H.B., G.L.

It’s Gordon Lightfoot’s birthday today. He’s 73.

I enjoy “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald” as much as anyone can relish the re-telling of a terribly tragic event happening to other unfortunate people, but I think my favorite Lightfoot song is this one.

He refers to “an old time movie ’bout a ghost from a wishing well” as if that’s a standard film genre that everyone has seen to the point of fatigue. But I can’t think of a single movie with a ghost that comes out of a wishing well. Not one. Can you?

Speaking of the point of fatigue, I sometimes wonder what it’s like for musicians to perform their hits over and over and OVER AGAIN. Here’s Lightfoot doing the same song 27 years later, a few weeks after suffering a transient stroke that temporarily diminished his ability to play. And his voice has clearly lost its richness, but the song still has power.

This later, weaker version may be better in that it’s easier to picture Lightfoot as a ghost with that thin frame and quavery voice. This Lightfoot would easily fit through the opening of a wishing well, but could he climb out?

“If you could read my mind, love, what a tale my thoughts would tell” is a great opening line that leads to all that poetic talk about movie scripts rattling around his brain and book plots in hers, but how can he say “I don’t know where we went wrong …”? I do! You’re both trying to have a long term relationship with a mind reader!

And there’s no way that can work. Can it?

Ask Dr. Babooner

Dear Dr. Babooner,

I’m hopelessly attracted to brainy do-gooder types who are interested in art, education, community and philanthropy. I can’t help it. When the words “not-for-profit” are whispered in my ear, I feel lightheaded and all my pockets get turned inside out. Needless to say, I’m widely known as a giver.

Anyway, I had this crazy dream that all my nonprofit friends came to the door asking for desperately needed help on the Very Same Day! While others might be delighted at the attention, I felt totally overwhelmed. I ran down to my basement and hid behind the washer for an entire afternoon while the doorbell rang incessantly. When I finally emerged I was covered with dryer fuzz and spider webs and looked like a cross between The Mummy and a lint roller that had been donated to an animal shelter.

I was just about to go back to answering the door, worried that my friends would now find me frightening and repulsive, when I woke up. But it made me wonder if it could possibly be a bad thing that I am so compassionate and generous.

Caringly,
Gil Tripp

I told Mr. Tripp he shouldn’t let one bad dream change his supportive lifestyle. Just because a deserving nonprofit organization asks for help, that doesn’t mean you are a bad person if you don’t come across. Nonprofits can’t afford to judge you – they can only be grateful that you are a philanthropist. Your support of any nonprofit organization is cause for celebration by everyone who works for the benefit of all, even if they never get a direct contribution from you.

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

Buried Treasure

Here’s a note from Tamara Kant-Waite, past president pro-tem of the Future Historians of America:

Dear Prospective Primary Sources,

The last time I wrote it was to encourage you to treat everything you touch as if it could be a valuable future artifact – something to be cherished and studied and puzzled over by the scholars of nexter-year. I’m back to make the point again because the future of our representation of the past is at stake! Our precious objects have lives that run parallel to our own, but many of those smaller metallic trinkets will last a lot longer than we do.

That belt buckle you’re wearing, for example. To you it may be a mere link in the ensemble that holds up your pants, but to Future Historians that hunk of metal could represent a tremendous breakthrough. A buckle that’s not at all like it was just found buried in Alaska and is being touted as proof that people migrated across a land bridge that linked present North America with Siberia! Imagine! Who knows what YOUR belt buckle, found 1,500 years from now, could prove? It might become the only piece of evidence that ancient upper Midwestern peoples who traded in the industrial/retail area near the Woman Throwing Hat Statue migrated, perhaps on a daily basis, out to the suburbs.

It’s hard to tell what parts of our built up and manufactured world will last, but real things tell stories. So spend some time today paying attention to the genuine objects that surround you. And then take some of these precious items out in your yard, and bury them.

Why? Because they will be received as gifts by Future Historians who may otherwise be condemned to sorting through our permanent e-mails, perpetual Facebook pages and indelible tweets. That’s bound to be dreary work. Which is why these yet-to-be-born historical investigators will silently thank you for your blessed offering of something tangible to examine.

