Let Me Call You Sweetheart

Today’s guest post comes from Beth Ann.

There are an amazing number of performances of “Let Me Call You Sweetheart” to be found on YouTube. Everyone from Alfalfa to Patti Page and from Kate Smith to the Mills Brothers join in on this schmaltziest of schmaltz. Beyond the chorus there are enough different verses for it to qualify as a folk song.

Now the folks at Minnesota Community Sings are asking us to add more versions. They are sponsoring a sing-along in collaboration with Dan Chouinard to benefit Minnesotans United for All Families The group is organizing a No vote on the Marriage Amendment to Minnesota’s constitution.

The lyric writing contest is described as follows:

You are invited to write your own lyrics to the chorus tune of “Let me call you sweetheart.” Make it funny or heartfelt – write words that can be sung at the state capitol or in the Pride parade – lay on the schmaltz or give us your most acerbic wit. Our judges will choose several finalists whose lyrics will be sung by everyone at the Feb. 18 event. Winners will receive the accolades of the crowd and the best lyrics will doubtless be used at rallies and gatherings forevermore.

When I saw the contest it seemed to be right up the baboon alley. I would like to challenge all devotees of schmaltz, acerbic wit, and rhyme here on the trail to write a rainbow version of “Let Me Call You Sweetheart” from this template:

Let me call you sweetheart, I’m in love with you
Let me hear you whisper that you love me too
Keep the lovelight glowing in your eyes so blue
Let me call you sweetheart, I’m in love with you.

Come on baboons! The future of love songs is in your hands.

The Sound of Two Lips Flapping

One of my self-educational hobby projects last year involved recording an audio book. I’ve done a lot of on-microphone reading of silly things I’ve written, but taking on the task of narrating someone else’s book was a job I found both intriguing and intimidating. Could I pull it off? I wasn’t sure, so I had to give it a try.

The opportunity arrived through a website called the Audiobook Creation Exchange, or ACX.com. This is a clearinghouse that connects narrators, producers and publishers.
A friend in the business told me ACX was the place projects go when the original publisher realizes the volume won’t be a big seller as an audio book. Rather than go to the expense of hiring a professional narrator and paying for studio time and editing, they farm it out to some guy between jobs who is arrogant enough to think he can do a passable job on a complicated project simply by setting up a microphone in his closet.

So I set up a microphone in my closet.

One key early decision – I knew I couldn’t do the different voices and the acting necessary to narrate a work of fiction. What I needed was a book that would do well to be read in a calm midwestern style by someone who is steady and not at all flamboyant. There aren’t a lot of books like that, but I auditioned for them and was offered one that lined up perfectly with my interests – “Morning Miracle: Inside the Washington Post – A Great Newspaper Fights For Its Life.”

I figured if I could just manage to get paid by the word, it was a good start to be assigned a book that has three titles.

It turns out the pay was gauged by the finished hour, and all told the reading is a little over nine hours long. That’s not a Harry Potter sized project, but nine hours is still quite a stretch. Imagine if you started talking and went non-stop until nine hours from now. It’s the closest I’ll ever come to knowing what it feels like to be a U.S. Senator during a filibuster. But of course I didn’t read the book that way. It was start and stop and start and stop and check a name pronunciation and start and stop and take a drink of water and so on and so on and so on. That can be tedious.

But it wasn’t the reading that did me in, it was the editing. My finished nine hours probably took over eighty to record and edit. I’ve never been accused of working quickly.

One thing recording an audio book teaches you – your mouth is disgusting. Really, really repulsive. The variety of grotesque noises that can emerge over the course of a lengthy passage are mortifying. As an act of mercy towards anyone who might listen, I had to edit out all the pops, smacks, gurgles and slurps and then I had to cut out most of the breaths. ACX says removing breaths is not required unless your gasps call undue attention to themselves, and this judgement is somewhat in the ear of the beholder. I considered my breaths to be so wheezy and ugly, they simply had to come out. So I hope nobody downloads this audio book with the thought that they will immerse themselves in it to the point where they breathe in synch with the narrator. I could wind up having a terrible problem in court.

