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Stay Awake

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The death at age 86 of Disney composer and lyricist Robert Sherman has served to remind people of a certain age that they grew up with a particular group of songs that are indelible. Including, but not limited to, It’s a Small World, I Want To Be Like You, and everything from the film Mary Poppins.

Sherman and his brother Richard wrote for a bunch of Disney films – familiar ones like The Jungle Book and Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, and movies you never heard of like The One And Only, Genuine, Original Family Band – a film about politics in 1888 and a musical Missouri family moving to the Black Hills. Yes, Robert Sherman and his brother wrote a song called “Oh, Benjamin Harrison.” Not every work by a genius turns out to be a work of genius.

The two Sherman Brothers did not get along with each other, though they occasionally tried to make it look as though they did. Both wrote lyrics and music, though it appears Robert was more drawn to the words. Lots of songs have been nominated as favorites in the past 24 hours. This is mine – for the clever contrast of words, music and intent.

Has reverse psychology worked for you? Or on you?

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Our Tremulous Moon

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Here’s some evidence that things are not so sedate on the surface of our moon.
Photos from the latest gizmo to get a close look at our natural satellite reveal signs of geologic activity sometime within the last 50 million years. In other words, just yesterday. This and yesterday’s Super Tuesday results pretty much put a fork in former Speaker Gingrich’s chances to be our next President. Who wants to spend precious tax dollars building and traveling to Moon Base Newt when all the fun of leaping around in low-G could be ruined by a rolling Moonquake? Next thing you know we’ll discover the destructive tracks of an airless tornado. All the disadvantages of Earth and still nothing green? No thanks, Newt.

Photo from ASU/SI/NASA

But whether or not we ever go there to use it as a leaping off place, the moon will remain a beguiling bauble in our night sky – a maker of songs and silent witness to a trillion wishes. Who knew, during those times when we stood shivering in the moonlight, the moon itself might have been shaking too? Seismic activity is more charming at a safe distance. Now that we know it happens, perhaps exceptionally patient lovers will be able to see the lunar surface tremble.

Blue Moon, you saw me standing alone.
Without a dream in my heart.
Without a love of my own.

Blue Moon, how did you sense what I ache for?
A love I silently spake for.
Is that what you had a quake for?

And then suddenly there appeared above me
a crash of rocks and dust – a lunar din
I heard somebody whisper ‘Can you love me?”
and when I looked the moon had cracked a grin.

Blue Moon, now I’m no longer alone
without a dream in my heart
without a love of my own.

And it so COULD be our way station to Mars! Why, just tonight, in the eastern sky, the Blue Moon will be quite close to the mysterious Red Planet. Almost exactly the distance from one side to the other of your clenched fist when held at arms length.
Why couldn’t we just step across?

Sky Map from NASA

What to you like to look at in the night sky?

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Fail Mellow, Hell Wet

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We’re still a few months away from the Walleye opener, but the ice fishing houses have come off the lakes (if they ever went on) and we’re in a strange lull between water surface activities. It’s possible that Congressman Loomis Beechly has been finishing a few of the leftover six packs that came off the ice with all that lightly used gear. I don’t know how else to explain the loopy tone of his latest missive to residents of the 9th District.

Greetings, Constituents!

Today is Super Tuesday! At least that’s what they tell me. I wouldn’t know – I like to say every day is super, but that’s because voters feel good about optimists and I feel good about votes! But I also really believe that every day IS super, which is convenient. In politics, things don’t always work out so neatly.

The experts say the results from today will help determine who is going to run for President this year in the Republican Party. Maybe it won’t be decisive moment, but it will be the kind of moment that has something to look at and talk about, and one that involves interesting characters and some suspense. What more do we want, really?

I might have over stated it when I said the characters are interesting. Of course I believe anyone willing to make a serious run for President of the United States is not a normal person. The job’s self-regard requirement goes far beyond the reach of average folks. Even narcissists know they are unqualified, because it isn’t nearly enough to be enthralled with yourself. You have to believe everybody else can find a way to love you too! Some would call that optimism, but I think it’s delusional thinking.

