Goofy Stuff – stuffiminterestedin

And Now For Something Completely Different – A Weird Year In Review

Posted onFebruary 10, 2017July 31, 2020

One of the fringe benefits of my job is, of course, the ability to travel around the country. If I’m lucky I get to see some weird and interesting people and things. Since I love oddities, superlatives, and miscellany I always keep my camera at the ready and I am seldom disappointed. Here are some things that brought a smile to my face in the last year. I took all these pictures of actual places and things I saw. Hopefully you might get a chuckle, too. God knows we could all use one right now.

by: Dustin Joy

Tourism

Every City wants to attract tourists, even if it doesn’t have all that much to brag about (I’m talking to you Fargo, North Dakota). Cities have tried this in different ways but the common approaches are the “braggy” tourism guide from the Chamber of Commerce and the “do-it-yourself” tourist attraction.

The Braggy Guide

Fargo’s try – It is so flat and cold and boring in Fargo that their local tourism museum’s biggest attraction is the iconic wood-chipper which rearranges Steve Buscemi in the movie Fargo (most of which takes place in Minnesota)

Santa Fe is a little cooler but still has to qualify their claim a bit. Not Best Cheeseburger in the USA, but best Green Chile Cheeseburger. Still a good try.

Richmond not only runs their NASCAR races “at night,” WOW!, they also…

Have the 9th best Shopping Neighborhood in America. Go Richmond!

Noticed this ad for the Richmond Ballet (Yes, Richmond, Virginia has a Ballet.) What caught my eye, though, was the name of the Artistic Director. What kind of person, exactly, names his son Stoner?

Alamagordo, NM might have other exciting tourist attractions, but I put my money on PistachioLand U.S.A. After all, they do have the World’s Largest Pistachio. By the way, PistachioLand and “World’s Largest Pistachio” are trademarks so don’t go using them yourself.

Finally, there is Nemaha County, Nebraska which has a pretty nice tourist guide for a little place and a catchy motto, “All Roads Lead To Nemaha County.”

Unfortunately, two of the three roads depicted on their own map fail to lead to Nemaha County.

The D.I.Y. Attraction

The DIY is usually a representation of something or someone the city is famous for, sometimes life-size, sometimes absurdly big.

Louisville, KY has a couple. Here’s the blue horse.

And the giant baseball bat (A Louisville Slugger, of course)

Silver Bay, MN has Taconite Man who is, I guess, what a lump of iron ore would look like if you brought it to life.

Lubbock, TX, home of Buddy Holley, has, of course, giant nerdy glasses, just like Buddy.

Many cities opt for something made of bronze, Lubbock included.

Here’s Buddy himself.

Go on down to Corpus Christi, TX and you will find another hometown singer who died tragically young. Here’s Selena, immortalized in bronze. I hope if they immortalize me they at least put a shirt on me.

Here’s President Jimmy Carter. Oddly, though, this is not Plains, Georgia or even Atlanta. It’s Rapid City, SD. Don’t ask me.

Here’s a creepy bronze bust of rocket scientist and ex-nazi Werner vonBraun emerging from …a flowerpot, I guess, in Huntsville, AL. The green cast is not an optical illusion. The statue really is that color. Weird.

Finally, here’s a careless Ronald MacDonald in downtown Chicago.

The Local Paper

In addition to browsing the local tourism magazines I absolutely love small-town newspapers. They are usually good for a hilarious police blotter, a grammar-deficient news story, or a raving editorial about a monumentally unimportant subject. Here are a few tidbits I gleaned from local papers this year.

Rock Island is a tough place, after all.

I love the detail that it was a “three-legged” tiger.

Part two. She was intoxicated? You don’t say.

Part three. The final quote from the Omaha Police speaks for itself.

Leave it to Oklahoma.

I’m sorry to keep picking on North Dakota, but, you know. So, let’s get this straight, you want to put a tax on windmills to offset the tax credit people get for building windmills. Brilliant! That’s the kind of forward thinking we expect from North Dakota.

This is the one and only picture here I didn’t take but you gotta admit it’s a good one. This is the headline the East Oregonian newspaper came up with for the Associated Press story about Oakland pitcher Pat Venditte – who is ambidextrous. Who knows, maybe he can pitch underwater, too.

Signs, Signs, Everywhere Signs

Traveling about I also get to see some pretty interesting signs from time to time. Here is a collection from this year.

At the Ottawa, Ontario airport.

Ottawa again.

Louisville, KY

Hayden, CO airport.

The Muscatine Environmental Center, Muscatine, IA.

The Lavatory of an EMB-145 jet. I wonder what part of the country you are in if the second notice doesn’t go without saying? Okay, I won’t say North Dakota. They’ve taken enough abuse.

I’m certainly too smart to comment on this.

Just outside security checkpoint at the Fargo, ND airport.

As you might have guessed – over the urinal. Restaurant/ Bar in Andalusia, IL.

Actual restaurant in the food court at the Maine Mall- Portland, ME. You don’t want to know what’s in the ….well, anything.

Any children or my children?

Montreal, Quebec. So, no golfing and …what… no pooping goats? Or is it a sheep? Or is it a dog?

More damn rules. Okay, so no golf, no pooping sheep , and no hunting campers. I got it. State park in the arrowhead of Minnesota.

