it, sometimes you have to be tough!

However, maintaining that steely resolve takes a lot of energy, and by early afternoon I was starting to think how great it is to be young and in love. Or even old and in love! Why would we want to ever get in the way of that? I mean, aren’t there enough real problems? Love is the least of our worries, regardless of who’s involved!

By evening I was so tired of hanging out at the Capitol just waiting for all these posturing yahoos in the leadership to get their acts together, I began thinking how nice it would be to make a festive weekend escape to New York City.

By midnight I was dreaming that a pair of my constituents would ask me to officiate their gay wedding at the top of the Empire State Building! What a hoot! Could I wear feathers?

See? That’s real compromise! Sometimes your mind changes of its own accord, and sometimes by the angle of the light! I’m so open to new ideas, I always agree with the last person I talked to – even if it was a radical version of me!

So if our ship of state goes crashing into the rocky shoreline of the Needlessly-Stubborn Islands just because the top people were wrestling for control the steering wheel, please remember that all the while I was on the promenade deck trying to organize a nice, happy party!

Your flexible Representative,

Loomis Beechly

How changeable is your mind?

All it took was a strong gust of wind on to split a tree that has stood on our property for about 20 years. It might have been up longer than that – the area was a freshly opened for development in 1993 and when we moved in, this tree was the only living thing standing on the site. It had somehow survived grading and construction, followed by years of utter neglect, which is the hallmark of my haphazard style of yard care.

Somewhere inside the trunk there was a fatal flaw that was finally exposed on Saturday morning.

I was sitting by a window when the storm kicked up. The first thing I noticed (after the wind and thunder) was a distinct change in the light. I glanced out the window and was struck by the thought that the tree seemed suddenly closer, somehow. But why would that be? It must be an optical illusion, I thought. The same thing probably occurred to Macbeth when he took a look at Burnham Wood. I went back to my work but ten minutes later the canopy of leaves was close. REALLY close. Monkey-on-an-airplane wing close! Shocking.

It turns out a portion of the damaged tree fell on a nearby birch, and the two tangled trunks were slowly settling in the direction of the house.

An expert will have to take a look at this – I suspect the rest of the tree is lost and will have to come down, along with its neighbor. But the immediate task was to clear the driveway so we could come and go. Being “trunked in” is an excuse that’s only good for a few hours, unless you have the misfortune of living in a tornado zone. And leaving this much wood oddly airborne in such a precarious fashion is not a good idea for homeowners, as any personal injury lawyer will tell you.

A guy with a chain saw could have handled this in about 30 minutes, but I’m not a guy with a chain saw and don’t want to become one. There are already too many tools in the garage that have been used only once. Besides, how hard could it be? I had a couple of handsaws and a lot of irrational exuberance about my lumberjacking abilities.

Trees look light and airy when you’re not chopping them up and dragging them around. Otherwise, beware! Wood is quite heavy and gravity was constantly on my mind while I walked under the angled branches. Each time I made a cut, I calculated what else that section of tree might be holding up and where it would fall. And because I was making these cuts by hand, I had a lot of time to imagine the gradual rise of sounds – the popping, ripping and tearing of the trunk followed by a loud crash, a shaking of leaves, and possibly the cries of a pinned-to-the-earth middle aged man, fortunate to have only a broken arm or leg.

In the end my imagination trumped reality and I escaped with nothing more than an entire upper body’s worth of sore muscles and a renewed appreciation for the dangers of working around wood that is poised to fall. If I’ve got to be a lumberjack, I’m probably not going to be OK. So it’s good that in my preferred line of work, falling out of my chair is the greatest possible physical hazard.

What is the riskiest part of your job?

Suddenly everything is puffy and floating.

The world’s largest airship arrived in Minnesota yesterday. The zeppelin Eureka, owned by a company called Airship Ventures in California and bearing the Farmers Insurance logo as a convenient bill-paying strategy, is parked, fittingly, at Flying Cloud Airport.

It will float around our area through the weekend, selling insurance and slow rides to paying customers at $375 a pop.

