On The iWatch Watch

Today’s commentary comes from disgraced former journalist Bud Buck, who is a plagiarist, a liar, a serial exaggerator and a sensationalist. But still not a bad person.

I wanted to be at Apple’s Big Reveal in Cupertino, California today, but I stayed home instead.

The tension that comes from the knowledge that Great Expectations are about to meet and totally exceed (or be completely dashed by) mundane reality is just too much for me. The next frontier is said to be “The Internet of Everything,” particularly wearable objects that seamlessly interface with your life in ways that will be extremely valuable and thoroughly indispensable in the future but at this point, they are utterly impossible to imagine.

Until after the announcement is made, that is.

I don’t have enough energy for this. Plus, I couldn’t get an invitation.

But I am exhausted from the relentless build-up and all the uninformed chatter. The Apple-obsessed Geek Army that rules our technological conversation expects to see an iWatch that is absolutely wonderful and world-altering, and as soon as the announcement is made they will stand in single file to wait for the chance to buy theirs regardless of the price or the time required to get to the head of the line.

Equally enthralled Apple followers expect to be bitterly disappointed. And in some cases these are the same people!

But for this reporter, it is not too much to wait for tomorrow, or the next day. I’m already convinced that everything will change. Either Apple will do it again, or Apple will cease to be Apple. Either way – different world.

It reminds me of the night I graduated from high school. After the ceremony in our bunting-bedecked gym, all my classmates had gone off to their celebrations but I lingered, handcuffing myself to my former locker, certain that everything I knew would soon be gone and determined to hang on to every moment for as long as I possibly could. When the fire department and police officers arrived with bolt cutters and a straight jacket, I knew I had already made the transition into a new phase of life.

So I’ve decided to spend today in quiet reflection – taking a proper amount of time to carefully observe the life that I know and love before it all disappears forever. Cradling my 2nd generation iPhone in trembling hands and shedding tears for my dumb surroundings – the washer/dryer that isn’t aware of my location via GPS, the cufflinks that don’t know my current heartbeat and blood pressure, the toothbrush that has not already downloaded a list of what I’ve eaten today, and the socks that are blissfully ignorant of what I weigh, and also what I’m supposed to weigh.

I will draw out these waning moments as long as possible, for I believe we are in the last Days of Innocence, before Everything Changes.

Time Will Tell,
Bud Buck

What new thing do you look forward to?

Ursine Epistemology

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

H’lo, Bart here.

I’ve been reading a lot of self-improvement stuff.

I know that surprises people – us bears are supposed to be happy with who we are and not too interested in losing weight, being smarter, and all that. Maybe it’s having the phone that changed my mind about it.

There’s lots of apps to make you a better you, whoever you are.

And now that I have what I need to take a selfie, there’s a lot of improvement ideas that just come to mind every time I look at one.

Having better hair would be the first thing I’d work on, but the hair care websites I see don’t say much about matting and dealing with pear-sized ticks. There is some useful advice, though. So next time I break into a camper there’s a list of shampoos I’m looking for.

He Found a Smart Phone in the Woods
He Found a Smart Phone in the Woods

And by the way – I’m unclothed in all my selfies, just like a celebrity. It’s not that big a deal – so hack away, hackers. You won’t have to try too hard to get a shot of me naked.

So far, I think my best chance for self-improvement is in the brain department. I like this article about the mental virtues. It’s talks about a way to size up your character, taken from a book, called “Intellectual Virtues.”

The virtues are:

  • Love of Learning
  • Courage
  • Firmness
  • Humility
  • Autonomy
  • Generosity
  • Practical Wisdom

I have no idea what this book is about.

The title says it’s “An Essay in Regulative Epistemology“. At first I thought this had to do with your timetable for emptying yourself in the woods, which, if you’ve ever heard the popular question about bears, is definitely the place where we do it, so always answer ‘yes’. I like questions where I know the answer from my real-life experience, and that’s definitely one of them.

But I think this “epistemology” stuff is really about all the different ways of knowing things, and it’s full of tricky questions like:

  • What is knowledge and what are its limits?
  • Can we know anything?
  • How do we know what we know?
  • Can we know something without knowing that we know it?

I don’t have any of these answers, and so I thought maybe getting this book would give me something distracting to do while I lie low during the bear hunting season and maybe all the way through hibernation too. But then I saw that on Amazon, it costs $99.36. So I figured one way to apply that section called “Practical Wisdom” without even reading it was to skip buying the book all together.

