History, Science, Uncategorized

Still Hanging Around

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More unfortunate news for England’s Richard III – a year after he suffered the indignity of having his bones excavated from underneath a parking lot, researchers have received the green light to map his genome.

This means Richard III’s genetic secrets will be laid bare, including any serious medical conditions he was predisposed towards. Scoliosis, anyone? That’s the prevailing reason to resist having one’s DNA decoded – to avoid potential discrimination based on the likelihood that you will develop an expensive malady down the road.

Fortunately for Richard III, he doesn’t have to worry about such things because Obamacare is now the law of the land, so he can’t be denied coverage based on a pre-existing condition! He is also protected by the fact that he’s not from around here, and is already disintegrating.

Yet Richard III is still alive as a cultural figure even though his reputation remains dark. It’s bad enough to have great artists (Shakespeare!) interpret your legacy. They don’t really care about you – just their form of expression. And now the great scientists will have a go at telling Richard III’s story their own way. These test-tube shakers and number crunchers have no reason to be kind either – it’s all a collection of data points to them. So you could say Richard has an endless literary shelf life and will soon gain a timeless scientific stature too, but immortality of any sort is wasted on the dead.

Would you rather live forever as a dramatic villain, or a museum exhibit?

Poems

Lottery Prayer

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Some people actually pray to win a huge chunk of cash in the lottery, which is understandable when you consider how many common problems would be instantly solved by a sudden infusion of $400 million into your personal account.

But I question the tactic of using prayer to ask God to reward you with helpful, timely interventions. One look at a day’s worth of woe as it unfolds in the news is enough to convince a sober observer that God doesn’t feel a particular sense of urgency about rescuing good people from calamities.

Besides, if there was a divine desire to make you rich, would God need to use the Lottery to do it? I don’t think so – not as long as we have Las Vegas and Wall Street and You Tube.

And as we’ve discussed here before, there is ample evidence that winning a huge jackpot could easily turn out to be the worst thing that has ever happened to you.

We have explored before what sort of language one might use when beseeching the deity for decent numbers, but there is infinite variety possible within every simple form. So with all that in mind, I went ahead and bought my single ticket for Wednesday’s Powerball while muttering this quiet prayer.

Now I play the Powerball,
I pray my numbers come up, all.
And if I become rich today,
I pray I won’t throw it away.

By partying until the dawn.
By buying yachts for hangers-on.
By funding every worthless scheme
presented as a noble dream.

By hanging out in seedy bars.
By buying worthless classic cars.
By sending distant kin abroad.
Investing in a mammoth fraud.

By launching my own space balloon.
By subsidizing Trail Baboon.
By backing bets my buddies cast
On horses that will finish last.

I pray, in short, for money smarts,
to add to all my other arts.
The wisdom and the sense to see
I shouldn’t play the lottery.

How to squander a fortune? Let us count the ways.

Uncategorized

Crocodiles In Trees

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I really don’t know much about alligators and crocodiles, including which is which. Whenever I wonder about their various differences I take a moment and look it up, (alligator – freshwater, “u” shaped snout / crocodile – salt water, “v” shaped snout) but when I’m face-to-face with one or the other, I always forget what I learned and panic in exactly the same way, regardless.

Alligator

Because I have so much idle time, I often daydream about what I would do if a giant reptile decided I was worth the effort to chase down and, perhaps, eat. My first thought is that I would outrun the beast, though I’ve been informed that they are surprisingly fast – a bit of information that becomes more alarming as I age and become surprisingly slow.

I have always assumed that another convenient escape route for any potential human morsel would be to climb a nearby tree, since the only images I’ve seen of crocodiles and alligators depict them at ground level, or partially submerged. I climbed many a tree when I was a boy, and only fell out of one once. So I figured with the help of adrenaline I could probably get off the ground once again and cling to a higher branch until a sick goat happened to wander by to distract my frustrated reptilian pursuer.

But now comes the troubling information that alligators and crocodiles can climb. Obviously this puts a kink in my plans. Before this I had never considered the possibility that the words “… he was pulled out of a tree by an alligator” could someday appear in my obituary.

There’s nothing about that experience that sounds even remotely pleasant, although it would be a pretty remarkable thing to have as your official C.O.D. (cause of demise). The scenario does have me wondering where a treed human would try to kick an upwardly mobile crocodile or alligator, since they are pretty much all mouth on the front end. Surely there must be a strategy that would work!

A crocodilian has you up a tree. Now what?

