It has been a few weeks since we’ve heard from Bart, the bear who found a cell phone. Apparently he’s been scouring the news wires, and is feeling a little sensitive about inexplicable inequalities. This has been translated from its original language – Ursus Textish.
Hey, Bart here.
Couldn’t help noticing this.
Bart – The Bear Who Found a Smart Phone
A bear shows up on a college campus, climbs a tree, draws a bunch of gawkers.
A guy shows up at Niagara Falls, climbs a wire, draws a bunch of gawkers.
The guy gets a live TV show and applause from a crowd of more than a hundred thousand.
The bear gets shot with tranquilizers, which makes him fall out of the tree, and then gets trucked off to “the forest”.
I’m not saying bears and people should be treated exactly the same, but what’s up with this? The bear was humiliated for doing what bears do naturally. What’s the crime? Yet there is nothing natural about a guy walking across a waterfall on a wire. Did you know bears have very, very good balance? We do!
The guy got celebrated and called a “daredevil”. But if I said I was a “beardevil” and tried the same thing, Animal Control and PETA would have a cow (yet another violation of the natural order)!
This cell phone really troubles me. Since I got a data plan, I’m seeing all sorts of things that just don’t make sense.
We have already heard that microscopic organisms outnumber us in a global scale and live in and on our bodies in places so private it would make us blanch if we could see them languishing there. This sure knowledge has made it easy for me to willfully ignore every new and breathless description that urges me to marvel at how we teem with unseen life.
I simply can’t afford to comprehend it.
True awareness of exactly how many tiny monsters I harbor would trigger an “Ish Factor” reaction that would be personally catastrophic. And yet it appears we are bound to know, regardless. Researchers now say the number of hangers-on is something on the order of 100 Trillion.
The good news – it’s a functioning community. Everyone hosts a distinct “microbiome” that may help determine what diseases you get and which ones you’re able to fight off. Be kind to your friendly neighborhood bacteria – they surround you. Maybe that’s the real “cloud of witnesses” following us around in Hebrews 12:1 – not dead predecessors, but very alive hitchhikers.
But these are the lines that stood out for me inside a New York Times article:
Dr. Barnett Kramer, director of the division of cancer prevention at the National Cancer Institute, who was not involved with the research project, had another image. Humans, he said, in some sense are made mostly of microbes. From the standpoint of our microbiome, he added, “we may just serve as packaging.”
“Humans”, said Dr. David Relman, a Stanford microbiologist, are like coral, “an assemblage of life-forms living together.”
I have never thought of myself as a walking sack of microbial congregations, and certainly not as a coral reef.
I guess when Simon and Garfunkel sang “I Am A Rock”, they were right about being an island and a fortress. But they were wrong about being alone.
How do you get along with the residents of your microbiome?
Today is the birthday of Burl Ives, the round, bearded, pipe-smoking, banjo-playing folk singer immortalized in claymation as a balladeer for the 1960’s TV special “Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer.” He was also blacklisted in the 50’s and snubbed for a time afterwards for keeping his career going by testifying before the House Un-American Activities Committee.
My favorite thing about Burl Ives is that he was an itinerant folk singer during the Depression, and got arrested in Utah for singing the song “Foggy Foggy Dew” in public on the grounds that it was a bawdy song. This, in spite of the fact that no one could pin down exactly what the term “Foggy Foggy Dew” meant. Some suggestions – Tuberculosis, Virginity, Being Sent to a Nunnery, and of course, Bad Weather.
This is an infectious little tune and there are multiple versions. It is uncommonly friendly to finagling via the folk process. So in keeping with our Theme of the Week, I’ll adapt it to fit one of the more arduous tasks of my youth.
When I was a juvenile I lived with my folks
And a hungry St. Bernard.
And the only, only thing that I sang was this song
As I walked around the yard.
I walked there in the wintertime
And in the summer too.
And the only, only thing that I did all day long
Was to pick up all the Doggy Doggy Doo
One night the hound came too my rooms
Her whimpers left no doubt.
She’d stolen a whole box of prunes
And needed to go out.
She yipped, she skipped, she nearly flipped
So what else could I do?
I leapt out of the sack and I let her go out back
And she filled it up with Doggy Doggy Doo.
Now I’m older than I was and I live with my son
And a different St. Bernard.
And every single time that the dog is in the house
The kitchen has a cupboard guard.
We lock it up in wintertime
And in the summer too
And all the fibered food is protected by alarms
Just to cut down on that Doggy Doggy Doo
Just yesterday, a verdict was reached in another Ponzi Scheme case, with three Minnesota men found guilty of defrauding investors who were promised sure-fire double digit returns. What they got instead were double digit remains – most everything was lost in their six and seven digit gambles.