Anyway, Amazon doesn’t have a very good track record of shipping stuff to “Hollow Beneath A Log, The North Woods, Minnesota, MN”, which is the best address I can come up with. Maybe once they start delivering stuff with drones it will work better, I don’t know.

I’d still like to improve my mind, though. And have cleaner, silkier hair.

Your pal,
Bart

What do you do to improve your mind?

The Evolution of Coffee

Sometimes, the latest news has a way of confirming emerging trends and verifying possibilities we imagined long ago. So it is with this week’s news that scientists have plotted the coffee genome and brought us another step closer to a supermarket beverage aisle that features a vast array of genetically tailored coffees.

This section of our show is brought to you by Genway, the supermarket for genetically engineered food.

This weekend, be sure to check out Genway’s special price on it’s finest coffee, Sumatran Rush.

Dr. Kyle and the gene grocers of Genway have found a way to boost the jolt that you normally get from coffee by re-thinking caffeine and it’s reason for being there in the first place.

Caffeine is useful for overcoming sleep deprivation by giving you that “awake” look that’s so useful when you’re trying to make an impression.

But for a lot of people, just appearing awake isn’t enough. They want to be awake, be alert, and be in a heightened state of readiness for whatever may come their way, whether it’s an important meeting, a difficult procedure, a big game, a fun evening or a tough day with the kids …

… that’s why the beans that make Genway’s Sumatran Rush are enhanced with ADRENALINE!

DrKyle

You thought caffine was addictive? Get a load of this!

Thanks to special methods used by Genway technicians for frightening laboratory rats, we are able to harvest key secretions and splice those genetic instructions directly into coffee plants. The result? Sumatran Rush is a drink that will immediately put your whole body on RED ALERT!

The beans actually glisten with a distilled ADRENALINE that will have your eyes open wide, your nose twitching, and every hair on your body standing at attention, as if you were about to be stuck with a needle by a creature much larger than yourself for a purpose you didn’t fully understand.

Adrenaline! It’s a completely natural way to focus all your senses for full participation in class, standing up for yourself in that crucial morning meeting, getting into the mood for an evening of dancing, or should you simply need to lift up a car or jump over a house.

Adrenaline is miraculous! There was a time when you had to make every drop yourself, but now it’s in the coffee!

And be sure to ask about our flavored versions, such as vanilla, almond, mocha and FEAR. If you haven’t tasted them all, you don’t know what you’re missing.

Pick up some Sumatran Rush … At Genway, the supermarket for genetically altered foods.

What do you like in your coffee?

Our Home in Paradise

Image: (Nature video)

One of the pipe dreams I occasionally entertain is that I have found a way to live on a Hawaiian island. And since this is a complete fantasy I make certain my island home is situated at the end of a long dirt road and that it sits on a rocky outcropping, surrounded by a merrily sloshing surf and whales that salute me with blowhole water jets as they swim past.

It’s a lovely, impossible scene.

But now with the publication of new research we discover that our actual planetary home in the Milky Way is on the outer edge of a vast collection of galaxies that connect through gravity as a supercluster now called Laniakea, which means “Immeasurable Heaven.”

Finally, a Hawaiian name I can add to my address.

It is coastal property, sort of. But rather than overlooking the water we are one with the current, flowing with neighboring galaxies in a long, thin line towards “a gravitational dense basin of galaxies known as the Great Attractor.”

I’m somehow comforted by the knowledge that everything here is being pulled towards The Great Attractor. It explains so much about our behavior. And I’m glad it’s a GREAT attractor that’s dragging us along and not some dumb little diversion that leads absolutely nowhere.

So three months from now, when icy pellets are flying past your window and the temperature is -20, remember that none of this can change the fact that you live on the edge of Laniakea.

Where is the most beautiful place you’ve lived?

Mashie, Niblick, Limerick

In an increasingly busy, hyper-productive, multi-tasking world, many of us are overwhelmed with undone work and yet are still blessed with ample time to examine and complain about the prioritizing skills of other people. I may have absolutely no idea what it takes to do your job, but I know sloughing off when I see it! And as Americans, it is our birthright to offer uninformed criticism of our leaders. That’s how we manage to get outrage over President Obama’s interest in golf.

Yes, he lives over the store and can never really disconnect from the job, but even so, whenever I hear that he is relaxing, I feel like I’m not getting my money’s worth. How can he be so lazy when time is precious and the world has so many urgent problems?

