The View From Down Here

Hero Worship

R.T. Lemur — Tue, 13 Nov 2007 04:49:00 +0000

(I know this post is a little dated, but it has taken me some time to compose my thoughts on the subject).

Who are your heroes? Do they deserve it?

We’re a little bit over a year from the passing of two of my personal heroes: Steve Irwin and Maynard Ferguson. Odd, you say? Why would these two be among personal heroes? To tell you truth, I’m not exactly sure why I picked them… you might say just because I thought they were interesting. Steve Irwin was a symbol to many and Maynard was a “god” to the trumpet players everywhere. Obvious enough?

No, but it’s more than that. I’ve never been much into hero worship, but I honestly admired these men and that puts them in a very small group of people. So I did some comparison of my fallen heroes:

Steve Irwin was nearly a caricature with his khaki clothes and jungle boots, jumping about on my TV every week to spread information about animals and his conservation mission.

Maynard was an over-the-top blow-hard (heh), who could be a bit garish clothes wise, blasting away with his stratospheric riffs.

They don’t seem much the same do they? But, I’ve found they share a common message. The lessons they taught went way beyond the TV shows they made or the charts they recorded.
First, have fun. Both these guys loved their job with a capital ‘L’.
Second, master your field. Strive to be the best at what you do.
Third, don’t be afraid to be larger than life (this is a hard lesson).
Fourth, maintain your focus and intensity. Shrug off criticism with a smile and keep the dream.
Fifth, teach what you know.

It’s interesting, but the old saw “those who can’t do, teach” didn’t cut it with these two. Both of these men were astounding pedagogs. They not only “did”, but they taught as well. Their legacies will live forever in the minds of their students, and I can’t really think of a better epitaph for either of them.

Standing trade offers for Boy Scout and Order of Arrow Patches

R.T. Lemur — Sat, 15 Sep 2007 15:17:00 +0000

I'm accepting trade offers for Boy Scout and Order of the Arrow patches.

I'm particualrly interested in flaps with fish or other marine life on them.

OA Flaps I'm looking for:
Older 354 Mayi flaps (not the common Mayi flaps - I mean the old older ones)
Red Borders 335 Ump Quah
Older 168 Kuskitannee
90 Canalino blue water and pre-FDL
Pre-FDL 566 Malibu
257 Agawam (f1 especially desired)
158 Nanepashemet
Anything else with a fish or sea life on it that I don't have. Several lodges have put sea animals on their flaps from time to time, even if it is not their regular totem. What do I have? Too much to list - ask me to find out.

BSA CSPs
I will trade your current CSP for my current Sam Houston Area council CSP. I also have some other local Texas CSPs if you don't want Sam Houston.
Also looking for older CSPs from Michigan and Texas.

Either leave comment here or email hatejunkmailsfens2000@yahoo.com for trades. Remove the first 12 letters from that email and there you have it. That email has an agressive spam filter and I don't even look at what goes in the junk box. It's not worth your time or mine, so just don't. OK, that being said, legit emails sometimes get scrubbed also. If I don't answer, try again.

The man that did too much

R.T. Lemur — Sat, 05 May 2007 00:34:00 +0000

Ever feel like you’re burning the camera, err… candle at both ends?

That’s what I take out of the new Spiderman installment.

The film will not disappoint in the action department, nor in the graphics department, not even in the story department – how could it with four major comic plot lines running the 2 hour and 36 minute gauntlet that is Spiderman 3?

Let’s see, you’ve got the Sandman, Hobgoblin, the Alien Suit, and Venom. Oh, yes, there’s also the ongoing story of Peter Parker’s life: proposing to Mary Jane, taking care of Aunt May, getting good grades, you know… everyday stuff. I guess that makes it five plot lines total – how does Spiderman do it? He must feel his life is like a crazed rollercoaster, running too fast… no time… can’t slow down… just gotta hang on a… bit… longer…

In truth, that’s what the film feels like, too… on the verge of collapse, a catastrophe just a momentary lapse in attention away. I think Sam Raimi (director) managed to balance all the twisting plot lines well enough, but he didn’t do justice to any of them. Each seemed to get short shrift. Too much to do, too little time.

Perhaps, though, this was a glimpse at what life is really like for Peter Parker. I mean, try to imagine balancing school, girlfriend, friends, family, and saving the city on a daily basis? Throw in an alien symbiote and Peter Parker’s life doesn’t just feel like an out of control roller coaster – it is out of control. It never stops, day after day.

I have always admired the Spiderman films (and the comic for that matter – or at least the better years of it) for their application to everyday life. Spiderman was always the hero of the people... the everyman hero who identified with the common denominator in us all. He’s hated and loved, powerful and weak, always late but just in the nick of time, the best friend you can’t count on, unknown yet famous, and he wins the day despite his flaws. A lesson in contradictions, his story is our story.