Yours in the Fullness of Time,

Tamara

She has a point, but it’s hard to guess which of my most durable things might make a worthy discovery for the scholars of tomorrow. It would likely be the most mundane thing I have, which does not narrow the field much since everything I have is mundane.
A nail clipper, perhaps?

What will the archeologists find most interesting when they sift through the site of your house 1,500 years from now?

A Pie in the Face

The Tom Keith Hurrah on Saturday night was, as promised, a giddy romp. There were songs and jokes. There was cross dressing, juggling and magic. And Baboon(er)s were in the audience, alongside some other animals, if I could believe the sounds I heard people making.

To the right you can see our representatives from the Trail, courtesy of PlainJane from the West Side and her husband (the photographer). From left to right in the back row: Jim (Joanne’s husband), PlainJane, tim, Joanne, Anna, and engrossed in his book verrilee sherrilee’s s&h. In the front row, also from left to right: Linda, verrilee sherrillee,
and madislandgirl.

The smiles in this photo are an important sign of artistic success. The people who put the show together, Garrison Keillor, Dan Rowles, Kate Gustafson, Sue Scott and a host of other hard working APHC staffers and associated artists, insisted that the Fitzgerald theater be a eulogy-free zone for the night. There not much that words can add when you bring out the bagpipes, as they did for the show’s finale. What is it about that instrument that gives people permission to cry? Maybe the intensity of the sound simply drives emotions out of hiding, I don’t know.

And if that wasn’t enough – Pies Were Thrown. Or at least Pies Were Pushed Into Faces.

I wish I had a picture of the actual pies and the willing victim, along with some video of the hilarious clean-up process. Perhaps those will surface eventually here. For the audience, it was a delight, and a fitting tribute to Mr. Keith, who always wanted to please the crowd with laughs and amazements and then send them home happy. On Saturday night at the Fitz, his friends did just that.

Who deserves a pie in the face?

Waiting In Line For A Show

A few kind Baboons have announced their intention in recent comments to wait in line for tickets to the Tom Keith Hurrah! this afternoon at the Fitzgerald Theater.

You should have a nice enough afternoon to stand around with your strange friends and friendly strangers. We expect sunny skies and a high in the mid-50’s. I know only a few things about the show itself but from what I’ve heard you will see sights that are not likely to be repeated. It will make the Sunday papers and people will talk about it for years. No solemn occasion, the goal is to do a show that the funniest guy in town would have loved. Tom appreciated the direct approach to humor. You may remember he went light on the subtext and heavy on the slapstick.

Having said that, I can’t imagine Tom waiting in a long line for anything. He was generally unimpressed with whatever was being handed out at the end of a queue, doubly so if a whole bunch of people thought it was something special. The presence of a crowd just about anywhere was a sign to him to turn around and head in the other direction. The one exception was any case where he was appearing in the show. It wasn’t that Tom thought he was worth the price of admission (though he was). It was simply a matter of fulfilling an obligation. He had a job to do.

There is a time in a typical American life when a person is willing to stand for hours and even camp out overnight, if necessary, to gain admission to a much anticipated concert or event. The urge fades with time. Maybe it diminishes in synch with the willingness of one’s friends to devote the better part of a day to getting in the door. There is a social aspect to standing in line together that, in the best cases, breaks down barriers. People chat, save spaces for each other, commiserate. On occasion it turns ugly, like when the rain starts and there’s only one narrow awning to stand under, or when someone budges.

Ultimately the quality of your line-standing experience is determined by the strength of your legs, the condition of your stomach, and the dispositions of the people around you.

Share your standing-in-line strategies and experiences.

If I Only Knew

Here’s another message from the suddenly chatty Perennial Sophomore at Wendell Wilkie High School, Mr. Bubby Spamden.

Hey Mr. C.,

The guys here at school are all fired up for Rick Perry after the other night when he forgot the last thing on that list he was supposed to remember. You know how Tea Party People feel about government? High School Sophomores feel the same way about memorizing lists! So when he forgot the name of that last doomed government department that his political handlers told him he had to remember, Rick Perry won the heart of every fifteen year old guy in my class.

Not that we’re all into following the news or anything. Mr. Boozenporn brought it up in civics class and showed us the You Tube video of Perry gaffing all over the place, remembering that he wants to eliminate the Departments of Commerce and Education (of course!) and … something else. Totally blew the question. We thought it was super cool! And then Mr. B asked us this:

Is it important for the President of the United States to know stuff?

