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It’s My Nose’s Birthday

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Today is Jimmy Durante’s birthday. He was pure personality – a guy who reached an astounding number of people though he wasn’t handsome, didn’t have a beautiful voice and may or may not have been able to act. It’s hard to tell because we saw him play only one character – Jimmy Durante.

This video isn’t “Inka Dinka Doo” or “It’s My Nose’s Birthday,” but it’s full of Durante trademarks – the hat grab, the stiff legged dance, a nose joke … who knows how he did it, but the man was a true entertainer.

Durante had a great sign-off from his radio (and later, TV) show, a saying infused with mystery until 1966 when he finally revealed the identity of the person he was speaking to when he said “Goodnight, Mrs. Calabash, wherever you are.”

Durante said “Mrs. Calabash” was his first wife, Jeanne Olsen Durante, who died on Valentine’s Day in 1943 of a heart ailment. They had been married more than 20 years. He said it at the National Press Club, and his remarks were recorded by the NBC radio program Monitor. You can hear it at the 48 minute mark on this recording.

“Years ago, the mrs. and I (this is the first Mrs. Durante) used to drive cross country and we came across a beautiful little town, Calabash, west of Chicago. And we stopped there overnight and she loved it, Lord have mercy on her soul, really loved it. I said well, I was playing piano then, as soon as I get rich I’ll buy the town. So, gentlemen, Mrs. Calabash, that I referred to all the time on our radio shows and television shows was Mrs. Jeanne Durante … Because every time we got home I used to call her ‘Mrs. Calabash’. I don’t know, just a feeling came over me, and at the end of the program I said ‘goodnight Mrs. Calabash’ So they all wanted to know, the whole cast wanted to know ‘what was that all about?’ I said ‘nothing’. So we kept doing it. And then at the end of that seasons’ program they said ‘well let’s say it’s a horse or let’s say it’s something. Anything’. And I said ‘no’. So then I added ‘wherever you are’.”

He said this in 1966, before Google and Mapquest, so I’m sure his National Press Club audience took his word for it that there was a little town called Calabash west of Chicago. With our modern tools in hand, I can’t find one there, unless you keep going west until you hit North Carolina. The people in THAT town say Mrs. Calabash was Lucy Coleman, a local restauranteur who captivated Durante during a visit in 1940. The legend is that he called her to his table and said that he would ‘make her famous’.

Maybe it’s better to have a bit of mystery remain. And I like both stories, so … take your pick.

What’s your catchphrase?

The Baboon Congress

It Came From Lake Vostok

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Today’s guest post comes from Bathtub Safety Officer Rafferty.

In my work as a PDA (Professional Downside Anticipator), I constantly ask people to stop and carefully consider the variety of bad things that could happen before they choose to take one action or another. For this I am often criticized. People call me a spoilsport, a doomsayer, a sourpuss, a Cassandra and a worrywart.

As they belittle me, I ask them to consider this: if I turn out to be right about even ONE of my dire predictions, their attitude about my warning will place them squarely in the role of that character who appears in every science-based horror film – the one who dismisses the strange object in the crater made by the meteorite, the weird gelatinous substance found near the scene, the unusual young man who has no emotions, and the ruthless millionaire’s brain kept in a jar, saying they are “… nothing to worry about. There is no danger. Return to your homes”.

That person is the first one to be eaten by the mole people.

I find myself in that position again today with news that the Russians have finally broken through to the submerged surface of Lake Vostok in Antarctica. The lake is buried under miles of ice. Whatever is in it hasn’t been free to move about the planet for 20 million years. How can this be good? The Russians say they hope to find microbes in the water that have never been encountered by humankind.

I say, “Great scott, what if they find microbes that have never been encountered by humankind?”

These are educated people. Surely they know what happened to the tribes of North America when the microbe-laden Europeans arrived. Certainly they have seen the sort of movie I described, where an ancient horror is unleashed on an unsuspecting world by careless scientific inquiry.