Forget the superficial moralizing in the film. This film is about American life – running, never slowing, got to do it all, damned if I’ll stop American life. Spiderman is the single mom, the father working two jobs, the fireman, the teacher, the soldier, the student (and even the evening law student).

You know what? Spidey always comes through alright. We will too. Keep fighting the good fight. Don’t stop.

Oh yeah, don’t forget to hang on... the ride can get a little rough.

Haikus for finals week

R.T. Lemur — Thu, 03 May 2007 17:53:00 +0000

Study for finals!
Learn now before it's too late.
Cramming hurts my head.

What's a Trade Secret?
Secret information with
Business value.

Will 102(b)
Bar my patent? One year rule.
When was it published?

Ha! This is funny.
I wonder if it will help
Me learn anything.

Maybe I'm just bored?
The mind plays terrible tricks
With too little sleep.

Now, the guy next to
Me is wondering why I
Am counting fingers.

One, two, three, four, five.
Sylables: five... seven... five.
Count the haiku out.

Maybe I'm crazy.
It's OK to admit it.
Where's my padded cell?

Failure to connect

R.T. Lemur — Tue, 17 Apr 2007 14:51:00 +0000

Do you remember the best friend you had when you were five years old?

Are you still friends? Why not?

One of our neighbors has a little grandson who is just a bit older than my son. Sometimes, when he stays at his grandparent’s house, they bring him by to play with my son. It’s fascinating to watch the dynamics between these little kids. Neither of them speaks and yet they play together, share toys, and even give each other hugs.

I remember when I was little and used to go to the park and make a new friend in an instant just by playing on the see-saw. A friendship founded in the brevity of “Hi, what’s your name? Let’s go swing!”

I could not make that sort of friend today - no way. I meet new people everyday with whom there is no “let’s swing” connection, nor will there ever be. They are nothing more than distant others – a backdrop to whatever all important, singular task I’m performing at the moment so that I can move on to the next all important, singular task.

It’s a problem of perception, I think. All truth is perception (a flaw of truth) that is filtered by our senses, minds, prejudices, and predisposition to view the world. Even if I were to try to make a friend like I did when I was five, it wouldn’t work. I’d cross someone’s safe boundaries, their definition of space, sense of propriety, or idea of good-sensed behavior. Their filters would block my attempt, and that would be the end of it.

I think this is what happens to kids as they grow up. They try to form that five-year-old connection with adults and fail. Incoming connection filtered out. Eventually, they learn not to try. Their filters form, in turn, and the cycle repeats.

End result, we can’t connect. That’s a shame. Without connection, we will never understand.

Lost Places Index – Cheniere au Tigre

R.T. Lemur — Fri, 30 Mar 2007 14:41:00 +0000

Do ghost towns creep you out?

Not me, I find them fascinating. One of my favorite things is to take road trips and stop at abandoned towns. Not the revitalized, “artsy” ghost towns, mind you, I mean the really abandoned ones. They are getting hard to find, but there are still some.

There is something about the desolate stillness of these places. It’s not the peacefulness of a wilderness setting – not the gentle stirring of feeling you get in a natural setting. No, it’s an emptiness. Perhaps a longing. A feeling that things have simply stopped, and maybe, maybe if you close your eyes they might start up again when you open them. The energy of the place, once thrumming, is lying still: a potential just out of reach of mind and sense.

There is one of these towns that I have long wished to go see, but I can’t manage to get there: Cheniere au Tigre. Even the name is fascinating, mysterious. Why can’t I get there? Simple: no roads go there. Of course, the lack of access makes it all the more fascinating to me.

My research indicates that it is small island (probably the tip of salt dome like High Island) way down on the south Louisiana coast in Vermillion parish. The island was inhabited off and on during the settlement and revolutionary periods. Continuous habitation began in the mid 1800’s and even included a resort. Habitation waned in the 1930’s and ended when the island was struck by a hurricane in the 1950’s. I have seen some reports that the island is still used as a remote fishing camp location.

One of the most curious things about Cheniere au Tigre, however, is its prominence on the internet. Try this: do a search for Cheniere au Tigre on Google. Seriously, try it. I’ll even make it easy for you. Hundreds of hits, right? Some of the hits are historical data, some are about a coastline preservation program, and still others are references to an autonomous weather station that must be placed there. The hits that strike me, though, are the ones advertising hotels, pharmacies, and other businesses nearby as if the town were some sort of modern vacation destination. There is even one hit to a self-hypnosis site in the UK that advertises being very easy to get to from Cheniere au Tigre. Somehow, I doubt the true ease of that trip since I can’t even seem to get to Cheniere au Tigre, and I live on the same continent. Soon, I suppose, the google search will even link to this blog post. That's OK, at least this post is on topic.

So there you have it, my first entry in the Lost Places Index: Cheniere au Tigre. I have always longed to go there. One day I will. I let you know all about it when I get back.

What are we teaching kids?