Believe it or not, we had a really good discussion! Some people think knowing stuff is what smartness is all about. Other people say knowing stuff just gets in the way of feeling what’s right. And how’s this for a coincidence? The people who are for knowing stuff already happen to know the most stuff! And the people who rely more on feeling things are the ones who fail all their tests. What are the chances of that?

When it was my turn, I got up and said the President shouldn’t be expected to know a lot of stuff because a full brain makes your head feel bloated.

You can always look things up just before you need to know them, and forget them again right after you’re done talking so your brain stays free and clear! And when you’re president, you will always have smart people hanging around who know answers. It’s like being the only cool kid in a Total Nerd High School, and they’re all forced to share their homework with you.

For example, somebody told me Herman Cain doesn’t think he needs to know the name of the president of Uzblecki Land. But that didn’t feel right. So I asked Sara Maxwell about it and she said what Cain doesn’t think he needs to know is the name of the president of Uzbecki-becki-becki-stan-stan.

They’re like, two different places! It makes a difference! Knowing who to ask when you don’t know anything is, like, really important!

Your pal,
Bubby

Is it important to know stuff?

Teacher, Teacher

In eerie synchronicity with Barbara in Robbinsdale’s excellent post yesterday on successfully wrestling with an eggplant, the NY Times decided to ask this question:
Are Cookbooks Obsolete?

The article details how software developers are creating applications that are so much more lively, interesting and flexible than the standard printed-on-paper cookbooks, even cookbook aficionados are abandoning the old style method of instruction in favor of the new. New graphics, new videos, and new ways of displaying information are changing how we learn things, and how we remember what we’ve learned.

Which is very, very alarming for our domestic security expert, Bathtub Safety Officer Rafferty.

At ease, civilians!

We are not under any special warnings or alerts at this moment, but I feel I must step forward to caution you about recent developments in the proliferation of the video screen. Screens are everywhere and their demands on your attention are relentless.

Believe it or not, I have seen people engrossed in tiny screens inside their cars, only looking up at the last moment because their eye was caught by giant screens alongside the road where the billboards used to be! And now I hear that people are watching iPad tutorials while they cook.

Please, please stop! Cooking involves dangerous elements like fire, ice, hot grease and knives, not to mention some types of food that can harbor nasty microbes – stuff that can kill you if you don’t handle it properly. I fear that I will someday be called to the scene of a horrible distracted cooking accident, only to find a tablet computer smeared with the salmonella-rich fingerprints of the unfortunate victim.

People say books are boring and I say THAT’S THE POINT! No instruction book should be more engaging than the actual thing you are trying to learn to do.
Think of all the normal domestic activities that require careful step-by-step guidance – things that become infinitely more dangerous once you stop watching your teacher and start staring at a screen!
Just to name a few …

Woodworking
Roofing
Car Repair
Ironing
Lawn Mowing
SEX!

Any one of these tasks could go terribly wrong if you let yourself be distracted by the electronic tutorial and forget to heed the job itself!
My mind reels at the ghastly possibilities.

Please, please, if you plan to take instruction while you are doing anything around the house, rely on the dry, dusty pages of a boring old book so that even if you fail, you can say when all is said and done, “I stayed safe!”

Cautiously Yours,

Bathtub Safety Officer Rafferty

How do you learn?

Altered States (of Eggplant)

Today’s guest post comes from Barbara in Robbinsdale.

It’s the end of harvest season in the upper midwest, and for us it was a good year for eggplant. The only difficulty with that is what to do with all that eggplant from the last picking. Since I have what we fondly refer to as “enough cookbooks”, I’ve discovered recipes for Eggplant Fritters, Eggplant Custard, Eggplant Lasagna, Eggplant Pizza, and Baked Eggplant. Some Trail Baboon readers already know about “PJ’s Eggplant Curry“. And of course there are my old standards, Ratatouille and Baba Ganoush.

I realized that Fried Eggplant is the first step in several recipes; I could get brave and try it again, then freeze it in small batches and decide later how to finally use it.