Sorry. Probably shouldn’t say “pop” around an airship.

Not to worry. This zeppelin’s skin is made from the same high tech fabric we use in space suits, and it gets its lift from non-flammable helium, so there should be no “Oh the humanity” moment for this dirigible.

At the same time the Eureka was slputtering towards its mooring mast, the air-supported roof of the Metrodome was rising back into position, buoyed by positive air pressure from inside and returning that familiar spongy pincushion profile to the south side of Minneapolis’ downtown. Fans raised the roof in about 45 minutes yesterday, so that fans will be able to raise the roof when the Vikings return in August.

And well above the Metrodome roof and the Farmers’ Zeppelin in the airless confines of near Earth orbit, spacewalker Mike Fossum of the shuttle Atlantis spent some time yesterday moving what looks to be your grandma’s old kitchen range out to the space station’s equivalent of the garage, using only his fingertips and the power of the name “Canada”. Too bad Farmers’ didn’t get in on that sponsorship action.

This was the last scheduled spacewalk of the shuttle program. I guess it’ll be a while before we get to go outside again. The next time we decide to make a space suit, we can get all the fabric we need by cannibalizing the remains of the Farmers’ airship.

Tell us a story that involves something inflatable.

I’m embarrassed to admit it – I had forgotten all about perennial sophomore Bubby Spamden until a surprise e-mail showed up late last night!

Hey Mr. C.,

How’s your summer?

Mine started out cool because I haven’t been able to find a job (again). And that means long days at home in the basement, playing video games with my buddies Skeeter and Doug until we can’t stand it, which means we play for a very very long time.

My folks complain and roll their eyes and say we’re wasting our brains, but I think it’s really a good thing to play video games non-stop. Our hand-eye coordination gets to be super good, and we learn to cooperate or at least not kill each other, which we don’t, mostly.

I mean we do, but only on the screen.

Anyway, they say we’re getting dumb and violent. But have they looked at what’s been happening with our thumb strength? I’ll bet unemployed American teenagers have got the quickest and most muscular thumbs in the world, by far.

Kids with strong thumbs are important in history. There was that Dutch kid who used his to plug a hole in the dike. And don’t forget Little Jack Horner! If not for his thumb, that Christmas Pie would still be all full of plums!

And what about in modern times? Today, thumbs are what you use for texting. And texting is communication. And communication is survival!

What if I saw a logging truck rolling out of control down a steep mountain, and the only way to stop it in time was to text for help? Somebody your age would take forever to send that message, but I could do it in seconds! So maybe playing video games all the time is the best thing we could be doing. Our thumbs could save the world. You never know!

Anyway, that’s not why I wrote.

I wrote because my cool summer has turned awful, and I blame the Governor of Minnesota and those legislative leaders. What a bunch of goofballs! Just because they didn’t get their work done, tens of thousands of state workers stayed home this week.

Do you know what that means? Hundreds of thousands of state workers’ kids now suddenly have to deal with mom or dad or BOTH hanging around all day, saying fun-killing stuff like “why don’t you clean your room?” and “You cook the dinner tonight” and calling down the stairs with rude, disrespectful comments, like “Time to mow the lawn!” and “Get outside and take a walk for God’s sake!”

This is ruining summer. I’m serious! If I have to go outside, do you know what kind of trouble I’ll get into? Me neither! It’s scary.

Please, I’m begging Governor Macy’s and all those taxophobic legislators – get your work done so Minnesota’s teenagers can get furloughed parents out of their hair and back to work!

I’ll pay you to settle it up. Seriously. I’ve got access to lots of cash ever since my folks stopped trusting banks and began stashing their savings in the dresser drawer. Piles of money – all yours to balance the budget. And you don’t have to call it a tax. How about a “Delinquency Suppression Fee”.

Your pal,
Bubby

I’m worried that Bubby is willing to steal money out of his parents’ dresser drawer to help fund state government, and that he doesn’t know the name of the department store that gave the Governor his millionaire status. Difficult times can drive desperate people to say confusing things that they don’t really mean.