And voters share in the delusion. We want our supreme leaders to be approachable and “down to earth”. We want them to remember us, to be our buddies, to be the sort of person it would be fun “to have a beer with“. Or in the case of non-alcohol imbibing Mitt Romney, the sort of person you would like to have watch you from across the table while you enjoy a beer and he has a Diet Vanilla Coke.

But who has that kind of broad appeal? Heck, I’m not even the kind of person I’d like to have a beer with, most days. The only one who comes to mind when I think of the beer test is the actor George Clooney. He seems really likeable in that comfortable way that is best described by the phrase “Hail Fellow Well Met“, which is something I don’t really know the meaning of, but you get the idea.

Of course George isn’t running, but if he was I’d support him. It almost doesn’t matter what he says. He’s got that average guy thing going for him, even though he’s far above average in just about every category. I think if you added up the beer appeal of all the candidates in both parties you wouldn’t even get to a full Clooney on the Mail Wallow scale. Or Hail Fellow shale, I mean. Or scale.

But you get my drift. Politics is a funny business.

Anyway, this is probably something that we should definitely NOT send out, OK Marjorie? Just transcribe it and I’ll take a look at it in the morning. If I even remember dictating it, which I’m not even sure now that I did, or do.

Good night!

Your Congressman,

Loomis Beechly.

Hmm. Seems like someone was not paying full attention to a complicated task, but was just following procedure without really reading or understanding the text.

Name an elaborate chore you regularly perform without thinking.

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Loose Lips Sink Ships

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Today’s post comes from Trail Baboon’s Living and Loving correspondent and a man who is a bottomless well of wellness – B. Marty Barry.

Greetings to all my friends struggling against the relentless currents of life. I’m here to grace you with my wisdom about your misguided choices. And it just so happens my topic today is very current – what happened to personal responsibility and accountability?

That’s the exact same question famous talker Rush Limbaugh asked in the middle of his apology to Sandra Fluke this weekend, although I hesitate to call anything an apology when it asks such a question and also includes a mini-lecture.

Oh, how I wish Rush would become a client of mine! Our counseling appointments would be sublime. He would talk and talk and talk, and he’s incredibly rich, so scheduling another few hours on the couch would be no problem for him. I would listen and nod and murmur and take notes. He would never ask for a response of any kind from me, so I could be as blunt and straightforward as I want in my personal session notes.

If he ever did ask for an opinion, I would have some at the ready.

For instance, on his apology:

Apologies should be brief. One should not try to explain one’s self in an apology –just take responsibility and express remorse. That’s it. Job done. The only question I can think of that might be part of a decent apology is “what was I thinking?”

And what about that personal responsibility thing? I know Rush was thinking about sexual behavior, but there’s a lot of responsibility involved in choosing words too. And he DID admit to making some poor choices there.

Unfortunately our society has come to a place where some people are rewarded for saying the first dumb word that comes to mind just because it feels humorous and clever and good. And sometimes that’s all it is – a wacky, impulsive, irresponsible choice.

But on certain occasions something happens and a dumb word takes root and begins to grow. And as it grows, it turns into a living thing that must be fed, even if it wants to eat your job. You can’t turn your back on that – you have to reckon with it.

And yet some of these same thrill seekers think they can undo their language mistakes by using word contraceptives like “I chose the wrong words” and “I did not mean a personal attack” and so forth, basically covering their earlier statements with a thin, transparent sheath of something that sounds like regret.

The success rate for this technique is, at best, mixed. And word contraceptives should always be used BEFORE speaking, not afterwards.

The consequences can be severe, so be cautious when you feel the urge to start playing with words! Be discreet and take personal responsibility for what you say, especially when it comes to words about sex, because things can go south pretty rapidly.

And I probably shouldn’t have said it that way.

Time’s up! I think we got a lot done today. And please remember that although I’ve never met you, I do care about you very, very, very much.

What makes for an effective apology?

The Baboon Congress

G.O.A.T.LING(go)

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Today’s guest post comes from Barbara in Robbinsdale.