R.T. Lemur — Thu, 22 Mar 2007 16:06:00 +0000

Have you heard that 1/3 of the people in Washington D.C. are illiterate?

Those numbers astound me. The idea seems so incredible that I begin to wonder by what standards are they judging literacy.

So I begin to wonder, what are we teaching our kids? In theory, they attend school for 10 or more years. How does this happen? Is it just a series of so-called ‘social promotions’ that keep putting the kids into the next grade when they haven’t mastered the material from the first?

I don’t know. I won’t pretend to have any answers on this issue. I’m no educator, nor do I have any school age children. However, I can make some comments on the nature of children’s pre-kindergarten educational programming based on personal experience.

1. Sesame Street
I used to watch this show myself. I’ve even noticed that some of the short sets are the same from the ‘70s when I was a kid (Just the other day, I saw the short set featuring the song ‘Everybody Sleeps’, or something like that. Just like it was when I was a kid.). Some things are different though. I don’t see a lot of letters and numbers anymore - not as much counting. My memory may be fuzzy from 30 years of intervening life, but I remember Sesame Street being all about counting (e.g. “One! One peanut butter sandwich! Two! Two peanut butter sandwiches!”) and sounding out words (e.g. “C… at. Cat.”). Now the show seems to focus heavily on social issues. Here’s a case in point: one of the single adult characters on the show recently adopted a child from a foreign country. Much time was spent on this. It doesn’t matter what you think of that social issue, the only thing I’m pointing out is that it is no longer a show primarily about counting and spelling. Add to this the character Elmo. He’s fantastically popular and (albeit disgustingly) cute, but here is a major character that does not even speak proper English. The Elmo character just doesn’t use personal pronouns (i.e. he says, “Elmo wants… blah blah.” Instead of ‘I want…”). Not only does this grate on an adult’s nerves, I question having a popular character speaking in such poor grammar and possibly, by example, teaching it. Perhaps, one of the adults should finally teach Elmo how to speak properly and his speech rehabilitation can figure into the show. You think I’m kidding.

2. Thomas the Tank Engine
I really enjoy watching this program with my son on Sundays. It’s cute, but have begun to notice a recurring theme: the importance of “usefulness” to society. I know, that doesn’t sound too obnoxious, but the way it is presented in the show bothers me. The engines are always being judged on their usefulness to their society (in isolation of other norms) and those that are not useful are punished, scolded, or ostracized from the group until they mend their ways. The reasoning that is given for an unreliable engine being punished never has to do with outcome and consequences of their actions, but is purely that they have not been "useful". Free thinking, independence, and exploring options always seem to result in the engine failing in usefulness to the group.

Although it is important to be a productive member of society (and kids should be raised to be become such), I find this apparent message in the show that one's worth is based solely on usefulness to the group a bit disturbing.

The show is British in origin, I wonder if that has anything to do with it. Maybe I'm misunderstanding a cultural connotation.

3. Caillou, Curious George, Clifford the Big Red Dog, Dragon Tails
These are all cute shows. Here again, though, these are all shows that focus on teaching social mores or are just pure entertainment. Not a single one teaches reading, counting, etc.

All of the shows listed above make up almost the entirety of the PBS children’s programming (I refuse, personally, to watch Barney and Teletubbies, so no comment there). Only one of them, Sesame Street, teaches any sort of reading skills, and Sesame Street seems to be slacking off.

I went to kindergarten with the ability to do simple reading, counting, arithmetic, and understand simple science principles. I learned it from shows like the Electric Company, 3-2-1 Contact, Reading Rainbow, and (the older) Sesame Street. These shows and their ilk don’t seem to be on TV anymore. Why have they gone? Why do all the existing shows focus on teaching social mores?

I don’t know. But it bothers me.

What was I thinking?

R.T. Lemur — Sat, 17 Mar 2007 14:34:00 +0000

Ever been totally disappointed in something you were looking forward to?

I’ll say it simply: “300” sucks. Yep. Totally. Were talking Dyson crossed with Hoover times ten. Throw in some Eureka for flavor and there you have it.

Let me be straight forward: I’m a bit of history buff – especially regarding early warfare. But I’m also a long-time comic and Frank Miller fan. I know how to balance historical inaccuracy with the needs of artful story telling. This wasn’t it.

I would probably have left in the middle of this atrocity, but I went to see it at the Alamo Drafthouse, where I ordered some snacks and a beer (good thing – I needed it). Walking out would have wasted perfectly good food and drink.

If you must go see this, do what I did, go see it at a Drafthouse or Movie Grill. At least you can enjoy some snacks. The movie is mildly good at providing background noise.

That’s about it.

Pondering common wisdom

R.T. Lemur — Fri, 16 Mar 2007 16:48:00 +0000

Did you know laughter can make you sick?

Sad, but true. And I thought laughter was supposed to be ‘the best medicine’.

