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Misunderstood Mariners

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Today’s post comes from the skipper of the pirate ship Muskellunge, Captain Billy.

Ahoy!

Me an’ me boys is quite excited t’ see that underseas adventurer Fabien Cousteau finally came up for air after bein’ submerged for over a month in his “Mission 31“. A human bein’ livin’ underwater fer 31 days may seem unnatural t’ most, but if yer name is Cousteau there is certain obligations one must meet, no matter how unpleasant.

Likewise wi’ pirates.

Artists Approximation of Captain Billy
Artists Approximation of Captain Billy

We pirates is great fans of them Cousteau fellas on account of they is quite passionate about th’ oceans of th’ world, an’ so is we. Just like Jacque an’ now Fabien, we is at sea pretty much constantly, except when we has t’ come ashore t’ get more money.

Fabien Cousteau says his goal in stayin’ in a school-bus sized habitat 65 feet below th’ surface was to get “… future generations to care about the oceans, to cherish them, to be curious about them in a way that was during my grandfather’s era.”

An’ our goal in stayin’ on the Muskellunge fer 20 years (at least) is t’ avoid gettin’ arrested, which is what would happen t’ us if we was spotted on land in daylight.

Fortunately, we loves it out here. Ain’t that right boys?

But we knows what Fabien Cousteau is up against when he tries t’ get ordinary folks t’ care about th’ welfare of water dwellers. Landlubbers just ain’t sufficiently appreciative of ocean beings or th’ ocean as a whole. An’ I has it on good authority that many of ya is creeped out by all the creatures livin’ underwater.

This here video be one good example of th’ sort of thing shore dwellers imagines is goin’ on right beneath their feet when they gets in any amount of water what is over their heads.

Groupers can be a might nasty. An’ naturally sharks is a persistent fascination on account of all their teeth, an’ even when one of ’em bites a fella by accident it still makes th’ news!

Likewise, we pirates is disparaged when we plunders and pillages a coastal village or robs th’ crew of a tanker, an’ even though we don’t enjoy our maraudin’ an’ carryin’ on’ as much as it may seem when they talks about it on CNN. We does it fer the same reason a giant grouper bites a barracuda – because th’ opportunity presented itself an’ its in our nature.

So I just wants t’ say this about th’ ocean an all them what lives on an’ in it: fish is people too! An’ we pirates, whilst certainly fearsome, has our tender sides as well. An’ we is all merely doin’ them things we was put on Earth, or on water, t’ do.

Yer seafarin’ pal,
Capt. Billy

What is your natural habitat?

Songs

Freedom Underground

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On this Fourth of July in our nation’s capitol, thousands will celebrate the American Way of Life and look to the sky in wonder. But they would be just as awestruck if they could see what’s going on beneath their feet, where a massive project is underway to dig a drainage tunnel that will help clean up Washington D.C.’s rivers, the Potomac and the Anacostia.

The capitol city is separating its storm and sanitary sewer systems, a $ 2.6 billion twenty year project to prevent the overflow of raw sewage into the rivers – something the Twin Cities achieved in 1995 but a calamity that still happens regularly in our federal city to the tune of about 3 billion gallons each year.

When I think about the privileges we share as Americans, I recognize that much of it comes from the founders and the military and the sacred documents and all the other things we regularly celebrate on the Fourth.

But a lot of it also has to do with infrastructure.

A country left festering in its own sewage cannot advance the health and welfare of its citizens, so when we’re being grateful for our peace and prosperity let’s remember to thank the people who keep our own poop out of the streets.

Just as Francis Scott Key swiped an old drinking tune and wrote new words to celebrate an icon of freedom that was partially obscured by darkness, I propose we sing an ode to this completely invisible but oh-so-necessary subterranean tunnel project.

It’s not that weird. Key’s original lyrics feature three extra verses that we never use, and one of them already includes the word “pollution.”

Down where no one can see, out of mind out of sight,
excess leakage is bailed from the rivulets streaming.
It’s as airless as Mars, and with even less light.
But we’re digging our way to a future that’s gleaming.

In the laser’s red glare, tunnel builders know where
they are heading tonight, although we’re unaware.
Oh say does that underground excavator still pave
through the sand of under D.C., and the loam of the brave?

Who deserves an ode?

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Jaws of Life

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Today’s post comes from Bart, the bear who found a smartphone in the woods.

H’lo, Bart here.

