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 clonedKaren 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.
I don’t believe in heaven, except for Karen Carpenter. It makes perfect sense that she would be there, live, in full angelic voice. The rest of you, no chance.
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.
All from one week, Health & Science, of The Week – great mag for staying dialed in…
Postpartum perfectionism
“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…”
Duh.
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.
The hissing ladies were just to the right of where this pic ends
Any time this sheer number of regular folks descend upon an attraction-filled destination like the Wisconsin Dells one gets a good glimpse of the true selfishness of our fellow man and woman. Exhibit A: The lazy river is a river-like pool that begins and ends in the same place – so it’s a loop, not unlike a racetrack with curves and turns and so on. In the middle are generally places for people to sit and sun themselves or fake scenery – often mountains, cliffs and rocks where tiny waterfalls drop into the chlorine current. And there is a current – water pushes people lounging on one and two seater tubes (you may remember when they used to be actual auto, truck and tractor tire inner tubes and the havoc that wreaked upon your skin over a nice hot day in the sun – there were no two-seaters back then) in an endless and lazy loop around and around. Of course, there are a limited number of tubes to be had and here on the sunniest of sunny Fourth of July weekends, the ratio between tube lovers and tubes had inched up quite a bit.
One of those beautiful days, I had the experience to witness two middle to late-middle aged women (both saggy, tan and bird-like), who had nabbed two of the most coveted double tubes (those with one hole closed – a perfect safe spot for very little kids and anyone who wants to stay that much more out of the water), and set those two super tubes up to block the sun – to create a little shady spot just for them! Unsuspecting and water-logged folks would walk up and grab one of the tubes, one assumes to use it in its intended manner, only to be verbally accosted (better yet, stabbed, shot, bitten) by the two women who would quite literally hiss in unison, “We’re using those!” That in such a manner that the hopeful tuber would quickly drop the tube and slink away. Brutal, that.
There’s a lot of negativity in places that try so hard to make us happy. Theme parks, water parks, carnivals and fairs all harbor lots of very negative energy, mostly because we being forced and then trying too hard ourselves to HAVE A GOOD TIME! I never went here as a childless person and I think I know why. These places are for families for the most part because very few adults can be entertained by an acre or two of pools, water slides, fountains, lazy rivers and so on beyond a very limited amount of time – no matter how much liquor or other mind-alt you put in to the mix. Kids, however, generally could be left there indefinitely until they became emaciated, shriveled and the water froze. So the general mood of most families is a mix of crazed, impatient kids and exhausted and ultimately pissed off parents. Fun!
I can’t tell you how many times I met eyes with another spent dad and in that split second we exchanged this:
“This is fucking crazy.”
“Totally fucking crazy.”
“I want to kill my kids.”
“Kill mine while you’re at it.”
“We should get drunk.”
“Seriously.”
“See ya.”
“Okay, bye.”
And we’d each shuffle off toward the next attraction. “Attraction” – that’s good. Like files attracted to feces or moths to open flames.
I came across The Colour Field’s Virgins and Philistines, saw the cover, knew I had listened to it some, but dropped the needle and was shocked at how fucking great it is. Terry Hall’s truly most fully Terry full-length album. Cruel Circus, Thinking of You, Hammond Song. Trinity for Terry. Some crap also. Sorry. (Not really.)
Fun Boy Three. Hello, I’m Luke, and I’m going to enjoy myself now. First off, bad – ain’t what you do – hair for Terry on the cover, but circling with a couple of Specials – Lynval, Neville, all’s right with the world. Really very Terry album as well – the right link between the Specials and solo Terry. Awesome, original, tribal – terrific. Certainly as cool as Bananarama ever done as well. They’ve taken over the asylum.
Luke Soiseth 