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That’s So Marceau!

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It goes without saying that today is the birthday of revered mime Marcel Marceau.

I’ll be celebrating Marceau Day as I and my friends always do, quietly and under thick layers of whiteface, alternately pouting and smiling while my hands occasionally and inexplicably flutter about my head like a cloud of manic butterflies.

Signifying what?

Yes, exactly.

But then we’re all wild for Marceau, eh? I think it’s no surprise that our culture embraces mimes and celebrates their art. Why? Because we are a people who love ambiguity. We are enthralled with wordless expressions of intense beauty and excruciating pain – feelings that define the lives of kings and clowns alike. Nothing could be more American. This is second nature to us. And of course we all look fantastic in horizontal stripes.

But it is our legendary patience that makes us so open to the silent arts.

All you have to do is watch a little bit of the Super Bowl, a rap video or any show on prime time TV to know that Americans delight in taking the time to observe a slowly developing series of carefully calibrated movements. We’re curious about meaning but content to let the artist tell us a story at his own pace, in much the same way a leaky faucet tells us the unassailable truth of a worn bushing with a steady drip, drip, drip of identical gestures that ultimately brings us to a moment of shocking clarity when we realize with a start that something in this room is driving us absolutely crazy.

How wonderfully satisfying is that moment of exasperation!

But I don’t have to tell you how wrong it is to employ so many words to try to capture the essence of Marceau Day. As Marceau himself famously said, “Never get a mime talking. He won’t stop.”

How comfortable are you with silence?

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Ask Dr. Babooner

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Anyone can be an expert when it comes to advising others.

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

Dear Dr. Babooner,

I was recently selected by my peers to be the new CEO of the company where we all work. Of course I’m flattered by this unexpected compliment (they really, really like me!) but I’m having trouble navigating the tricky historical, administrative and political terrain before me.

Our firm is rather formal and high-minded in its approach. We have some ambitious and laudable ideals, and a habit of not living up to them.

It is a tradition with us that the CEO takes on a new name when he (it has always been a “he”) ascends to the corner office. This honorific is supposed to symbolize the title holder’s preferred style of managing relationships, and it is always preceded by “The Respected And Loved Administrator” …. such-and-such.

Accordingly, my predecessor was The Respected and Loved Administrator Mr. Badass. The TRALAs before him were Mr. Ranklepeeps, Mr. Shovit, Mr. Hitman and Mr. Rockstar. Each one brought a different kind of swagger to the job, but they haven’t all been so dominant. In decades and centuries past, we’ve had Mr. Vacillator, Mr. Jollypants, Mr. Shambles, Mr. Pothead and Mr. Gigolo.

Now it’s time for me to pick my name. I’d like to call myself TRALA Mr. Happypal, but my advisers say to keep things in order I should pick something more ominous sounding that will make people watch their step when I’m around and yield to my whims, even at a distance.

Something like Mr. Fancrap.

Dr. Babooner, should I go with a name people will like, or something people will respect?

Undecidedly,
TRALA ?

I told TRALA ? he should never underestimate the power a name has over other people. Picking the title you’ll be known by is a rare privilege. Friendly, happy, exciting names can create warm feelings just as quickly as hard, scary names can demand obedience. But being liked but not respected is not an easy road to walk. And being respected but not liked is just no fun. I suggested a sweet/sour combination to get the best of both worlds. Like Mr. Punchkiss, Mr. Blusterlove, or TRALA Mr. Crusherhug.

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

Poems

Frozen Birds of Spring

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What a lovely, poetic day it was on the Trail yesterday. I never thought so many Baboons could be so moved by their cherished appliances.

Which is odd, because today is really the day for rhymes – it’s the first day of Spring in the Northern Hemisphere.  Of course only the persistent strength of the sun tells us this. Look outside and you’d swear it was still winter.

Still, the urge for a nice springtime Tra-La! sends me to the seasonal rhyming dictionary.

robin

Of all the creatures seasons bring
I love the frozen birds of spring
Their frigid talons clutch the trees
They work to bend their icy knees

They set their snowy, arctic eyes
to sing an ode to slushy skies.
Though winter lingers far too long
They lift constricted throats in song

Their warbles, painfully expressed
from slushy lung and freezing breast
emerge, reluctantly, as squeaks
In polar air through frosty beaks.

These chilly chirps congeal and thud,
like hardened bricks of song-filled mud
that tumble out a brittle tune
made by a bird who came too soon.