Bernie Madoff, Tom Petters and Trevor Cook all skipped past my door when they were out seeking investors for their fraudulent empires. I’d like to think I would have declined the opportunity because I can be as suspicious and reticent as the next guy, but I also know I’m a pushover for a good story. And you don’t get very far with a Ponzi Scheme if you’re not a compelling storyteller. Otherwise smart people fall for these things – they’re not all dopes. Aside from some kind of surgical removal of the greed gene, how can you protect yourself?
Because we’re all stuck in the musical parody mode this week, perhaps there’s a little ditty that can be fabricated to serve as a reminder when the deal seems “too good to be true.” Dean Martin provides the template:
When they say “Tsk tsk tsk,
Have no fear, there’s no risk.”
That’s a Ponzi.
When you ask for a look
But you can’t see the books
That’s a Ponzi.
Bells should ring
You’re a ding-a-ling
You’re a ding-a-ling
It will sting when they tell ya.
You are broke
What a funny joke
What a funny joke
Can’t retire, poor fella!
“The return’s guaranteed.
This plan’s all that you need.”
That’s a Ponzi.
When you ask for your dough
And they say “There’s no mo’” You are screwed.
You can’t have happy days
Unlike Richie and Pottsie and Fonzie,
That’s too bad. You’ve been had.
Money’s gone. Oh so sad. That’s a Ponzi!
Over the weekend, tim and Chris started putting together a political musical – a weirdly appropriate tangent since Sunday night was Tony Award night in New York.
tim suggested the idea as part of a discussion of divided loyalties. He recalled that West Side Story is based on Romeo and Juliet, and figured (correctly) that the story could be re-told in a modern political setting with “a tea party princess falling for a lift wing do gooder.”
Chris took it from there:
Well this is just too much fun. Writing parodies of well known songs is irresistible – like eating handfuls of potato chips. I feel compelled and a little sick to my stomach after an hour of doing it non-stop. It’s a guilty pleasure that many other people see as extremely unattractive. So I’m delighted when great minds like tim and Chris insist we do it anyway.
A liberal political musical may still be possible in America as long as the book and lyrics don’t have to march in lock step with positions taken by the backers. Newsies is unabashedly pro-union, though its creator, the Disney Corporation, has had some contentious relations with workers along the way. A conservative musical may not be totally out of the question. Perhaps there’s an Ayn Rand or a NASCAR musical in the works somewhere, but would anyone choose to go of their own free will? In the meantime, we’ll just have to proceed with West Slide Story.
Let your imagination run free.
There is at least one scene in every show where the main character has a moment of realization – something has changed. We need to identify that point, and I think it would be wise to match the Bernstein/Sondheim/Laurents structure and bring it in where Tony finds he has fallen in love with Maria. Except in West Slide Story, Tony realizes he and the ultra-conservative Maria have something in common, so he sings “Agree, ah” and then segues into “You’re Right”.
Agree, ah
I’ve just realized we agree, ah –
– bout something. Now I think
Your politics don’t stink
to me.
Agree, ah
That means that we eye-to-eye see, ah!
And when our thoughts align
I take it as a sign
we’re free!
Agree, ah
Say it loud – I hear donkeys braying
Say it soft – there’ll be elephants spraying
Debris, ah.
But let them protest. We agree, ah!
Maria:
You’re right, you’re right.
I realize you’re right.
You’re right and I think you always were!
Tony:
You’re right, you’re right.
In fact it’s you who’s right.
It tickles me, at last, to defer.
Both:
Give way
And dogma doesn’t dog us.
Our talking points are pointless.
We have no need to fight!
Don’t be uptight
Let’s talk it over dear, without spite
You’re right!
But this is a truce shadowed by ill omens. The Nits and the Snarks have too much invested in continuous warfare to allow romance to break out. After a lot of energetic dancing, some smooching, hand grabbing, fire-escape climbing and a bit of unfortunate gunplay, everybody winds up dead at the end.
Instant classic!
Give us a lyric, a plot point, a character or just a line to add to Left Slide Story.
Possibly the most intriguing bit of news I’ve heard in the past few weeks is the new level of certainty reached by scientists that our Milky Way Galaxy and the Andromeda Galaxy will merge in about 4 billion years.
There had been some doubt. Sky watchers have noticed the movements and have wondered if the two galaxies might be drawn together by their gravity – this at a time when the universe itself is expanding faster and faster, leaving even more emptiness between the objects. But these two galaxies are close enough that the expansion will not draw them apart.