Yesterday, I was playing with my little boy and his puppets. The puppets were dancing. I was singing. My son was laughing. We both carried on for several minutes, laughing in fits. Every now and then one of the puppets would pop-out and get his nose. That really made him happy. He laughed so hard he almost couldn’t stand up anymore. Then, he turned around and retched. He seemed to be as surprised as I was. Needless to say, the puppets got dropped and the baby got washed (and the floor, and the chair, and the… wait… this list is already gross enough).

I thought about it later… my mom used to warn me about this same thing when I was little, “If you laugh too much, you’ll start crying.” I never knew when she meant. It seemed contradictory. It seemed to make as much sense as some of the other things she told me, which is to say: none at all. Over the years, though, I’ve discovered many of those things my mother used to tell me were true – sometimes painfully true. I’ll have to add this laughter thing to the list.

It makes me wonder about other things my mother told me: are they true too? So far, the Wisdom of Mom has never been controverted, only confirmed. I suppose all those ‘mom-isms’ are collected from life and raising kids and growing old. These things are the common life experience of our world, I suppose they can’t help but be true.

One thing, though, I still haven’t succeeded in getting my face to “stick that way”. Although, mom never did give me a solid time frame on that one…

Lemur's announcement

R.T. Lemur — Mon, 06 Nov 2006 18:29:00 +0000

‘Twas the night before the election and all through the Great State,
Not a creature was stirring – except for your’s truly (Lemurs stay up late).

I was pondering and wondering as I tinkled the keys,
Surfing the net for election info. Free as I please.

“There is no good candidate!” I said with a groan.
“No one I trust to guide my State, the place I call home.”

“There’s Perry, the incumbent, with his road that goes nowhere,
“No Trans Texas corridor, thank you – Get it outta there!”

“Then Kinky, comedian, cigar chomping friend in black.
“Austin is weird enough, shall we add this hack to the stack?”

“Strayhorn, state comptroller, (sigh) need I consider this?
“The tax lady cometh. Vote for her if you like the IRS.”

“Finally Chris Bell, liberal man with trial lawyer friends.
“After pounding on Perry, your John-O’Quinn-money simply offends.”

My eyes rolled back and the room began to spin. “No more!”
I cried. “These folk are (empty) promises galore!”

Then my resolve hardened and I knew that I must
Take prompt action. People need someone they trust!

Therefore, I declare to you now, my wonderful readers,
That, at great cost to myself, I’ll volunteer as your leader.

When Tuesday rolls round, and those others offend,
Write in R.T. Lemur, on me you can depend.

I Wonder Why?

R.T. Lemur — Tue, 26 Sep 2006 13:31:00 +0000

Is history important to you?

It is to me, especially family and personal history.

Some of you may know that I collect Boy Scout patches. Order of the Arrow flaps, to be specific.

(A brief explanation for the uninitiated: The Order of the Arrow (OA) is a Boy Scout honor society, whose members identify themselves by wearing special patches (flaps) on the right shirt pocket flap. The OA is organized into 550+ groups (lodges) across the US. Thus, there are thousands of different flaps, and people collect and trade these flaps much like baseball cards, comic books, stamps, or coins.)

Aside from the usual patch for patch trading at trade-o-rees or through the various trader forums, these patches have been coming up for sale on ebay in the last few years. I have no problem with selling or buying OA flaps - it's just like buying a comic book or a coin for your collection. Trading is more fun and engaging, but is a break even game. The only way to build a collection is to purchase (in general flaps are 2 to 5 bucks, but rare ones can be quite expensive. Needless to say, I don't own any rare ones.).

Recently, however, I noticed people beginning to sell other types of Boy Scout patches/medals - things that make me wonder why it is being sold, or even if they should be sold. A few of the big ones I've seen are: numerous Eagle scout medals (the highest youth award), Honor Medals (for saving someone's life), Hornaday awards (for outstanding volunteer service), various religious awards (for service to some religious organization). These are awards that only a few people get each year and they had to voluntarily work very hard to get them.

I don't know, at least to me, these types of awards would represent an irreplaceable sort of personal or family history that I would not being willing to part with for 30 dollars. It can't be personal need, 'cause 30 bucks doesn't go very far these days, and I'd cut off my internet service to save 30 bucks before I sold my Eagle Scout medal on ebay. Maybe these are pieces of estates, but I would think such personal belongings would pass to any available relative before being sold at auction. Maybe there are some relatives who would sell grandpa's or dad's Eagle Scout medal for 30 dollars, but my relatives - be on notice - if you sell mine, I'll haunt you... forwarned is forarmed, you know.

Moreover, I wonder who buys these items. My desire for a Hornaday medal is not so great that I'll buy one off a destitute or deceased guy on ebay.

I don't know, perhaps I'm being harsh. People will collect nearly anything. For myself, though, I'll stick will collecting my own personal history.

R.T. Lemur — Thu, 27 Jul 2006 17:06:00 +0000

What is this?

(OK, and I promise I'm not turning this into a game blog).

