Songs

Swiss Tease

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The Michele Bachmann / Switzerland citizenship brouhaha, which played out quickly over the course of a few days this week, has me thinking about Cole Porter musicals.

While we don’t know all the details of what really went on behind the scenes, I’m sure the 1930’s Broadway version would re-write the story to revolve around an unlikely relationship with international overtones.

Michele, a blushing American farm girl, meets Marcus, a dashing Swiss industrialist, when he comes to Bettendorf to demonstrate a new machine that will add Swiss chocolate to cows’ milk as it comes out of the udder.

Marcus’s attempts to woo Michele meet with some initial success, but she hesitates to commit because her one true love is the manager of the local grain elevator, an inexplicably attractive hick named Potus. But Potus has never looked at her seriously, and Michele fears he never will.

It seems that every four years, Potus becomes eligible and a frantic contest ensues to win his Pledge of Allegiance, which is highly coveted but only good for another four years. Potus has exacting requirements for those he will accept. One unshakeable condition is that each candidate must be clearly aligned and totally committed. No wishy-washiness allowed!

Each time the quadrennial courtship begins, Michele considers launching a bid of her own, but with Marcus in the picture she has something more solid to go to – the very real possibility of a tangible kind of happiness in a cozy chalet in the Alps.

But one dusty day near the truck scales, Potus casts a meaningful glance in Michele’s direction and she realizes she must chase her crazy dream of someday fairy-land happiness with Potus. She campaigns relentlessly for his attention, flying off in all directions at once and saying outlandish things to re-capture that moment of magic. Her friends shake their heads at this irrational fixation, particularly since they all think a cozy chalet and a cup of Swiss chocolate with sure-thing Marcus sounds pretty great.

Marcus waits with the carefully calibrated patience of a fine Swiss watch, marking off the days and hours until Potus breaks Michele’s heart, which, of course, Potus does, choosing to go off with a wealthy lightweight Michele considers to be a glaring fake.

In her hour of humiliation, Marcus re-offers Michele a ring, and this time she accepts.

On her wedding day, while walking down the aisle under a veil of regret, Michele is stopped mid-way to the altar by the Swiss embassy’s charge d’affairs, who informs her that when she ties the knot with Marcus she will automatically become a full citizen of his country, and will have to adopt a small herd of goats and sign the Pledge of Neutrality.

This she cannot do.

Happily calling off the wedding, Michele informs the Swiss official he can keep his wimpy, wishy-washy pledge – she’s going back to Iowa to continue hoping … and waiting.

Or something like that. Of course Cole Porter didn’t write the tangled plots of those goofball musicals – he just did the tunes and lyrics. I haven’t had time to think of what those lyrics might be, except for this verse from some early song where Michele wrestles with her choice between potential happiness in the Alps and her irrational love of Potus:

All of Switzerlands’ attractions –
Private banks. The Matterhorn.
Can’t compete for someone who was
In a place much flatter, born.

and …

If I choose to go with Marcus,
living in another place, we
won’t remember I was born
just down the road from John Wayne (Gacy)

Obviously, “Swiss Tease”, the musical, needs lots of work.

In the meantime, from what country would you accept dual citizenship?

The Baboon Congress

Ancient Greek Rock and Roll

74 Comments

Today’s guest post comes from Clyde.

Sisyphus was a man in Greek mythology assigned the punishment of rolling an immense boulder to the top of a steep hill. At once it rolled back to the bottom, from where he had to push it back up, only to see it roll down again. Endlessly, eternally, up and then down the hill. It is one of my favorite images from mythology.

Who has not felt like Sisyphus?

We tend to think of Sisyphean tasks as onerous. But not necessarily. An example for me was sermon-writing. When I was a pastor, I had a weekly process I followed, which led me through a seven-day cycle of inspiration, creativity, and soul-searching. Struggle, too, but that made the climb meaningful. I am about to give my last sermon, or maybe I gave it already, depending on two factors out of my control. Either way it was a good climb which I did about 700 times, counting all special services as well as Sundays. I have a friend who has done it over 3400 times, as I estimate it.