 

When have you arrived too early?

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Sucky Business

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We finally caved in to a virtual wind tunnel of consumer desire and bought a new vacuum cleaner.

The old one, a central vacuum with a motor and canister mounted on the basement wall, boasted a 25 foot long hose patched with duct tape. The power head resembled a dancing skeleton from a Halloween cartoon – random parts would spontaneously detach in mid-sweep and go flying across the room. It was an irritating tendency to deal with, on top of the challenge of vacuuming the house, which was already irritating.

vacuum

The good news – since bringing the new equipment home I’ve been vacuuming more. Yes, cleaning takes time away from thinking and accomplishing and relaxing. But there is an irresistible temptation to break out fresh weapons in the war against dirt. Why build a billion dollar fighter jet if you’re not going to deploy it?

The bad news – in the two decades that have passed since purchasing the previous vacuum, the industry’s hardware has largely gone over to plastic. Even the wand, formerly a polished, chrome-plated metal tube, has become an extruded, static-charged plasti-pipe that attracts and holds dog hair.

Not a glamourous look to go wandering around the house with more fur stuck to the outside of the cleaner than there is stuffed in the bag. But then you usually don’t bring the vacuum out when you’re trying to impress people with your refinement.

I must confess I am suffering a little bit of appliance regret. But let’s keep that a secret because I don’t want to be subjected to the kind of unrestrained marketing blitz today’s vacuum industry can mount. The door-to-door vacuum salesman was never a welcome visitor, and he is certainly less so today. Besides, this messy business is best done online. And looking around the internet I have discovered there are plenty of white hot opinions available when it comes to brands, designs and methods. It used to be Hoover was the only vacuum brand name out in the public square. Now we’ve got Dyson, Meile, ElectroLux, Eureka, and Riccar, just to name a clump.

An unsightly clump that we can dispose of quickly with the handy brush attachment!

Lately, it seems like there is always another genius stepping forward who was bright enough to break all the rules to create a lightweight but powerful vacuum that does what all the others cannot! For example, this one turns your floor crud into easy-to-dispose-of bricks.

If this is so brilliant, how come nobody thought of it before? We were too busy cleaning!

What’s your favorite household appliance?

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Everyman Athlete

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Today is the birthday of the late George Plimpton. He was born on this date in 1927 in New York City.

I owe Plimpton a debt for showing me that I would not be able to make my living as a professional football player. I read his book, “Paper Lion“, shortly after reading a different book about my hero of the time, New York Jets Quarterback Joe Namath.

The book about Namath had me thinking I could be a star quarterback too! After all, he started as a nobody and I was a nobody. Namath went to training camp with the Jets in Peekskill, New York, and I lived near Peekskill, New York! Namath was a famed playboy, and my friends and I had found a rain-soaked copy of Playboy in the woods near my house. I once saw him crossing the street surrounded by a crowd of autograph seekers, and if he had looked in my direction, he would have seen me sitting in the back seat of my mother’s car!

So you can see how we were virtually the same guy.

When the family moved to Central Illinois I was certain I could use my special East Coast Joe Namath Mojo to wow the locals. But at about the same time, I picked up Paper Lion. I soon realized that not only was I too small to make it on the professional field of play, but I lacked the strength and confidence necessary to survive the locker room.

Besides, Plimpton made it seem as cool to be a writer as it was to be quarterback of the Detroit Lions. He was a pioneer in “participatory journalism,” taking up a number of sports as an “everyman athlete.” I didn’t read his other books so I can only assume that in each case, the job of writer wound up seeming more glamorous than whatever sport he was trying out. Although if anyone tried to follow his lead, they probably discovered the most glamorous job of all was simply being Plimpton.

There is a documentary film about his remarkable life which is making the rounds. I would very much like to see it.

What job would you like to try for a day?

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Hibernation Rejuvenation

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Today’s post comes from Bart, the bear who found a smart phone in the woods. It has been translated from the original Ursus Textish.

Bart Blackberry2

H’lo, Bart here.

I feel like I’m waking up. And I was just in the middle of a beautiful dream – I looked up and there were all these tiny cardboard boxes floating down towards me – each on on a separate parachute. I couldn’t tell for sure what was inside – but each one seemed warm and smelled delicious!

That’s how I knew it was a dream. Nothing in the woods is warm and delicious in mid-March.