That is my newest creation in the game Second Life, flying over one of the new void sims (which sadly will not be void once the land barons get it and chunk it up for profit). It's my rendition of a J7W1 Shinden, a Japanese prototype plane built very late in WWII, rendered in 30 primitives and programmed by moi with working gear, stall characteristics, a realistic on-ground taxi mode, and crash detection (still working a few bugs out of that).

Since it is a Japanese plane, I thought it only fitting to get a shot of the rising sun in the background.

I've had a blast building and flying this plane and it has, perhaps, renewed my faith in the world called Second Life. I finally succeded in making something there in that make-believe world that I am truly proud of. I still find intense irony in that thought.

Untrained Experts

R.T. Lemur — Wed, 12 Jul 2006 21:10:00 +0000

Did you know that the two funniest sounding words in the English language are ‘boots” and “zucchini”?

No, really. I have it on good authority.

You see, if you say either of these words to my little boy he just erupts in laughter. No other words do this. Not “boy” or “ball” or “baby” or “butts”. Not “xylophone” or “zoo” or “xenophobe”. Not “mommy” or “daddy”. Not even words that I think are funny sounding like “ladder” or “hammer”. Just “boots” and “zucchini” do the trick.

So I ask myself what this means. We are dealing with mind that has zero connotative understanding of what these words mean. Although he may be beginning to grasp the meaning of words like “mommy” or “milk”, “boots” and “zucchini” are still concepts beyond him. So, he doesn’t think the meaning of the words is funny.

The only thing he knows is what the word sounds like to his ears. Just little bits of (as of yet) meaningless, conceptual code he has not deciphered. Going only on sounds, he has determined that “boots’ and “zucchini” rate a laugh and other words do not.

I find this fascinating, you see, because it took a completely unskilled and untrained mind to make the determination about what truly is a funny sounding word and what is not. No amount of expert training could have produced the same result. In fact, training would have tainted the result. Such experts would bring their own opinions about the words to the table (such as hammer sounding really funny to me).

Perhaps expertise in a subject is not all it is cracked up to be. An interesting thought.

Imaginary Existence

R.T. Lemur — Wed, 21 Jun 2006 15:51:00 +0000

If you could be anything you wanted, what would it be?

Some of you may know, but I’ve been playing a game called Second Life in my free time (what little there is). Perhaps calling it a ‘game’ is a misnomer. It’s really more of an online virtual environment that the ‘players’ can control. The game developers give players the power to create virtual objects, program them, and (if desired) sell them to other players for real money. Some players have made playing Second Life their full time money job, and, as reported in Business Week and elsewhere, are making enough money to support themselves.

As for myself, I have drifted through several SL ‘careers’, none of which have been particularly successful (it should be noted that success in this game requires large time investments, just like the real world, which I do not have).

First, I built airplanes. Yes, virtual airplanes that fly in a virtual sky. I soon discovered that my programming abilities were not up to the task of virtual airplane design (though they are now – I intend to give planes another whirl during the next school break).

Next, I built houses. Very cute virtual buildings for all the virtual people staking out a virtual homestead in Second Life. “Why buy a virtual house?” you ask. I don’t know, but you don’t get paid for asking virtual questions. Virtual people buy them, so I built them. I was moderately successful at the house building, but there was such a glut on the market (house makers are virtually everywhere – ha! OK, you’re right, bad pun) that I didn’t have the time to keep ahead of the virtual competition.

After that, I tried my hand at being a land baron. All these virtual people are buying virtual land from a virtual someone right? Might as well be the virtual me. I bought virtual land cheap on foreclosure auction, developed it, broke it up, and sold for a profit. I made money at that, but the margins were not large, meaning that you’d have to increase the total number of land ‘flips’ to make real profit. Again, that means time and time is something I do not have in large abundance.

Following land, I made a great deal of virtual furniture. Oh come on, you knew this was coming, right? Virtual land… virtual house… virtual furnishings. Personally, I think my virtual furniture beats the pants off the competition, (most of it is natively programmed with sliding doors, special sit scripts, lights that turn on and off, etc) but I seem to be having a problem with advertising. Err... imaginary advertising.

Now, I make flags. That’s right, flags like fly outside office buildings and banks and homes on flag day – just a virtual version. I designed a virtual flag that orients itself to the virtual wind. None of my virtual competitors seems to have figured this out yet (Shh, don’t tell them that once you figure out the vector mechanics, the program is only 6 lines of code. Hopefully none of them read this blog.).

So, I’ve made my largest profit yet selling imaginary flags. Not just any imaginary flags, but the best darn imaginary flags that exist.

I love the irony of that last sentence…

Black cauldron vs. Kettle

R.T. Lemur — Tue, 20 Jun 2006 14:49:00 +0000

Don’t you hate it when strangers offer you their unsolicited opinions about your lifestyle?

Yeah, but it’s even better when you can offer an unsolicited opinion of your own in return.