Uncategorized

‘Till There Was You

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Happy Valentine’s Day, Dear Baboons.

Of course there are love songs galore. I’ve heard it said that every song is a love song.

That’s the sort of thing that sounds at first like it could be true, but it would take some deft explaining to convince me that the current #1 song, “Dark Horse“, belongs in the love song category alongside Meredith Willson’s “Till’ There Was You”. When it comes to romance, I’m not one for flowery language, but even I can see the difference between …

There were birds in the sky But I never saw them winging No, I never saw them at all Till there was you.

… and …

She’s a beast I call her Karma (come back) She eats your heart out Like Jeffrey Dahmer (woo) Be careful Try not to lead her on Shorty’s heart is on steroids Cause her love is so strong You may fall in love When you meet her

Call me a crabby old man, but I’ll stick with Willson.

Not only was this economical ode part of a major Broadway hit, the song was good enough for an upstart superstar to sing in front of the Queen of England.

Meredith Willson was an interesting character, by the way. He was once a member of John Philip Sousa’s band, and “The Music Man” was his first attempt at creating a Broadway show. His previous claim to fame was as an announcer on Tallulah Bankhead’s radio program in the early 1950’s.

It took eight years to get the thing written and produced, and he got credit for all of it – music, lyrics and book. The innovation he brought to the stage is displayed in the opening number, when a crew of traveling salesmen mimic a train while reciting an unrhymed poem that entertains while it elegantly takes care of one of a playwright’s most difficult chores – exposition.

And even though it’s all about marketing and deception, that boisterous opening sequence is still more romantic than “Dark Horse.” By far.

What’s your favorite love song?

Uncategorized

Inspiration, To A Point

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I’m a fan of skyscrapers but not of heights. Gravity is always cause for concern.

I’ll go to the observation deck with you, but only for that giddy survivor’s high that comes when we return to the ground floor alive. And that’s where I can best admire a tall building – at street level or an even safer distance, like two miles away where it’s impossible for a rogue ice chunk or a clumsy, un-tethered window washer to fall on me.

Yes, skyscrapers activate my imagination, though not always in the best way. That’s why I’m concerned to see that the slow economic recovery has re-invigorated efforts to build the Chicago Spire.

Frankly, the project sets off multiple personal alarms.

When construction halted in 2008 because the world economy collapsed, Chicagoans were left with an enormous open pit on a prime piece of waterfront real estate. In my universe, open pits are bad. Gravity runs rampant there, and I consider it a miracle that the hole has remained in place for six years without becoming the scene of a terrible Timmy-in-the-well scenario. Construction keeps the hole open rather than filled up with pulverized rubber chunks, recycled packing envelopes, and other soft-landing material, which is what I would prefer.

Turning Torso in Malmo
Turning Torso in Malmo

I also find it unsettling that the building’s shape twists so severely from top to bottom. A similar building by the same architect in Malmo, Sweden, is said to look like it is tilting at an odd angle when viewed from certain perspectives. That’s an understatement for this Escher-like structure, which comes with the feeling of vertigo built in. Boxy may be boring, but I like my skyscrapers to be nice and grounded-looking. Once we start twisting around the shape of acceptable living spaces, I’m afraid stability will go out of fashion. It’s a slippery slope.

And by the way, a slippery slope is also very troubling for the gravity-obsessed. That’s why I’m focusing on skyscraper news rather than watching the Winter Olympics.

Finally, I worry that the addition of The Spire to Chicago’s skyline will suddenly make it OK for new buildings to mimic the shape and design of power tools, which are unsettling devices especially in the hands of amateurs like me. Sure, this one is an innocent drill bit. But what’s to prevent other designers from framing up towers that appear to be lathes, table saws and orbital sanders? I could not feel comfortable in a city that featured, say, a Pneumatic Torque Wrench as part of its skyline. The urban environment is noisy and dusty enough!

What’s your favorite (or least favorite) skyscraper?

Poems

Stopping By The Woods on (the last) Snow Evening

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An opinion piece in the New York Times suggests we are nearing a time when there will be precious few places in the world with enough snow to hold a Winter Olympics.

Things are changing that fast.

It is remarkable, especially during this unusually brisk and frosty winter, to think that piles and piles of snow could become an oddity reserved for only a few of the planet’s people.

I wish I could say I was doing something to stop this tragedy from unfolding, but my first response to just about any calamity is to write a parody of one of some great author’s work. Not a very effective strategy to stop climate change, but in my defense I can say that I was not driving a gas guzzling SUV all the while I struggled with the task of re-writing Robert Frost’s masterpiece.