Plus, golf seems like an un-serious hobby for a grown man with big responsibilities. Golfers have been known to wear silly clothes and ride around in tiny cars, just like circus clowns. Several of their implements wear flouncy covers and some of the terms of the game (birdie, bogie, mulligan) sound childish. Even the names of some of the ancient tools of the trade (mashie, niblick, brassie, baffing spoon) seem comical.

It made me want to create some bad limericks about Presidents and golf, which, although they are clearly inferior to good limericks, took just as long to write.

Hours, literally.

Don’t tell me I’m not an expert on wasting time!

I.
A Senator griping in Texas
said the president’s golfing effects us.
“If he’d stop chasing pars
He’d have time to start wars!”
Though how that would be better, perplexes.

II.
When the president lines up a putt
tension strains his political gut.
He aims leftward, though slight,
but it breaks to the right,
every time, as if stuck in a rut.

III.
There are critics who count all the swings
that the president hacks, chops and dings.
He plays more than we’d like
But far, far less than Ike
who still managed some serious things.

IV.
When the POTUS hits grass that is rougher,
F.B.I. agents won’t let him suffer.
Though it’s way overgrown
they will summon a drone
which can blast it out for the first duffer.

If the world watched you work, what would it criticize?

The Boomgaarden Orchestra

Today’s guest post comes from Renee Boomgaarden, aka Renee in North Dakota.

Sometime in 1925, the residents in and around Ellsworth, MN were abuzz with the news that Okke Boomgaarden had bought a $3000 accordion for his daughter, Amanda.

Okke was my great uncle, the fifth oldest of the sixteen children in my grandfather’s family. Okke was, officially, a farmer, sort of like how Don Corleone was, officially, an olive oil importer. Okke made his money bootlegging, and his barn was used for dances, not livestock. Okke had regular dances in the barn. He provided refreshments, at a cost, and members of the family provided the music.

Screenshot 2014-09-02 at 8.15.09 PM

Family historians talk about my grandfather and many of his siblings having a natural aptitude for music. All were self taught.

  • Great Uncle George learned to play the fiddle when he was 16.
  • Great Uncle Albert also played the fiddle.
  • Great Uncle Herman was a noted left handed banjo player.
  • My grandfather played the cello.
  • Great Aunt Amelia played the piano.
  • Other family members played the accordion.

In the years before the First World War they were know as The Boomgaarden Orchestra and played for dances, weddings, and harvest festivals in northwest Iowa and southwest Minnesota.

After the war, they changed their name to Mandy’s Jazz Kings, and played in Okke’s barn, joined by Okke’s children Georgie on fiddle, Jake on saxophone, and Amanda and Mabel on the accordion.

My father remembers going to some of those dances when he was a little boy, driving to Ellsworth with his parents in their Graham-Paige automobile. I wish I know more about the music the Jazz Kings and the Boomgaarden Orchestra performed.

I wish I knew what happened to my grandfather’s cello. Until I researched for this post, I never even knew he played a string instrument.

Okke died of a heart attack in 1928, and the dances stopped soon afterwards. The older members of the Jazz Kings had their own farms and families to care for and couldn’t play with the band anymore. Okke’s sons Georgie and Jake kept playing, changing the name to The Georgie Boomgaarden Orchestra. Georgie and his band played in the towns around Ellsworth until the 1970’s.

Screenshot 2014-09-02 at 8.14.53 PM

The Depression hit everybody hard. At one point, Jake’s saxophone needed $12.00 worth of repairs, but he didn’t have the money to fix it. The local doctor intervened and paid for the repairs. He had just built a night club in Ellsworth and needed musicians to play for the dances.

My grandfather felt it was important for my dad and his brother to have some kind of music training despite the tight finances. Grandpa drove Dad and Uncle Alvin to Luverne once a week to practice with a drum and bugle corps. This group was comprised of sons of World War I veterans, and you can see them in the photo at the top of this page. Dad played both drum and the bugle – he is the third boy on the right in the back row. He can still play his bugle, and has two of them in his bedroom.

Renee played bass clarinet for Concordia.
Renee played bass clarinet for Concordia.

My children and I are the current Boomgaarden music amateurs along with my husband. Husband plays the cello, guitar, harmonica, and piano. He also sings. You can see me playing my bass clarinet in the Concordia College Band in 1978. Daughter plays the violin, French horn, and piano. She sings in college. Son played the trombone and sang in college. He currently sings in the church choir. I drafted husband to join the handbell choir. He drafted me to sometimes play the bass guitar in a very amateur gospel/rock and roll group.

