Good discussion on Friday about admiring those you don’t agree with. Thanks to Clyde for the thoughtful guest post, and for bringing up Jon Hassler, whose writing provides a comfortable place for so many readers.
And so far, so good on the state government shutdown.
At least as far as my personal comfort is concerned, and what else matters? I’ve already got money, food and good health. Why should I worry about suddenly absent services that only other people need, especially if they’re people I don’t know and can’t see?
A friend forwarded a video for those who adhere to the old Ronald Reagan saying –
“Government is not the solution to our problems, government IS the problem.”
I can’t deny that government is sometimes inefficient and bureaucratic. But unnecessary?
It’s handy to have someone or something to blame for all the problems you see. But you may not want to wish it away entirely.
Where is the most lawless, unregulated place you’ve visited?
Thanks to the Sherrilee, Renee, and Beth-Ann, the guest bloggers who kept the conversation rolling while I was enjoying a long weekend in northern Minnesota.
It was a wonderful time to be away – even the mostly rainy day was delightful. And I learned about perspective! There is a proper way to record the events when you are catching impossibly tiny fish.
Pose like this ... ... not like this!
Summer, 2011 is turning out to be wonderfully green and lush. If you were lucky enough to not flattened by a tornado in North Minneapolis or submerged by a river in Minot, the weather has probably been pretty fair for you. Still, it is an upper Midwesterner’s obligation to complain bitterly about whatever prominent feature the climate is projecting. In this case, it’s the outrageous amount of rain and the far-too-cool temperatures, though the truth is that we are blessed to have enough moisture and something less than blistering heat.
For those who would like to experience a truly harsh environment, I suggest you book your passage as soon as it becomes possible to visit an asteroid.
This would be the vacation of a lifetime, if by vacation you mean a bleak and frightening experience that feels endless. NASA has sent a probe named Dawn to spend a year with Vesta, an asteroid that orbits our sun. Like some of those exotic vacation resorts you’ve chosen and then regretted, we don’t know very much about Vesta. Even the brochure is puzzling – this line-up of all the best known features makes Vesta’s amenities look like an assortment of blurry potatoes.
But they have sun there (or we wouldn’t be able to see it), so let’s go! I think I can see a pool in the third image from the top left, and is that the golf course in the fourth picture from the right, bottom row? I think it is, and it looks like there are no trees to get in the way of all the perfect, lo-gravity shots I plan to hit.
Fun!
Describe a vacation destination that was much different than you imagined.
I know the real estate market is in miserable shape, but some deals are irresistible.
Wouldn’t you like to own this fabulously ornate and undeveloped chunk of terra incognita? The property itself has the same luxurious texture as the lumpy pillows that engulfed you when, as a five year old, you sat down on Aunt Helene’s mammoth brocade sofa, and almost disappeared.
This wonderful bargain is, in fact, NAMED Helene. How unique!
Don’t let the fact that Helene is a rather remote property prevent you from taking advantage of this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Moons of Saturn are numerous, it’s true. But they are not for everyone. Helene is frightfully cold and traditionalists shopping in the moon market sometimes disparage Helene for her clack of classic roundness. But this is a satellite with an unforgettable shape – clearly distinct from any run-of-the-mill sky disc. No one looking at a line up of charming orbiters would mistake Helene for a common moon!
And Helene is much more than a chiseled work of art – she occupies one of only five exclusive Lagrange points which can guarantee consistently excellent and unchanging views of both her sister moon Dione and the planet Saturn!
Yes, it is a rare individual who could afford to even attempt to buy a moon of Saturn. But times (for some) are so flush, the embarrassing build-up of money almost requires that a grand gesture be made in the form of just this kind of extravagant purchase – the kind that no one else would ever attempt!
C’mon, doesn’t it remind you of a heavy, musty smelling pillow from that favorite couch? What did you call it back then, when you were just a child? Rosebud?!
What useless thing do you own just for the sake of owning it?
I’m having a terrible problem at work!
See, there’s this guy!
We were both assigned by our boss to work on the same project. He says he promised the boss he would do it one way. Trouble is, I promised the boss I would take pretty much the opposite approach! If we can’t get it solved in two weeks, the company shuts down. We both believe our core principles are at stake, and we’re each getting messages from above that we should stick to our guns.
In the end, we can only agree on three things:
1) The one who shows the greatest weakness (compromise) will probably get fired.
2) If we can’t settle by the end of the month, we’ll both certainly get fired.