Just a note to say if you’re traveling near the woods for the 4th of July, please be kind and considerate when it comes to the local bear population.

And by that I mean watch your behavior if you happen to see us standing by the roadside as you drive into a National Forest. We’re not there to greet you – we’re looking for sloppy campers. So if you roll down your windows and offer us treats and try to get us to come over to the car, you should know that the rangers are watching and we might seem a little coy or even disinterested.

This is not actually the case.

We’ve noted your license plate and we’ll be coming to visit you later under conditions that are a little better for getting to your stash of goodies. It turns out we bears are famous for opening locked cars in unconventional ways. And all it takes is the smell of food inside – you don’t have to leave anything substantial in there.

Crumbs are enough.

Before you complain, just remember it’s not malicious vandalism – we’re simply being true to our nature.

And while we’re on the topic of peeling open vehicles, I’d like to take a little bit of credit for a heroic act. I saw that a fellow named Bob Renning did an amazing thing the other day when he pulled open the locked door of a burning car in order to save a stranger who was dying of smoke inhalation inside.

He did it through personal courage, brute strength, adrenaline, and smarts – he grabbed the top edge of the window frame and pulled it back, bending the metal at its weakest point and breaking the window so he could pull the victim to safety.

His heroically bent door is on the left. A door pulled open by a bear in search of food is on the right.

Hero Car
Bear Car

Need I say more? True heroes know where to look for inspiration.

Full disclosure: Mr. Renning performed his feat of strength while channeling an instinctive humanitarian impulse that is noble and good. I would do the very same thing to get a package of Ding Dongs out of the glove box. To tell the truth, I’ve done it to get a crumpled up Ding Dong wrapper off the floor of a locked car.

So I’m not saying Mr. Renning took his cues from a bear when he intervened, but if he had been a bear, he could not have done a better job.

Be nice to us! We’re brutes, but we’re cute!

Your pal,
Bart

What is your greatest feat of strength?

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Mulch Ado About Money

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Today’s post comes from perennial sophomore Bubby Spamden, a permanent fixture at Wendell Wilkie High School.

Hi Mr. C.,

Well, here I am in the middle of Summer with nothing to do, as usual. There’s no regular work so I’m doing odd jobs around the house for pocket change. Just last week my dad paid me $1 a bag to spread cypress mulch in the planting areas of the back yard. I had to ask my mom to keep taking me back to the garden store because we have lots of planting areas and 2 cubic feet is not as much mulch as you think.

I loaded everything in a wheelbarrow, rolled it to the spot, dumped it, opened it, spread it, collected the bags and went back to the car. Over and over. It was pretty hard work but I’m happy with the way it turned out.

However my dad didn’t realize it was going to take sixty eight bags. And I probably could have done it with less, but I’m convinced bark mulch is a waste of time unless you lay it on really thick.

Especially when I’m only getting paid $1 a bag!

He forked over the money though, which is all that counts. But then he asked me what I was going to do with my windfall and I said I was going to go see Edge of Tomorrow, that new Tom Cruise sci-fi action film.

That’s when my dad said he was disappointed that I was using his money to pay for something by that weenie Tom Cruise, and just the thought of his hard-earned dollars supporting “that wacko” gave him a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

That kind of confused me. I told him I wasn’t giving his hard-earned money to Tom Cruise, I was giving MY hard earned money to Tom Cruise.

See, I thought money was mine as soon as it was given to me but he said “No, there are complaining rights that belong to the person who just gave it to you. They’re free to slam you if you’re doing something stupid or objectionable with it, and even to take it back if they can.”

So I asked “What if the person who gave you the money was a Scientologist who got it from Tom Cruise himself? Wouldn’t they have complaining rights too?”

“No,” he said, “complaining rights only last for one transaction.”

So then I called him “small-minded” and said a bunch of stuff I don’t remember, but it probably had to do with the whole economic system being at risk if the person who employs you can dictate your behavior.

And that’s when he snatched a ten out of my hand and told me has a deeply held religious objection to children who contradict their parents.

“Honor your father and your mother”, he said. “Matthew 15:4.”

When I said “Hey!” he said “Take it up with the Supreme Court!”

People sure get weird around money.

I don’t know if I want to own a company some day. It would wear me out to keep up my complaining rights on all those salaries and benefits. Not to mention the complaining I’ll have to do about taxes!

I think maybe it’s easier to lug around all those bags of mulch!

