Monday the 13th might have a special kind of bad luck. To start the week, and hot on the heels of the one he filed last Friday, we’ve received another hyper-dramatic dispatch from Bud Buck.

This year, media consuming Americans are under vigorous assault by a relentless enemy. No matter where you turn, you are a potential victim of this stealthy scourge. Even if you spend only a small amount of time watching TV or reading newspapers, the chances are very good that before too long, you will find yourself face to face with one of these pests.

Bedbug stories! They’re everywhere!

“People are frantic and they don’t know what to do,” said TV critic Pixie Hickey. “They can’t avoid having to think about bedbugs, but all the channels are infested. Reports about bedbugs in hotels, bedbugs in taxis, in airplanes, there’s nowhere to hide. There are even stories about bedbugs in our own homes!”

Looking for confirmation, I found a group of shoppers staring blankly at the personal insecticide shelves at a local discount store. They verified Hickey’s thesis.

“I am not the sort of person who would even consider watching a story about bedbugs,” said Arlene Squeamish of Coon Rapids, “but I’ve seen at least a dozen in the past week. I was raised with the expectation that only people who live in filthy homes need to think about bedbugs, and I’d never ever have to spend a moment considering their little flat bodies and pointy sword-like protrusions. And now here I am thinking about AND talking about bedbugs too. And to a journalist – another kind of horrible creature that gives me hives. I feel dirty and worthless.”

It’s easy to understand Ms. Squeamish’s squeamishness. In the not too distant past you could read through truckloads of newsprint and watch television nonstop for months and never encounter the word “bedbug”.

Fred Critters of South Minneapolis has watched this situation change. “Nowadays as soon as my feet hit the floor and there are bedbug reports on the radio. I’m seeing bedbugs on my TV, and when I look in the paper, not only are there super close-up pictures, but they have detailed descriptions of bedbug sex habits and lots of information about the “blood meal” they’re out to get – from me!

What’s changed? TV critic Hickey thinks we let our guard down.

“There were so many taboos in the old days – stuff you simply couldn’t talk about. But the boundaries got pushed back and back until now nothing is too embarrassing and anything goes, and as a result it’s very, very hard to get attention. People have become difficult to shock and almost impossible to appall. So you need a riveting idea – something to really spark the imagination. Bedbugs crawling all over your face at night is one of those really powerful images.”

What can stop this current wave of bedbug stories?

“Boredom,” said Ms. Squeamish. Once bedbugs are no longer surprisingly gross, we’ll move on to something else that’s freshly disgusting, like cooties. Or silverfish.”

When will that day come? Not soon enough!
This is Bud (Bedbug) Buck!

What is your favorite kind of news story to turn off or skip over?

Weekends just after Labor Day are the best. Let’s extend the school year, work until the Fourth of July and take the September off instead!

Some of our regulars have revealed their weekend plans.

Barb in Blackhoof mentioned the 17th Annual Harvest Festival and Energy Fair at Bayfront Park in Duluth. It’s a Saturday-only event with speakers on topics like the inevitable transition away from fossil fuels, workshops on composting and getting toxins out of your home, a farmer’s market and music.

The Renaissance Festival is underway in Shakopee. The theme this weekend – Ale Festival! There will be beer tastings. And your dog is welcome to come along.

I know for certain that Krista in Waterville and Mike Pengra will enjoy the Rock Bend Folk Festival this Saturday and Sunday. It’s in the center of the city of St. Peter and is completely free. Enjoy sunny skies (that’s the forecast) and good company in Minnesota Square Park and fine music on two stages, but leave your dog at home.

The line-up includes City Mouse at 4 on Saturday, and Crooked Still at 3:45 on Sunday. Here’s Crooked Still with an energetic version of an old song about a cabin boy who was betrayed – The Golden Vanity.

What did I miss? Will any other weekend events have a baboon in the crowd?

Once legitimate journalist Bud Buck continues his effort to bring us the news in a way that might interest people who are so overloaded with information, they can only respond to a crisis.