Why do we do these thing? I have no idea. Maybe Okke will explain it to me someday in the Hereafter.

Who has the talent in your family?

Excavations in Education

Today’s post comes from perennial Sophomore Bubby Spamden of Wendell Willkie High School.

Hi Mr. C.!

Well, today is the re-beginning of school, and in spite of everything I’ve thought and felt over the past few months and the complaints I’ve made and the different ways I’ve tried to get out of returning to Willkie High, I have to say I’m excited to be going back!

Why?

Well, people like making connections and having routines and seeing old friends and making new ones. And the daily rhythm of being a high school sophomore is a pattern I have perfected! I’ve got my backpack and my notebooks and all my pens and pencils and stuff and I’m ready to go. I’ll collect all the papers my teachers hand out and I’ll take their assignments and bring them home. By this time I know them all by heart. My favorite one is the unit on Stonehenge. We do it every September and I get a real kick out of the idea that Druids dragged huge heavy rocks hundreds of miles to make something big that we still don’t understand and when we look at it all we can do is scratch our heads.

The lesson? People have always done stuff that’s kinda weird.

Anyway, I’ll really try to play by the rules this time and get my work done and handed in on time, but before long I know I’ll start to wonder why I have to study so hard for all these standardized tests and I’m sure I’ll get tired of it, because that’s what I do.

And then around the middle of October, I’ll go into my backyard at home, sneak behind the equipment shed where we keep the lawnmowers and rakes and stuff, and I’ll dig a deep pit.

And then I’ll dump all my assignments and papers and materials into the hole and I’ll cover them up with dirt. And I’ll do this every single week all the way through to the end of school, so when Mr. Boozenporn and all my other teachers ask “Bubby, where’s your homework,” and “Bubby, didn’t you take that assignment home?” and “Bubby, why don’t you get things done?”, I can shrug and say “Oh yeah, it’s probably just buried under some other stuff somewhere.”

That’s how I manage to stay a sophomore year after year at Willke High!

I know it seems like kind of a waste, but the way I see it, someday some cultural archaeologists will come along and dig up all that stuff so they can piece together the history of education in America! Or at least the history of education during this particular time in America, which is bound to seem as strange and mysterious to them as Stonehenge seems to us today.

Your predictable pal,
Bubby

How does your routine change after Labor Day?

Ask Dr. Babooner – Trendy Vice Edition

Dear Dr. Babooner,

I admit I’m a gambler, and there are times when I get carried away. I feel kinda bad about that!

I used to go to the Showboat in Atlantic City, NJ. But now the place is closing! So is Revel, another hotel/resort that was opened just 2 years ago, and it was built at the cost of 2 billion dollars.

Talk about coming up a big loser on a risky bet!

In another few weeks, a third casino will close, leaving Atlantic City with only 8 gambling establishments compared with the 12 they had at the start of the year.

I wish I had made a wager on that back in January. Hindsight!

Some experts say it’s necessary for Atlantic City’s survival to reduce the number of casinos, because the traffic just can’t support all of them. Habitual gamblers, they say, will just go to one of the establishments that remains open, so little economic activity will be lost.

Maybe so, but over the years I’ve learned that misery does, in fact, love company. That’s why it grieves me that my favorite vice is not experiencing the kind of growth that can support 12 and even more fancy casinos in Atlantic City.

I mean, it’s bad enough to be stuck in a pattern of behavior that brings you feelings of deep regret, but when I realize it’s not even popular anymore, that leaves me feeling like an even bigger loser!

When I look around at all the different soul-crushing, life-wrecking things I could do, I see that drinking is still a big deal, though I’ve never had much interest in that. Even beer consumption is gaining traction as a bad behavior sub-group. Cocaine, Heroin and meth addiction all continue to bring growing levels of misery to many helpless people. What can I say? They’re not my thing. In the catalog of social ills, even accumulating student debt is getting more attention than problem gambling right now.

Dr. Babooner, up until now it has been an important part of my self-image that I engage in socially destructive behavior. But I feel like I’ve lost my edge. Should I abandon gambling for a more trendy vice?

Sincerely,
Lucky

I told “Lucky” to stop worrying about the popularity of one’s vices. Problem gambling is still plenty bad and it creates more than enough misery to lead any practitioner to feel that he or she is afflicted with something major that is worthy of alarm and attention. I doubt that it is in decline. The news that Atlantic City is closing casinos has more to do with another set of social ill – bad investment decisions and misguided marketing choices. Not to mention plain old hubris, which will always be with us.