Whose woods these are I think I know.
He does not come in winter, though;
The town folks easily get stuck
On nights with just a little snow.

My horse was once a pickup truck.
I had to sell it. Drat the luck.
There’s no more gasoline or oil.
Just horsey rumps and horsey muck.

The world is hot. The oceans boil.
The glaciers melt. Our treasures spoil
It’s something grand to watch the snow.
So strange to see it hide the soil.

That’s why I stopped here for the show
For generations long ago
And future ones who’ll never know
A time when woods could fill with snow.

What is the rarest wonder you’ve witnessed?

Uncategorized

The History of Procrastination

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Today’s post comes from forever sophomore Bubby Spamden, poster boy for the campaign against social promotion at Wendell Wilkie High School.

Hey Mr. C.,

Well, they stopped canceling school every other day just because it’s cold, so Mr. Boozenporn said he won’t let us move the deadline for our History Projects again – they’re due on Monday.

He calls it the “Monuments” assignment – all about how people through time built things like buildings and stuff to leave their mark on the Earth. We’re supposed to research something like the Parthenon or the pyramids or the Palace at Versailles and write at least 1,000 words about it.

AND we have to make a replica to show the class, using common materials found at home.

What’s worse, he only just told us about this in September, which is so unfair! The school year was starting then and we were excited about other things and January 31 (the original due date) seemed really, really far away.

That means I’ll have to spend the weekend doing some quick reading and writing and building a scale model of something from history.

At least it won’t get in the way of the Super Bowl.

But I don’t know how he can expect us to get interested in this super-old stuff, especially so close to Valentine’s Day when we’re all feeling kind of in bloom and full of young-person thoughts all about love and living and fun and the future, not about dead guys and their buildings and bridges and graveyards.

Is that fair? I don’t think so.

Plus, he said nobody is allowed to pick Indian mound builders, which was totally what I was going to do! I already had the Earth and everything!

So anyway I’m wondering if you and your blog people have any ideas of some old building or construction thing that isn’t too hard to understand that I can make a quick copy of using stuff I’ve got at home. I know you’re all pretty old so you probably have even made some of the original things that would qualify – if only you can remember what they are! (Just Kidding).

Your friend who just lost his whole weekend,
Bubby

I told Bubby when I was a sophomore I did a similar assignment on Machu Piccu using egg cartons, Easter grass and Neptune’s Castle from the bottom of my dad’s aquarium that he kept in the living room all lit up and bubbling even though the fish had died about ten years before. My model turned out a little slimy, which really enhanced the look even though it didn’t do much for the smell. I managed to get a B.

What’s the oldest man-made thing you’ve ever seen?

Uncategorized

Ask Dr. Babooner

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We are ALL Dr. Babooner
We are ALL Dr. Babooner

Dear Dr. Babooner,

Just sit right back and you’ll hear a tale – a tale of a fateful trip! It started from this tropic port aboard this tiny ship. The mate was a mighty sailing man, the skipper brave and sure, and everything that happened next is mostly conjecture.
We’re really not too sure!

The Skipper says a storm blew up. It swamped them more than once. They went off course and drifted for a year and several months. When I say “them” I really mean the Skipper, not the mate. The matey starved and perished on an unrecorded date.
He might have dressed a plate!

I say that ’cause the Skipper recently has come ashore. He says he lived on turtle’s blood. I think he needed more! He’s hairy and he’s tired but I’m really not impressed. If he has drifted sixteen months he’d look much more distressed.
A whole lot more distressed!

The media is hungry for some truth about this trip. It’s hard to say what happened and I don’t want to be flip. But if this is a hoax the Skipper’s name will soon be mud. And if the story’s true I’ll drink a pint of turtle’s blood.
I doubt it will taste good!

Dr. Babooner, is it wrong to make a bet with on the true outcome of a tragi-miracle like this?

Sincerely,
Mary Ann

I told Mary Ann it is in very poor taste to make light of a story like this one because a life was lost in the process and innocent newscasters everywhere may have been duped. But I wager that even the terribly poor taste of placing a bet on the true outcome of this story would not leave a flavor in your mouth that’s any worse than a pint of turtle’s blood. Yuk!

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

Uncategorized

Sleepy Bear Makes Prediction

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

Bart Blackberry2

H’lo – Bart here.