3) The boss might be schizophrenic.
Dr. Babooner, I don’t want to wind up feeling like a pathetic loser, but I also don’t want my ulcer to flare up again. What can I do to get out of this miserable situation with some dignity?
Stale Mate
I told Stale that there is actually nothing wrong with feeling like a pathetic loser. Most losers are decent people. I know a few quite well and have actually been one for a time or two. That’s the blessing of loser-dom, it’s temporary and situational. Totally in the eye of the beholder. That said, it’s very nice to win. Just don’t feel like you have to do it every single time. The greatest emergency here is with your deeply conflicted boss, who should consult a professional therapist ASAP.
But that’s just one opinion. What do YOU think, Dr. Babooner?
Leaving work yesterday, I found the following note stuck to the windshield of my car with a humongous blob of oily cream that smelled like a pina colada.
Avast, landlubbers!
Me and me boys is mighty disappointed in the USDA fer steppin’ in where it ain’t wanted, darin’ t’ re-write th’ flimsy rules what governs th’ labelin’ and sellin’ of sunscreen!
They’s tinkerin’ with somethin’ that’s mighty near an’ dear t’ this here group of pirates!
Bein’ out at sea most of th’ time, me an’ the boys is always payin’ attention t’ the exposure our skin gets t’ th’ harmful rays o’ th’ sun. Skin cancers an’ heavy wrinkles ain’t pretty. An’ while “pretty” has never been a word used t’ describe any pirate who wasn’t also Johnny Depp, we is normal humans like the rest of yas and naturally wants t’ look our best!
Accordingly, it has been our habit, while pilferin’ and raidin’ domiciles on shore, t’ look fer, an’ acquire fer our own use, any sunscreen boastin’an SPF of 50 or more! This is due t’ th’ general pirate’s code, which sez the bigger th’ number value of anythin’, th’ more desirable that thing must be! In fact, some of me boys has collected vast reserves of Coppertones an’ Neutrogenas and Banana Boats, totallin’ SPF fortunes in the billions when they is all added together.
As Capt., I is mighty pleased t’ have me boys trackin’ their wealth in this manner, rather than arguin’ with me over who gets t’ have how much of the silver an’ gold! That way lies danger! Better t’ have them tussle over the sunscreen!
This strange predilection might have somethin’ t’ do with a strange but widespread belief among me boys that SPF stands for “Sexy Pirate Face”.
I don’t know where they got that idea.
An’ now th’ USDA is considerin’ a rule t’ outlaw any sunscreen claimin’ t’ have a SPF over 50, on account of some scientific opinion that SPF numbers higher than 50 is “meaningless”! Meaningless?
Well it ain’t meaningless t’ us! T’ us, sunscreen with SPF’s up in the hundreds represents currency, wealth, and that fresh cocoanutty smell that makes us think of girls in bikinis an’ tall drinks with umbrellas!
I’m warnin’ ye! Don’t mess w’ our economy, or we’ll be forced to mess with yours!
Yer friendly scourge of the seas,
Capt’ Billy.
What unusual commodity is as good (to you) as money?
Today is the anniversary of the debut of the CBS-TV variety show “Hee Haw” in 1969.
This program employed every possible rural stereotype. It defined “cornball” and “uncool”. Here’s a typical bit, made slightly more absurd by You Tube’s unfortunate misalignment of sight and sound.
I remember seeing this number done on the show when I was just 13 years old. Hee Haw was ridiculous in every possible way, but we howled at some of the jokes, and I admit I liked watching the Daisy Mae-like characters in their tight blouses and short shorts as they perched on hay bales.
And some legendary country musicians appeared on the show, including Johnny Cash, Dolly Parton and Merle Haggard.
Speaking of legendary musicians, also on this day, but in 1843, the Norwegian composer Edvard Grieg was born in Bergen. What does he have in common with a goofy American TV show, aside from a fondness for rural themes? Not much. But put some overalls on him, and Grieg looks like he could have fit right into Kornfield Kounty.
I’ve heard that Grieg didn’t like his own composition, “In the Hall of the Mountain King”. He thought it was too commercial. I wonder what he would have thought of “Pickin’ an’ Grinnin'”?
What totally unrelated but somewhat interesting thing happened on the day you were born?
A sad note from our cell phone holding, lengthy message-texting friend in the woods.