Robin Bell, a glaciologist from Columbia University told the Associated Press: “It’s like exploring another planet, except this one is ours.” Robin Bell is exactly the sort of name a movie character has when he or she begins with a firm belief in the scientific project, and then slowly comes to realize what a terrible scourge has been unleashed on an unsuspecting world. “Glaciologist” is precisely the type of scientific discipline that character practices – legitimate sounding and yet a little quirky. Not your typical brainiac. Robin Bell ultimately winds up as the only person who can save humanity by rappelling down the ice shaft carrying a pocket-sized hydrogen bomb that must be placed directly under the creature’s nest. Robin Bell survives, but only after scads of walk-on characters with no names (you and me) perish.

It concerns me very much that there’s already a scientist named Robin Bell in this story.

I know people will not believe me when I say this because I have a reputation as a scold, but please, I beg you – “Seal up Lake Vostok!” Take this good advice from me right now, or wait until Robin Bell is forced to say the very same thing, as a gentle rain falls on a blasted, smoldering landscape.

What have you opened that you immediately wished you could close again?

The Baboon Congress

Coming To A Pork In The Road

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Today’s guest post comes from Dan in Woodbury.

While driving to my local health club in Woodbury last Saturday morning around 7:00 AM, I saw a small SUV pulled over to the right shoulder on a side street. In addition to the couple getting out of the vehicle, I noticed a blue barrel in the middle of the street, and standing next to the barrel was a Wessex Saddleback.

OK, I didn’t know it was a Wessex Saddleback at the time. But I did recognize it as a pig! About 250 pounds worth!

I thought “Now there’s something you don’t see every day!”

I was baffled by the sight of an animal so clearly out of its element, so like anyone suddenly faced with an unexpected and incomprehensible sight, I proceeded to go about my business.

(I am now reminded a scene from The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. It is the monologue of a poor sperm whale, called into existence against all probability several miles above an alien planet, trying to come to terms with its existence as it falls. “Ahhh! Whoa! What’s happening? Who am I? Why am I here? What’s my purpose in life? What do I mean by ‘who am I’? Okay, okay, calm down, calm down, get a grip now…” The philosophical whales last thought was “Hello Ground!”)

I pulled a U turn and returned to the scene of the porcine puzzle to find the couple snapping pictures of the dazed pig standing in the middle of the road next its transport. They told me they had called 911, and as we waited for the authorities to arrive, a neighbor from across the street joined the three of us in collectively corralling the pig to a grassy strip of land in front of a group of townhomes. After locating some rope in my truck to use as a leash, the neighbor (I’ll call him Joe) and I lassoed the pig. Which it didn’t care for at all! Having not been raised on a farm, I now know the full meaning of “squealed like a pig”. The struggling creature managed to squirm thru the noose until the rope was firmly cinched around it waist. Thankfully the pig calmed down after I slipped the rope off the hind quarters. It was at this time Joe and I noticed the couple had driven away, leaving the two of us on pig duty.

Another 10 minutes past before a Woodbury Community Service Officer (CSO) pulled up alongside us. I believe his first words were “Is this your pig?” Joe informed the CSO that he had heard a clunk and looked up to see a small red pickup with a loud exhaust driving away. He surmised the barrel had just fallen out of the back of the pickup when he noticed the pig exit the barrel. After supplying what facts we could, Joe and I paused for the CSO to make the next move. We both could tell the young man was not prepared for this job, so after sufficient time for the CSO to take the lead, Joe hatched a plan for him.

The CSO would use his catch pole to direct the pig into the barrel, door held open by Joe, while I pushed. It took a little effort on everyone’s part, but we were able to walk the pig in and then stand the barrel upright, thus preventing the ham from escaping. After using some rope to secure the door once again, we asked the CSO to go get his truck. With three of us lifting, we were able to “load ‘er up” and secure the barrel in the back of the CSO’s pickup. Joe and I then returned to our lives, as the CSO and pig headed into whatever process suburban Woodbury has for handling stray farm animals.

It wasn’t until I was in the health club locker room that my nose detected a considerable amount of “substance” smeared up and down my left leg. Yup, I smelled like a pig farm. I would have some explaining to do when I got home.

After relaying the story to a friend, he forwarded this article from the Woodbury Patch, which did a pretty good job reporting the event. I was pleased to be credited for my work as one half of the famed public service duo “two citizens”. The Pioneer Press account, however, mysteriously shifted the event four hours into the future and erased my act of good samaritanship entirely, nullifying not only the time spent and ingenuity employed, but completely missing the repulsive sacrifice of my trouser leg.