It’s time, Babooners, for the next round of additions to our Glossary of Accepted Terms, or G.O.A.T.. Every so often the bin gets full, and it has been a particularly rich half year since we last did this. At some point they will be added to the already existing Glossary “up top”. This time I left in the dates, because it really is fun to find out what in the heck was going on that produced the entries.

About a horse apiece – Close to equal, as in: “with regard to red vs white quinoa, I’d say it was about a horse apiece. Both are good and I couldn’t taste that one was better than the other.” February 12, 2012

Alpha Baboon – DC, or Dale Connelly, as in “I am thankful for Trail Baboons and the friends here as well as our Alpha Baboon, DC.” November 23, 2011

Baviaansverwisseling [from the Dutch words “baviaans” (baboon), and “persoonsverwisseling” (mistaken identity)] – attributing something (i.e. a blog post) to the wrong Babooner. September 20, 2011

Cheek turnee – the recipient of the compassionate act of turning the other cheek, as in: “many of us can recall being the cheek turner but very few cheek turnees.” January 9, 2012

Emotional hangover – a state of mind “that only mashed potatoes can address,” sometimes following a day in which a community has lost one of its favorite members, i.e. Tom Keith. November 2, 2011

Etiquette – …”a lubricant that allows people of all sorts to interact without friction.” October 3, 2011

Feisties – Baboon mothers who are extraordinarily resilient, strong, or tenacious. “Great mothers, Tim, Caroline and Sue; a trio of Feisties.” February 16, 2012

Flaming extrovert – an extremely gregarious Baboon, as in “Being a flaming extrovert, however, pretty much guarantees a good time and with 21 nightclubs on this monster ship…” January 26, 2012

Forgetful-compulsive – a new personality disorder, coined by the Alpha Baboon, in which the patient has both memory and control issues, exemplified by the following: “I forgot that last week I had scheduled Steve’s post to publish today, and then yesterday I compulsively wrote a new one of my own.” February 28, 2012

Gemutliche – Warm friendliness; amicability – snug, cozy, comfortable… Descriptions of a special cat. November 11, 2011

Inert – a particularly inactive level of activity in a person, i.e., “I took Latin in high school…I rather enjoyed it even though the teacher was somewhat inert.” September 20, 2011

Line camarerie – what happens when like minded people stand in line together for an extended time. “I love line camraderie when it breaks out.” November 12, 2011

Mondegreen – mis-heard lyrics to a song, as in: “They had slain the Earl of Moray/And Lady Mondegreen” instead of …”And Laid Him on the Green.” Sept. 16, 2011

Oxford comma – the final comma preceding “and” in a list, lovingly used by a number of Baboons. January 26, 2012

Pancake of glory – one way of leaving the planet (esp. involving a falling piece of an Upper Air Research Satellite), as in: “Let it land here. I am ready to go out in a pancake of glory.” September 22, 2011

Poemizing – creating poetry, or a reasonable facsimile thereof, on the Baboon Trail; as in: “Nice poemizing, DC and Tim.” February 2, 2012

Rock Bend Folk Festival – a FREE music festival in St. Peter the weekend after Labor Day, to which the Baboon Krista in Waterville devotes a good portion of her August (and maybe July). February 21, 2012

Rush Baboonbaugh – a spokesperson that would defend the rights of Baboons, probably in an outspoken manner. February 13, 2012

Snarky snort – a snort with a devilish little “heh-heh” to it. January 7, 2012

Tortured Acronym Rule – putting up to three extraneous letters in an acronym to come up with a better word, i.e., “SWIFT is short for Statewide Integrated Financial Tools… although “Statewide” may be one word, it’s almost two words, and we like the acronym SWIFT better than SIFT, so we’re going to invoke the Tortured Acronym Rule.” December 13, 2011

trailing preposition, trailing apology : What’s a trailing preposition? “thats a preposition you do while you are here on the trail i presuppose but heck thats ok you can do anything here on the trail. you dont need to leave no dang trailing apologies.” February 2, 2012

Typhonic winds of their own psychosis – in the realm of worrying: “Usually, there comes a point of ridiculousness where the person comes to realize how nutty they’re being. And, if not, at the very least, it’s entertaining watching them twist in the typhonic winds of their own psychosis.” September 22, 2011

Wasband – A person whowas one’s husband. Frequently used with glee at the past tense involved. (Not to be confused with Washboard.) February 8, 2012

Acronyms:

BuRP – Baboon Relocation Project (See Tortured Acronym Rule) January 10, 2012

IYCSSNTDSAAA – If You Can’t Say Something Nice Then Don’t Say Anything At All February 2, 2012

Pr³ – pressing priority predicament October 11, 2011

s&h – son and heir, esp. madislandgirl’s son and heir.