Last week the guys from work, as is customary, went out on Friday to our favorite BBQ place. When I went to refill my soda, a nice older lady let me cut in front of her to refill my diet coke. Turns out, this, albeit nice lady, was one of those who could not keep her comments to herself.

“Those diet sodas have aspartame…” she commented in a slightly bored, down the nose tone. “Aspartame is a neurotoxin.”

I replied with a bit of polite conversational fluff (i.e. “Is that so?”), but which was meant to convey, “Yeah, sure, whatever lady.”

However, she chose not to let it go, thus dooming her to my ire, and instead continued, her voice now dripping with disdain. “Yes, you should read up on it.”

That was too much – hint: no one ever tell me to “read up” on something, especially not in a superior tone. I cocked my head slightly, looking at her plate, which contained barbeque links and brisket. In a quiet but confident voice I said, “Smoked meats are carcinogenic, you know, perhaps you should look it up on the internet.”

I turned and walked away. And as my winning smile spread, I could feel the heat rising behind me, a nova of frustration collapsing into the intellectual red dwarf it had become.

Where's Darwin when you need him?

R.T. Lemur — Thu, 15 Jun 2006 15:39:00 +0000

Did the cavemen wipe their rears?

No, no, I’m not just being gross… that’s a legitimate question and it’s has broad reaching ramifications for the theory evolution.

Oh, I suppose they could have used leaves… but having done my wilderness survival training I know that leaves don’t works so well. Wait a minute, though… they survived an ice age… so there probably weren’t too many broad-leafed plants during that period. Maybe they used snow? Brrrrr. Despite the cold, surely snow would be better than pinecones. Anyway about it, they could not have been very clean people.

Ok, my little boy is prone to getting horrible diaper rash if you don’t keep him sparkly clean and dry. The same thing would happen to an adult without at least some form of primitive hygiene. Rash leads to broken skin, broken skin leads to infection, infection leads to fever and then death. Long story short, diaper rash kills.

So what kept the cavemen from dying of diaper rash early in life? Perhaps some sort of immunity – a hyper immune system – fought off such infections. Alternatively, some form of helper bacteria might have been present which kept staph and other such nasties in check. Either one, improved immunity or symbiosis, would be a distinct advantage – an advantage which modern humans do not have.

Therefore, I think this raises a serious question that theories of evolution cannot answer. Why did the cavemen not die out from terrible infections resulting from their unhygienic ways? If they were immune, that would be an evolutionary advantage, but the advantage didn’t get passed down to us – therefore (simplifying somewhat) the strongest did not survive to pass on their genetic material. “Ow,” says evolution, “that hurt. Is there a Doctor in the house?”

(What about animals? They’re dirty, too. OK, I don’t really want to go there, but three things: animals lick themselves, their hind legs leave the body at such an angle as to not create a crevasse, and most animals don’t sweat like humans – they pant. Yeah, gross, really gross, I told you don't want to go there. ‘Nuff said.)

However, I can see how the events contemplated above might have helped the cavemen develop language skills. With all the melodrama of a friend dying of diaper rash, surely they’d wish to talk about it, right? I envision the scene like this:

(tribe of cavemen standing about a pile of stone – a cairn – looking quite dejected)
Caveman 1: “Grog…”
CM2: “Grog… die”
CM3: “Grog die… itch?”
CM1: “Uhh, Grog die bad itch.”
CM4: “Miss Grog.”

Too bad they all died shortly thereafter, taking their new found language skills with them.

Raise a glass

R.T. Lemur — Wed, 14 Jun 2006 15:14:00 +0000

Friends, remember Robert Allen today. Friend, scholar, and the only student Professor Ragazzo could never stump. The brightest student in the class has passed, and we are all a little less.

Talking Toilet

R.T. Lemur — Thu, 25 May 2006 21:13:00 +0000

(Warning, some crude humor contained herein)

Wouldn’t you be scarred if the toilet suddenly started talking?

I know I would be – especially if I was only 12 months old.

Seriously, while shopping at Babies R’Us today, I discovered that several companies make a baby toilet that talks to your young’un to encourage them to do their business. It makes one wonder, “Where did the parent go?”

More worrisome is exactly who decided what to have the toilet say? It bothers me that somewhere out there a team of highly educated PhDs in Child Psychology performed research to determine the phrases that a toilet should use when speaking to a child. Did they choose the right words? What phrases did they reject?

As my mind wandered over these ponderables, the following came to mind as possible rejects:

“Good grief! That stinks! What on Earth did they feed you? Oh… I see now…”

“Bananas again? Little buddy, they need to change your diet.”

“That’s nasty! You dirty little boy/girl! Nasty, nasty, nasty!”

“Ok, let’s have some fun… aim high this time…”

“Oh, no, not again. Hold it, hold it!”

“A Zen Koan: ‘You must be emptied before you can be filled.’ ”

“Hmm, was that spinach or green beans?”