Deli in Iowa City, IA. Okay, maybe I’ll just go to McDonalds. The spatters of blood are a nice touch.

Hospital – Aledo, IL. I love glyphs! Where are his arms, by the way?

Carleton College – Northfield, MN. I love it that the Career Center is in Severance Hall.

Super 8 – Cloquet, MN. Are hard boiled eggs regional or rotational? Must be rotational, because they’re round. Get it? Get it?

Old Threshers Reunion – Mount Pleasant, IA. Sign needs to be…bigger, maybe?

Yes, we carry this sign with us everywhere we go.

Preston Hotel – Nashville, TN. No crappy little Gideon Bible is gonna cut it at the Preston (an awesome and quirky hotel, by the way.) In addition to the Spiritual Menu they ask you when you check in if you want a fish or a lamp. When you look puzzled they tell you that they will deliver to your room either a live Guppy in a fishbowl or a Lava Lamp for company or ambiance. Love that hotel!

A sign next to the history museum in Dickinson, ND. “German’s from Russia – They Came?” Well, good for them.

The Game Cleaning Room at Bemidji State University – Bemidji, MN. I bet Harvard doesn’t have that.

Some Questionable Grammar

Buckle Up. It’s more important then you think.

With rights comes responsibility, eh?

EL PASO, TX. Somebody has to sell tickets for Virgin Galactic.

Des Moines, IA. – Who says Iowans lack a sense of humor?

Beef Jerky Outlet – Huntsville, AL. Who says Alabamans lack a sense of humor?

And my final sign.

No comment.

Buy, Buy, Buy

Here are some actual products I saw, and you can buy.

Really?

For Deer hunting. God I hope it’s for deer hunting!

This slogan seems needlessly menacing, or is it me?

A real game but I should get some royalties from the manufacturer for infringing on my joke – What does a Yeti put on his spaghetti? Squatchsauce!!!! Get it? Get it?

This is not your Grandma’s hot sauce. Check out the attached label in the next picture.

With great hot sauce comes great responsibility!

I know this is an engraving art set but I just can’t stop thinking that this is a Jedi Kitten holding a light-saber. Use the Force Jedi Kitten!!!!

Yes, everyone will think you are cool if your wear these.

Try our recycled Kleenex, too.

Sorry, I thought that was a different product.

Do you want some of my Nut Goodies? What? What? They’re really good.

Halloween costume…er…costumes.

Don’t know why this makes me laugh but it does every single time.

At The Bookstore

I’m not sure what the Dewey Decimal code is for Hipster Baby but here’s the section.

Okaaaay?

Best Book Title Ever!

This should be shelved with the Vegan Stoner Cookbook, I guess.

Spoiler alert ……..

Yes. Yes we are.

I’m all for it.

A Millennial update of the old classic.

Cleanse is one term for it.

Etcetera

And, finally, other random stuff I saw this year that gave me pause…

Or Paws…

You can’t unsee it. I’m sorry.

Merry Christmas …. I guess. (I wonder what the Chinese kid thought when he was painting this.)

Santa Fe, NM – A VW Bug – I get it!

I thought there was a limit to what states would allow on a vanity plate. So did he get this one first?

Or this one?

Mmmmmm. Jesus Donuts. They are HOLY! Holey, Get it? Get it?

Aquarium bar. The Galt House – Louisville, KY. It really freaks out the drunks.

It’s the Christmas Dragon …I guess. What’s the Christmas dragon again?

A perfect square knot spontaneously tied by my iPad charger and my iPod charger. Cool, huh? I wasn’t even a Boy Scout.

Walking Sticks making the beast with two backs (and twelve legs) on my shed. I’m sorry. This was just so weird and cool I had to include it.

Cool! A Lego version of Mark Twain’s House – Hartford, CT Airport.

Amish men watching the Saloon show at the Midwest Old Thresher’s Reunion – Mt. Pleasant, IA. I guess they didn’t want the elders seeing them inside.

A Tesla charging station in Amarillo, TX in the middle of Texas Oil country. Not even any graffiti.

The box the box my new shoes came in came in.

My son’s class did dioramas of the U.S. states. My son did Vermont. It was awesome. I do have to give honorable mention to the kid who did Tennessee, though.

Parked in Nashville next to the Rolling Stones tour plane and had to get a picture. My twenty-something FO looked puzzled. “The Rolling Stones, MAN!” I shouted by way of explanation. He turned back to me and said, in all seriousness, “That’s a kind of candy, right?”

Smithsonian Air and Space Museum – Chantilly, VA. Actual china found in the wreckage of the Hindenburg. And I can’t even get a cup of coffee to the table without spilling it all over myself.

Best bumper sticker of the year, bar none.

Photo caption – Smithsonian Magazine. Favorite phrase of all time – Raze the Ruins. Sounds like a great name for a band.

Have some almonds. But be careful if you are allergic to …almonds.

Dye used in our PTC fundraising Color Run! Maize starch I get. But what, exactly, are permissible colors?

Who puts this ornament on their tree? And what does it mean if you do? Peace on Earth, Goodwill to men?