Galaxies, as big as they are, have their own destiny and ours apparently is to join with Andromeda.
We’re talking about billions of stars, some (maybe all) dragging a retinue of planets, asteroids, comets and debris, coming together in one grand conglomeration. And yet none of the stars will hit each other! This was said with certainty in one article I read – yet how can they know?
And if the merger of two galaxies is anything like the acquisition/merger of two corporations here on Earth, there are bound to be casualties. Several hundred duplicate retail outlets and half the staff of the PR department, for example.
Two things drove the magnitude of this event home for me –
One is a video simulation of the galaxies as they are expected to interact – an initial co-mingling 4 billion years from now with momentum that carries them apart again, and a final, second alignment 2 billion years later. Looks like fun if you’re not in the middle of it!
The other is a simulation of the night sky as seen from Earth with Andromeda approaching – about 3.75 billion years from now. Imagine if you went outside and saw this.
Beautiful, romantic, and a bit like looking down the train tracks at the onrushing southbound commuter as your wheels spin in the mud. Gulp.
Who knows if we, as humans, will still be around to witness the merger? Probably not. But I did see a cockroach the other day and I tried to tell him (her?) to keep an eye on the sky for big changes. I got the usual disappearing act for an answer.
In such an unpredictable world, I’m amazed whenever we KNOW something is going to happen for certain and for sure. Galaxies will collide. Neither Congress nor the Koch brothers will be able to stall it or stop it or spin it.
As in corporate mergers, making everyone feel comfortable with joining the new entity will be a challenge. Maybe a clever name and some good signage will help.
First things first – thanks to the guest bloggers who made my week-long holiday possible. Jacque, Steve, Beth-Ann, tim, Chris, and Anna kept Baboon land lively through the week and set comment records. Thanks for the wonderful writing and fun discussions! Clearly the baboon tribe can thrive without a leader.
Speaking of that, today is Autonomy Day, an official holiday in the Åland Islands. I love the name – “Autonomy Day”. Not quite “Independence,” but close – the sort of thing that might be made available to an 18 year old if they have a history of making good decisions about piercings and tatoos.
The Åland Islands are a collection of rocky outcroppings with enough strategic importance to put them in a perpetual tug-of-war between Sweden and Finland.
I’d never heard of the place before today, so I’m no expert and of course I’ve never been there, but I love Wikipedia’s serpentine description of Åland Islands status:
They are situated at the entrance to the Gulf of Bothnia and form an autonomous, demilitarised, monolingually Swedish-speaking region of Finland.
What? Swedish speaking but a region of Finland? Not only that, but Swedish speaking by law. But how can a place be autonomous and also a region of some other place? Both Sweden and Finland strike me as particularly fine places to visit, so the Åland Islands could be like their love child, combining the best qualities of both, right? Or they could be the children of a messy, bitter divorce, torn between resentful parents.
The Contested Area
Apparently there were hard feelings during the Åland Crisis in 1917 and 18 when the custody battle was especially intense. Swedes argued that the Åland Islands were culturally Swedish. Finland contended they were geographically Finnish. Oh, and the Russian Revolution had an influence on the discussion, which became heated. The tussle was even expressed on maps of the day, which makes the terrain sound like a political issue alternately described by Fox News and MSNBC. Again, from Wikipedia:
On the Swedish map, the most densely populated main island dominated, and many skerries (small rocky islands) were left out. On the Finnish map, a lot of smaller islands or skerries were, for technical reasons, given a slightly exaggerated size. The Swedish map made the islands appear to be closer to the mainland of Sweden than to Finland; the Finnish map stressed the continuity of the archipelago between the main island and mainland Finland, while a greater gap appeared between the islands and the archipelago on the Swedish side.
But as a result of all this back and forth, we have a rocky sea-land situated between two great nations, politically autonomous and perpetually demilitarized, culturally Swedish and technically Finnish. And somewhat ambiguously mapped.
Switzerland with surf? Sounds like a fun place to visit, but what an odd history.
Describe a time when you had to unravel a case of divided loyalties.
I am not a wilderness camper, nor am I a fisherwoman. While I am a fan of the great outdoors, I prefer running water, a flush toilet, a bit of electricity and a lack of fish guts while I am on vacation. Call me a wimp, but there it is. I have been to the BWCA, I have piloted a canoe, I have even shot a rifle (once) – but it just doesn’t suit me. I can take the bugs, it’s the lumpy ground for a mattress I can live without.