That is why I have decided to tell my story. It is exactly this kind of slight that propels a shy person to step into the light, forcing him to become a bit of a publicity hog.

What the strangest thing you’ve found on the side of the road?

The Baboon Congress

The Baldwin Acrosonic

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Today’s guest post comes from Barbara in Robbinsdale.

A few months ago we moved my mom from central Iowa to a lovely senior residence here in Robbinsdale. In mid-September past, this spunky little woman was uprooted from her home of 52 years. We knew that since her new apartment would be smaller than the old one, she would need to lighten up her belongings a bit, and bring just the things are most central to her life. The TV was left behind, but we brought the piano.

Hope (the fifth child in a family of seven kids) has loved music from day one. As a child she tinkered around like her mom did, by ear on their old upright piano that eventually became ours. She finally took piano and voice lessons in college when majoring in music.

I remember there always being a piano in our house – Grandma’s upright This is me in maybe 1951.

I had a great role model – Mom played a little pretty much every day – simple classical pieces, opera aria accompaniments, Broadway numbers, and (whenever she was teaching) music for the programs she would put on at school. I can remember falling asleep to strains of a Chopin Prelude, the haunting slow one (#20).

When we moved to Marshalltown in 1959, we lived for a year in an upstairs duplex. There was no way to get that big upright up the stairs, so they actually went into debt for a new piano. (This was very uncharacteristic for my father, who would, for instance, save up and pay for our next “new” car with cash.) I remember the day the delivery men huffed and puffed their way up those stairs with the Baldwin Acrosonic, a much smaller and prettier piano than the old upright — and it was NEW. It had such a beautiful tone, none of the keys stuck, and it had a light and easy touch.

Mom made sure my sister and I got piano lessons. Eventually, any combination of the three of us might sit down and play a duet from (something like) “59 Easy Piano Duets You Love to Play.”

She is still in love with that piano, which she plays often. At her new residence, it fits just fine on her living room wall, and she can practice to her heart’s content for accompanying the occasional sing-along there. It’s all possible because she still has her Baldwin Acrosonic.

What was the most memorable thing ever delivered to your home?

Uncategorized

One With The Universe

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Today’s guest post comes from marketing expert and dealmaker Spin Williams, the man who runs The Meeting That Never Ends.

Hello Digital Content Consumers!

This is the morning after the greatest communal event of our age – That Big Game That I Cannot Name For Legal Reasons!

I love/hate it more than I can say.

I’m writing this message to you before the game happens because the outcome doesn’t really matter. There will be another game next year, just as big and gaudy as this one. T.B.G.T.I.C.N.F.L.R. is a totally meaningless and completely superficial event. It is important for the amount of attention it consumes and nothing more. And believe me, it consumes a lot of attention.

Human attention is the focus of my universe. It is all that matters. And it is all that anti-matters. Getting attention and keeping it – these are the only achievements that impress me. And T.B.G.T.I.C.N.F.L.R. is the biggest, baddest attention-sucking black hole on the scene. That’s why I love it! Nothing can match T.B.G.T.I.C.N.F.L.R. for sheer size and scope. At a time when entertainment bombards us from all directions, it is exceedingly rare that so many people look at any one thing at approximately the same time.

But what’s even better – those few who don’t consume T.B.G.T.I.C.N.F.L.R. must decide to avoid it on purpose. Their rejection may be on moral or aesthetic grounds, or simply because they find big men in tight pants repulsive, but they T.B.G.T.I.C.N.F.L.R. demands that they make a choice! That is one thing we all share, like breathing air, liking chocolate chip cookies, or having to excrete them later on. The necessity of facing up to T.B.G.T.I.C.N.F.L.R. creates common ground, and common ground unites humankind in a place where we can sell things to each other. What could be more thrilling? The only thing I can imagine that would qualify – having enough money to sell things on the common ground that is created by T.B.G.T.I.C.N.F.L.R.! That’s why I hate it!

At any rate, I will watch so that I can feel united with all the many human beings who give into T.B.G.T.I.C.N.F.L.R.’s strong gravitational pull. And I will belittle it at the same time, so I can also be connected with the rest of humanity.