Here’s his latest try at re-reporting a ho-hum headline.

Fruit & Vegetable Forces Fail to Win Hearts & Minds
By Bud Buck

Many Americans were filled with resolve (and chips and pop) ten years ago when the Healthy People Mission was launched in response to the shocking news that our own bodies were stockpiling calories.

We were alarmed at the news that catastrophically destructive WMD (Waistlines of Mass Distention) were hidden in plain sight inside millions of our own homes, thinly disguised by roving bands of elastic. We were horrified to learn that a lethal cabal of Deep Fry Fanatics had taken hold and were promoting WMD in every little café up and down the Main Streets of our small towns and large cities!

We committed ourselves to find a way to turn things around, even if turning things around meant we might have to see our own backsides in the mirror.

Our mission – to achieve nothing less than a revolution in eating.

Our method – to transform the dietary landscape, to institute a form of nutritional regime change that would oust the oppressive twin dictators, sugar and fat, and bring relief to a land where people were suffering from a severe lack of opportunity to tie their own shoes!

Our goal – to send daily vegetable consumption skyrocketing from a miserable 26% to a respectable 50%, and daily fruit consumption from a paltry 34% of the population to a glorious 75%.

Going phone-to-phone, the brave surveyors of our BRFSS (Behavioral Risk Factor Surveillance System) have engaged the locals and using culturally appropriate techniques, they’ve managed to have a look inside the cupboards where the battle has been fought and apparently lost.
Here are the questions they asked:

“How often do you…”

1) “…drink fruit juices such as orange, grapefruit, or tomato?”
2) “Not counting juice, how often do you eat fruit?”
3) “…eat green salad?”
4) “…eat potatoes, not including French fries, fried potatoes, or potato chips?”
5) “…eat carrots?”
6) “Not counting carrots, potatoes, or salad, how many servings of vegetables do you usually eat?”

And now, ten years on, the results are in. Fruits have taken a beating, and Vegetables have barely held their own! Americans have spent a decade at the buffet, and have chosen chocolate pudding over green beans!

Is it this the moment to retreat from the relentless expansion of expansionist eating habits, or should we launch a Fruit Surge? Are we going to go belly up in response to bellies going out, or does America have the appetite for a prolonged Vegetable Engagement Strategy?

These latest statistics suggest that an increasingly wide-ranging defeat has already been awkwardly, but completely, embraced.
Time will Tell.
This is Bud Buck!

Bud sounds unusually breathless in this latest report, but it might be because he had to walk up some stairs to file it.

Fruits and Vegetables vs. Everything We Actually Eat. Which side are you on?

Many students have been back at school for two days now. How’s it going? We have an early report from our good friend and perennial sophomore, Bubby Spamden.

Hi Mr. C.,

Well here I am, back again – 10th grader for, like, the 122nd year in a row!

I love it that school follows hot on the heels of the State Fair. In both cases there are lots of old favorites, just the same now as they year before and before and before.

Mr. Boozenporn always starts his “Life Choices” class with a speech about Adult Learning. He’s supposed to teach us about how important it is to have an active mind with a lot of interests all the way up to, and including, the moment when you croak. That leads us to talking about hobbies, and we always try to get him off track. Tuesday he went on and on about how he and Mrs. Boozenporn collect Back Scratchers. He’s no Gideon Weiss, but he and the Mrs. have about 28 of them hanging from hooks in the hall closet, or so he says.

I was just getting him to describe all the different ways he’s scratched his own back secretly in public when the bell rang. Too late to assign homework once again! I feel like a major league batter fouling off pitches. Last year I pushed our first assignment past the start of Fall. This year, I’m aiming for October!

Old standbys like Mr. B are great, but it’s the new ones that keep it interesting. This year, we have a first year English teacher named Ms. Kimball who has a bunch of ideas about how students learn.

