Wandering through Wobegon

I love Garrison Keillor's News From Lake Wobegon. Every Sunday, I settle down next to the radio and wait for it. I take quite a bit of ribbing on the subject from my older son, who deems Prairie Home Companion to be corny beyond belief. He's right, but I don't admit this. Anyway, I like a certain amount of corn. It's a welcome relief from the diet of ground glass the mainstream media provides.

The end of the segment is always the same: "And that's the news from Lake Wobegon, where all the men are strong, all the women are good looking, and all the children are above average."

Which suddenly made me consider which would be a better thing to be, strong, good looking, or above average.

My first thought was that in this society, good looks are all you need. If you've got 'em, other people will shield you from a lot of the unpleasantness of life. According to current research, you'll make more money, marry better, and be sought after for friendship. Good looks are definitely a huge plus. But once they're gone, you had better be strong.

"Above average" sounds good, but I would not wish it on anyone. Having been one of those children deemed to be "above average" myself, I know about this, so trust me. Above average means knowing excellence when you see it, but not being bright or talented enough to achieve it yourself. Above average means feeling like a failure having a normal, average life. If you are cursed with above average-ness, you too will need to be strong.

So there it is, my friends. Given the choices, better go for Strong. Because wherever you go, it's all Lake Wobegon.

Keeping things in perspective

Finding the holidays a bit overwhelming? Step back, breathe deep, and take a quick tour of the universe, from the outer rim of the Milky Way to the inner workings of the atom: Secret Worlds.

It's good way to get over yourself.

Going down

And speaking of the illusion of control, check out the "destination elevator." You select a floor from a central pad in the lobby, and the pad tells you which elevator goes there.

So far so good.

But here's the kicker: Once you get inside the thing, you discover there are no buttons. No changing your mind, no getting off, no way out, no ... freaking ... buttons.

Listed among The New York Times 6th Annual Year in Ideas, it's supposed to be a more efficient way to get where you're going. Which I'm sure it is, assuming your destination is the Twilight Zone.

Look, guys, I don't care if it is faster. I want the damn buttons. When you're sealed in a tiny, locked box suspended hundreds of feet off the ground inside a dark shaft, held up by who-the-hell-knows-what, you want some damn buttons. Even nonfunctional buttons, I don't care. Just something, OK?

In fact, what I really want is Maggie the Elevator Operator, the actual human who used to push the damn buttons for me.

But what do we get instead? Well, when they rolled this thing out in the Ameritech building in Indianapolis, we got operating instructions from a gang of mimes. Because when you're trapped in a lobby among a few hundred other confused, annoyed or outright angry people, there's nothing quite so comforting as being put into the little box by a mime.

All new buildings in New York will have these smart elevators installed. It's the wave of the future. Powerlessness. Confinement. Mimes.

Meet the StoryPeople

"If you hold on to the handle, she said, it's easier to maintain the illusion of control. But it's more fun if you just let the wind carry you. "




The above is from one of my favorite websites, StoryPeople.com. It's a bit hard to explain StoryPeople. Each "story" is a free-verse poem, or a snippet of conversation. There's just enough to evoke an image; the rest is up to you. They're accompanied by sophisticated, yet child-like line drawings that take a moment to see, and hours to See.

StoryPeople are the work of Iowa artist Brian Andreas and his creative team of "artists, activists, healers and tinkerers."

I highly recommend you check it out. And while you're there, sign up for the e-mail, Story of the Day. It's a wonderful way to start your mornings.

Picard to Enterprise...

... Set Phasers to ROCK!

My kids e-mail me stuff like this all the time. Thought I'd pass this one along. Made me giggle.

Ultimate sugar rush

So, here I am online, trying to find out whether I can use a year-old bottle of molasses for this year's Moravian Cookies (Yes, I can) when I run across this at Wikipedia: The Boston Molasses Disaster. It seems a molasses tank burst there in 1919, releasing a 35 mile-per-hour tsunami of the stuff that killed 21 and injured 150. The photo looks like Katrina, but stickier.

I sat in history classes for 16 years, give or take, and this never came up once.

Just sharing.

Training Nemo

From the back pages of Prevention Magazine:

Fish School. Really.

Got some time on your hands? Teach your goldfish to play soccer, run a football, dance the limbo. Because you wouldn't want, like, UNDERACHIEVING goldfish. That would just be embarrassing.