The “getting brave” part is because I’d tried fried eggplant once before, and it was horrible. Just because I consult a recipe doesn’t mean I follow it to the end. I didn’t salt the pieces and let them drain, didn’t use enough oil, probably didn’t get it hot enough, etc. So this time I promised myself that I would not deviate from the instructions, and I came close to keeping my promise. I cut the eggplants lengthwise, pretty close to the prescribed thickness, ¾”. I salted the slices and let them give up their beads of water, which I blotted away before frying. I heated the oil each time I added some, as directed. I drained on paper towels on a platter.

So I am inordinately pleased with my batch of Fried Eggplant. I changed only two things in the recipe (an un-breaded version from: The Best of Ethnic Home Cooking by Mary Poulis Wilde). Instead of frying in an inch of olive oil, I chose a half inch. (I’m rather stingy with my olive oil.) And I didn’t peel the eggplant (what, and lose all that shiny dark beauty?), so some of my pieces are rather chewy. But as I taste them, I am transported to a little corner of heaven. Wow, it worked!

Now somewhere in the middle of winter, I’ll pull out a package from the freezer and decide whether to use it for some version of Eggplant Parmigiana, or maybe even Moussaka.

When have you, successfully or not, altered a recipe?

Off-Year Game

Here, as usual, is a special Election Day message from the lone US Congressman whose district has been drawn to include ONLY the water surface area in his state – Minnesota’s Loomis Beechly.

Greetings Constituents,

Today is Off-Year Election Day, so I’m urging everyone who is having an off year to get out there and vote. If you do that, we should have a 100% turn out!

Yes, not just 99%. Because even the super-rich are having a rough time of it. Not moneywise of course. Their greatest problems are reputational. Most people don’t think highly of the rich to begin with. Common folks believe they would do a much better job of being rich than the rich folks do – a better job in that they’d be more approachable, more sensible and more charitable.

Congressman Beechly reaches out to floaters in his district

Don’t be so sure.

As a Congressman representing all the water surface area in Minnesota, I have regular dealings with rich people about the licensing of their mega-yachts and pleasure craft. Mostly they tell me that our boat registration costs are too, too high. And it’s not just about saving a few dollars. I’ve discovered that a lot of the money going to pay for those expensive boat licenses could be spent on political campaigns instead. That’s a wise re-allocation of resources, so I’m definitely looking into that, but don’t get the wrong idea. I’m not being bought to enable some tycoon’s self-indulgence. The super-rich are no more selfish than you are. However, they are more successful at it.

What can I say? They’re achievers.

Anyway, all this talk is confusing and stressful. Why not take out your frustration by voting on something? You could put a mayor or a city councilor or a school board member out of work. Or, you could help them keep their jobs. Or you could give someone else a NEW job. It’s all about making a difference. Sometimes you just have to stand up and say “I matter! Even if I don’t know what I’m doing!”

So go to the polls and cast your random, uninformed vote today. This is a great year to do it, because I’m not running for anything and the next twelve months will be full of crazy messages that are blurted out by candidates who are under the influence of think tanks, PACS, Super-PACS and six-packs. Think of it – for a full year, everything that’s said in every form of media will be intended to influence one or more segments of the voting public. Will it be aimed at you? Don’t you want to be wooed? Who doesn’t! If you can’t be rich, you should vote, at least.

Become a voter– today is your last chance to get an oar in the water before the year of seduction begins. Why endure such a long conversation that isn’t about you?

Respectfully,

Congressman Loomis Beechly

As usual, the Congressman makes a weird kind of sense. So consider voting today.

What kind of rich person would you be?

Big Yellow Taxi

Today is Joni Mitchell’s birthday. Born Roberta Joan Anderson in 1943, she’s 68.

Joni Mitchell is the influential creator of a collection of songs that stand apart from the standard music industry categories. “Both Sides Now” and “Woodstock” are touchstones for a generation, but this one is my favorite because it is a good tune that still matters.

“Big Yellow Taxi” will last a long time – as long as its predictions continue to come true. Valuable bits and pieces of our world are being lost while we argue about who deserves to have the most money. Meanwhile, Switzerland has a Tree Museum. And sadly, it will always be true that “you don’t know what you got ’til it’s gone.”

One account says Mitchell wrote this song on a trip to Hawaii, discouraged to look out her hotel window on to a huge parking lot. Of course, without parking lots, how could airports operate? And without airports, how could Canadians get to Hawaii?

What’s the most disheartening parking lot you’ve seen?
And the most cheerful?