I’m not kidding about the closet, by the way. I padded it with blankets and chunks of foam, and for a screen to soften the way my plosives hit the microphone, I stretched one of my wife’s nylons over a wire clothes hanger. I know that’s not the way they do it in the professional studios in New York, but I’d like to think it gave the project an aura of Midwestern grounded-ness.

What sort of writing do you like to read out loud?

Truth in Labeling

I bought some sliced mushrooms the other day.

I prefer to buy my mushrooms in bulk since I use just a couple at a time in salads or as a pizza topping, but my grocery store only had the pre-packaged kind that day. Even then, I typically buy whole mushrooms, but I was in a hurry and since I knew I’d have to spend a little time brushing dirt of the fungi, I decided to see if any of the factory-packaged mushrooms were also machine washed.

That’s when I saw the answer to a lazy man’s prayers – Giorgio’s Fresh ‘n Clean brand ‘shrooms. Perfect! No buffing needed, just tear open the plastic and eat ’em by the handful, right? At least that’s what I planned to do, until I noticed the fine print.

Though these sliced delicacies were nestled together under a label that boasted they were “Fresh ‘n Clean,” the advisory in much smaller print said “Best to Wash All Produce Before Using.” So … what does “Fresh ‘n Clean” mean? Isn’t that a promise? And if not, what is it? Marketing language? Perhaps the old name, “Fresh and Dirt Caked” just wasn’t resonating with the shoppers at Cub. And now I was questioning the “Fresh” part too.

Soon, the small print had me completely paralyzed. What do they mean that it’s “best” to wash “all” produce? All produce in sight, or just the stuff in this package? And what if I didn’t? The advisory didn’t say it was “Necessary” to wash the mushrooms, or “Important” or even “Suggested”. It’s just … “best”. Maybe that slightly earthy just-off-the-conveyor-belt flavor is good enough.

But wouldn’t you know it … I washed them anyway. Because I always do what I’m told and I always want things to be at their “best”.

Do you obey labels and signs?

State of the Bunion Address

It’s time once again for that annual address by Congressman Loomis Beechly of the 9th District, representing all the water surface area of the State of Minnesota.

Greetings Constituents!

Each year around this time I make a speech where I try my darndest to sound like I’m giving you an honest overview of how things are going in the 9th District. And I’m here to tell you that the district is solid, just the way all water surfaces should be at the end of January!

Some gloomy negative-thinkers will say that our solidity is just barely there, that there is a lot more open water than usual and silver carp and zebra mussels are gaining ground every year. But I can’t agree with that. Because we all know there are things you don’t want to hear, and it’s up to me to remember NOT say those things out loud, even if I happen to be thinking them. Over-sharing is a terrible social error, and at times I have been accused of providing Too Much Information. This year is no different. I have a whole list of stuff I’m not going to mention to you now. If I sound a little loopy it’s not that I’ve been drinking. It’s just that I’m biting my tongue. A lot.

Some have said there’s a kind of disengagement going on, where people are too focused on their own personal problems at the expense of meeting our shared challenges, and that this widespread self-indulgent pettiness is the cause of many of our current problems. But I know you don’t want to hear about selfishness, especially not your own. And anyway, I don’t think you’re self absorbed at all. And I know it will make you happy to hear that I’ve been thinking about you so much.

One other thing that’s been on my mind pretty much non-stop that I definitely don’t want to talk about is weird thing going on with my right foot. My big toe has turned inwards and is rubbing up against all the other toes. It’s like looking at a line of plump, misshapen dominos. One irritates the other and the other and the other, right on down the line. The doctor says I have a bunion. All I know is this – I used to have toes that lined up nice and worked together. Everybody knew their role. This Little Piggy went to market, this Little Piggy stayed home, and so forth. Now they all want to have roast beef and they’re climbing all over each other and it looks like a rugby scrum inside my shoe.