TWHQ – World Headquarters of the Trail Baboon Blog, as in: “it will all be worth it, just to say ‘I eat what they eat at TWHQ’ ”. January 13, 2012

When, if ever, do you use a dictionary or other reference? Paper or Digital?

The Baboon Congress

Fowl Ball

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Today’s guest post comes from Ben.

This just in:  

The chicken / duck / guinea population on our farm has officially spun out of control.
I’m not sure how this happened. Exact numbers are hard to come by, but here’s what I know we have:

14 Ducks of various breeds
20 some-odd Guineas
10 (or 13) pearl (maybe 15!)
4 light gray
11 white
43 Chickens (I think)

That makes roughly Eighty two fowl. Eighty two is too many, that’s for sure.

When birds of a feather get together, there’s often a bully in the group and there is always a disturbance going on. But not this time. They all get along so well, in spite of their different backgrounds and personalities!

The fourteen ducks are a mix of breeds; some mallards, a couple Indian Runner and a few cross-breeding results including the tall brown headed one with the white neck in this picture.

That’s Patrick. He was the duck hatched by a chicken and being all alone I put a Sponge Bob plush toy in the pen with him. (Patrick is Sponge Bob’s best friend in the TV show).

The Mallard ducks I got from the local Tractor Supply Company store this spring. They actually do fly but they know this is home so they don’t migrate. But how neat it must be to hang out on the ground with their other duck friends and then, just every so often, take off and make expanding circles around the farm. And then they circle back in and land and settle down again. Now that’s perspective.

Guineas are native of Africa. I suspect they’re always cold here in the winter. We’ve had guinea fowl for several years; pretty much since we started raising chickens. A neighbor told me if I thought I was going to have trouble with fox or coyotes or raccoons getting my chickens then, I should get guineas because they can fly a bit and get away from varmints. And they eat ticks.

I ordered 30 guinea chicks this spring; a variety of breeds. And for some reason this bunch is just calm and friendly. There were two older ones around and of course at first they had to establish their pecking order, but once that was done, calm all around. And they mix right in with the ducks and chickens. And this group isn’t so psychotic as they are sometimes, so it’s kinda nice.

By the way, guineas are indifferent mothers. They’ll lay a clutch of 20 or 30 eggs, the first 5 or 6 hatch and momma gets up and walks away. And the babies can’t ever keep up. So they’ll only survive if I happen to hear them and intervene. Or find a nest and put the eggs in an incubator. I’ve said it before, the real world is a tough place for baby animals.

About the chickens –  We seemed to have enough chickens last spring so I didn’t order any chicks. Although a momma chicken raised 5 of them in a side pen. And put a bunch of eggs in the incubator so they arrived at the same time as the guinea chicks and we got nine more from that.

Everyone seems to be comfortable with their status and company they keep. High scores all around for sociability and variety, but there’s one thing missing.

Productivity.

Sixty some chickens I’m getting 8 eggs a day.  Hmmmm, what’s wrong with this ratio?? I think it’s costing me $5 per egg when you factor in feed, water, electricity and heat lamps. Maybe they’ve forgotten there’s work to do.

What’s the secret to getting along with your neighbors?

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String of Lights

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I would be a terrible astronaut and a complete waste of oxygen on the International Space Station because I’d always be looking out the window at things like this, courtesy of NASA.

The Eastern Seaboard at Night.

NASA says: Boston is just out of frame at right. Long Island and the New York City area are visible in the lower right quadrant. Philadelphia and Pittsburgh are near the center. Parts of two Russian vehicles parked at the orbital outpost are seen in left foreground.