Last year, on a bit of a whim, Daughter, Mom and I made use of a Memorial Day weekend deal at one of the Big Resorts in the Brainerd Lakes area. An opportunity to be in the great outdoors, but I could sleep on a real mattress and we could visit with my mom’s sister who lives nearby. We returned this year with the added knowledge that the free breakfast was plentiful, there would likely be baby ducks to feed (25 cents for a bag of corn in the marina), an indoor pool if it rained, and all the wax worms a kid could drown in an effort to land a sunfish from one of the docks (Aunt would take care of removing anything Daughter might catch and throw it back – so no fish guts for me – yay!).
When you choose a resort over camping, you are choosing the amenities: swimming pool, golf course, access to a lake for water-related activities. Our resort also sets up events throughout the weekend including a parade (complete with marching band), carnival games, pontoon and wagon rides, bonfires, even a movie on the beach (weather permitting). Our resort also has a staffer we’ll call Jake (not his real name).
Jake ‘s domain at the Big Resort is the dining room. Every morning over the summer Jake is up at a crazy hour, giving up late nights with his pals, so he can bring coffee to people like me while we over-indulge at the breakfast buffet (I am a “both-and” kinda gal, especially if waffles are involved). He also is the bringer of Frooty Loops (as he calls them), delivering joy to 8-year-old girls in the form of colorful cereal. Last year by morning #2 he had ascertained that Daughter preferred Fruit Loops to anything else on the breakfast buffet. When they were not on the buffet on the third day, he went off in search of the brightly colored Os for my daughter as soon as he saw her dismay at their absence; before we could even ask, he was off to the kitchen.
This year when we saw him at the Friday night welcome dinner (what was he doing working at night?), he stopped to chat, asked how the year had been, and ensured Daughter they still had Frooty Loops on the menu. Jake had a bowl ready for her by the time we were shown to our breakfast table the next morning, even though we were seated in someone else’s section. He brought her Frooty Loops every morning we were there.
We will likely go back again next year. Daughter might catch a sunny or two. We will likely go on a pontoon ride and a wagon ride and rent a pedal boat again. Jake may or may not be there. He graduated from the local community college this spring and there is a chance he will decide to move before next Memorial Day weekend. Daughter is crushed. Who will bring her Frooty Loops?
By the time this is posted, my one and only child will be on a school trip to China (along with my one and only husband). But as I write this, we are just about a week away from her departure, and we’re going through a flurry of last-minute shopping, packing and planning.
It’s going to be a grand adventure for both of them, and they are both getting excited about everything they’ll be seeing and doing there. We’ve done a great deal of preparation by researching some Chinese history and culture, looking at the route they’ll be taking on the flight over, and discussing the many things that will be different there than they are here. While my daughter has been outside of the U.S. a few times before, she’s never been to a place where things are as radically different from what she’s used to as they will be on this trip.
Out of everything we’ve discussed during our preparations, one topic has been the focus of more questions and concern than any other: using China’s notorious public restrooms.
Those of you who have visited China before already know what I’m talking about. Chinese restrooms are entirely different from what we Americans are used to. Think of the worst public restroom you’ve ever seen here in the States. Think of the overflowing wastebaskets, the empty toilet paper dispenser, the lack of soap or towels at the sink, the broken locks on the stall doors, the puddles, the stink, the general “Ewwww!” factor.
Now multiply all of those things by 10, add the fact that there are no actual toilets to sit on, and you’ve got yourself a typical Chinese restroom.
You Know What To Do
For the most part, the only Western-style toilets in China are found in hotels, and in some of the bigger restaurant chains like McDonald’s. Anywhere else you go, you will be hard-pressed to find public facilities, and those you do find will be squat-style, which is really no more than a porcelain-covered hole in the floor. Chances are you will not have a private stall to yourself, since many restrooms are simply a line of holes in the floor located within a few feet of one another. The soap for washing up afterward is generally non-existent. Come to mention it, so is the sink. Toilet paper is never available – not because they’re always running out, but because it is not provided in the first place. If you want to do that fancy “wiping” stuff, you need to BYOTP. And you must remember not to flush it once you’ve used it, since Chinese plumbing can’t handle paper – which leads us to the overflowing wastebaskets, stink, and “Ewwww!” factor that I mentioned earlier.
As it happens, I ran across an article just last week regarding the state of public restrooms in Beijing. It seems officials there are trying to crack down on the general uncleanliness by instituting what is being called the “two fly” rule. As stated by city officials, there will be “no more than two flies allowed” in a restroom at any given time. This rule has already become the target of much ridicule among residents of Beijing, with commentary online and in local news publications pointing out the absurdity of such a provision, and the futility of any attempts to follow or enforce it. As ludicrous as the new restriction may be, it does illustrate the widespread nature of the sanitation issues plaguing public facilities in China’s capital city.