But I’m not going to talk about that. I’m here to tell you that in spite of the murmurings, everything is fundamentally O.K.. And even though I’m limping a little bit I’m pretty sure that I could beat anyone who challenged me to a footrace, because I have the greatest feet the world has ever known. Even though the big toe thinks the little toes are useless, and the little toes think the big one is a greedy, self important stinker. But really, the brutal truth is that none of them smell too good.

I’ve said too much.

So if anyone should ask, my message to you is that The State of the Bunion is good, and strong, and super-powerful, and a lot of other positive words that may or may not really apply. And if anyone tells you otherwise, and that person is running for office, please tell them to run against me because they obviously have no idea what people want to hear!

Thanks for your attention, and God Bless the 9th District!

I have no idea what that was really about, but it read like a serious speech and it took up a lot of time, so I’ll have to concede that Mr. Beechly appears to be doing his job. But I am a bit worried about that bunion.

How do you feel about your feet?

A Space Weather Sunnet

Aside from an unfortunate scarcity of a few minor items like jobs, money, and political civility, we enjoy a great abundance of just about everything else.

Just think of all the things that surround us in much larger numbers than we could ever need –

Celebrities
Colleges
Supermarkets
Automakers
Medical Syndromes
Goldilocks Planets
Electronic Devices
Sports Stadiums
Coffee Shops
Things to Worry About

And on the “worries” front, there’s a fresh new ulcer maker in the news today – an unsettling universal calamity, so to speak – Bad Space Weather.

Haven’t checked the Space Weather today? You thought the cold and icy slush close to ground was enough to temper your enthusiasm? There’s more! This morning we’ll experience the effects of a massive solar storm with a tsunami wave of charged solar particles washing over the Earth at around 8 am central time, all the result of a Coronal Mass Ejection that happened on Sunday. Whats in a Coronal Mass Ejection? All sorts of bad, radioactive stuff that will amp up the northern lights but won’t get down to our level, thanks to our planet’s natural defenses.

Which doesn’t mean we can’t go into a tizzy over it, especially since we’re in a lull between incessant coverage of Republican primaries. But in spite of the occasional alarms that go out, Space Weather just doesn’t seem as immediate as stuff that’s closer to the skin. If only the great poets would romanticize it, perhaps Space Weather would seem more real.

With sincere apologies to Shakespeare, and anyone who loves him:

Shall I compare thee to a solar flare?
Thou art more lovely and less violent
Solar winds may tilt Earth’s elastic air,
Gaudy northern lights, while bright, are silent:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion blotched;
And whilst he rises and too soon declines,
He cannot ever be directly watched.
But thy eternal visage may be seen
With all thy bling and fancy articles
By naked eyes alone, without sunscreen
or visors to deflect charged particles.
Looks that thrill direct or in reflections
Outshining Coronal Mass Ejections

Does it make sense to worry about the sun?

Open Season

Another breathlessly hyped dispatch has arrived from once legitimate journalist and now attention-starved, sensationalist scribbler, Bud Buck.

Messenger Shot, Attacker Collects Reward
By Bud Buck

Newt Gingrich, the winner of Saturday’s South Carolina Primary, is widely thought to have received that prize as a reward for taking extreme umbrage to a question from reporter John King during last week’s CNN “debate”. Gingrich said he was “appalled” that King would open the proceedings by repeating accusations from Gingrich’s second wife that he wanted her to agree to an ‘open marriage’ so he could stay with her and continue a relationship with the woman who ultimately became his third wife.

The audience cheered Gingrich’s response, and he went on to win handily. Today, my head is spinning. How can a person who behaves like Newt Gingrich win favor with any segment of the American populace? I didn’t think such a thing was possible, but by merely attacking a reporter he has managed to pull it off.

This is alarming news for journalists everywhere. I’m afraid it is proof positive that we now have open season on anyone with a microphone, camera or notebook. If delivering a verbal slapping to John King is all it takes to make a quarter million people believe someone as caustic and overblown as Newt Gingrich should be president, no reporter anywhere is safe. And I say this with the full understanding that in South Carolina, marital infidelity and lying by high officials is as common as dirt. And I mean actual dirt.

