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Where is Superman?

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We all hope the damage to people and property from Hurricane Sandy will be less catastrophic than the advance billing. Daylight today will tell a large part of the story.

photo by Jonathan Wald via twitter

One of the most dramatic storm related developments late yesterday was the partial collapse of a construction crane atop a high rise building just south of Central Park. Footage showed the crane hanging precariously as winds picked up. Authorities evacuated the surrounding area as a precaution, afraid the crane might fall.

This is all we can do. Conditions are too severe to attempt to secure the massive structure. Safely lowering it to the ground in the midst of a hurricane is impossible. Danger is imminent. We are helpless to do anything but watch.

This is exactly the scenario I read about time and again in the comic books of my youth. And always in the next panel, one of the streetbound gawkers would say … “Look! Up in the sky! It’s a bird! It’s a plane …”

Yes, this situation is classic Superman-bait. I daresay if he were real, Clark Kent would not be able to resist this one. The only thing that would make it more attractive to him would be if Lois Lane had climbed up there to take a picture of the calamity, and had somehow managed to get tangled up in a free-swinging cable whipping in the 80 mph wind.

And while we’re looking up for help, how about that Kentucky UFO? Or the very similar-looking cylindrical UFO that supposedly flew into an active volcano?

Could we be having a monster hurricane, Halloween, a global alien invasion AND an election all at once? Not likely in the real world perhaps. But in the comic books this is just an ordinary day.

Why hasn’t Superman appeared?

Poems

Pumpkin Patch? No, Poetry Pods!

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Photo from the BBC

This is the time of year when my eye is easily drawn to an orange glow in the early evening’s darkness. So I really couldn’t help following this photo to the BBC’s website. I thought perhaps it was a story about a Stonehenge replica made out of Halloween Pumpkins.

But no! The treats here are all literary. You’re looking at a cluster of illuminated tents that speak recorded poetry to passers by – a collection of old and familiar works mixed with lesser known poems – all about love, enhanced by a soundscape and a variety of physical locations along the coastline of the U.K.

The idea is that visitors will walk among the tents and overhear the poetry fragments coming from inside the mysterious, glowing enclosures.

If you watch the video you’ll hear Irish actress Fiona Shaw, a collaborator on the project, say that she hopes people will come “with a bottle of beer in their hand” and “not speak too much to their mates – just listen.”

What are the chances that people will just listen to words coming from an invisible voice if they are in the company of others they can see and talk to directly? In my experience, it’s not likely – the pressure to carry on a conversation is too great. The one exception would be if you and your friend think you’re hearing something that was not meant for you, and if you speak you might give yourselves away.

That would be the one thing I’d change about this poetry pod project – if you speak, the recording goes quiet and then gradually returns to full volume only if you remain silent.

A reward for eavesdropping!

What is the most memorable thing you’ve overheard?

Songs, The Baboon Congress

koo?

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Today’s guest post comes from tim.

the igsnats is raggled and sort of bedraggled and ferbuffing aballa chome
but just as she twizzled the homdong bedrizzled yo wassled im baxters liloam

it’s maxish ro traxish sel codee bulaxes faranda buttu or benigh
this eeps quite bittully lets not get unruly, erick and betook and oligh

ley boonk the bitussal because its refusal will dibble the gartz quite aboonly
if carblish is true then bortookly ri blue is the obvious ash to the junetree

i fear that nuressel quips inside my vessel and higgles to felton arral
if westleward ginkles leave bitelshear sprinkles amid levelosh divinthol

a quasterly mumfly domes flamen tumumkly emfatably worsle benee
ip waller gnishby sees more of the kish he rekembles his farberly wee

Do you ever have your warble go koo?

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Up A Tree

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Today’s post comes from perennial sophomore Bubby Spamden of Wendell Wilkie High School.

Hey Mr. C.,

We were talking in class today about the latest evolution news – that maybe some of our recent ancestors were spending more time than we think up in the trees.