Just imagine all the stuff going on down there. And think about what it takes to keep all those lights on. In case you’re still questioning what’s what, here’s another view:

A couple of things come to mind.

I can see where Philadelphia is near the center along the corridor of light that stretches from sparkling New York City down to the glimmer that is Washington D.C., but Pittsburgh is on the western side of Pennsylvania. So if Pittsburgh is the somewhat dimmer blob just above the center point of the photo, those farther flung smudges are probably Erie, Toronto, Columbus, Cleveland, and maybe even Detroit.

Here’s the other thing – the sure knowledge that two Russian space vehicles were over the Eastern Seaboard at Night would had had us all hiding in the fallout shelter 50 years ago. Today we look at those Russian orbiters and think how cool they seem in the lovely blue light. Back then, of course, the light would have been bright red, and Kruschev would have been gleefully pounding his shoe on the table.

Now, it’s merely a captivating vista.

Where is the window that you could gaze through for hours?

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A Flexible Calendar

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Today’s guest post comes from big idea man and dealmaker Spin Williams.

I love Leap Day because it breaks the mold and gives us a peek at the future!

And the future I see is one where we are freed from the tyranny of the calendar! At The Meeting That Never Ends, we’re recommending that our clients invest heavily in anything that tracks, catalogs and manipulates time.

The next big growth area is not energy or financial services or Greek yogurt. It’s Time! Giving people control over their time is what freedom is all about! And we believe the world is moving inexorably towards a future where time is totally de-regulated and completely governed by the market!

For example, back in the day you had to be present in front of your TV set to catch a particular program at a specific time. If you didn’t obey the clock, you were out of luck. Today, it doesn’t matter when you want to watch – your favorite televised experience waits for you and provides itself at the touch of a button whenever you are ready!

I believe someday it will be the same with our calendar. No more February, March, April proceeding in their uninspired sequence of orderly days, one after another. That tired old system is entirely predictable and far too constraining.

The calendar of the future will be self designed and totally changeable. Everyone will still get 365 and 1/4 days each year, and in that year there will be 52 Mondays, 52 Tuesdays, etc. But if you want to live all your Mondays in a row and get them out of the way, that’s up to you! If you want to sell all your Fridays to a rich person in exchange for a large amount of cash and an equal number of their Wednesdays, you can do that! Conversely, if you want to burn through all your 104 Saturdays and Sundays starting on April 4th and finishing on July 6th, be my guest!

If you do this, of course you will suffer terrible consequences, but self-inflicted misery is also the hallmark of freedom!

Bottom line – people are hungry for liberty and time is the last great dictator – a heartless oppressor who is destined to fall. Mark my words – this will happen! The smart investor stays ahead of mega-trends, so place your bets and get ready for the Temporal Spring!

It sounds farfetched but I recall when Spin told me punctuation was unfairly rationed and a free American should get to have as many exclamation points as he wants. That came true for him, through sheer force of will!!!!! Could he be right about the rest of it?

How would you arrange your deregulated calendar?

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Mutt Mart Markdown

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Yesterday afternoon we were feeling apprehensive about the impending snowstorm, so naturally we headed out to get a little fresh air and do some recreational shopping.
And there’s no place like the local Mutt Mart to smell and be smelled.

Some dogs prefer a straight ahead walk in the park or the pure recreational exhilaration of an off-leash area, but for us it has always been a retail experience that gets the tail wagging.

The Mutt Mart is bursting with exotic smells and a mind-blowing variety of high-end food. We are all about high-end. The great thing about the Mutt Mart is that not every dog goes there. I’m not saying we’re snobs, but we’ve investigated a lot of ends and just so happens we like the high ones best.

But yesterday we noticed that something has changed at our favorite store.
The gourmet snack aisle was remarkably un-busy.

Unlike human society, the canine world is obsessed with rank, so trotting up to the register with a bag of fully organic, corn-free, gluten-free, hypoallergenic, free-range chicken flavored Scrumptious Morsels is much sweeter when there are other shoppers standing by to watch and admire.