Yes, I am truly one with the universe! Thanks, T.B.G.T.I.C.N.F.L.R.! And damn you!

Hmmm. I’m wondering if Spin had a little too much to drink at his T.B.G.T.I.C.N.F.L.R. Party. But I think I get his point. He’s saying a mammoth attention-getting machine is an irresistible object for someone who thinks about marketing 24/7 at the helm of The Meeting That Never Ends. And he’s also saying he doesn’t have a client with a big enough marketing budget to advertise on T.B.G.T.I.C.N.F.L.R.

What did you think (or not think) of the game?

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From a Distance

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You generated an impressive conversation on Friday, Babooners. Based on your response to the question-of-the-day, I conclude that this is a group that draws inspiration from the idea of being able to launch and head a government agency. If there was any doubt, that confirms it. The place is full of liberals!

And there’s nothing wrong with that! But it’s good to know who you’re dealing with.

Government agencies do tend to create their own atmosphere and climate – they are not known for being responsive to outside conditions. The market-based model some would impose on government is much more inclined to follow the latest trend and capitalize on the current fashion. If photo views on flickr are any guide, the National Aeronautics and Space Administration should immediately re-write its mission and change its name to OPEPA – the Off Planet Earth Photography Agency. If NASA were a movie studio, the moguls running it would most certainly do this – give the people what they want until they lose interest. Right now, the people seem to want distant pictures of our beautiful planet.

Since posting it last week, NASA’s latest photo montage of Earth as seen from a distance has been viewed 3.2 million times. And that’s just for side A, featuring North and Central America. Side B, showing Africa, the Sinai Peninsula and India was posted yesterday. The photos are highly detailed, and were taken by a satellite orbiting much closer to the surface than these photos suggest. Click on one and with patience, you’ll have an opportunity to look at a highly detailed image. It is, frankly, amazing.

The Suomi NPP satellite had to make six passes at a height of 512 miles to get enough information to stitch together an image that looks like it’s orbiting at a distance of almost 8,000 miles. This sophisticated gizmo was launched at the end of October, and already it is delivering startling photos. Take a look.

Sometimes, perspective makes all the difference.

What does it take to see something clearly?

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Called To Service

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Today’s guest post comes from Dr. Larry Kyle, Produce Manager at Genway, the Supermarket for genetically engineered foods!

I do love it when people who work in a lab finally get some small portion of the adulation they deserve. For me, the key has always been my beautiful animal-vegetable hybrids – the celery-snake and the pumpkin that screams like a hyena. Others scientific attention-seekers less creative than I are left with the more difficult task of making progress against major diseases. That’s hard work, and the visible successes are rare.

But every now and then something comes along that feels like a true step forward – when a malady that was not fully understood quite suddenly becomes less mysterious. The latest news about how Alzheimer’s spreads is just that sort of thing – a landmark discovery. Now we know that Alzheimer’s Disease moves from brain cell to brain cell in synch with a malfunctioning protein called tau. The next steps are obvious. We know where the disease starts and how it travels. It should be a relatively simple matter to wait along the path, throw a sack over its head, smack it a good one, drag it to the car and throw it in the trunk.

Then we can drive Alzheimer’s far out into the countryside and push it into a roadside ditch, with a stern warning not to come near us again!

OK, that may not be practical. But what we need is something that works like the Endangered Species Act in reverse. A deadly illness extinct-ifying process. I’m not sure exactly how that would work, but I know it takes a special talent to take a thing that is already in the world and completely lose it. Usually a little residue always remains. And yet there are so many bad things that need to go away.

That’s why I, Dr. Larry Kyle, would like to offer myself to the next president as the first manager of a new government agency – the Department of Oblivion. At D.O.O., we would be all about thoroughly misplacing things. As Department of Oblivion Manager, I would have the coolest acronym in all government service! Under my direction, the Department would so completely lose track of Alzheimer’s it would be gone from human memory inside a year. Same with most of the cancers, all of the vascular problems, lung disease, tapeworms and mange.