But the forest is coming to life. I know I’m not alone – There area few subtle signs and a lot of hunger out there. Since hibernation began I’ve lost some weight, so I’m always famished. The problem is, there aren’t enough picnics happening right now. That’s where I really get lots of food because people are such slobs. It’s nice there are some things a bear can count on. But for some reason, this is a time when campers in the woods are not eating as much as they’re drinking – kind of a disappointment for me. What’s with that? All I know is it has something to do with a Saint and Snakes and Shamrocks.

It’s very confusing because I’ll sometimes see a flash of green in the roadside ditch and I think some berries might be coming out – but when I get there all I find is a bunch of emerald trash and some bottles – each with a bit of fizzy green stuff in the bottom.

Ugh.

And even though I’ve had bad luck with bottles lately, I drink it anyway because I need the calories. And then I fall asleep again. When I wake up, I feel worse than before.

It’s not supposed to happen that way! You’re supposed to feel great when you’ve had enough rest. I guess it has something to do with the green drinks, but what can I do? There isn’t much food in the woods right now, unless somebody organizes a massive popcorn drop. Call out the National Guard – they need some experience parachuting supplies into the forest. Rice Krispie Bars would be OK too. Or pies. Pies would be very nice.

Hey – I think that’s what my dream was about! I’m finding out what every hungry wild animal knows. It pays to be a pest. Does it pay in pies? Pehaps!

Your pal,
Bart

I assured Bart that the National Guard will not do a Pie Drop in the woods. The state got a little budget forecast relief a few days ago, but not enough to justify the kind of extravagance he imagines. Still, a breakfast of pie from the sky would be better than guzzling the backwash from bottles of green beer.

What’s the worst breakfast you’ve ever had?

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Ask Dr. Babooner

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Ann_Landers baboon 2

Dear Dr. Babooner,

Two years I wrote to you about some strange forebodings I had at work.

I was the CEO of a major company, riding high, full of power and ambition. I wanted to run the world and felt like I could do it!

But one of the little people at my firm, an employee named Sue Thayer, kept giving me cryptic warnings about the Ides of March.

“Beware the Ides of March,” she’d croak as I passed her in the hallway.

Her prominent bloodshot eyeballs creeped me out and I shrugged off the warnings. But as it turned out on March 15th that year I was called into a special meeting of the Board of Directors. All of my V.P’s were there – I thought they were going to give me some kind of honor. But one by one each member of my so-called “team” took a verbal swipe at me and I wound up being viciously and brutally sacked.

Afterwards everybody made a bunch of pretty speeches to the press about what happened – some supporting me and others saying I was a tyrant who deserved to be overthrown in whatever way necessary. It was very embarrassing and quite complicated. My demise captured the public’s imagination. It led to the creation of a cocktail that sounds so horrible, I’m sure drinking one would finish me off. Somebody’s even writing a play about it! Though some of it was sympathetic, that kind of attention creates a negative image, overall.

I’ve had trouble finding work ever since.

There’s plenty of help out there for people who operate at my level. I’ve taken to consulting with a seemingly endless string of employment coaches, resume fluffers, head hunters and job yentas with no tangible result except that I’ve spent a lot of money and received absolutely nothing in return except for meaningless advice and good wishes.

In desperation, I’m thinking of contacting Sue Thayer again. She seemed to be the only person who knew what was going to happen before I did and cared enough to warn me about it. If only I had listened to her! I’m wondering if Sue’s insights might help guide me through my next step.

One problem – her eyeballs still give me shudders, and she’s now the CEO of the company I used to lead. Should I contact her anyway, or keep my distance?

In Despair,
Dick Tator

I told Mr. Tator to stay away from this Sue Thayer and all Sue Thayers everywhere, no matter what. Someone who will give you a cryptic warning and not provide useful details cannot be your true friend. Since you were so full of yourself just before your calamity hit, she probably knew you would ignore her advice. Just like most self-important jerks, you went forward, confident that Sue Thayer was loony because you did not like her looks. She got deniability while others took the risk of deposing you. It does not surprise me that she eventually took your place at the head of the company. Instead, I suggest contacting the playwright who is dramatizing the story of your fall. Maybe you could use some of the funds you would otherwise spend on more job counseling to invest in his little pageant. After all – it’s about YOU. Maybe you could make a bit of money?.

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

The Baboon Congress

Pi Day

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Today’s guest post comes from Sherrilee.