Your pal,
Bubby

I told Bubby I don’t think he’ll have to worry about owning a company some day, but complaining about what other people do, especially if it’s none of our business, is one of the great pleasures of adulthood and he shouldn’t be so quick to give it up.

When does your money stop being yours?

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My Year on Mars

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Today’s post comes from Curiosity’s Mars Rover.

My ground controllers tell me I had an anniversary this past week – one Martian year has gone by since I literally dropped out of the sky on to this cold, dusty planet!

I had no idea. Anniversaries and birthdays and such aren’t really on my radar. I use radar for other things, like finding mountains and watching for incoming meteors. Getting surprised by either one could be embarrassing, or a catastrophic fiery collision. And I’m programmed to avoid both, which leaves no room in my memory for trivial dates.

It just occurred to me that I don’t know the birthdays of any of my controllers! Not that I could send presents from this distance, especially since I don’t have any packaging or postage. I guess not falling off a ridge or crushing a wheel between two rocks is my gift to them. Without me, they’d be making latte’s at Starbucks.

And the controllers didn’t send a birthday present to me, either. Except orders to take another selfie, which is not a gift, in my opinion.

It does make me wonder if launching vast amounts of bubble wrap to Mars would be one way to start building up an atmosphere. That could be a Mars Mission recruiting attraction – you get to sit up here and pop bubble wrap all day long. I understand there are some people who would like that to be their full time job, though it sounds a little boring.

And believe me, I know a thing or two about bleak, repetitive, non-creative tasks!

So far the work has gone like this – drive forward two feet, wait for instructions. Turn right. Wait for instructions. Drive eight inches. Wait for instructions. Drill a hole. Wait for instructions. Wait, wait, wait. Do some small, insignificant thing. Wait. Take another selfie.

I’m not complaining because I’m not programmed to do that, but when they told me one year on Mars was equal to almost two full Earth years, I thought they were talking about the tedium.

Turns out it is, literally, almost a whole year longer.

I admit I’ve spent some of the down time watching old TV shows. I’m sure you’ve heard that the ancient signals are out here bouncing around the cosmos. I like the classics, like Leave it To Beaver.

Wait. I can do his voice. Here it is:

“Geez Wally, I thought going to Mars would be really neat. But it’s just following orders and waiting for adults to tell you to do stuff. Time drags on so slow, it kinda feels like you’ll never get to grow up. I’d talk to Dad about it, but he’s kinda busy figuring out my next 16 inch trip.”

Oops. Call coming in. Time to begin endless year #2.

What was your longest year?

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Ask Dr. Babooner: Can I Care About Soccer and Stay American?

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Dear Dr. Babooner,

I’m a proud American who has taken pains while hanging with my friends and co-workers to make a very big deal out of the fact that we’re not Europeans.

I have impersonated the English, derided Italians, belittled the Dutch and made caustic remarks about Spaniards.

I have even been snooty about the bad habits of the French, one of which is, of course, snootiness.

And I have mocked the Germans for being so Germanic. Which is why I’m terrifically excited about the U.S. soccer World Cup match vs. Germany today. I want so badly to beat them that my brains are as useless as a tub of sauerkraut when it comes to doing anything else!

Unfortunately, at the office I have been rather outspoken about the shortcomings of soccer as a sport (slow moving, complicated, silly costumes, no violence, no hands) and have made a very public show about not caring one bit about who advances (or doesn’t) to whatever ridiculous stage of the World Cup is next.

A group of my co-workers have reserved a conference room to watch the game at midday today, with the blessings of top management because they think knowing something about the rest of the world might help us on the business side.

I’d love to watch and cheer for our team, but I’ve already staked out my position as a soccer foe. I believe I actually said something like “… anyone who cares about soccer is not and never can be an American!” If I now use my time and energy to cheer against the Europeans in their silly, girly game, on one level it will mean the Europeans have already beaten me!

And of course it would expose me as a blowhard and a hypocrite.

I could comfort myself with the knowledge that the game will be over by the early part of the afternoon and the post-mortem will begin, but everything I’ve already said about my predicament goes double for talking about the contest afterwards.

I can’t show any interest in it at all. Maybe that’s why I can think of almost nothing else!

In agony,
Fútbol Zero

I told Fútbol Zero to get over himself and watch the game. Abstaining at this point will just call more attention to your nonsensical attitudes. So let your co-workers laugh about your conversion as the contest begins – they’ll soon forget it as you share your enthusiasm or misery as the case may be. And don’t be worried about what they’ll think of you – they are already well aware that you’re a blowhard and a hypocrite.