Our substitute biology teacher, Mr. Leakey, really got excited, and he kind of challenged us to think about it, which is what a teacher is supposed to do I guess but it sort of took us by surprise. Our regular teacher, Mr. Scopes, doesn’t even say the word “evolution” in class without looking out in the hallway first to be sure there’s not some parent or someone out there listening. I think he’s nervous about getting complaints. They say a teacher can’t get fired for stuff like that, but some kids think Mr. S has a few fossils hanging in his closet and he just wants to keep a low profile.

But Mr. Leakey was tossing out the “E” word like nobody’s business, and he kind of got me excited about it too. He talked about the shapes of shoulder blades in these old skeletons, and some really key changes that happened when our kin came down out of the trees and stood tall on the savannah, looking out over the tops of the grasses to see predators more easily and freeing up their hands to do stuff like using tools and learning how to deal blackjack.

I mean, I like to climb trees anyway so the thought of coming from tree-swinging relatives is kind of cool. All the Aunts and Uncles I’ve met are pretty boring ground-based life forms. I couldn’t picture any of them on a stepladder, even. Not to mention being up in the canopy, y’know?

But my neighbor Bethany P. thought it was gross to say we came from apes and she said she was going to tell her mom, who is kind of a big wheel in some mega-church out in the suburbs. That was alright with Mr. Leakey. He said “Tell her to swing on down here if she has a problem with it. I’ll tell her what I think and check her over for lice at the same time.”

Bethany got a little ticked off. Mad, I mean. I don’t think she has ticks.

Anyway, Mr. Scopes is back tomorrow and I’m guessing we won’t see Mr. Leakey again. He was too interesting to last very long at Wilkie High, anyway. But he did get me thinking. It’s kind of been a few years since I’ve done this, but now that the leaves have dropped off, I’m going to go out and see how high I can get in that maple tree in front of our house.

I hope Bethany is watching!

Your pal,
Bubby

Share a tree-climbing memory.

Poems

A Donald Trump Why-ku

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TV talk show producers, bloggers and assignment editors are asking themselves today why they continue to pay attention to Donald Trump. His “blockbuster announcement”, promoted for days through various news and entertainment venues, turned out to be an offer to donate 5 million dollars to a charity of President Obama’s choosing if the president releases his academic and passport records.

Ho hum.

I am complicit in this madness. The man needs attention, but I cannot explain why I give it to him. Just days ago I suggested that his cufflinks had been discovered on Mars. I could have assigned those cufflinks to anyone, and I tried. But they were only funny (to me) when they were Trump’s. He is an easy, never-fail punch line.

Dang.

So many things are not worth the energy it takes to think about them. Meanwhile, serious problems go unaddressed. Important information we really ought to have remains secret, and none of it has to do with the President’s upbringing or personal history.

Where are our priorities? What is wrong with our judgment? The world deserves an explanation for this lunacy, but let’s not take a long time with it. Just as we did with our playing-the-lottery apologies, the 5-7-5 syllabic sequence of the haiku allows more than enough to describe why Trump continues to beguile.

1.
It is not the hair
Or the big time blustering.
It’s only money.

2.
Anyone can be
bizzare for a single day.
Forever is hard.

3.
Too many people
need to know someone else is
more ridiculous

Explain Trump’s allure in a haiku.

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Ask Dr. Babooner

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Dear Dr. Babooner,

Every time I go to the health club to work out, other people give me the hairy eyeball because I sweat, grunt, gasp, and strain. I figured it was their problem until one of the trainers pulled me aside and said I was “creating stress.” Apparently management discourages any kind of physical activity that is too extreme to allow the participant to continue a friendly conversation.

It seems there are some people who consider my noisemaking to be a form of showing off, as if I’m trying to impress the crowd with how hard I’m working. And it’s partially true, Dr. Babooner. I AM working hard. But I assumed at an exercise club, EVERYONE would be working. I expected a big room full of treadmills and free weights to be an environment where my natural exertions would go unnoticed.