“You call that a poo, soldier? I’ve seen better s___ on plates in the mess hall!!! Now drop and give me twenty!”

Having had enough of that, I quickly began singing “The Girl from Ipanema”… anything to forget… The Talking Toilet.

Maybe it will work for you too, “Tall and tan and young and lovely, the girl from Ipanema goes walking…”

Chaneling My Inner Hero

R.T. Lemur — Mon, 01 May 2006 19:43:00 +0000

This is a cool quiz...

And, I have not posted anything in a long time...

Your results:
You are Iron Man

Iron Man		70%
Superman		65%
Spider-Man		65%
Green Lantern		65%
Robin		50%
Hulk		45%
Batman		40%
The Flash		40%
Supergirl		38%
Catwoman		35%
Wonder Woman		28%

Inventor. Businessman. Genius.

Click here to take the "Which Superhero are you?" quiz...

REM Insanity

R.T. Lemur — Wed, 01 Mar 2006 14:57:00 +0000

Ever had a truely odd dream?

Here's one for you...

I had a dream last night that I was in England. I danced with the Queen, who had horrible breath, before she sent me on a secret mission to save the royal family. Next, I did quite a bit of driving about at high speeds in a Lotus Elise. As I drove, I snacked on edam cheese and crackers. Arriving at a castle, I proceeded inside the gate with a seductively dressed Sandra Bullock in tow. In the courtyard, I took out several beefeaters with a Thompson submachine gun. Once inside, I played a Bach partita on the reversed black and white keys of an ancient harpsichord, which caused a secret door in the floor to open. Descending, I shot some more beefeaters and then fought an epic sword battle with Osama binLaden before rescuing the Dauphin of France from the dastardly clutches of that horrible new spokesman for Tanqueray Gin (name unknown, but I recognized him by the appalling gap in his front teeth). As Sandra, the Dauphin, and I sped away in the Elise, I laughed heartily about my victory before plowing down Tony Blair in the parking lot outside. He did a number on the beautiful Elise's front bumper as he crumpled beneath it, so I sent a bill to his mum.

Tell me, readers of mine, what does my dream mean?

Baby Boot Camp – Letter from camp

R.T. Lemur — Mon, 09 Jan 2006 15:49:00 +0000

I know… haven’t written ‘bout weeks 3 and 4 yet. They got me runnin’ here, but I’ll git to it – I promise.

In the meantime, I thought y’all might enjoy seeing one of the jodies we sing while we’re marchin’ off to Diaper Duty. If you’ve been there, you know the tune. If not, you probably heard it on TV:

I don’t know but I’ve been told,
Echo: I don’t know but I been told,
Mommy’s milk is good as gold.
Echo: mommy’s milk is good as gold.
It’s real good before it’s through.
Echo
Then it just turns into poo.
Echo

Sound off!
One, Two,
Sound off!
Three, four,
Count ‘em on down,
One, two, three, four,
One, Two, Three, Four!

This diaper rash has got me down.
Echo
Makes me wear a big ol’ frown.
Echo
So, I’m gonna get me a three day pass.
Echo
I’m gonna kick that diaper’s ass!
Echo

Sound off!
One, Two,
Sound off!
Three, four,
Count cadence,
One, two, three, four,
One, Two, Three, Four!

‘Till next time, keep ‘em Semper Dry!

Christmas Madness – The Return Isle

R.T. Lemur — Thu, 22 Dec 2005 15:59:00 +0000

Have you ever stood in the return line at Wal-Mart around Christmas time?

I’m sorry.

You know, I’ve never had to return that much stuff, but whenever I do, I always see something off the wall. Based on my limited sample data, I conclude that people return stuff for very strange reasons.

Here are the stories of some of the things I’ve seen returned:

Scenario Number One: Sam’s Club
Return Desk Clerk: “How may I help you?”
Customer: “I need to return this video.”
RDC: “OK. Is there something wrong with it?”
Cust: “No.”
RDC: “Does it play? It’s not, like, messed up or anything?”
Cust: “No, I just don’t want my kids watching it.”
RDC: “What do you mean?”
Cust: “Well, it’s loaded with references to magic, demons, and the occult. I don’t want my kids to see that.”
RDC: “Uh… OK… the name of the video is ‘Aladdin and The Magic Lamp’. Did you just buy the wrong one accidentally? Would like a different video instead?”
Cust: “No, I didn’t buy the wrong one. I preview all the movies before I let my kids watch them and this one is about magic. I don’t think kids should watch that.”
RDC: “It says ‘Magic Lamp’ right here on the cover! You just missed those when you bought it, huh?”