Where were they? Word from Bloomberg Businessweek is that many of the other Mutt Mart shoppers are rooting around for snacks in the backyard compost and drinking out of mud puddles. Our economy has tanked so badly, even the dog pamperers are cutting back, letting their precious pooches play with common toys, eat ordinary food, and wear shapeless, uninspired fashions. We saw a poodle wearing baggy sweat pants!

So it has come to this.

One could argue that this sort of extravagance should have been the first thing to go, though frankly it is much easier to cut back on someone else’s frivolous expenses than to slash your own. So let’s start there.

What should other people stop spending money on?

The Baboon Congress

Confirmed Rebel

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Today’s guest post comes from Steve.

I’m not sure why my parents sent me to confirmation classes. Ours was not a very religious family. While my parents rarely felt moved to attend church services themselves, they had a fuzzy notion that it would be good for my sister and me to go, and so they sent us.

I have vivid memories of all the ways I conspired to avoid going to church. I learned to fake a fever (if you spin a thermometer fast enough in your mouth, the temperature goes up). I would always lie in bed deep into Sunday morning, hoping my mother would forget me, emerging when it was too late for her to order me to church.

My best ploy involved my “Sunday go to meeting pants,” the formal trousers that I only wore to church. One day my grandmother gave me a discarded library dictionary, a musty, leather-bound monster so heavy I barely could pick it up with two arms. I arranged my Sunday pants in a pile on top of the radiator in my room and put the dictionary on them. If Mom ever caught me on a Sunday morning and insisted that I go to church, I’d disappear into my room and come out with pants so horribly wrinkled that no homeless guy would wear them. “Look, Mom!” I’d cry, my voice ringing with disappointment, “I can’t go to church in THESE!” My mother purely hated ironing. This gimmick always worked.

But I didn’t need to dress up for Confirmation Class, so the pants couldn’t save me. I think I was 14 the year they taught that class. That was a bad time, a time when I was convinced I was one of life’s big losers. Since I didn’t think much of myself I could hardly expect anyone else to respect me. Worse, I was beginning to resent what seemed like arbitrary edicts from my parents. I’d always been a sweet and compliant child—you could call me a disgusting little apple polisher around all authority—but now I was beginning to see the world with my own eyes.

Confirmation class was not intellectually demanding, and I didn’t mind it much. We mostly chased each other around the big old brick church in noisy games of tag. When the teachers caught us and sat us down for bible lessons, I found those lessons curious but innocuous.

To celebrate our impending graduation from Confirmation class, our minister—who shall remain nameless here, although I am tempted—joined our class one evening as a sort of visiting celebrity. The minister was in a genial mood, entertaining us with funny stories. He was a dry old Scotsman who was mostly famous for interminable Sunday sermons so boring that the statue of Jesus sometimes went to sleep.

The first started with a question. “Catholic nuns wear those big cloaks that have their heads hidden under a cowl,” he said. “But did you ever wonder what a Catholic nun looks like underneath that cowl?” I never had given a moment’s thought to what nuns wore, and I was beginning to find this story creepy. “One night I visited a nun who wasn’t expecting company, and I caught her without her cowl. And guess what? She was bald as a billiard ball underneath! Bald as a billiard ball!”

I felt like the wind had been knocked out of me. This was the first time in my life I had encountered naked bigotry. I was shocked that this nasty, gossiping old man was the minister of my church.

The minister next plunged into the evolution controversy. “You probably have heard of this man Darwin and his screwball ideas,” said the minister. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I am not related to any monkey!”

That was totally confusing. Related to a monkey? Once again I felt disgust for the minister, but this time it felt better. Apparently there were people who thought differently from him. Somewhere in the world there was a guy named Darwin who said things that outraged my minister. Cool! I had an ally. I looked forward to learning more about this Darwin.

Here is a picture of the Confirmation Class of 1956. I’m the chubby dweeb just behind and to the left of the minister. What a smile! You’d never guess that I was at this moment struggling to hide my contempt for the first authority figure to spark rebellion in my heart. That ember of independent thinking would glow quietly for several years before it burst into flame, but it all started here.

Was there ever a time when you suddenly realized that you needed to rebel from authority?