School teaching was another example for me. I would spent a year pushing the boulder up the hill, that is, getting my students to where they should be at the end of the year. Three months later I would come back into the classroom to meet the rock at the bottom of the hill. Not that I am complaining about that. It was a joyous and rewarding thing to get them to the end of the year, with many a struggle along the way. Life comes in many cycles, and that was one of the best in my life. Until, with my low threshold of boredom, I had done it just too many times. Twenty years ago I met a strong, vibrant, and life-filled woman who pushed that rock up the hill 54 times, claiming, and I believe her, to have loved every trip up the hill. She did it exactly twice as many times as I did.

Why had I burned out on a nine-month climb and I did not on a seven-day climb? Hmm?

Life is full of the unappealing hill climbs, such as housework. You clean and it gets dirty again. My own particular bane is making beds.

At this age I have discovered that my primary Sisyphean tasks have shrunk from nine months or seven days to 24 hours. Such is aging; tasks get more personal and come in shorter spans of effort. Also, now there seem to be a few boulders to push up each day, such as pain-management, keeping the filtered water bottle filled, following this blog, and forgiving myself for stupid mistakes.

How would you be punished or rewarded in a Greek myth? For what?

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Beechly Evolves

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Congressman Loomis Beechly, who represents Minnesota’s 9th congressional district (all the water surface area in the state), has been forced to communicate with his constituents on a topic he finds uncomfortable.

Congressman Beechly believes in Floater ID

My Dear 9th Districters,

Some have asked, in light of President Obama’s recent evolution on gay marriage, where I stand on the issue. For years now, my position has been crystal clear – I’d rather not talk about it.

My constituents who support marriage rights for everyone have interpreted that policy as a cowardly attempt to dodge the issue. Those who oppose gay marriage, however, have seen my position as an attempt to dodge the issue that is also cowardly.

In this way I have brought together people who agree on very little else! How appropriate for a Congressman who represents only water surface area to be such a bridge builder!

But now radicals on both sides of the issue want to blow my bridge up by forcing me to choose! Fine. So be it.

Most of the living creatures in my district are, as you know, fish. Walleye don’t get married, and don’t seem to want to get married. Frankly, I don’t think they even know who the fathers or mothers are of all the fish they produce – it’s really wanton and free under the lake surface with all the things they do. The spawning environment is just like downtown on a Saturday night – anything that can happen probably will. Some parents guard their offspring. Some just swim away. Some play both mother and father. And although I don’t think I have any living in my district, let me just say you can’t apply any of these Constitutional Marriage Amendments to seahorses. They simply won’t have it. Fish sexual identity is just so variable, I don’t think any one set of rules can apply down there. And by “down there” I mean underwater. AND I also mean “down there.”

People seem to need guidelines that they can use to beat each other with, but I don’t want to alienate my most numerous constituents, even though they can’t vote. So I am going to declare myself to be predominantly aquatic on issues of affectional relationships.

Make of that what you will. Some will say that identifies me as a free thinker. Others will say I am endorsing natural law. But one thing I know – there are fish in the Bible, lots of them. Mostly they’re just being pulled out of the water and eaten by disciples and such, but I assure you that what they’re doing under the surface today they were also doing back then, so my position is kind of scriptural, if you need it to have that sort of connection.

I hope this clears things up enough so that we never have to talk about it again. Fish sex is, after all, something that is at its very best when it’s submerged.

Your Congressman,
Loomis Beechly

What are your plans for this weekend’s fishing opener?

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A Walk In The Woods, Observed

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A wayward e-mail wound up in my in-box by mistake. I’m glad I’m not in trouble for this one – lawyers make me nervous.

To: Officials of the Wildlife Conservation Society
Re: Invasion of Privacy

Dear Wildlife Conservation Society Administrators,

I’m an attorney in private practice representing a number of parties whose images were captured by your organization on a video recording, and then distributed worldwide via the Internet without the knowledge and permission of my clients.

My clients, a severely endangered band of Cross River Gorillas, are, as you know, famed for being reclusive overall and distinctive among wild animals for the many ways in which they are NOT seen. That is their lifestyle and their choice, and also a matter of logistics and math, given that there are only about 250 Cross River Gorillas left in the world.

Your wanton and widespread distribution of the video, embedded below, violates the privacy of my clients and what is more, it severely diminishes what was their expected legacy – to vanish without being seen in the wild by most people, ever.