I’m a geek. I admit it. I love trivia; I love learning things. I have three magazine subscriptions: MentalFloss, Scientific American and National Geographic. I love Star Trek and have seen every episode of The Big Bang Theory. So three years ago when I first read that there are people out there who celebrate Pi Day, I was intrigued.

Pi is the ratio of a circle’s circumference to its diameter and is expressed as – 3.1415926…. into infinity. It’s decimal representation goes on forever and never repeats. Since March 14 is 3/14, it has been adopted as the day to celebrate the mathematical constant of pi. There is even a website where you can send Pi Day email cards and see Pi Day videos.

Although I’m not a serious fan of math, Pi Day seemed like a perfect holiday for my inner geek.

Last year I convinced my boss that I should be able to use my floating holiday for Pi Day and then sent out a few invitations to my neighbors. I pulled out all my cookbooks that might possibly have pie recipes in them and poured through them. Over the weekend before Pi Day, I did all the shopping – had to hit three different stores to get everything. I even stopped at the local liquor store and let the sales people recommend three bottles of wine that would “go with pie”.

The weather on Pi Day was wonderful. I was able to open all the windows to get fresh air and the sun streamed into the kitchen while I worked. I made seven kinds of pie: Dutch Apple, Cherry Apricot with Almond Crumbles, Bannoffee (toffee with bananas and whipped cream), Pecan, Peanut Butter with Chocolate Chips on a Pretzel Crust, Blueberry and finally, Crack Pie (gooey butter on an oatmeal cookie crust). The refrigerator had to be completely re-organized and I had to press the fireplace mantel into service to keep the finished pies out of reachof the dogs.

Everything turned out like it should and tasted great. It was relaxing to spend the day in the kitchen and it was fun to have another holiday in March to celebrate.

What obscure holiday do you like to celebrate?

The Baboon Congress

Wireless is More

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Today’s guest post comes from Clyde.

So we got moved into the apartment across the way—clock, socks, and peril. And look at the mess that resulted.

Oh, what a tangled web …
… we weave.

It’s not my fault. All those wires are the result of everything being wireless now. I call it my wirelessness-mess. How does wirelessness require all these wires?

Reminds me of when our company tried to go paperless. Or when the State of Minnesota started requiring payment in electronic funds transfer. Oh, the paper it consumed setting up that process and tracking it in our files–paper files, of course. (Does the State track it in paper at their end, too?) Part of the paperless failure was mine. I simply cannot edit on screen. But the wirelessness-mess is not my fault.

It started with the phones, a slippery slope ending in a massive tangle of wires: a base phone plugged into the phone connection and a transformer plug-in (you know the thing about transformer plug-ins: they want to cover two outlets) and two remote phones with transformer plug-ins. We’ll come back to the phones.

Then it was the TV and Internet system, now wireless: a base plugged into the TV connection and a transformer plug-in and two remote phones with transformer plug-ins. That’s on top of plugging in the TV and the DVD player and connecting the DVD player to the TV.

The computers add their tangled web, too: connections between and plug-ins for the computer, monitor, and printer, which in our cases is a transformer plug-in. Now both computers use a powered sound system requiring another wire into the computer and another transformer plug-in.

Back to the phones. To save money, we switched to a cell-phone house line. But it turns out that our cell phones and that house phone do not get a very good signal in this building. So they give us a little unit, like a mini-cell tower, to amplify the signal in our apartment. But it plugs a line into our TV/Internet modem, and line to a windowsill, and, of course, a transformer plug-in.

In a smaller apartment all these things end up on top of each other. Then there has to be a place to charge the cell phones, cameras, and iPod. I am so glad the chargers have become universal. Plus our most recent ones do not try to cover a second outlet.

A good friend of mine believes that one day our electricity will come wireless. Can you imagine all the wires that wireless electricity will require?

What would you like to untangle?

Songs

H.B., James Taylor

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Today is the birthday of the most extravagantly talented and popular mellow-sounding person ever to record a song, James Taylor.

There is some kind of narcotic effect that takes hold when I hear him sing that I find comforting and pleasurable in the extreme.

Unfortunately, chasing after a similar narcotic effect for his own enjoyment completely derailed Taylor in his younger years and nearly took his life. He may not have made it to this 65th birthday without intervention, treatment and considerable help from family and friends. So let’s be grateful that several generations of music fans got the chance to hang onto James Taylor.

What do you listen to when you want to relax?