Bass Pro Shop Store – St. Charles, MO. True Story. I was looking at the fish in the big aquarium in the middle of the store when I became aware of a middle-aged lady standing beside me also looking into the tank. She was a store clerk it turned out. After an uncomfortably long time she turned to me and said, very calmly and seriously “I hate that fish. He watches me all the time I’m stocking shelves over here. He just watches.” I smiled politely and backed away slowly.

Final cool thing I got to do this year in my travels. On Veteran’s Day in Ottawa, Ontario I got to meet the Prime-Minister of Canada and get his picture. He’s a smart, young, handsome Liberal who doesn’t seem to hate too many people…I’m not sure where I’m going with this.

Eat The Pretty Ones

Posted onJune 8, 2016July 1, 2016

Every day we see them,
In all the magazines,
They don’t look like anybody,
We’ve ever really seen,

They make us feel so ugly,
But now it’s time to stop,
They don’t look like that either,
Without the aid of Photoshop,

So, love your love handles,
Love your double chin,
And your receding hairline,
And all your saggy skin,

See your folds and creases,
In a whole new way,
Starting today.

Love Your Love Handles
by: Mitch Benn

It’s Not Fair

I am not a looker. I never have been. I was not “hot” in college. I was not a “handsome young man.” I’m pretty sure I didn’t win any beauty contests as a baby. I was a bony, skinny, scrawny teenager. I graduated into a pudgy, lumpy, bumpy adult. I have, you will note immediately, a big nose. I have gaps in my teeth, a ruddy complexion, and an aspiring double chin. My butt sticks out too far and, as a sort of hilarious joke by God (that trickster) my belly has expanded as a counterweight. I did not get my brother’s good looks nor my Grandpa’s stature (He was 6’ 3”). I am never gonna make the cover of GQ. And I am OK with that …now.

There is a time in our lives, though, when we certainly lament our genetic deficiencies. Adolescence is the worst, of course. Just at the point in our lives when we are most desperate to impress people (read that as the opposite sex) our bodies start doing weird and unexpected things. No one on the planet is crueler (more cruel?) than other teenagers. If we are not in that tiny club of genetic lottery winners, the cheerleader with the blemish-free skin or the football quarterback with the muscles and the freakish good looks, we begin to view ourselves as outcasts – garbage, to put it bluntly. We start to think that this is a judgement from an angry and arbitrary god, the jock god, if you will. We somehow start to think that we deserve this, that we deserve less happiness than these pretty people. Some people spend their whole lives in a kind of funk because of this phenomenon.

The Ugly Silent Majority

I am no Pollyanna. I understand that happiness is not distributed evenly on this cursed planet. I am willing to concede that some people are going to have an easier time of it by virtue of the height of their cheek bones or the slimness of their waist. Research demonstrates that the tips you get as a waitress have a great deal more to do with the color of your skin and the size of your breasts than the skill with which you do your job. I am prepared to admit that the “pretty” people will probably always have an easier time of it. What I’m not willing to concede, and you shouldn’t either, is the idea that they deserve more happiness than you or I. More to the point, I do not believe I, nor you, deserve less happiness because we have crooked teeth or little boobs (big boobs in the case of men) or acne. And the plain fact is – we have got them on the numbers.

Mitch Benn’s song, which I quote above, has another verse which set me to thinking the other day. It goes like this:

We feel like we’re abnormal,
But that’s ridiculous cause,
There’s maybe a couple of hundred of them,
And there’s six and a half billion of us.

That is the point. Look around the airports, and the parks, and the malls. We have the numbers. We are the ugly “silent majority” searching for a ski-slope-nosed, droopy-cheeked Nixon to lead us. Uh, ok, well he’s dead. But the point is that we, the big-nosed, overweight, uni-browed troglodytes should run this country. We should demand our share of happiness. We should redefine what beautiful is. The pretty people are the genetic anomaly and yet they have been able to perpetuate a state of, for lack of a better word, apartheid, on the rest of us.

Jupiter and Callisto
by: Peter Paul Rubens (1577-1640)

The Three Graces
by: Peter Paul Rubens
(1577-1640)

Rubens and the Evolution of Pretty

Looking back through history there has been some evolution of “pretty.” Many of us, the gravitationally challenged, cling to the notion that in the days of Rubens “fat” was the standard by which women were measured. Plumpness was a sign of health and vivaciousness. His ladies were beautiful and confident and desired and, you know what, they looked like real women. Even in ancient cultures fertility icons were invariably statues of voluptuous women.

Ancient Stone Female Figurine
Willendorf, Austria
(24000 – 22000 BC)

The ideal of beauty represented by the anorexic blond is an arbitrary creation. It has no more basis in objective reality than too-wide lapels did in the seventies or leg warmers did in the eighties or Kardashians do today. And while I would never be so callous as to call Jessica Alba ugly (it’s not her fault she looks the way she does) I will say that beauty, like many things, is a pendulum that can swing too far and hurt people. So, maybe beauty was once defined as something other than emaciated blondness. I hope it was. If so, I’m afraid that boat has sailed. So I say it’s time to swing that pendulum back the other way or sail that ship back into port or whatever metaphor applies best here. When the majority of human beings live their lives feeling “ugly” it is time to redefine “pretty.” Sorry pretty people, majority rules.