While it may seem harmless to you, this clandestine observation, recording, and then distribution without permission of the above images is embarrassing in the extreme, both for the aimless way my clients seem to be wandering around in front of the camera (naked!), and also for the humiliating sound made by the Silverback as he makes his charge about midway in the video.

I assure you that when he started pounding his chest in an impromptu display of exuberance, he was going for something more like an awe inspiring BOOM! BOOM! rather than the cartoonish pop! pop! he was able to produce. For a dominant male, this is humiliating in the extreme. I’m sure, had you politely asked for his permission to share these impulsive antics with the world, he would have broken your arm or thrown clumps of grass in your face as a way of saying “no”. But of course you did not ask!

We will not even discuss some of the other issues that rankle, such as the unflattering camera angle taken on one client as she rested against a tree and the blatant calling of attention to the disability of another. Have you no shame? What ever happened to dignity?

While I have not yet met with my clients (they are elusive), I hope to have a conference very soon, after which I will be in touch with a list of demands that, should you wish to avoid a costly lawsuit, you would be well advised to take very, very seriously.

Though I’m sure you had the best intentions, the mere ability to place an unobtrusive camera somewhere and record someone’s casual walk through the woods does not automatically make it the right thing to do. Though it my fervent hope that you will never, ever see my clients again, I assure you that you have NOT heard the last of us!

Sincerely,

A.P. Magilla, Attorney at Law

Where would you take a group of friends for a casual, if not private, stroll?

Uncategorized

Ask Dr. Babooner

79 Comments

Dear Dr. Babooner,

I run a business that many people think is so important, it alone makes the difference between a community being top tier or second-rate. If my company were to move, a lot of people in the town where I sell my product would feel their quality of life and their standing in the world had been diminished somehow.

This is a very good field to be in.

In fact, this business operates on a field. And the field is surrounded by a building that can hold lots and lots of people. The building needs to be a landmark and a showplace, instantly recognizable to folks everywhere. It has to be an attraction because it is a really a machine that removes money from the pockets of people who come sit in it. And they cheer while it’s happening. They get a little drunk, a little hoarse, and when they leave their wallets are virtually empty. Yet for the most part, they’re kind of happy. As you can imagine, that’s a very sophisticated and expensive sort of building to construct.

I already rent a building that kind of does this magical work, but it’s old and worn and it doesn’t remove as much money from the pockets as I’d like to have. Need to have, I mean. Really, really need to have.

That’s what I’ve asked and asked and asked the community to help me build a newer, more efficient kind of money-sucking building. Or else. Well, it’s not really, definitely “or else”, but possibly “or else”. I don’t want to make threats, but if people in another town built me the kind of cash-hoovering structure I want, I’d pick up and go there because that would make it the sort of building that removes money not only from the pockets of people who are sitting in it, but also from people who aren’t sitting in it and never have any intention of going there, ever.

More magic!

I’m a good businessman and pretty up front about what I’m doing. And yet I am not getting much love and very little satisfaction from the people whose money I covet. Why not?

Sincerely,

Lone Wilf

I told Lone Wilf that there is no accounting for public tastes, but a person who hopes to receive large amounts of money, gratitude and love from millions of strangers might do well to dial back their expectations a bit. No matter how important you are, you are not nearly as important as you think you are. That’s my experience, anyway, and I assume it applies to everyone. It must, because why wouldn’t everyone feel the same way I do? My standard advice applies – moderation in all things, and don’t do anything rash. Sleep on it, buster. Whatever it is.

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

Songs

Lunar Madness

93 Comments

Here we are, gathered on this bleak Monday, a band of hardy stragglers huddled together in a sheltered corner of the internet. We are the last survivors of Earth’s weekend “Supermoon” encounter.

Saturday evening’s 14% larger-than-normal full moon came as a boon to photographers, lunatics and doomsayers. The full moon has always had some baggage and is regularly blamed for episodes of weird human behavior. The moon’s elliptical orbit brought it to its closest Earth approach at the same time fullness arrived, causing worldwide consternation even though nothing was out of the ordinary.

© Copyright Adrian S. Pye

But theater people already know what great dramatic effects can be wrought with timing and careful manipulation of the lights. And how little those effects will mean if you perform them while the curtain is drawn, as it was here in the Twin Cities on Saturday night.