What was your worst summer vacation ever?

Dear Dr. Babooner,

Show trials really turn me on.

I feel horrible about it because the court cases I like the most always revolve around tawdry acts supposedly committed by selfish, despicable people who display no remorse. When one of these trials comes along, I totally immerse myself in the case. I read everything and watch live coverage on TV. I think about it constantly and can talk about it non-stop. Normal people cannot be around me until the jury rules and the case is over. I become intolerable.

My wife says this is typical behavior for a miserable, self-loathing creature with an insatiable hunger to feel better about himself. My fascination with accused wrongdoers is, she says, a coping mechanism. By pickling my brain in the sour brine that overflows from the jars of an endless string of black-hearted individuals, I am trying to convince myself that I am, by comparison, fairly normal.

I tell her that I am passionate about justice, and thoughtlessly spouting all this amateur psychology makes her look dumb. I may not be a perfect person, but I am far from being obsessed with my own shortcomings. I do, however, feel that wrongdoers should be thoroughly and mercilessly punished.

That’s why, when I believe a person is guilty and a jury lets them go in spite of the evidence, I fall into a terribly deep funk until some measure of payment is exacted. After the Casey Anthony verdict yesterday, I forced myself to sit in an ice-filled bathtub until my toes turned blue.

But that’s not the worst of it. For a year after O.J. Simpson was acquitted, I lined my underwear with crushed glass and went barefoot every day.

“More evidence of a bizarrely twisted self image,” my wife said.

“Just trying to restore some balance to the world.” was my answer. But I understand why my wife would find me to be a human smash-up, terribly moody and impossible to live with.

Oddly, she says I’m not so bad.

Dr. Babooner, why is she lying to me?

Sincerely,
Unworthy.

I told Unworthy that it is pointless to beat yourself up just because somebody else thinks you’re self-loathing. So what if you are? I don’t think that reflects negatively on you! A lot of decent people are overly critical of themselves. By constantly telling yourself you are a black-hearted wretch who deserves to suffer Hell on Earth, you demonstrate a strong preference that the world should be better than it is. Your self-directed pessimism is a sign of outward optimism. Stand up and be proud of your inwardly directed hatred!

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

Today is the birthday of the American showman and promoter, P.T. Barnum, in 1810.

Barnum had a genius for marketing anything people were willing to gawk at, whether it was a blind old woman, a dwarf, an elephant, a monkey head sewn to the tail of a fish, or a Swedish soprano.

Part of Barnum’s gift was to recognize that people need a story and a powerful name to spark their interest. Thus the blind old woman was amplified to majestic proportions, and in Barnum’s world was presented as not just an old woman, but George Washington’s former nurse. To make the math work, her age was said to be 161 years.

The dwarf was also age enhanced, transformed by Barnum from a 5 year old to an 11 year old, and re-named “General Tom Thumb”. Though he was actually from Connecticut, Barnum advertised him as being brought from overseas “at great expense.”

The elephant was dubbed “Jumbo” and actually was brought from overseas at great expense, and proved to be a huge moneymaker for Barnum, only to die tragically in a head on collision with a locomotive. The monkey/fish concoction was billed as “The Feejee Mermaid”, and soprano Jenny Lind won hearts as “The Swedish Nightingale”.

Barnum is said to have been an advocate of “humbug” as a useful tool for promoting various acts, meaning it’s OK to exaggerate and tell outright lies if the public gets its money’s worth and enjoys the show.

He made a lot of money and did extravagant things with it, including building a palace in Bridgeport, a Xanadu he named “Iranistan” (really!). Jenny Lind claimed that seeing an image of Iranistan is what made her want to come to America to be put on display by Barnum – his success was evident from the majesty of his home.
Never mind that Iranistan burned to the ground 9 years after he built it.

Barnum would feel right at home in the world of 2011, and would thrive online, a vast kingdom made up almost entirely of humbug. In fact, everything I know about P.T. Barnum came directly from Wikipedia. How much is true? Who cares?

Does the world need promoters?