The Problem, as Always – Fox News

“Pretty” today can be ascertained by what is on TV. TV “news,” in particular seems to be leading this march away from meritocracy and toward bimbo ascendancy. You will get a whole lot farther today in “news” with big boobs and tantalizingly crossed bare legs than with hard work, good reporting, and brains. Don’t know what I mean? Tune in to Fox and Friends any random morning to get the idea. You don’t even need to turn up the volume. In fact, absolutely don’t turn up the volume. Better yet, tune in to the Fox News show Outnumbered and again, preferably, turn down the volume. You will notice some striking similarities in the 4 color-coordinated female “hosts.” Hint: It’s not their erudition or education or journalistic excellence. Fox has been the driver of this trend, like so many other harmful trends, since their debut in 1996. Sadly the other networks have fallen in line and cut their skirts shorter and shorter. From Lara Spencer’s vapid Betty Boop routine on Good Morning America to the nauseating spectacle of Savannah Guthrie sitting in the same chair formerly occupied by Barbara Walters, Jane Pauley, and Katie Couric on the Today show, this diminishment of Q and A in favor of T and A should be an embarrassment to our culture. Edward R. Murrow would be spinning in his grave. If we could hook a fan blade up to his corpse and prop him up in front of “The Kelly File” we would go a long way toward solving global warming.

But I Digress

My purpose here is not to decry the state of journalism in this country but to decry the unfairness that “looks” trump talent and hard work across the spectrum. Fat people, short people, and “ugly” people on TV are relegated to comedy relief, if they are relegated to anything at all. We must change that in order to open up new opportunities for the repressed majority called “us.”

What To Do

So, what do we do about this sorry state of affairs? How do we use our advantage? First of all, we don’t give away any of the power we have. Don’t give your hard earned money to Christi Brinkley for her Ab Stretcher, or to Cindy Crawford for her Skin Smoother or to Shaun T for his Paunch buster Polka DVD’s. We all know that the only thing that makes you skinnier is giving up bacon and, for God’s sake, it’s just not worth it. And we should know, if we don’t, that the only way to look young is to be friggin’ young – or to make a deal with the devil. (I’m looking at you Dick Clark. Oh, yeah, I guess the devil finally got him.) Also, don’t go see movies with “hot skinny young starlets” in them. If it doesn’t have Melissa McCarthy in it, boycott it. And, you know what, boycott her, too, as a traitor. What is she thinking, losing all that weight. Where is her pride?

Next, we have to organize. If Wayne LaPierre and the NRA can run this country of three hundred eighteen million people as their own private fiefdom and the AARP can spook legislators into a buffalo stampede by saying BOO! what could 317.9 million ugly people accomplish if we just voted our self interest and actually ran for office. And we already have a start in politics. Bernie Sanders is not exactly a GQ model and Mitch McConnell doesn’t have enough chin to put on a pillowcase.

We will call our group SOAP – Society Of Average People or maybe HISS – Homely Individuals Standing Strong or, how about UGLY – United Group of Lummoxes and Yahoos. So, lets get SOAP rolling. I’ll be the President (or Benevolent Dictator if you will) and we will draft a few of our talented brethren who have become famous to do PR for us. I envision a PSA starring Steve Buscemi, Dawn French, and Sandra Bernhard. In fact, why hasn’t somebody put them in a movie together already? That would be awesome!

Steve Buscemi – No George Clooney in the looks department but one helluva actor!

Dawn French – Not sure if it’s okay to have a crush on a Vicar, but I always have!

Sandra Bernhard – A conventional beauty? Perhaps not. But smart, talented, and sexy as hell if you ask me.

Here’s a Modest Proposal for the twenty-first century; let’s round up those feckless, shallow, phony-boob-bearing, Escalade-driving, wheat-grass-chugging, sit-up-doing, little twits and turn them into Soylent Green (Google that one, youngsters. Who said Charlton Heston never made a good movie?) In honor of Jonathan Swift, our campaign will be called Eat the Pretty Ones and we will get a good New York advertising firm to market it for us – and then we will eat them, too. After all, if we are going to lift up and celebrate the persecuted big-boned American public we are gonna need a reliable protein source.

Finally, we need to heed the words of Mitch Benn. Love your love handles. Love yourself. We are who we are. We look like what we look like. We deserve to be happy. After all, our contribution to this world is just as important as, say Paris Hilton’s, isn’t it?