In the immediate future, look for this trend – whenever a reporter asks a question that is uncomfortable for the candidate on the receiving end, that journalist will be told in no uncertain terms how horrid and despicable he/she is. In fact, I suspect the remaining candidates are busily scouting around right now for a reporter to lambast. If Romney, Paul and Santorum don’t get a John King of their own, this contest could be over by February.

Of course no respectable journalist can hold back on the tough questions in this charged environment. And yet it is by asking tough questions that we will make it possible for the politicians to deflect attention from the miserable things they’ve done. And not just politicians! I expect the captain of that Italian cruise ship to go after the media very soon. What could he possibly lose? The world already thinks he’s a cowardly, selfish boor.
A little bit of scribe bashing could only help his image.

That is why I, Bud Buck, would like to offer myself as a reportorial sacrifice. Yes, I am making myself available to any campaign that would like to have a journalist to chide, browbeat and abuse. I’ll be your hapless media elite. I can ask Romney about the dog on the roof of his car. I can bring the “Google search” question to Santorum. And I can get in Ron Paul’s grill about those old newsletters. Why would I set myself up for such harsh treatment? Because it’s obvious – American hates journalists. And if that’s the only kind of spotlight that’s truly available for the reporting class, I want it all. The most despised journalist in America is, by default, number one! Newt Gingrich learned this long ago.

Getting attention is the only thing that matters.

Candidates, call me! This is Bud Buck!

I doubt any major campaigns will choose Bud Buck to be their designated whipping boy, but Mitt Romney has to go ballistic on someone, and soon. Who will it be?

When have you been yelled at?

American Idols All

The similarities between this year’s Republican primary competition and “reality” TV are striking. The candidates have appeared together almost weekly, sometimes every couple of days. They have been together so much the nerves started to fray long ago. They’ve been forced to compete with one another on specific assigned topics like jobs, taxes, government regulation, super-patriotism, and now we’ve reached the stage where a competitor is dropped after every gathering. They have petty gripes with one another and their spats and resentments make headlines. We’re down to four now.

Who will be The Survivor? The smart money is still on Mitt Romney, who is already looking ahead to the next contest with Barack Obama.

How will the next show shape up with these two contestants? We got a hint in Iowa and New Hampshire, when Romney fell into a lyrics-reciting phase at campaign stops. Just like prime time TV, whatever gimmick gets a positive reaction from the audience will be repeated. He did this a lot.

Well, you know where this is going, don’t you?
Obama sees it, and he laid down his marker this week.

Do you think Mitt Romney has already had his first private singing lesson? I say he has. He’d better start, because he has a lot of catching up to do. Stephen Colbert is on the campaign trail now, and he can sing harmony on The Star Spangled Banner.

Yes, no matter who winds up running, this year’s presidential election will end in a sing-off! It’s obvious. America loves music and even people who don’t vote are fixated on songs. The template was well established with American Idol. Sorting through political issues is boring and hard. Caring about good governance requires time and thought. But deciding who is the best singer is fun, and we can judge it totally on emotion. There is no wrong or right – it’s all about how the singer makes you feel! Style has officially demolished substance – now it’s time for a victory lap. Get ready for the Obama-Romney-Colbert sing-off! When will we get the first Karaoke-Debate? I say it will happen by August.

What song would you sing to get votes?

Old Brains

I’ve been reading far too much about old brains lately.

In fact, my mind has to put up a shield of self-ignorance, essentially denying that it is also a brain, before it can help me learn anything about them. Reading that it takes billions of interconnected neurons to process the words that tell me it takes billions of interconnected neurons to process the words is the kind of bio-informational feedback loop that causes wisps of smoke to come out my ears.

It feels like some things are not worth knowing.

But the latest news about old brains sends exactly the opposite message – that we should exercise our brains to keep them fit. And while we’re at it, we should exercise everything else, too.

My one-stop-shopping site for OBI (Old Brain Information) is the New York Times, where they are clearly trying to corner the market for elder ecephalifans. The paper isn’t called “The Gray Lady” for nothing, and if you want to know what’s happening among the folds of gray under the waves of gray, they’ve got it.