This problematic bathroom scenario is the one thing that has been causing my daughter anxiety as she prepares for her journey. My husband and I thought we’d finished potty training her years ago, but now we find ourselves lecturing her on how to pee all over again. She has been told to carry toilet paper, wipes and hand sanitizer with her at all times, to wear clothing that won’t touch the ground, and to make sure she wears shoes that completely cover her feet and won’t slip on wet surfaces. We’ve even practiced the basic squat maneuver, trying to see how to best balance over an imagined hole in the ground while simultaneously preventing your pants from hitting the floor and/or getting caught in the flow of things. After all of this, I have started feeling slightly less upset about the fact that it is my husband taking her on this trip, and not me. I may be missing out on seeing the Dragon Throne in the Forbidden City, but at least I’ll be able to visit the Porcelain Throne in comfort whenever I want.
What is the most difficult adjustment you’ve ever had to make while visiting a foreign country.
1987 a little guy popped into the world and forever changed my life. his routine became my routine, his reactions to stuff i did positive and negative became the criteria i used for going forward on this planet. he wanted to do it his way. we did it his way. he wanted a vote. we gave him a vote. he reacted to the song on the radio or my guitar or in the car we filed it away for future reference. he was full of weird stuff , phobias and needy stuff little kids bring along and I didn’t know how to recognize or deal with it very well. his mom had it timed so she could have the kid, take a 6 week summer break and then head back to life as a school counselor . i inherited the details. morning bath time with little potato, dancing with bears and other memorable morning tunes affected his life to the point that when he went to the daycare he would choose the raffi or peter paul and mommy music selection to guide the group. we went out to visit my sister in california when he was 2 and i remember him being in love with the joni mitchell blue album and the rolling stones with ruby tuesday on it.
i can still hear his: good bye ruby tuesday, who could hang a name on you , when you change with every new day still im going to miss you…. in the most perfect 2 year old presentation ever witnessed.
well tara came along about that time, mom had broken her leg month 8 of the pregnancy and the planned march birth that would give her the 6 weeks, stick your head back in to school and then take the summer off plan was a challenge with a needy one and a couple of kids too.i officed out of my house and the daily stuff was a challenge.
wife one had my job description altered and i was out the door. half time with the kids everything was fine til i got involved in another relationship. the x didn’t like my taking my affections elsewhere after dumping me. the new babe and I had an interesting first 2 ½ kids and ten years later we were married.
first kid with her is my son spencer is now 19 at st thomas and nice young man, olivia is 13 going into 8th grade, emma is 11 and going into 6th grade and i am all done having children with this wife. we checked into adopting haitian orphans a while back and were told we are too old. they may be right. the old bones are cricking and cracking these days and the stair steps are like an obstacle course some days.
devin is heading off to california later this month to follow his dream. he has a room with a buddy in the a capella biz and will take a run at rock star ism. wish him luck, he could do it. here is a clip of his college stuff.
i get miffed that there are no traces of the other things he has done and i can blame myself for not being as camera ready as i should have could have been . i have a great memory and at times I think it is even a more convenient method of getting it to come out right than having to rely on accurate portrayals.
one more with his a capella gang:
daughter is off to the wedding planner to finish up the wedding in july august to the foreigner from kosovo. moving into her first suburban apartment with the hubby to be. she is a multi tasking maniac who has a huge heart and a nice perspective on the world. she did a good job of picking out the good and learning from the other how to put your life priorities in a row.
middle kid, first in second marriage, actually first 10 years before second marriage is enjoying summer with his buddies home from school. washing windows and with a house to party on the weekends at down in the college area of st paul he is enjoying the first bennies of adulthood. wish him luck
the 8th grader is writer, actor, neat kid who sings piano and oboes her way along and is as nice a person as is possible in a volatile house like she comes from. she will find a way to make it work i am confident.
6 grader is a pistol. keeps me hopping and the idea that in another 5 or 6 years i will be sending her out the door is enough to make me realize the circle of life is a reality. my dad always said i hope you get one like you just to pay you back. oh he laughed and said you have a whole house of little yous, I didn’t know that was possible.
my kids all understand and partially inherit through osmosis my love of art and music and plants and cooking, chatting with strangers in the checkout line and on elevators, screwing around in general and a love of drink and cigars, a well spun phrase and a good hat, cards with friends and an opinion on the topic at hand.
life can be simple. put it all in perspective and realize its not a test run this is the real deal and kids are like pancakes. the first two are just for practice.
Trail Baboon 