Yesterday she started the class by having us read a little bit of The Odyssey out loud, then we practiced juicing up our writing with energetic verbs, then we had a quick multiple choice test on punctuation and we finished by reading quietly for ten minutes from The Hunchback of Notre Dame. Every day we have to sit in an entirely different chair in a part of the room where we’ve never sat before. And every week the whole class is going to turn their desks to face a new direction. And she does weird things to the lighting. It’s all part of a plan to get us to take in the same information in a slightly changed setting every time. She says all the variety reinforces learning, but I say she’s doing it to keep me off balance. I can’t get her to take a detour from the lesson plan when the plan is so twisty already! And I’m not getting any help from my classmates because they’re all wondering what she’ll do next.

But the challenge of coming up with ways to undermine her is what keeps my mind fresh. I’ve been a sophomore for a long time, but in Ms. Kimball’s class I feel like I’m 15 again! I might have to resort to the old live-toad-in-a-lunchbox trick!

I’m aiming for perfect attendance again this year!

Your pal,
Bubby

I told Bubby he might have met his match in Ms. Kimball.
It all depends on the size of the toad.

What classes have you taken as an Adult Learner, and how did it go?

It’s the first day back at school for many students. Teachers and their pupils will receive a lot of well-deserved attention today, but let’s consider the school bus drivers, who do a difficult job under stressful conditions and are surely underappreciated.

A driver of the familiar yellow bus has to be calm, alert, focused and sane when there is pandemonium on board and craziness all around. In large cities, rush hour is already toxic. Add 60 immature riders, including some who will cry and throw up, and you have an impossible situation. That’s before we consider any acts of willful misbehavior.

I never committed a climbing-over-the-seats violation and did not engage in screaming, spit wad launching, de-pantsing, tripping or lunch box stealing. Mostly I wanted to look out the window, and I had plenty of time for that once our family moved to Central Illinois and a home nine miles away from the school. Seven of those miles were traveled on a two lane rural highway across unbroken flatness, a treacherous stretch in the icy spring and whenever there was a wind, which was all the time. The bus stop was also exposed to that wind, which brings to mind some brutal winter mornings. A driver doesn’t have to do much to be a welcome sight under those conditions. Discipline problems went down in January.

For many of my middle and high school years, the bus driver was also the biology teacher. He was a good man and an excellent teacher who did the bus job for extra money. Because he spent the whole day, every day trying to get us to memorize the Parts of a Cell, he wasn’t exactly hungry for more student contact. His silences were deep and his stare was a physical force that could bounce off the overhead mirror and press a wayward child into the very back seat. That’s a useful power.

Some drivers are happy-go-lucky friendly types who try their best to make the trip non-traumatic and even empowering. My driver took it in the opposite direction. The threat of trauma was his strategic ally, and he wanted to leave a bit of doubt in our minds about what he might possibly do next. A well-placed glare and a low growl would do wonders to spark our imaginations and he knew we would picture acts of cruelty much worse than anything he could actually perform, even in those days before the introduction of cameras on board. Remember, we were driving over country roads. A body left in a ditch by a cornfield might go undiscovered for weeks, especially in Winter.

In spite of the fear, or maybe because of it, he got all of us there and back for many years with nary a problem. That’s quite an accomplishment!

School bus memories, anyone?

Happy Labor Day Weekend, Babooners!

We have arrived at a seasonal bookmark, the holiday opposite Memorial Day. In between these two three-day weekends is all the summer fun we had.
Take a moment to reflect on that. It was glorious!

New adventures are about to begin, including school, for many, on Tuesday. If there are any things you had planned to do that are left undone (if?), please do them now. Especially if they’re recreational. Relaxation is a job you must not ignore. Clearing your mind keeps you healthy, and it’s good if you can indulge yourself every once in a while. But if you’re Denny Hecker, make sure you notify the court and the trustee before you tear open another secret bag of money.