It turns out there’s a new study that shows some beneficial effects of exercise for people with a heightened risk of developing Alzheimer’s.

Education was also found to be a long-term brain benefit. A different study found that education is associated with a longer life and decreased risk of dementia. “The effects of education are dramatic and long term,” said one doctor quoted in the story.

Here’s an excerpt that confirms everything you already thought about brain health, although if you’re over 50, putting it together in a string of words this smooth would have taken you a lot longer than you imagine.

Many researchers believe that human intelligence or brainpower consists of dozens of assorted cognitive skills, which they commonly divide into two categories. One bunch falls under the heading “fluid intelligence,” the abilities that produce solutions not based on experience, like pattern recognition, working memory and abstract thinking, the kind of intelligence tested on I.Q. examinations. These abilities tend to peak in one’s 20s.

“Crystallized intelligence,” by contrast, generally refers to skills that are acquired through experience and education, like verbal ability, inductive reasoning and judgment. While fluid intelligence is often considered largely a product of genetics, crystallized intelligence is much more dependent on a bouquet of influences, including personality, motivation, opportunity and culture.

Yes, that’s what I’ve got. “Crystallized Intelligence.” It sounds so sparkly!
And hard, prickly and brittle.

But I have no trouble believing that education keeps your brain alive. In a world so full of things we don’t already know, the only question is – what to study? That’s the economics question and again, the Times comes to the rescue with a blog about what the top 1% of earners majored in.

It turns out the largest percentage of 1%’ers studied “Health and Medical Preparatory Programs.” No surprise there. In second place, Economics. Even an economist could have predicted that one. Third place goes to Biochemical Sciences. A bit of a surprise! But fourth place is the shocker – Zoology. Zoology? My understanding is that Zoologists study animals in their natural environments and also in captivity. Animal behavior is a special fascination, and zoologists work in university settings, research institutions and zoos.

I’m guessing the Zoologists who are making the huge bucks took their knowledge of animal behavior out of academe to some more lucrative arena, like Wall Street. After all, what better place to apply all those hard-learned lessons about the law of the jungle?

What have you done for your brain today?

This Isn’t About Goats

Today’s guest post is by Barb in Blackhoof.

Well, ok, I lied. For the last five years I haven’t really been able to talk about much outside of the context of goats. I can listen, but my reply may be shaped around a goat experience I had or something I read or something I watched about goats. Frequent visitors to Trail Baboon know this very well already. But this was not always so.

About 12 years ago when my father-in-law died, my husband had to clear out the family home. On one of the last days all the sibs were inside taking things they wanted, but I stayed outside (being an in-law) waiting for Steve to emerge with something. He came out with some small memento and asked, “Don’t you think you’d like something??” I said no (not wanting to get in the way), but he persisted, and I finally said, “well, ok – I’ll take the Goat.”

The Goat was a down-sized, plaster of paris version of Picasso’s La Chevre (often called “Pregnant Goat”) that Steve’s Mom had given his Dad for some gift because she called him “the old goat.” (Remember when Dayton’s eighth floor had that section where you could buy copies of sculpture and art?)

I only wanted this piece because I liked the story behind it and I liked the looks of it. At that time there was no farm, no idea of animals of any kind in my mind. I was working full time and just looking at farms or acreage for fun, thinking my City-Boy, English Professor Husband would never agree to move anywhere further than 100 yards from a library.

Fast forward to 2002, October. Blah, blah, blah, I bought the farm. There were two outbuildings, empty and very clean. One stored about three cords of red oak fire wood. The other was completely empty. Many days I’d stand in the pole barn and wonder how I could put it to use. Then, in 2005 at the State Fair I was wondering through the goat barn, when it occurred to me that these animals were pretty cool. Like Tim’s daughter, I stayed most of that day in the barn talking with goat owners about housing, caring, cost, etc. Then at the 2006 Carlton County Fair, I met a woman who needed someone to care for her animals for five days that October. Great. I can help and in exchange learn about goats first hand. So, in October of 2006 I milked a doe for the first time. (I milked six goats twice a day for five days – at the end of that time I could not feel my hands ☺.) During those five days, I fell in love with Georgette, an Alpine doe who was calm and had a little hairy white “G” on her brown nose. Georgette let me lean my head on her belly while I milked her (forever, it took me, since I was a newbie!) and I decided dairy goats were for me – not just any old dairy goats, but the Alpine breed. And it occurred to me that Georgette looked a lot like La Chevre. In May of 2007 we moved to the farm and I bought two does (one being Dream) and in March 2008 Alba was born. Dreamy will be five years old soon, and looks more and more like that pregnant goat.