Not so.

One day I took a look around and it seemed like I was the only one in the whole place who was out of breath. And then I noticed another thing – for a health club, everyone but me seemed to be pretty flabby. I walked by these two guys on elliptical trainers who were having a pleasant chat about how they always come to the club at the same time – real creatures of habit. I snuck a peek at their heart rates – 92 and 85! That’s almost a resting pulse!

I went back to my machine and bore down. I started panting and grunting like a bison in heat. I could tell it bothered them, but I didn’t care. When I walked by their machines later, they hadn’t sped up at all but their heart rates were around 150 each! I figured the stress I created was giving their hearts a vigorous aerobic workout – perhaps the only one they’d ever get.

I’ve been going there at the same time for six weeks now, and though I’ve become hoarse from all my noisemaking (only some of it was make-believe), I do think I’m having a positive effect. The one guy looks like he’s lost about five pounds, and other one has much better facial color. And they both seem to be angry most of the time, which means my remote-control “Stressercise” program is working!

Management is telling me to hand in my pass key but I don’t want to quit – I’m worried about what will happen to my antagonists if I leave. What if their exasperation about my grunts is the only thing keeping them alive?

Sincerely,
Arrrrrgh Gwaaaaahphutz

I told Arrrrrgh he is a very kind and under appreciated citizen who has all the best intentions, but he is taking too much responsibility for other people. Although he may feel that he’s having a positive effect on the health of his antagonists, he can’t guarantee the physical health of others. I can certainly imagine the loud and troubling sounds he must have to make – what an unselfish price to pay – geniuses and philanthropists are always misunderstood. My advice – relent and cave to the wishes of management, but keep my number handy in case you decide to seek investors to take “Stressercise” to the next level!

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

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Leaf Tycoon

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Raking the yard yesterday afternoon, it occurred to me that I would enjoy the chore a bit more if I could convince myself that each leaf was actually a $100 bill. Because I’ve seen only one or two $100 bills in my entire life, my natural disbelief willingly disengaged from the task at hand, and this idle fantasy became real.

Yes, money DOES grow on trees. And then it falls at your feet. The lawn was littered with Benjamins. Quite suddenly I felt that I WAS scooping up armloads of crackly, crunchy cash.

“So this is how Carlos Slim Helu feels,” I thought, as I stuffed another fistful of wealth into a bio-degradable plastic sack. “There is too much money! At least there’s too much out where people can see it!”

I felt the neighbors looking at me as they drove by.

The air was full of dollar dust as I knelt on the bag and squeezed the air out. The thin plastic skin was so tight I could see enigmatic smiles on all the air-starved Franklin faces inside.

“How much cash is on this lawn?”, I wondered. I tried to estimate but quickly realized I would need the help of a fifth grader to do that, and they were all in school learning that you have to become educated because you will not find a fortune in the crabgrass.

It didn’t matter. I had become the kind of person who doesn’t need to count stuff because I have stuff counters on retainer! So rich, I do not need to think about how rich I am, or what it takes to support my extravagant lifestyle. Just get the moolah out of sight so people won’t bother me while my it keeps me afloat. And as I piled my moneybags by the curb for pickup, I thought about all my trucks converging on Switzerland, or the Cayman Islands.

It was a craven, selfish daydream, but it got the lawn nice and clean. I am sorry about fighting with squirrels for the scraps. But it’s MY YARD!

What would you do with a bag of money?

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Debate Prep

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Today’s post is a special message from Physicians for Bedrest – a public interest group advocating completion of the Job of Rest.

They say the way to know who has won a presidential debate is to listen to it on the radio, because the strength of a good argument will shine through when the distractions of the TV picture are absent.

