When I was a kid, pretty much the entire Aquatennial Celebration – milk carton boat races, sandcastle contest, hydroplane races! – all took place on Lake Calhoun and I happened to live right on top of it. Fucking A! That was choice!! Fucking hydroplanes! I saw one crash – flip over and over and over and stop miraculously just short of the east shore filled with people standing around and watching. The world descended upon our front yard for two weeks every year – vendors, gawkers, airplanes dragging banners shouting “It’s the real thing!”
But hydroplanes. I so wanted a hydroplane. And there was one – just for me – I saw at the boat show – on which I fixated for years. The Bumble Bee.
There’s a lot of talk about cloning and whether or not it should ever extend to humans, which we all know will eventually happen somewhere by someone and the seal will be broken. If those people lead good lives (clones, mind you), the practice will have to be accepted lest we discriminate against clones. They have as much right to live as you do, they have as much right to be brought in to this world as you do. So it’s a done deal and even if you have deep reservations about it, I’d ask you to think about one thing: What if instead of just cloning, we cloned Karen Carpenter? You can’t possibly disagree with that! Karen died way too young and how sweet would it be if you could go into any crappy little lounge with a singer and it was a Karen Carpenter? Clone Carpenter, of course. How sweet would that be?! I would argue that I get the original, the flagship clone, as it were, because it was my idea. I would enslave her like an ipod and she would hang out with me and sing upon request. Karen Carpenter. We all miss you, everyone.
Many years ago in high school, some friends and I stole some keys to a paddle boat on Lake Harriet in Minneapolis and then stole the paddle boat. One problem: Lake Harriet has no inlets or outlets. It’s really more like a very large pond. So stole is really a misnomer and stupid comes to mind. Especially considering it was about midnight and that after about 20 minutes and a Miller beer or two, bright police searchlights blasted from three different directions and the three or four of us all jumped ship and swam for shore.
I was reminded of this particular proud moment reading the tale of Steven Slater, the Jet Blue flight attendant, who berated a plane full of travelers, grabbed a beer, opened the emergency door and slid down the emergency slide. At first blush, it has potential to be a rather gutsy little move. That is until you realize that he slid down onto the tarmac of a major airport – one of the most secure places around. I can’t imagine what he did when he got to the bottom. Just walked off into the horizon? Yeah, no. D.B. Cooper, he ain’t.
“New mothers who are overly concerned about being the ‘perfect parent’ may be more at risk for postpartum depression…”
Yeah, the reality of a baby quickly destroys any notion of perfectionism, and if you depended on that, you’re going to be depressed. .
For giraffes, length matters
“…some researchers now suggest that the long necks actually have more to do with sex…”
Addicted to love
“If you’re having a really hard time getting over a broken romance, it could be because you’re literally addicted to love…”
That, religion, and TV are the true opiates of the masses.
Health scare of the week
Kids die in hot cars
Can happen, but I stayed in a 73 Oldsmobile station wagon for some time outside stores without any negative effect. Other than I know waiting in a car for a long time for someone is fucking boring.