Trail Baboon started just a few days after Memorial Day, and I had planned to take a blog vacation somewhere in there but you were all so generous with your time and so engaging, I forgot. To compensate, the Baboon will take a three day weekend as well. I’ll return with a fresh post on Tuesday.

As far as a longer vacation is concerned, I am hoping to have a guest blogger week in October. If you would like to write the lead post between October 4th and October 11th, it would be a delight to turn over the controls to you. Frequent commentators and lurkers alike are cordially invited. Common sense rules apply. Please write to me at connelly.dale@gmail.com, I’ll get back to you with the details.

Right now, I’m planning to go to the State Fair, a place so inclusive and diverse, you can meet and shake hands with the person who will be our next Governor and also get a hug from a Man of Spam. Yes, they are two different people (I think).

What will you do with your long weekend?

Dear Dr. Babooner,

In my family we have this weird thing we do called The Money Game. We all send dollars to my eccentric Uncle S., (it’s a big family), and then he sends some back. Why? It keeps us all connected and it helps him feel important! And did I mention that Uncle S. is allowed to print money? He is! Weird, I know. But it’s smart to stay on my uncle’s good side. He’s always rolling in dough!

Recently my uncle offered to send our family some money for education and health care and all we had to do was fill out a few applications. My Uncle fancies himself an expert manager. (He’s NOT!) But he LOVES paperwork. I thought we should humor him, especially since we’ve been coming up short lately. Anyway, if he doesn’t give the money to us he’ll hand it over to someone else. He’s a crazy waster!

But my husband absolutely HATES The Money Game and said “No!” He thinks Uncle S’s spending out of control, and we shouldn’t accept his handout. Uncle S. is bloated, there’s no doubt, but he means well and he does spend a bunch on important things that the rest of the family ignores, like the poor and the sick and the destitute. And Uncle S. has people who protect us. We can call on them whenever we need them. Kind of important.

My husband is no financial genius either, I should say. We’re solvent, but it takes a lot of shifting dollars around from one pocket to another and delaying payments. Every time I have an idea for how we can get more cash, my husband says no, no, no, the problem is spending. And this has been going on for 8 years! The accountant says next year is going to be a doozy, by the way. When the topic comes up I just hear air rushing in my ears and my eyes go out of focus, but I’m pretty sure there is a day of reckoning just ahead.

I should add that all this is complicated by the fact that I’ll be getting a new husband in January. This one says he’s had enough. And get this – he refuses to admit it but I think it is his secret dream to go work for Uncle S. and be in charge of The Money Game!

I don’t think we understand each other very well. We can hardly stand to be together. He’s always in Iowa!

Dr. Babooner, what should I do?

Sincerely,
Starved For Cash

I told Starved For Cash that it sounds like her current husband is trying to change the rules of The Money Game – a difficult and costly thing to do, especially if everyone else continues to play as normal. That said, a lot has been sacrificed by people in pursuit of their dreams. Unfortunately, those closest to them bear the brunt of these fantasies in ways the dreamer doesn’t see or can’t imagine. It seems like the only thing to do is hang on and wait for January. You say there’s a new husband on the horizon. If that’s the case, make sure you agree about finances before you start. And is there any way to stay single?

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

Here’s a rather stern holiday address from our Forager-in-Chief, Bart the Bear, thumbing some thoughts our way from his cellphone in the woods. It has been translated from the original Usurs Textish.

Hello, Bart here.

Just a note to everyone coming to the woods for Labor Day weekend.

You’re on holiday, but I’m at work. Don’t forget that. I don’t get time off.
A bear’s job is survival, every single day.

I know your song and cartoon bears dance and play and eat picnic baskets, but that’s a make believe life and I can’t afford to live it. I’m real. Really real. So if you see me in the woods this weekend, give me a little room to work. Getting too close is a hazard for me and you, and in case you didn’t figure it out, I smell bad. Really, really bad. And my breath is even worse. Trust me, you don’t want to get that close.