by: Dustin Joy

Love Your Love Handles – Full Lyrics

Every day we’d see them, in all the magazines

They don’t look like anybody, we’ve ever really seen

They make us feel so ugly, but now it’s time to stop cause

They don’t look like that either, without the aid of Photoshop so

Love your love handles, love your double chin

and your receding hairline, and all your saggy skin and

see your folds and creases in a whole new way, starting today

Some people try their hardest, to make all our lives hell cause

They’ve all got moisturizers, and diet drinks to sell

Don’t have to ask permission, to be heard or seen

Don’t need to make excuses, for being a human being, so

Love your love handles, love your laughter lines

Cause every one’s a medal, for all the happy times

Love your bumpy eyelids and your wonky nose, so everyone knows

All of our imperfections, all our asymmetry

They’re an important part of, what makes us you and me

Who cares what someone looks like, long as they have their health

Be good to everybody, starting with yourself, cause

We’re not all supermodels, we’re not all movie stars

Most of us look exactly, like what we really are

We feel like we’re abnormal, but that’s ridiculous cos there’s

maybe a couple of hundred of them and six and a half billion of us

Love your love handles, love your crooked teeth

Cherish that wobbly tummy, and whatever lies beneath now

Love your fuzzy nipples, and your droopy chest, and all of the rest

Love your love handles, love your dimply thighs

Lanky, dumpy, scrawny, whatever shape or size

You’ll find you can be happy and comfortable in, your own skin

A True Story (with minor embellishment ) #2 – A Hero of a Sort

Posted onAugust 24, 2015November 22, 2016

I was in the restroom at Wal-Mart. I was washing my hands. I was luxuriating in the warm water. It was a Wednesday, I think, and it was a good day. I was home from a four-day trip. I was off work. I did not have to rush. I did not have to answer questions. I did not have to please bosses or passengers or co-workers. I did not have to please anyone. I was not required to demonstrate my acumen or diligence or stick-to-it-ivness or people skills. And it was Christmastime! I had listened to Bing sing about a White Christmas and Elvis sing about a Blue Christmas and the Bare Naked Ladies sing about a Green Christmas. But I was having a beautiful brown Christmas and I was with my lovely wife and my brilliant little boy in the Mecca of American capitalism and I was feeling warm and beloved. And then the door opened.

And in stepped – a woman. She was not an attractive woman. She was plain. She was perhaps a woman who had suffered sadness and disappointment in her life due to her genetic plainness. And I know a thing or two about genetic plainness. She was middle aged- as I am myself. She was thick around the middle – as I am myself. She had streaks of gray in her dull brown hair- as I do myself. She had a worn and unstylish old brown coat. Okay, mine is blue.

And she was perplexed and embarrassed. I saw her perplexication immediately and I felt a surge of compassion and kinship with her. I have made mistakes before. I have been on the wrong end of bad decisions. I have struggled myself through this hard and challenging world of obstacles. I have suffered “the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.”

I smiled. I smiled a wide winning smile as if to say that I would not contribute to her pain. I would not be one of those who had made fun of her in grade school or pushed her down in the playground. I would not mock her error or hold her up to ridicule. I smiled to say that I had forgiven her immediately. Her faux pas was a “no pas” in my book. She was off the hook. She needn’t have concerned herself even had I been standing at a urinal. Indeed I thought how much more delicious would have been my magnanimity had I been at a urinal. But she blushed. “I’m so sorry,” she stammered, puzzled and confused. And I, in my genuine magnanimity airily waved away her concern. “de nada,” I thought. “It was nothing,” I said, “I have done that many times,” which was a lie, but only a small one.

It felt so good to forgive her. This was perhaps the metaphorical cherry on the top of this already outstanding day. Not only was I warm and beloved and free from responsibility, I was a hero, of a sort. I was a good guy. I was a guy with enough confidence and savoir faire that I was above being an enforcer of social rules. This was her lucky day. She had barged into the right restroom at the best possible time. For, not only would she be alleviated of her embarrassment, she might gain, from my easy absolution, a new faith in her fellow man. And perhaps even a new faith in men, for I discerned, in a moment, that she had not always been treated well by the male of the species. “Your contrition is not wanted here, my lady,” I thought, but I could see she was contrite. She was used to cowering. She was used to wincing. She was used to masking her shame in nervous laughter and hidden tears.

“But not here,” I thought, “not in my restroom. Not today.” She affected a little bow and turned to leave much like a geisha backing out of a room. “Be not troubled,” I thought, “For all is well.” She looked relieved, or overwhelmed, or perhaps …nauseous? “No bigee,” I said, gesturing toward the door, “after you.”

I wadded my paper towel and launched it along a trajectory which intersected perfectly with the open garbage bin – nothing but air! And throwing my jacket over my outstretched arm and sucking in my gut just a little I pushed open the door and we walked out together- out of the ladies room.

The Embellishment: My coat was brown, too. And, okay, I missed the garbage can.

Postscript: This is one of my only pieces to ever be “published.” A shorter version of this got honorable mention in the River City Reader Short Fiction contest in 2013. I guess that somewhat diminishes its status as a True Story.

by: Dustin Joy

A True Story (with minor embellishment) – The Dude

Posted onAugust 16, 2015October 8, 2015

Caution: This story contains foul language, specifically the words “motherfucker” and “poop” and, for my vegan friends, gratuitous reference to bacon. If you object to such language I suggest you- oops, sorry.

I got onboard the hotel van this morning at 4:00 AM central time in Cincinnati. The van was filled with sober and sedate pilots and flight attendants sitting silently, nodding off or looking at their phones as flight crew tend to do at 4:00 am.

The other four passengers were a group of exuberant, perhaps “lit up,” twenty-somethings who were just a little past the point of tolerable for this time of the day. I believe they had not so much gotten up early to catch their flight, as stayed up late to do so. The runt of the litter who we might call “Tiny” weighed 300 if he weighed a pound. They were all wearing flip flops, baggy shorts, and t-shirts that looked like they had been slept in (or passed-out in).