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

Poems, Science

Polar Pivot Poetry

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The European Space Agency, analyzing data from a trio of paddle-shaped satellites charmingly called The Swarm, has announced observations that indicate Earth’s magnetic North Pole is drifting southward.

This could mean the magnetic poles are about to flip, something that has been geologically documented as part of the planet’s history, though it only occurs “every few million years.”

So you’ll forgive me if I’ve forgotten exactly how that went the last time. Our magnetic field protects us from deadly cosmic rays, so any alteration is disconcerting to say the least.

How are we supposed to feel about this? The changeover is said to take a few thousand years, so it’s unlikely that you’ll wake up tomorrow with the poles suddenly reversed, but the mere thought of it is already creating a very disturbing effect.

It has started to generate random limericks.

Yes, the poles of our magnetic field
have been known to occasionally yield
to the urge to reverse.
It’s a magnetic curse
when the flip side … Surprise! … is revealed.

Then your compass will turn to the south
and the polarized teeth in your mouth
will so quickly invert
that it won’t even hurt
But you’ll lisp with each thought you espouth.

Your internals will somersault too.
Turning upside down inside of you.
With intestines for brains
You’ll develop new pains
Sitting down on the parts meant to chew.

But your head’s where the flip will appall.
For the plumbing down low now stands tall.
Every word that you speak
Will sound more like a leak
Which may not seem too different at all.

When have you flipped?

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Ocean Mishap Stokes Aquaphobia

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Today’s post comes from Trail Baboon’s resident risk-minimizing maven Bathtub Safety Officer Rafferty.

At ease civilians!

But never feel SO at ease that you topple off your speeding boat and are left stranded in the ocean overnight, forced to tread water for 14 hours while praying that someone will find you even though you are miles from shore without a life jacket and have no means to call for help.

Farfetched?

Yes, it’s true I have been accused of less-than-positive thinking in a worst-case-scenario- worshipping kind of way. But before you call me a fantastical alarmist, know that this happened to some people over the weekend, and miraculously they lived to tell the tale, otherwise we might never know that any of this occurred.

And the tale is not finished. Yet to come – details on what they were doing when they fell overboard, and why they were not wearing flotation devices. One can only guess at the possibilities, and while all of the options I’ve imagined are foolhardy and some are downright embarrassing, none of them are worse than perishing in the sea at night.

See? That’s somewhat positive, thinking-wise!

And I hope this will be a powerful safety lesson to everyone – don’t ever go anywhere on the ocean. I know some people like to go there for fish and others for flotsam, but let’s face it – the ocean is too big and powerful and you can easily get lost out there. There is a reason humans don’t have fins, flippers or gills. Every time I notice these things about myself, I’m glad I didn’t join the merchant marine.

Plus, the ocean is packed full of scary creatures like stinging jellyfish and great white sharks. I happen to know from a careful examination of movies and TV shows that sharks are pretty much everywhere. You can’t go swimming in any kind of a movie without running into one, and they are especially fond of terrorizing us. Throughout my personal movie-viewing history, sharks have been the leading ominous music-triggering creatures, even more so than bears or Bigfoot.

Again, strictly from a safety-oriented viewpoint, it is crystal clear that we have no business on or near the ocean!

You may argue that a journey aboard a cruise ship is a fairly safe way to experience the sea but I would advise against it. A quick check online revealed that getting thrown off the back of a cruise ship by a nefarious stranger, while it is something that never ever actually happens, is still a vivid fear that requires, among other things, at least one what-to-do-if explainer from Wikihow.

If I were going on a cruise (which I would never do), I’d memorize this protocol because being heaved off the aft deck by a psychopath is almost certainly a death sentence. That said, making every move on the checklist is important and you should do it.

But note that by the time we get to step #10, you are being advised to “… console yourself with memories of good times.” There is very little hope left at this point, though the Wikihow authors are quite optimistic that in your final moments you’ll somehow be able to remember what they said about the proper frame of mind.

That’s positive thinking!

Yours in low-risk travel,
Bathtub Safety Officer Rafferty

How long can you tread water?

Science

Get Up And Go

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Our earlier conversation about “second acts” for people who have finished one career but aren’t done doing things has an off-planet parallel. A group of private space jockeys is attempting to re-start a defunct satellite named ISEE-3, or ICE.