Still, we live in a particular place and at a specific time when things that are bigger and brighter than normal are revered. We like the concept of “super-ness”, whether it’s applied to football games or french fries. Even a small fragment of extra power is alluring, and some wondered if a close-approach moon might trigger a rash of earthquakes and tsunamis. It didn’t, but it did shake loose an avalanche of online articles about the “Supermoon”, and how there was really nothing to fear.

In the end, paying closer attention to what goes on in the night sky can’t be bad, and I know some learning happened. For example, until I encountered and made myself pay attention to the “Supermoon”, I was unsure if the word “elliptical” had two or three “L’s”. Now I know!

Here’s a nice educational flyer from space.com with more handy information.

Learn what makes a big full moon a true 'supermoon' in this SPACE.com infographic.
Source SPACE.com: All about our solar system, outer space and exploration

All Supermoon needs now is a song.
Here’s one idea, to the familiar tune of “Moon River”.

Moon … Super! Wider than a mile.
Calamity’s your style … they say.
You seem bigger, you quake trigger.
The closer you look the more we pull away.

Space drifter, raising up our tides
Upsetting our insides, don’t scoff!
Our planet is nearing it’s end! It’s chaos you portend.
You’re a lousy friend, Moon – Super! Back off!

Are you unsettled when someone stands too close?

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I’m A Lumberjack

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Today is Michael Palin’s birthday. He was born on May 5th in 1943. That makes him 69 years old.

He was one of the original Monty Python performers, and is credited for writing many of the landmark sketches, including two of my favorites.

The Lumberjack Song …

… and the Parrot sketch.

Michael Palin was interviewed by Terry Gross on Fresh Air in 1990. He said his father was an engineer by trade who became an export manager of a steelworks in Sheffield, though he didn’t necessarily want to do that. “I think he’d actually have been much happier to be a church organist,” Palin said, “but one was sort of pushed into the professions then.”

Palin’s own professional course has taken him through work as a writer on various British TV shows in the late ’60’s before hitting it big with “Monty Python’s Flying Circus” in 1969. Various television and movie triumphs followed, and in the post-Python years, a different kind of success with a series of travel programs.

Now he is head of Britain’s Royal Geographical Society.

This strikes me as a fairly jolly career path, and you have to be glad for a person who has won accolades in a succession of things that are fun, interesting and important. Unlike his father, Michael Palin was able to follow his passions and excel in the fields of comic absurdity and science – two areas that don’t often intersect. He did not become discouraged, allow himself to be re-directed or get “pushed into the professions”.

Unless, of course, his true dream was to be a lumberjack.

When have you taken on a job you didn’t really want to do?

The Baboon Congress

Little House in the Suburbs

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Today’s guest post comes from Barbara in Robbinsdale

The sun had just peeped over the horizon as Ba was starting her chores. Ba and Ha (not to be confused with Ma and Pa) live in a little stucco house on the edge of Sochacki Park. There is a big ravine beside their neighbors’ little green house, and then a bit of woods where the park begins. They can see snowboarders and cross country skiers during a winter when there is some snow. There are furry animals, too, and hawks and other birds. A catbird mimics other bird songs, and can even sound like a cell phone.

Ba filled the bird feeders, watered the house plants, and went down to the big upright freezer in the cellar for something to thaw for dinner. She threw a load of laundry into the washer, adjusted the settings and made sure the lid was closed tight. Then she put in 15 minutes on the stationary bike in Ha’s workroom while the clothes were washing.

After breakfast, Ba loaded the dishwasher and straightened up the kitchen. She washed out the zip-loc bags so she could use them again. It would be too wasteful to throw them away after just one use. Then she scrubbed the porcelain sink till it gleamed and she could almost see herself in it.

Later Ba would hitch up the horses (76 horsepower in the gas engine part of a Prius) and drive into town to visit her Ma. On some days she would walk an entire mile to get there, if Ha needed to use the car. Then she would put on her Gortex parka and her Reboks so that she would stay warm and safe. If it was very slippery she might use her Yak-trax.

As some of you may have guessed, I’ve been reading Laura Ingalls Wilder’s Little House books again, and started imagining being Ma…

What would be your “chores” and daily “hardships” in a Little House chapter?

Poems

Too Many Words!

117 Comments

I have this feeling I’ve written an excessive number of blog posts about clutter.