But if you HAVE to get my picture, why don’t you at least leave me a generous tip? Yeah, a tip. I’m just like a waiter down there in the Twin Cities – working hard while you relax and have a good time. I suppose you could imagine, like some people I won’t name, that I’m pampered and overpaid. But trust me, you’d be floored if you had to live the way I do, dressed in a thick fur coat all summer, dragging my big bear butt through the thicket and getting feasted on by mosquitoes and ticks. Yeah, ticks. I got some the size of chipmunks.

So drop me a bag of Fritos, OK? Or Pudding Pops. Cold stuff is good and I can get to it before it melts if you ditch it in the hollow log and get out of the way. You’ve got plenty, we all know that.

Maybe you’re thinking you don’t want to encourage us bears to eat people food. Maybe you’re thinking by not tipping us you can keep our lives more “natural.” Well, I say, thanks to you, “natural” is no longer a possibility. A newspaper blowing through here the other day had this article that said the North Woods are “retreating” to the north and east, so with climate change I’m gonna have to think about a very expensive move. Ever hear the saying “There’s a Bear in the Weeds?” Me neither. It’s “Woods”. Always has been. That’s what we like – trees. I won’t stay on the prairie. So as long as you’re changing my world and uprooting me, why don’t you do a little something to provide for me too?

Don’t have any extra junk? I’ll also eat healthy foods. I know you get to have blueberries year-round, and blackberries too. How about it? Share the wealth. I’ll even take a bruised banana. No big deal. What else are you gonna do with that stuff? You sure can’t take it with you. And if eating your Fruit Loops rots my teeth and kills me, well, it won’t do me in much quicker than the starvation I’ll face if I have to spend my days posing for pictures with you and your kids while your exhaust makes all the trees around me die and fall over.

My main point is this – have a nice weekend and enjoy the woods. It’s a wonderful place to visit. But while you’re having a good time, don’t forget to pay the help!

Your friend and host, Bart.

We all want to help Bart AND to do it responsibly, but leaving a package of Ho-Ho’s in the dwindling forest is probably not the best way.

What’s your favorite host/hostess gift?

I hope the newest storm manages to pass along our most populated coast without hurting anyone or destroying property, because I would like to have only fond memories of a hurricane with the quintessential hick name – Earl. I’d like to think of this as a Labor Day weekend we were forced to spend in the company of an eccentric, unpredictable but ultimately harmless goofball uncle. How can we make that happen? Alas, imagination is the only useful tool we have against the weather, and you know I have a fondness for dopey heroic poetry, so here goes …

With his one clear eye and his wavy hair
He’s a big tough muscular column of air.
You can see him for miles. He makes flags unfurl.
And the people all call him Hurricane Earl.

Earl was a youngster when he made the map.
He can blow down trees and make light poles snap.
He can shake up houses. He can break some plates.
He can cause consternation in the Eastern States.

Down in North Carolina and way up to Maine.
Folks whisper of his power and his country name.
When he sweeps on by he’ll make the ocean whirl
You’ll get soaked, Manhattan. Courtesy of Earl.

If there’s one thing you’d better not do for fun,
Don’t spit in the face of this son-of-a-gun.
He packs quite a punch. He’s not shy at all.
He’ll blow it right back at you like a cannonball.

He’s a plywood king. He sells water too.
He’ll board up your home and your business too.
Look down from space to see his jaunty swirl.
Underneath is the havoc of Hurricane Earl.

If you’re on Long Island better go inside.
If you’re on Cape Cod, find a place to hide.
Down in Washington, take a few steps back.
There’s a surge a comin’, and it’s not Iraq.

He’s a pile of wind blowing in from sea.
He’s a massive concentration of energy.
He’s the ocean’s spawn. Singular, not plural.
He’s a hurricane by the name of Earl.

The hurricane names for the next few years have already been chosen, so if you’re not on this list,your only hope of seeing your name on a chunk of extravagant weather is to attach it to something else. I think a government strapped for cash should consider selling naming rights for all the significant weather events.