Yes, I am a scientist and a capitalist at heart, but I would change my focus and join government service in this noble cause! But only to lead the Department of Oblivion, because keeping inadequate or non-existent records would be central to our mission, and not doing paperwork is one of the things I do best!

Take me seriously, Mr. President-to-be. Choose me to be your D.O.O.M.!

Like many in the private sector, Dr. Kyle overestimates how effective he would be as the head of a public entity. But you have to admire his enthusiasm.

If you ran a government agency (real or imagined), which one would it be?

Poems

The Poet Sees His Shadow and is Appalled

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It occurred to me that this would be a good day to look for poems about groundhogs, and thus I discovered Richard Eberhart, who was born in Austin, Minnesota in 1904.
I would like you to think I am a literate person and wise when it comes to poems, but the truth is I have read very few and know almost nothing about them. But I do like silly rhymes and absurd things.

So I was delighted to discover Eberhart, because he appears to be well regarded, yet he did not consider himself too fine an artist to write about poking a dead groundhog with a stick.

I liked the poem “The Groundhog“, especially at the beginning when the expired rodent is still fresh and Eberhart describes “the seething cauldron of his being.” But I was a little disappointed that the poem didn’t rhyme, and that he didn’t take advantage of all the comic opportunities that a dead groundhog has to offer. Intstead he turned somber and serious, bringing in Montaigne and St.Theresa. And he didn’t mention Groundhog’s Day. Not even once.

Right now, part of my day job demands that I take perfectly decent work by good journalists and twist their carefully arranged words into unrecognizable radio copy. If there is a legitimate and newsy reference to an event happening today, I insert it. This is called “aggregation.” At first I felt a little guilty about the practice, but now it has become an annoying habit. Unfortunately for Richard Eberhart, because it led me to steal his first two lines and then go off in a completely different and totally selfish direction.

In June, amid the golden fields,
I saw a groundhog lying dead.
His flanks were flat as last year’s yields.
And flattened, also, was his head.

Where once a lively creature sat,
a rotting carcass lay there, still.
In fields of wheat, he would be chaff.
In dumps at Punxsutawney, fill.

I thought, “herein a poem lies.”
The cloud of flies around him thick.
And there beneath the summer skies
I chose to poke him with a stick.

The muck and ooze that issued forth
did bubble, boil, and downward run.
The cloud of flies flew to the north
and angrily blocked out the sun.

A shadow dropped across the scene
And cast a silent, solemn pall.
The groundhog’s flanks were turning green
but this he noticed not at all.

“I’ll write a poem about death,”
I told myself, “that will not rhyme.”
“I’ll mention Rome and Greece and hair
and love and bones and sap and time.”

And somewhere in there with a wink
I’ll note the angles and obliques
of sunlight and the rodent’s stink
and winter lasting six more weeks.

Though that means nothing to our pet
who, all collapsed and in decay
is flat as any thing can get
and doesn’t think of Groundhog’s Day.

Clearly this silly rhyme is far from the sort of poem that Eberhart would actually write, and does nothing to honor him or his intent. It is, in fact, a travesty. Yet I couldn’t resist, and have no regrets.

Under what circumstances do you feel compelled, against your better judgment, to get your two cents in?

The Baboon Congress

Trip to Azerbaijan

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Today’s guest post comes from Jim in Clark’s Grove

Azerbaijan

I had the good luck to be selected three times to serve as an agricultural volunteer by ACDI/VOCA, a nonprofit organization. In an earlier guest blog I wrote about the volunteer work I did in Bolivia. I also worked in Bulgaria and Azerbaijan. On all of these assignments I had the opportunity learn about parts of the world that are very different from the United States. Of the three countries visited, I think that Azerbaijan differed the most from the USA. When you hear someone saying that a place is different they are usually mean it is a place they don’t like. Personally I enjoy exploring places that are different and found many things that I liked in Azerbaijan.

Hydar Aliev

Azerbaijan was formerly part of the Soviet Union and is now an independent country which had as its President a former high member of the ruling party of the Soviet Union, Hydar Aliyev. Hydar’s son is now the President of the country. Azerbaijan is set up as a Democracy. In fact, Hydar and his son have ruled Azerbaijan more or less as dictators because they rigged their elections. I was told by an Azeri, as a joke, that Hydar had visited President Bush and had told him how to rig his reelection. I was also told that Bush would be visiting Hydar because there is a lot of oil in Azerbaijan.