Scenario Number Two: Target
RDC: “Hi. Do you have a return?”
Cust: “Yes. I need to get another bicycle, this one is defective.”
RDC: “What’s wrong with… Oh my!”
Cust: “Yeah, my daughter was riding it…
RDC: “It looks like it was run over by a truck!
Cust: “…and it just collapsed under her.”
RDC: “A big truck!”
Little Girl: “My daddy’s got a Bronco.”
Cust: “Shhhh! Daddy’s talking to the nice man.”
RDC: “It’s been crushed flat!”
Little Girl: “Daddy did it. It was loud.”
Cust: “I told you to be quiet!”
RDC: “[to Little Girl] You left it in the driveway, didn’t you?”
Little Girl: “Yep!”

Scenario Number Three: Burger King
Burger Dude (BD): “Yes, sir?”
Customer: “Yeah, Can I get some more of these – these taste terrible.”
BD: “Terrible? Like how?’
Cust: “Well, they taste like onions.”
BD: “[Incredulous] Uh… sir… they’re… onion rings.”
Cust: “Yeah, I know, but I eat here a lot and they never tasted like onions before – just like fried batter.”
BD: “But…”
Cust: “Did you change the recipe or something? These are nasty.”
BD: “Because they taste like onions?”
Cust: “Yeah.”
BD: [Silence, but I bet he was thinking, “My God! And people think I’m stupid!”]
Cust: “Can I get some new ones or not?”
BD: “Yeah, you can, but they’re going to taste the same…”
Cust: “Like onions?”
BD: “Yeah, they’re onion rings.”
Cust: “Well, can I get some that don’t taste like onions?”
BD: “No, not really sir… No.”
Cust: “But these are nasty!”
BD: “Well… I can give you some fries, but they’re going to taste like potatoes.”

Life is pretty funny, I you just look around...

Baby Boot Camp – Week Two

R.T. Lemur — Wed, 21 Dec 2005 23:29:00 +0000

Now that the boot routine (no sleep, lots of yellin’) has been established, Sarge has moved us into more advanced training: Weapons. Mostly, our training revolves around Sarge throwin’ something new at us, and then we have to figure a good attack and defense plan.

Here’s some recommends and comments to any new boots who might be reading this:

T01 Hospital Issue Towel – Ah, the good ol’ T01. This is a true multi-tasker here at BBC. Good for spills, messes, coverin’ anything you don’t want messy, and general wippin’ up. Make sure you get a bunch of these from the hospital before you leave for boot.

CS11 Mini Co-sleeper – Apparently the salesman oversold this tool to QM’s office. Not an effective weapon against restless sleep and Sarge just doesn’t like it. Seriously lacking in padding. Too low to the ground to even be an effective changing platform. In my opinion (not that a recruit’s opinion means much in this man’s army) it needs to go back to the drawin board. Spend your pay on something else at the PX.

BP01 Butt Paste, Boudreaux’s Brand – Sarge gave us a prize when we figured this one out. Don’t waste your pizza money on anything else – buy Boudreaux’s. Note to Boudreaux: Buddy, I owe you one, when I get out of boot, I’ll gas up the boat and take you, Theriot, Broussard, AND Thibodeaux out rabbit huntin’. Now that’s class.

Well, that’s all for now. I gotta hit the sack for a few.

Baby Boot Camp – Week One

R.T. Lemur — Wed, 14 Dec 2005 04:11:00 +0000

Well, I’ve been here at Baby Boot Camp (or the BBC, as all the old recruits like to call it) for about a week now. Started out like a walk in the park, but then the real trouble began on about day three.

The Drill Sergeant here is a real hard case. Man, can he scream. You gotta jump when he says, or he’ll turn bright red and start yellin’ his head off. Some of the other guys started callin’ him the Angry Strawberry – not to his face, of course! – and that description is dead-on. He screws his face up in a hard core grimace, turns bright red, and starts screamin’ right in your face. Nothin’ you do will shut him up ‘till he’s said his piece.

Lack of sleep is really gettin’ to me now. The Sergeant is not a compassionate guy where my sleep cycles are concerned. Any time he wants, he busts us out of bed to run drills and do patrols. For a while there, I lost track of time, but I think I’m getting used to it now…

So far, I’ve only been assigned to Diaper Duty and Bubble Patrol. Diaper Duty wasn’t so bad at first, you just had to get in quick, get the job done, and get out. Now, though, its gotten harder – and smellier. I think they might be testing some new sort of stink gas or chemical warfare concoction on us poor recruits. I’ve requested a hazmat suit, but the QM says it won’t arrive for quite a while.

Bubble Patrol isn’t too bad either. We march around lookin’ for little pockets of hazardous gas that has to be eliminated. Only trick is, sometimes that gas has too much fluid around it and, well… let’s just say you’ve gotta change your uniform.

I put my name is the hat for Breast Pump Command. Looked like a cush job and I figured that was for me. I didn’t get picked though… the Drill Sergeant told me I didn’t have what it takes to do the job. Whatever.

Well, so far, that’s all for this man’s army.

Thanksgiving Haiku

R.T. Lemur — Fri, 25 Nov 2005 03:53:00 +0000

For all that I have,
All that I shall ever do,
I give thanks and praise.