Bart - The Bear Who Found a Cell Phone
Word got to me this weekend about that wolf at the zoo who squeezed through a fence, jumped a barrier and got shot. Bummer. And I say this as an animal that is not big fan of wolves. Sorry, but we really don’t get along, especially when there’s only one of me and a group of them, which is pretty much always.
Still, we wild animals have to stick together. Humans like to come into our territory and make a mess of things, assuming they can do the same things here that they do on their cul-de-sac back in suburbia. Wrong! So we free creatures have to do whatever we can to remind them that we’re the ones who put the “wild” in “wilderness”. Sorry if I steal your food and ruin your convertible top in the process. It could be much worse.
But that’s how we behave out here. Constantly doing critter stuff. If you wind up inside the zoo, however, that’s a different story. It’s the show biz side of animal life, and one of the sad rules of the entertainment world is – you have to stay in your enclosure. You can pace around, play a little bit and take your meals in public. If you want, go ahead and exhibit some wild “behaviors”. If you were born in captivity and don’t know what those are, listen to the tour guides – they’ll tell you what you’re supposed to be doing. Every animal has its “greatest hits”, and that’s what the public wants to see. For us bears, it involves a pool of water and rolling on your back, for some reason.
Human entertainers have the same problem. Ask Lady Gaga, if you can get close enough. Based on the public reaction to her act, she’ll be wearing those machine guns on her chest when she’s 50, and it won’t be pretty, or even very interesting. But the market makes its demands and the paying public has to get what it wants. Tough work, though there are perks. You certainly don’t have to struggle for food, and it’s nice to have an adoring public.
But don’t try to jump the fence.
Your pal,
Bart
Is no business like show business, or is every business like show business?
Happy Monday, and many thanks to Anna, Jacque, Donna, Steve, Jim and tim, the guest bloggers who kept the trail busy during my absence. I was in central Illinois, visiting my father for the better part of a week. We worked around the house doing some routine maintenance – cutting grass, plugging woodpecker holes, fussing with the water softener, replacing broken windows, slathering roofing tar on a leaky overhang, etc. photo by Clive Moss
We did all this in the midst of a prodigious hatch of 13-year cicadas, which is a humbling event for humans who are accustomed to feeling dominant, or even merely significant. The bugs are calling the tune around Decatur this spring – a tune that literally fills the air, resembling the constant ring of a busted wheel bearing early in the day, and by mid afternoon becoming a steady rattle, like the nonstop shaking of a huge tambourine. It’s the males who make the loudest noise, relentlessly advertising their sexual availability.
Why can’t they just quietly post some images of their parts on Twitter?
Working outside, we were subjected to a random sideways rain of buzzing, bulgy-eyed revelers who covered the trunks of trees and erupted in clouds from the shrubbery whenever branches were disturbed. At a nearby grocery store, the girl who tended the cart corral did her work with one hand wielding a flyswatter to keep insect invaders from getting tangled in her hair. This small gesture gave her necessary courage to face the onslaught, though she was bailing the ocean with a teacup.
The cicadas will do their work. They have an assignment to hatch, mate, and die, planting the next generation in the process. Six weeks of glory and see you in 2024! There’s no confusion about purpose or wondering ‘what I want to do when I grow up’ in the cicada world. I envy their focus and devotion to the task at hand.
For those who have followed my progress since I got bounced from my previous job last summer, you may have felt like you were watching an overturned cicada marooned on his back, helplessly waving his legs in the air, spinning in a circle, rattling like the doorjamb when you get buzzed into grandma’s apartment building. It’s been about that much fun.
Today I get my feet back under me, starting a full time job with radio station KFAI as its news director. I’ll be off-air for the most part, supporting volunteer newscasters and reporters, helping with a summertime program for young journalists, and doing whatever is asked of me to assist the staff of this famous station in delivering the funky magic of community radio. And I’ll be working my preferred hours – 5am to 1pm!
Right now it is my intention to keep Trail Baboon going as we have for the past year. The blog has evolved into something more than my personal billboard. I’d rather not close a public space that people enjoy visiting just because my agenda has shifted. Besides, where else would you go for recreation this summer, a state park?
You might notice a little more fatigue in the posts, with less wordsmithing, and more open-ended questions. Forgive my sloppiness and jump straight to the comments. That’s where the action is anyway. And if you have a guest post in mind, don’t hesitate to send it to me at connelly.dale@gmail.com. After all, I will be using most of my mental energy to remember names and faces and to get my bearings in a new environment. I’ll look to the blog when I get off work, though it always makes for a happy evening at home when mom doesn’t have to cook.