But every so often it hits me that it would be a great topic! So I go ahead and write about clutter because I’ve temporarily forgotten the other 28 identical posts that are jammed in the back of the old blog drawer. And now I have another one. Sigh.

Because I invest so much time in every precious post, I’m loathe to delete even one in spite of the fact that I know I will never go back to read it again. And neither will anyone else.

I’m not alone in this. The New York Times “Well” blog writer Jane Brody has a new post about clutter that picks up where she left off on an older post about clutter. She doesn’t seem to be bothered by an unsightly accumulation of words on the topic. Maybe that’s because she’s had such success unloading a lot of other useless stuff.

There’s a lot to be said for getting rid of books, even though committed book people feel they lose a little bit of their soul each time they cart one out of the house – especially the favorite volumes of their youth. Brody finds strength as she goes on, learning that it gets easier the more debris you shovel out the door. I’m happy for her.

But a surprising number of reader comments go the other way, decrying the “smug” attitude of anti-clutter fanatics who use tough love to force people to toss things that may someday become family treasures, like old works of art you never look at anymore, ancient photographs and precious hardcover volumes of literature.

I can’t claim to have read many of those classics, though I tried to wade through “Moby Dick” once and found it a tough slog indeed. Too many words. Melville should have read “The Hoarder In You” by Dr. Robin Zasio – a book Brody praises.

“I would say that Dr. Zasio’s book is about the best self-help work I’ve read in my 46 years as a health and science writer. She seems to know all the excuses and impediments to coping effectively with a cluttering problem, and she offers practical, clinically proven antidotes to them.”

That’s 50 words. Nice, but I think it could be done in 35.

Since we can’t clean each other’s closets and it would be wrong to compost someone else’s books, let’s de-clutter texts today. Think how free that old word hoarder Melville would have felt if he’d reduced his opus to a more manageable haiku:

Chasing the White Whale
Captain Ahab lost his leg
And his mind went too.

Or Tolstoy:

“It’s like ‘War and Peace'”
says the thing is “too damn long”.
Whatever it is.

What do you have too much of?

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Complainasaurus Rex

105 Comments

Now some scientists say dinosaurs were already in decline when their extinction meteor hit.

The common belief is that Earth’s collision with a massive space chunk is responsible for the disappearance of big scaly beasts 65 million years ago. But this notion could be modified by new research which indicates certain varieties of dinosaur were already on the way out when a surprise astro-calamity hastened their demise.

How do we know this? Scientists have their reasons, all very scientific of course. I’m sure they used fancy formulas and brainy calculations, assessing some collection of small details about dietary differences and adaptability. That’s science for you – using undisputed fact to deduce the truth.

Me? I’m a journalist, so I try to turn complicated truths into easy-to-digest over simplifications. As for proof, all I need is another writer to say it. I figure if things were going bad for the dinosaurs, some cranky columnist would have scrawled a whiney op-ed about it.

“Best Days Are Behind Us”
By Sara Topsid

I’ve got this friend Barney who is a duck billed hadrosaur. We both been around a long time and we get along great. We spend a lot of time down by the bog talking, which naturally leads to complaining.

One thing we agree on is that, as a species our best days are behind us.

I know this is hard to hear, but all around me I see signs of decline! For example, a lot of the young dinos now are going in big time for bio-diversity. All kinds of shapes and sizes of dinosaurs are suddenly “acceptable” and have to be “honored”.

Says who? Even their weird dietary habits are supposed to be supported and respected. Like eating different stuff is some kind of a good thing?
Give me a break!

When I was young, all the dinos I knew were herbivores. We all ate plants in large bites, and I still do! Not a lot of sampling and testing and experimenting allowed – you eat what your ancestors ate and don’t ask questions. It was good enough for me and I grew up fine. Plants are plentiful. My neighbors are decent and they all eat plants. Why mess with a good thing?

Now I’m seeing all these smartass young meat eaters hanging around street corners and pushing their omnivore agenda like it’s a normal way to live. Sorry, flesh rippers, but in my book a legitimate meal has always been one dino, and one leafy green plant. No exceptions.

Leafy greens are good for the constitution. Maybe we should make it a rule that everybody has to be the same when it comes to … Hey! What’s that bright thing in the sky?

What (or who) is ruining everything?