And this all started with a little sculpture that I took home, not knowing what was in store for us just seven years (and a lifetime) down the road. Spooky.

When has a moment’s random choice later revealed itself as the first step on a good path?

The Silent Treatment

An anguished dispatch came in late last night from perennial Sophomore Bubby Spamden, still swimming upstream at Wendell Wilkie High School.

Hey Mr. C.,

Boy am I confused!

I have a paper that’s due today in World History and I don’t think I’m going to get it done, all because of two mean girls named SOPA and PIPA. I don’t know who they are, but they’re so upsetting they’ve shut down the whole Internet, almost. Everywhere I look, it says the website is “closed in protest of SOPA and PIPA”. Geez, what did they do? The shut down even includes Wikipedia, which is, like the storehouse of everything that would be in my brain if I studied and was able to remember the tiniest details of things I don’t care about at all.

All I know is that when I look for Wikipedia information on the Barbary Pirates, I can only get it in Portuguese.

Piratas da Barbária, Piratas da Berbéria, piratas barbarescos, piratas berberescos, piratas berberes ou corsários otomanos, foi a designação dada aos piratas que até meados do século XIX operaram no Mediterrâneo ocidental e no Oceano Atlântico nordeste a partir de portos sitos na costa da Berbéria, ou seja na região litoral do Norte de África correspondente hoje às costas da Argélia, da Tunísia, da Líbia e a alguns portos de Marrocos.

I don’t have a problem with that personally, ‘cause it makes as much sense to me as the English version. But I can’t just cut and paste it and hand it in as my report because that would be wrong. To be ethical you have to go in and change a bunch of words around so you can legitimately pretend the writing is really yours. How can I do that if I don’t know what the words mean? I tried that and then ran it through a translating website and all I got back was useless hash.

Pirates of the occidental person, Pirates middle of the Berbéria, pirates, pirates, berberes or Ottoman privateers, were the assignment given to the pirates who Barbarism of century XIX had even operated in leaving the Mediterranean and the corresponding ports Atlantic pirates of the barbarescos ports sitos in the coast of the Berbéria, that is in the coast of the North of Africa to the coasts of Algeria, Tunisia, the Lybian and to some of Morocco region.

Even I can see that doesn’t make any sense. Mr. Boozenporn is bound to figure it out. This is horrible and I’m going to get an F in World History all because of SOPA and PIPA. They are really messing up my head, which is something that is already being done by KATIE and ASHLEY and GLORIA! GLORIA especially, who I thought kinda liked me but lately she’s been hanging out with this guy CHRIS, who is, like, a super basketball player. Yesterday I went up to her at her locker and she said she couldn’t talk – she was going to go watch CHRIS practice. So I’ll show her – I’m usually nice to her and all chatty but I’ve decided I’m not going to talk to GLORIA at all today.
When she realizes how rotten it is when I’m all silent, she’ll realize CHRIS is a moron and she’ll tell me she loves me.

That’s what I’m counting on, anyway. That, and that Mr. Boozenporn can’t read Portuguese.

Seu Amigo,
Bubby

I told Bubby it is always a risky choice to withdraw with the expectation that certain people will miss you and will wait and wish for your return. The world is a busting crossroads and once you go out the door there are plenty of others conveniently nearby who are just as fascinating as you. Ignoring a person does not make you more attractive. If you want GLORIA to notice you, turn towards her, not away. For that matter, SOPA and PIPA might be worth your attention too.

How do you feel about the silent treatment?