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

A Non-Strategic Strategy

Today’s post is a press release from 9th District Congressman Loomis Beechly, who represents all the water surface area in Minnesota.

From the Office of Congressman Loomis Beechly
August 30, 2014

WASHINGTON – Today, Minnesota Congressman Loomis Beechly joined forces with the many critics of President Obama who are outraged over comments last week in which the President admitted his administration has “no strategy yet” to deal with the ISIS militants organizing in Syria and fighting in Iraq.

“I am appalled,” the Congressman said. “It is non-strategic to admit that you have no strategy.”

Beechly says that when faced with difficult questions about a complicated military situation like the one in Iraq and Syria,  a decisive leader must “take immediate verbal action”.

“You launch a word-strike at the enemy,” Beechly said.  “That’s geo-politics 101.  Say stuff that sounds angry,  Drop a few sentences that are loaded with resolve.  Shoot some threatening verbiage their way and follow it up with a vague ultimatum.”

The Congressman was also clear about what NOT to do .

“Don’t give the appearance of thinking,” he said.  “The American people are not fans of thought.  Option-weighing is for losers, so just start doing some things and react to how it works out.”

Beechly says he is proud of the fact that he has never given the people of the 9th district the impression that he is thinking about something.

“I’m pretty sure Americans like a decider,” he said. “They favor action over analysis.”

“That’s the situation my constituents face every two years when they step into the voting booth,” added the Congressman, who represents only water surface area and so very few voters actually live in his district on Election Day.

“They have no real knowledge of what’s going on and no time to consider possible outcomes, so they pick a familiar name  off the ballot and get on with their lives.  That’s bold.  It’s brazen.  And when you see the Congress we get as a result it’s clear how this kind of reflexive, instinctive action leads our enemies to despair!”

“Sowing that despair,” he said, “… is the job of leader.  And that’s the job I was elected to do.”

How decisive are you?

Early Evening on the Screen Porch

Today’s guest post comes from Barbara in Robbinsdale.

7:00 p.m.
One of the books that (some of) our Baboons read for a recent Baboon Book Club (BBC) gathering was A Slender Thread by Diane Ackerman.

In it she told some of her experiences helping to staff a volunteer crisis hotline for humans, juxtaposed with her observations of the squirrel population in her yard and their crises. I am not, as she was, gathering material for National Geographic, but reading her work has changed me in this way: I’m allowing myself to sit for more than a few minutes to watch the wildlife just outside our back yard screen porch.

Last night was outstanding.

Our big yard must be heaven for the critters. Lined with hedges and a terraced “rock wall” (the chipmunk highway), it has plenty of trees for the squirrels, flowers for the bees and butterflies, and berries for the birds. The huge once-majestic box elder tree has lost all its major limbs now, and the last two are still sitting where they landed beneath it – these now provide another hiding place for the animals.

Box Elder and Sons

We have several resident cottontails that we see regularly for silflay (the morning/evening meal in the meadow, as told in Richard Adams’ Watership Down.

Mombunny

I’ve dubbed them Flopsy, Mopsy, and Mombunny, though of course I can’t tell the younger ones apart. I am watching them closely tonight, because earlier a hawk of some kind (Northern Harrier?) swooped toward a chipmunk who was hanging out by the herb garden.

Hawk 2a

7:30
There are now three robins hunting for stuff through the grass – no wait, four – no… five robins. A squirrel just shot across the lawn with a huge green (unhusked) walnut clamped in its jaws. Flopsy scampers around the fallen tree sections, with Mopsy close on his heels. Careful, Flopsy – that hole is where the beehive is, I think. Mombunny is now over by the rock wall on her hind legs, now nibbling on a wild rose twig, now heading for the back 40 – lippity lippity, not very fast.

8:00
It’s quieter – just two bunnies left feasting on the clover, Flopsy washing his face like a cat would. He only hops off when Mopsy gets too close, and then they’re racing around again.

8:30
Really getting dark now – if their ears didn’t twitch, I’d never see them in the grass. I leave them finally – all I can make out is two darker spots in the dark green of the “way back” lawn/meadow, where they’re probably contemplating how to get back into the veggie garden just beyond.

And that story is for another day

What has been the most critter friendly place you’ve lived?