Vas and his mother, Anna, are friends of mine in Clarks Grove who lived in Czechoslovakia when it was a satellite state of the Soviet Union. I was wondering how the two of them wound up here in Minnesota, so I decided to ask. It turns out to be a harrowing story of a long, tense journey down a winding path. Ultimately, it was bravery, determination and luck that brought them to the United States.
Because he refused to join the Communist Party, good jobs were not available to Vas and his travel was restricted. In his job as a bus driver, Vas was able to gather information from passengers about ways to get out of Czechoslovakia through the Iron Curtain. In 1982 Vas, his mother, his brother, his aunt, and a friend departed by car from Czechoslovakia and with great difficulty made their way to Italy, and the the USA. Here’s how it happened.
Vas and his party were able to enter Hungry by car, but were prevented from passing from Hungary into Austria because they lacked the visa needed to do this. While driving along the border between Hungary and Austria, they were stopped by police. Vas was afraid the police would put them under arrest and send them back to Czechoslovakia where they would be put in prison. The police held Vas for several hours and then released him when he told them that he was lost and was not looking for a way to cross into Austria.
Using a passport that allowed for travel within the Soviet Union, Vas traveled into Romania and had good luck exiting from the Romania into Yugoslavia. At first the custom officer would not let Vas into Yugoslavia because he didn’t have the visa needed to make this crossing. Vas told the custom officer that he was on his way to another Soviet bloc country, Bulgaria, and the officer finally decided to let him through. Vas believes that the custom officer did him a favor because he thinks that the officer knew he really was trying to leave the Soviet Union and was not going to Bulgaria.
When Vas and his party attempted to cross into Italy from Yugoslavia, the Italian customs officers turned them back because they didn’t have a visa. They finally made it into Italy by leaving their car behind, crossing the border on foot, and walking all night to the nearest Italian town.
The police in Italy gave them a motel room, bought them a meal, and then put them on a train that took them to a camp for immigrants. A relative in Germany was only willing to help Vas’ aunt, so Vas, his mother, and his brother had to spend 11 months living under bad conditions in the camp for immigrants. Their stay in the camp ended when they were put on a list for immigration to the United States and found someone to sponsor their trip from Italy to the United States.
When have you persevered through sheer determination?
Whenever I sit down to eat, I am careful to arrange the plate properly according to the standards I learned when I was young.
I start with a layer of bread, cereal, rice and pasta, then I put two half-layers on top of that – one that’s primarily vegetables and the other, mostly fruit. Over all that I spread meat, poultry, fish, dry beans, eggs and nuts, pour on a few servings of milk, yogurt and cheese, and then I dot the tippy top with fats, oils and sweets.
According to the drawing I go by, all this food is supposed to stack into a tidy, healthy pyramid, but no matter how carefully I assemble it the whole thing always collapses when I add the dairy. Still, I persist because this is how my government tells me to eat. I have even scolded others at my table when they dare to arrange their plates according to their own whims. I’m sorry to have to correct people, but rules are RULES!
As you might imagine, the combination of my constant hectoring plus the predictable mess that happens every time my pyramid implodes has made me quite unpopular and I often eat alone. I sometimes feel sad about this but I’ve been able to comfort myself with feelings of smug satisfaction that I am the only one eating properly.
Now I see the government has abandoned the pyramid guidelines and has given us orders to assemble something that looks more like a plate, with only one layer of food!
I feel betrayed and humiliated!
Dr. Babooner, what use is it to be obedient and respectful of authority when that authority can suddenly change the schematic and abandon its old lessons? I am seriously considering arranging my next meal not as a pyramid or a lopsided circle, but as a trapezoidal collision of potato chips, salsa and Twinkies.
Clearly there are no rules anymore.
Sincerely,
Peeved About The Pyramid
I told PATP that a fierce obedience to authority is a charming quality to have when you are 7 years old, but it soon becomes unattractive in adults. However, constantly questioning authority can also be wearisome, because life is beautiful and sometimes you can only see the sights when you are willing to let someone else drive for a while. I suggested that “Moderation in all things” is a good rule to live by, if one must live by rules. Since PATP seems to respond to graphic representations, I tried to draw that up as a diagram, but moderation is a hard concept to capture visually. It winds up looking bland and formless, like Silly Putty.
But that’s just one opinion. What do YOU think, Dr. Babooner?