About five minutes after our scheduled van departure time, the fifth member of their group (the leader?) finally hove into view from the hotel lobby, climbed aboard, and plopped down practically in the lap of a very stern-looking United Captain who had already been tapping his watch for the last five minutes. “The Dude,” as he shall hereafter be called, was wearing the requisite flip flops, a dirty “wife beater” with some samples of last night’s meal on it (I would suspect poutine if we had been in Canada. Gravy, at least, was involved), and a pair of droopy shorts with what looked very much like poop smeared across the bottom.

The United Captain scowled relentlessly but the Dude, totally oblivious to this, jumped up, ran to the front of the bus, and started an impromptu rap performance which went as follows. His mates joined in immediately with beatbox sound effects:

“Four o’clock in the morning,
Cookin’ bacon,
Motherfucker in the kitchen,
With a bulletproof
Apron”

This, I had to concede, was better than I could come up with at 4:05 AM. I know I never would have thought to rhyme bacon and apron or even how to work “motherfucker” in effectively. Even the United captain couldn’t help chuckling at this.

Having apparently exhausted his repertoire with that simple, excellent verse, or feeling perhaps that nothing more was deserved by his thankless and unresponsive audience, the Dude resumed his seat. The United Captain, hoping to avoid another game of musical chairs grimaced and shrank back against the wall leaving the Dude an ample landing strip.

Noticing, perhaps for the first time, that we were all in uniform the Dude suddenly waxed philosophical about aerodynamics. He pestered the good Captain all the way to the airport about the unlikeliness that them “big jets” could really get off the ground. As we bid the group goodbye at the terminal, the Dude asked each of us, in turn, whether we planned to “hit the liquor store” after the flight which always sounds good in front of fifty passengers waiting in line. The last I saw of the Dude and his crew was at the TSA security checkpoint where they were being diverted into the private screening area (usually a bad sign). Godspeed, Dude! I have to admire anyone with that much energy at 4:00 in the morning (even if it is chemically induced).

The Embellishment: You may have wondered what aspect of this story I made up or exaggerated. As Garrison Keillor would say, this is a “true” story. The only made-up thing in it is the United Captain’s sour demeanor. He was, in fact, enchanted with the Dude and chatted with him enthusiastically all the way to the airport. Surprised?

by: Dustin Joy

Lighter Fare

Posted onJune 23, 2015August 1, 2015

I realize that my last post was perhaps a little “dark” for some of my audience. It may have been a bit self-indulgent to share it with you and I thank you for your comments. Writing has always been cathartic for me, though, and telling that sad story has helped me wrap my mind around it and move on.

In the spirit of changing the tone and the mood of the blog I would like to take this opportunity to share with you some of the actual photos I have taken myself and accumulated during my travels. I absolutely love quirky, odd things and superlatives. I will happily drive 50 miles out of my way through the sand hills of Nebraska to see Chimney Rock which is …. well, … I just can’t do it justice ….okay, it’s a big rock that, get this, looks like a chimney. I love giant statues of Paul Bunyan, and fish, and the biggest whatever, wherever. And I love weird juxtapositions and clever put-ons. This country, in my experience, is not a sad place fundamentally. It is a fun place filled with interesting characters and crazy, wacky folks doing interesting things. Here are a few:

Yeah, I guess that’s a pretty big twine ball. I love the little qualifier they have stuck in there in very small letters (By 1 man). I’m hoping that means there is an even bigger twine ball out there (made by a whole family, perhaps)

Actual sign about a block from the Canadian Parliament Building in Ottawa, Ontario. Presumably it is near the Ministry of Silly Walks.

A “pro-reading” sticker on a light post in Portland, Maine. They are passionate about their reading in Maine, it seems.

Chicagoans are just as passionate about web-surfing, apparently, at least according to this sticker on a CTA bus.

Cleveland, Ohio Wal-Mart parking lot – Okay, I believe the boyfriend thing and I believe the 28 cat thing, but I don’t believe them at the same time.

Amtrak Train between Galesburg, IL and Chicago. – “Never Exit a Moving Train” You must admit it’s good advice!

Kenora, Ontario Auto Repair shop. – Yeah, that’s a pretty big bug!

Riverside, Iowa – My favorite part is that it’s the Future Birthplace of Captain James T. Kirk.

Chicago Modern Art Museum – Lesson: Don’t give the four year old the keys.

My favorite elevator at the Holiday Inn in Harrisburg, PA. Good luck getting to the fourth floor where my room was.

Broadway, New York City – Big Gay Ice Cream! Is there any other kind?

Santa Fe, New Mexico – Some people just really like Peeps.

Kenosha, Wisconsin – Some people just really like Jelly Beans. Former President George Bush done completely in Jelly Belly Jelly Beans. I thought it was Reagan that was so crazy about those.

Jacksonville International Airport, Jacksonville, Florida – I swear to God he was just standing there reading a magazine as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

Graffiti on bridge near Bethlehem, PA – “#Menstruationation” I’m way to smart to comment on that.

Amtrak Train near Princeton, Illinois – A key chain on the handbag of an Amish woman. No keys needed, obviously.

Prairie du Chien, Wisconsin – World’s Largest Hand-Carved Sturgeon. It was a close thing for awhile, but this is the winner!!!

Muscatine, Iowa – Yeah, that’s a pretty big Mark Twain!