Others say exactly the opposite – the words don’t matter. Watch with the sound off if you want to know who’s winning, because the key to victory is projecting confidence and competence. May the man with the best lighting win!

But at Physicians for Bedrest, we think the smartest way to experience these presidential debates is with BOTH the sound AND the video turned off. That’s right. Sit in front of the blank screen. Turn the lights down low. Let your mind wander to thoughts of taxes, infrastructure, job creation and budget cuts.

Close your eyes. Take a little nap.

When you wake up feeling rested and refreshed, you will be in better shape than most Americans when it comes to weighing your options and making political choices. Most people work too hard and don’t get enough sleep. And research tells us that a sleep-deprived mind is also deprived of good judgment. Weighing one’s options is a neuron-intensive process, so a couple of hours extra sleep will be invaluable when it comes time to step into the voting booth.

“But what about the debate?” you may ask.

The debate will be with us for the next three days, at least. If anything at all happens, there will be no shortage of breathless messengers panting to deliver the news. They’ll be exhausted, but because you debate-dozed, you’ll be ready to carefully consider what they have to tell you, assuming they’re able to produce a coherent string of words.

Knowing about the candidates and the issues is an important part of civic engagement. But being able to process what you know relies on getting a healthy amount of rest, and unfortunately many working Americans try to squeeze their visit to the polls into the early morning hours, or worse, drag themselves to the polling place after a long day on the job. That’s just not conducive to clear thinking!

So between now and election day, whether you’re at home, at church, on the job, in the grocery store, out at a restaurant, attending an arts event, but especially if you’re watching TV, take some time to Sleep For America!

And when you step in to that polling booth, make sure it has a pillow attached. (Not all of them do!) You might need to catch a few extra Z’s before filling out the form, just to sharpen your mind.

If anyone asks what you’re doing, tell them you’re doing your civic duty!

When have you had to make an important choice on too little sleep?

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Found Objects

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No need to get overly excited, but the Mars Science Laboratory has uncovered something shiny and bright in the red Martian sand.

No doubt we’ll get many guesses and lots of speculation on this. Public interest will be whipped to a frenzy and Geraldo Rivera may be calling Space-X right now to see how soon they can get him on an outbound rocket. This find presents a marketable mystery on the same scale as Al Capone’s Vaults.

What IS that thing? NASA has determined the object is of Martian origin and not something that just fell off the rover. But … what?

My guess? Donald Trump’s cufflink.
Not of Martian origin? Think again!

Before they ruin our fun with science, identify the strange shiny object in the Martian dust!

The Baboon Congress, Travel

Quick Trips

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Today’s guest post is by Sherrilee

As I’ve mentioned on the Trail before I have a fabulous job – some days.

Part of my job is to accompany clients to destinations that have been earmarked for incentive travel trips. Over the years I’ve been to some really fabulous places: New Zealand, South Africa, Hawaii, Russia, Belgium are just a few.

Photographs credited © Musée du Louvre

The downside to this is the speed with which I sometimes have to see some of these wonderful places as we are often trying to fit in as much as possible in as short period of time as possible. Once in Switzerland we drove four hours to eat lunch and walk through a museum at breakneck speed only to drive four hours back. Another time we visited four historic castles in one day in the Loire Valley.

But the funniest of all my fast trips was in Paris. The incentive program was going to include three days of optional activities and the client wanted to see as many of them as possible in one day; one of those activities was touring the Louvre Museum. Our guide for the day was a small, but extremely feisty French Vietnamese woman, who clearly knew her way around and wasn’t going to waste any time by just wandering around looking at random art. When we hit the museum, she dragged us quickly from one spot to another; in no time we had been from one side of the Louvre to another to see the Winged Victory, the Mona Lisa, the Venus de Milo and the moats of the medieval Louvre. We were in and out so fast that I had to catch my breath.

So the upshot is that I’ve spent 20 minutes in a museum that most people want to explore for two or three days!

When have you gone a long way for a short visit?