I was asked to help with issues related to vegetable seed production. A stop was made at a tomato processing plant where they were saving the seeds extracted when doing the processing and giving them back to the farmers for planting. I found that this procedure worked well. While at the tomato plant I heard another humorous comment about an American. A man who ran a fish processing company told us that he had been visited by an American who asked him about plant inspection procedures. The American told him how it was done in the USA and the Azeri man said it is the same with us. It isn’t the same because you need to bribe inspectors in Azerbaijan. After that we had a joke about how things are done in Azerbaijan that included the phrase, “same with us”.

A Rug I Bought in Azerbaijan

I was treated very well by everyone. One man told me that the Azeri people were extremely shocked and very sad about the events of 9/11. The food was very good, included delicious grilled sturgeon with pomegranate sauce. I visited an impressive very old walled section of Baku, the capital city, and strolled through an attractive city park at the edge of the Caspian Sea. There are some very poor people in the country, but there doesn’t seem to be much street crime. I felt safe at night walking alone in the central part of the capital. It is one of the most liberal Muslim countries with laws protecting the rights of women.

What is the most different and interesting place you’ve visited?

Uncategorized

Ask Dr. Babooner

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Dear Dr. Babooner,

I’m not a mean person, and I love animals. I really do. The thing that got to me about our little dog Rockne is that he was, well, obnoxious. His original name was Mr. Fluffs but we re-named him after we realized he was going to be a loud, persistent, yappy pest. Calling him “Rockne” was part of our private joke. We live on a banana plantation in southern Florida and he absolutely loved the fruit. So whenever one of us went into the yard the other invariably said “Go out there and skin one for the yipper.”

I guess you had to be there.

Anyway, Rockne’s vocalizing would come in waves. Sometimes he’d be quiet for almost a day, and then the following week he’d go at it non-stop. What really grated on my nerves was when he would go off while we were in the car. Something about the enclosed space magnified his yip, yip, yip, yip, yip, and it didn’t help that he simply couldn’t abide the site of a jogger. Something in his worldview totally rejected the concept of a human being in a designer sweatsuit, running.

And we saw lots of them. Weird, I know. You’d think people wouldn’t have to lift a finger, much less a foot, to break a sweat in south Florida. But run they did, and Rockne let ’em have it every time we spied someone chugging down the road. The sound inside the car was excruciating. Finally one day I stopped to let the jogger go by before opening the door and telling Rockne to get out and chase her. It was a foolish, spiteful move. I figured he would run for a short distance, wear himself out, think better of his compulsion, and that would be the end of that. No more barking at people along the road. I was counting on the day’s high heat and humidity to drive home the point.

I’ll never forget it – just before he sprang out of the car, Rockne gave me a long, last look. There was something potent in it. Not reproachful, just … accepting and maybe a little judgmental. But it was profound. And then he was gone.

He skittered off after the jogger just as fast as his little legs would carry him, but before he got close enough to catch her he quite suddenly veered into the underbrush and disappeared into what I then realized was The Everglades.

I was kind of heartbroken. I mean, on a certain level I was happy to be rid of him, but on the other hand I realized he probably couldn’t survive out there. I mean, the Everglades has bobcats! Not to mention crocodiles AND alligators! My wife was deeply ticked off – this was six months ago and she still won’t speak to me. And now today I see THIS!

Apparently Burmese Pythons are killing just about everything in the Everglades. My only hope is that Rockne managed, through some unexpected combination of wisdom, yappy persistence and canine guile, to convince the pythons that they were brethren, and rather than lunch he became King of the Released Pet Nation.

Otherwise, I’m feeling really, really guilty right now. But should I?

Sincerely,
Remorseful About The Fate I’ll Never Know

I told R.A.T.F.I.N.K. he should absolutely feel remorse. Putting any creature out of the car within shouting distance of the Everglades ought to be a crime, but especially a tempting morsel like Mr. Fluffs (or Rockne, if you must). But I would not comfort myself with the thought that your dog somehow became King of the Pythons. That would not be a good development for you. Just in case, you should stay far, far away from the swamp.

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