McDonalds, Gatineau, Quebec – Did you ever wonder how to say “Twoallbeefpattiesspecialsaucelettucecheesepicklesonionsonasesameseedbun” in French. Well, now you know.

Sporting goods store, Iowa City, Iowa – Skis on a kids bike – What could go wrong?

Wichita, Kansas – Christian Scientists are hungry for knowledge – and pepperoni! Credit for that clever caption to my friend Gregg.

Syracuse, New York – “Paradise of Love Daycare.” Boy, they like to set the expectations pretty high right off the bat. The best part was the menacing looking guy driving the van who was a doppelgänger for Javier Bardem’s character in “No Country for Old Men.”

Allentown, Pennsylvania – Yep, that’s a rear-view mirror sticking out of the snow. No matter how bad your Winter was this year, it wasn’t this bad.

Oklahoma City, OK – Unnamed hotel breakfast buffet. “Pork Ham” – redundant, you might say. After tasting it I still wasn’t sure.

Spam Museum – Austin, Minnesota – No Pork Ham here. It’s “Spiced Ham”. And yes, they give free samples.

Meijer Gardens, Grand Rapids, Michigan – Yeah, that’s a pretty big horse. And, yeah, that’s me about to get squished.

And, Finally,

Barne’s and Noble, Iowa City, IA – An actual side-by-side display. Let’s see, I can get the life story of the Nobel Prize Winning teenager who was shot in the face by the Taliban religious extremists for speaking out in favor of letting girls go to school or …… you know…. that Duck Commander Girl…. you know, she was on Dancing with the stars…..Nice Job, Barne’s and Noble.

Pilot’s Journal – The Soundtrack

Posted onJune 5, 2015August 1, 2015

June 4, 2015 – Amarillo, TX

“Well we’re living here in Allentown,
and they’re closing all the factories down,
out in Bethlehem they’re killing time,
filling out forms,
standing in line”
Allentown by Billy Joel

The human brain is a weird and wonderful thing. We think of the mind in terms of consciousness; Descartes said “I think, therefore I am.” Most of us probably consider our brains to be a necessary tool. We consider what our brain can do for us (help us solve math problems, read a book, surf the web for cute kitten pictures). It allows us, some of us more than others, to think about things, analyze them, and edit them for release to the public (e.g. Not telling the whole world that one of your brain’s top three functions is surfing the web for cute kitten pictures).

But our brains are involved in a great deal more than consciousness. If your brain is anything like mine (and I will not insult you by suggesting that it is) your brain has projects of it’s own; internal programs that it runs without your permission and sometimes without your conscious participation. And it seems to me that some of this behind-the-scenes work is actually very good and beneficial to us. It does (sometimes) prevent us from saying stupid things. It pulls our hand away from the hot stove. And it allows us to catch a ball thrown to us. Think of the physics involved in calculating the trajectory of a thrown object; adjusting for mass and velocity and wind and …. I bet you cannot do those calculations on a sheet of paper but your brain makes the necessary calculations and predictions and…..voila! you catch the ball.

Your brain, while an amazing and wonderful computer, does have it’s limitations. You can demonstrate this quite easily. Try this test sometime when you are in an airport or other locale which has “moving sidewalks.” When the moving sidewalk is functional (moving) you can walk onto it smoothly and confidently because your brain is familiar with this machine and makes the necessary adjustments to your stride to account for the suddenly moving floor. What is cooler is when you approach a moving sidewalk which is broken (not moving, which is sadly too common in airports). As you approach you will notice it’s lack of movement and you will (involuntarily) say “damn.” But that’s not the test. Here’s the test. Try to walk onto it. Just walk right along as you normally would on a regular concrete sidewalk. You know this moving sidewalk is not moving. You know this. You can see it. But I guarantee that you will stumble just a little as you take that first step onto this non-moving moving sidewalk. It is a case, apparently, where the brain’s amazing unconscious ability to analyze, calculate, and extrapolate override even the conscious brain’s solid and valid input. It is interesting.

Among these unbidden and unconscious brain functions that my brain wastes time on is what I call “The Soundtrack.” My soundtrack consists of songs that “run through my mind,” sometimes all day long. I know this phenomenon is hardly unique. But my ear worm is not just the latest Taylor Swift number that you would gladly lobotomize yourself to be rid of. Because I’m a pilot and travel for a living I suppose, my soundtrack is geography based. Let me explain.

When I take a flight to Allentown, Pennsylvania I can be assured that, before I leave the airport to get in the hotel van, the song “Allentown” by Billy Joel will be running on an endless loop inside my head until the landing gear are retracted after takeoff when I leave. During all my waking hours in Allentown I will hear in my mind and sometimes find myself mumbling

No they never told us what was real,
Iron and Coke and Chromium Steel…

This is relentless and it is exacerbated by sights and sounds which reinforce a city’s famous attributes. For example, our hotel in Allentown is actually right next to the famous Bethlehem Steel works which was once the largest steel mill in the world and now houses a casino. When I walk outside the hotel and see the rusting old hulk in the distance it is almost inevitable that Billy Joel’s booming voice will increase in volume (not to 10, mind you, but certainly 6).