Not really awake yet. Not asleep either. That’s hibernation – It feels like there’s this wet paper bag over my head. Kinda like the way some people look at the end of an all-day summer picnic at the campgrounds near here.

Yeah, I’ve been hiding back in the trees, paying attention.

Anyway, I rolled over and saw a news story about that groundhog that predicts the end of winter. Six more weeks, I guess. Unless there are less. Or more.

Y’know, animals pretty much agree groundhogs are morons. Amazingly dumb.

I get it that people have traditions that make them do things that they don’t understand or even think about very much, and I suppose this Groundhog ceremony is one of them. But I noticed that there wasn’t a whole lot of fuss made about it. Since I picked up this smart phone I’ve learned about Google and Facebook and Twitter and I’ve seen how some things can take over the conversation.
And let me tell you – yesterday, the Groundhog was not even the most-talked-about animal! Seahawks and Broncos were much more popular on every single platform!

In fact the greatest excitement about yanking a hairy rodent out of its burrow seemed pretty much limited to a few people in Pennsylvania. And they had some kind of script as far as I could tell. I watched the video. The Top Hat Guys pretended to talk to him but I didn’t hear Phil speak. They said he saw his shadow, but it looked dark and rainy. What’s with that? Reality programming with no real reality or personality – isn’t there enough of that already?

Which gave me this idea. I know more about the weather than a groundhog. Heck, I know more about marketing too. If you wanna bring back the feeling of spectacle to February 2nd, why not roust a bear? I have a burrow, and I can make a big ding dang deal out of waking up.

Wouldn’t it be a whole lot more tense and dramatic to have the Top Hat Guy poke a stick into my den to see if I cast a shadow when I come out to tear him to bits? Oh, I won’t hurt him, but I can growl and thrash around and even take a few swipes. I’ll eat his hat! If you smear some peanut butter inside it. Honest. I can be cranky when I just wake up, but I settle down after I’ve had something to eat.

I predict if somebody builds a celebration around pulling a bear out of his den next year, we’ll only have one more year of Groundhog Day. After that, the day will be known as Bear Scare Februare!

Your pal,
Bart.

What are you like when you wake up?

History, Science, Travel

We Live Inside!

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One of the surprises that came out of my recent trip to Fort Myers was discovering the remnants of the Koreshan Unity Settlement – a Utopian community established there in 1894 by a charismatic leader named Cyrus Teed, who believed in some fairly progressive things including the educational value of artistic expression and full equality between the sexes.

The opened sphere, showing the spinning gasses inside.
The opened sphere, showing the spinning gasses inside.

But there was at least one thing major thing he got wrong. Teed preached that the Earth was a hollow sphere, and we lived inside it. He thought the globe that we know so well was actually inverted – with the continents pasted around the underside of the curve. Looking up (or inward), you would see a revolving ball of gas that was layers thick, only allowing us to view the refracted rays of the sun, located at the center. The sun, rotating once each 24 hours, was light on one side and dark on the other – thus giving us day and night.

The land beneath our feet was also layered, but digging through it would eventually bring you to the outside of the sphere, beyond which there was … nothing.

Teed and his followers considered the commonly accepted idea of a limitless universe with humans living on the outside of the globe under a distant sun and with planets and stars all whizzing around in their own orbits as inherently chaotic and unknowable, putting God beyond the reach of human understanding. Teed said the Koreshan system “… reduces the universe to proportionate limits, and its cause within the comprehension of the human mind.”

Easily said, though it didn’t take very long for his book, The Cellular Cosmogony, to lead this particular human mind to a state of exhaustion. Still, I would love to have a t-shirt featuring their motto – “We Live Inside!” After all, it’s not that different from the philosophy of Minnesotans in January.

Koreshan_4

The Koreshans went to great lengths through observations and experiments and words, words, words to support their notion that the wide horizon visible off the Florida coast actually curved up with a smile, rather than down with a frown.

Cyrus Teed died in 1908 and while his utopian settlement lingered for a few decades it eventually faded away. A prime directive of complete celibacy for the most ardent followers of Koreshanity might have had something to do with that. The last Koreshans gave their vast tract of land to the State of Florida in 1961 which allowed for the establishing of a state park.

What impressed me most in this brief encounter with Cyrus Teed and his philosophy was the power a charismatic person with absolute conviction can have over others who are less certain in their beliefs; and once convinced, the amazing ability we humans have to cling to ideas that are completely and obviously wrong.

How do you know you’re right?