Yes, this once cutting-edge conglomeration of obsolete computer parts has been around long enough to have earned at least two names. This is one of the privileges of age that has been taken over by young people who make it a habit to call themselves whatever they please whenever they want for no reason at all.

Fine, I suppose. But earlier generations approached names with a sense of obligation – you owed it to mom and dad to wear out the one you were born with before taking on another. And this plucky little satellite did just that.

Entering space in 1978 as the International Sun-Earth Explorer #3, (ISEE-3), this machine fulfilled its obligations by spending years collecting data at the edge of the Earth’s magnetic field, examining the solar wind and looking very closely at solar flares and cosmic rays.

But you know how it is with highly technical jobs. After a while they can become a bit dreary.

So when a flashy, exciting comet came whizzing by, ISEE-3 was smitten. Soon, its geeky-sounding moniker was history and our space spinner was off to intercept an exotic-sounding Comet named Giacobini-Zinne. And with this impulsive diversion came the much more dangerous and cool-sounding name, ICE (International Cometary Explorer).

So it seems even our technology can have a mid-life crisis and give in to a sudden, inexplicable alteration of course. This is why we need to let the young be young while they’re young. Short of allowing the kind of name-change anarchy I complained about earlier, of course.

But once off the path of a dutiful drudge, ICE was ready to yield to temptation, sliding into a casual relationship with yet another sparkly comet, the famous and notoriously fickle Halley. I’m not clear on the details, but apparently ICE took up a position between Halley and the Sun, running a calculation that involved both but committed to neither.

So it’s no surprise that by the early ’90’s, ICE was burned out.

End of story? Apparently not. Tomorrow, June 21, a team of modern techies will use updated equipment to send signals to ICE in an old language it recognizes and respects, telling it to boost its rotation by an extra half-spin per minute.

This is important for some reason I don’t understand, but I totally get it that the communicators have to approach this space geezer with antiquated language to get it to respond properly. It’s an awkward twisting of reality designed to get a desired result, similar to what happens when young people speak to us without swearing.

If ICE (or ISEE-3) is smart, it will accept this new mission simply because the alternative is uninspiring – simply to float through space, waiting for the lights to go out.

Pete Seeger said it best in this clip from the Smothers Brothers Comedy Hour in 1968.

How do you know your get up and go has got up and went?

Uncategorized

Condiments and Toppings

31 Comments

Dear Dr. Babooner,

Just yesterday I was summoned before a Congressional tribunal and humiliated when a powerful government employee called me a liar in front of a TV audience! And the only thing I did to deserve it was to sell weight loss products to people who didn’t have money to spare or the sense to resist.

I admit I peddled products that “didn’t have the scientific muster to present as fact”, but no one seemed to be impressed with my concession on this point. Scientific muster is overrated anyway. Just pass the Dijon!

Seriously, so much of success is about the condiments and toppings anyway! Something perfectly ordinary can become a sensation if you smother it in special sauce and put a cherry on top. Don’t believe me? Lady Gaga!

Anyway, the real product is potential … the remote possibility that something good could happen – that a little green bean might do what years of dieting and exercise have failed to accomplish.

The scientific term I use to describe this effect is “a miracle”, but I was taken to task for that, too.

This, in spite of the fact that so many others have become rich by marketing angel dust and fairy powder. What’s so wrong with selling hope?  What am I supposed to do, GIVE it to them?

Dr. Babooner, we’re constantly hearing that we should fight for our ideas, no matter how outlandish. “Never give up!” “Believe!” “Follow your dreams!” Well, my dream was to become a tycoon by using smooth talk to flood the space between science and wishes.

Now, apparently, the big fat government is going to squash my beautiful tomorrow. Some say my credibility is ruined, but I think I can get it back with one milligram of strained kidney bean extract and a spoonful of nut butter twice a day!

So many Americans are suffering from the same malady – from bankers to bank robbers they’ve been publicly scolded and they feel permanently shamed. And I admit that after being bullied by the U.S. Congress, even I’m feeling a bit gun shy. Should I share this miracle reputation cure with them, or keep it under my hat?

Chastened But Still Charming

I told CBSC he might as well double down and continue with his unsupported claims. Expanding your bogus product line is the right thing to do now, because being called a liar in front of Congress is not as damaging as one might think. Given the setting, some will simply not believe the allegations against you. Others will assume you are simply a minor league exaggerator being disciplined by fabrication experts for their own amusement. In either case, let the buyer beware!

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