Now, you may not think this would be a problem. As I said, everyone has ear worms whether they be ABBA’s “Dancing Queen”, or Billy Ray Cyrus “Achy Breaky Heart.” (hah, hah! I got you, didn’t I.) How many songs could there be about cities, states, and landmasses? Well, as it turns out, A HELLUVA LOT! As I walk around downtown Wichita good old Glen Campbell is with me, inside my head, in fact, crooning Jimmy Webb’s great old lyrics.

I am a lineman for the county,
and I drive the main road,
searchin’ in the sun for another overload
Wichita Lineman by Jimmy Webb

I cannot overnight in Cincinnati, or even land there without this running through my head;

Baby, if you’ve ever wondered,
wondered whatever became of me,
I’m living on the air in Cincinnati,
Cincinnati WKRP …
WKRP by Tom Wells

In New York City the unbidden voice of Sinatra intrudes, of course;

I want to wake up in a city,
that doesn’t sleep,
And find I’m king of the hill,
top of the heap…
Theme from New York, New York
by John Kander and Fred Ebb

And the thing is, I’m not really a big Sinatra fan.

It’s one thing to sing the wrong lyrics in public and fill in the unknown lines with dah, dee, dahh, dum. But what I find is that I do the same thing on my brain soundtrack. I know some of the Rodgers and Hammerstein favorite “Oklahoma” which runs through my head when I walk through Bricktown in Oklahoma City ….

OOOOOOKLAHOMA! where the wind comes
sweeping down the plain,
and the wavin’ wheat can sure smell sweet,
when the …..Dah, De, Dah, De, Dum Dum…

Yeah, Dum Dum is right. Is deluding yourself worse than deluding others?
(Small aside here. The song Oklahoma from the musical of the same name is actually the state song of the State of Oklahoma. It was adopted in 1953. That is one of those delicious little tidbits of fact that you run across from time to time which just make you smile. I would love to run into the crusty right-wing Senator James Inhofe sometime just so I could remind him that his bright red state’s state song was written for a Broadway play by a couple of New York composers.)

And on it goes. I was landing at O’Hare the other day and, yep, Sinatra again;

This is my kind of town, Chicago is
My kind of town, Chicago is,
My kind of people, too
People who smile at you…
My Kind of Town
by Sammy Cahn and Jimmy Van Heusen

Not always my experience in Chicago, but perhaps I don’t smile enough, either.
Over West Virginia, John Denver chimes in;

Almost Heaven, West Virginia,
Blue Ridge Mountains, Shenandoah River,

When I’m ordering a Filet-o-fish at a McDonalds in Denver he is back;

Colorado Rocky Mountain Hiiiiiigh,
I’ve seen it rainin’ fire in the sky,
The shadow from the starlight,
is softer than a lullaby,
Rocky Mountain Hiiiiiigh ….

I walk around the Grand Ole Opry and the Lovin’ Spoonful are inside my cranium;

Well, there’s thirteen hundred and fifty-two
guitar pickers in Nashville,
and they can pick more notes than the number of ants,
on a Tennessee ant hill,
Yeah, there’s thirteen hundred and fifty-two
guitar cases in Nashville,
and any one that unpacks his guitar,
could play twice as better than I will…
Nashville Cats

Well, that one is just awesome, you gotta admit. I don’t mind that ear worm at all. Although, in the spirit of full disclosure I always sang it as “fifteen hundred and fifty-two” guitar pickers. John Sebastian’s line, I will admit, sounds better than mine. Imagine that.

I could continue my sad catalog of musical woe. There are many more geographical references in song than you might guess. Somehow my brain seems to know more songs than I do if that is possible and it cues up the right 45 at just the appropriate moment (Millennials, you’ll have to ask your parents to explain what a 45 is. No, it’s not a gun.)

When I’m walking in Memphis, of course, I’m Walkin’ with Marc Cohn. When I’m in Philadelphia Bruce Springsteen’s halting, haunting number is ever present. Unfortunately, when I’m at the Subway in Tulsa, I’m on Tulsa Time with Don Williams (Once again, not a huge country fan but, what are you gonna do. There it is.)

I take off north out of Hartford and bank left over beautiful western Massachusetts and I hear James Taylor;

Now the first of December was covered with snow,
and so was the turnpike from Stockbridge to Boston,
though the Berkshires seemed dreamlike
on account of that frosting,
with ten miles behind me and ten thousand more to go…
Sweet Baby James by James Taylor

I love that one, too.

So why are there so many songs about places and why do they ring through my head? It’s because we love places and the people in them. These songs bring back memories to us of the places we have been and the places we live and, of course, the places we would like to go. I love geography. I love maps. I love to travel. So, I guess it should not be a surprise that my particular species of ear worm is about places. If I could train my brain to redirect the energy required for my “soundtrack” to more meaningful activity I would probably be polishing my Nobel prize or, as Mark Twain said “Keeping store, no doubt, and respected by all.” But, as when Stephen Colbert asked neural scientist Francis Collins “where would I stab a pencil to get Call me Maybe out of my head?” I am unable to rid myself of my particular ear worm. I do wish that I liked all the songs on the album (Album? Again, millennials, ask your parents). That would make it more bearable. Fortunately I like most of them. I might as well embrace my soundtrack. At least I save a lot of money on iTunes.

P.S. I’m in Amarillo this morning. So I’m sure you can guess the playlist for Dustin’s head today.