Off to Mourn the Wizard

Bill Nye, the Science Guy: Good morning. I want to thank you all for coming on such notice. It is not typical for the Brotherhood of Fictional Science to meet on such short notice, but I feel that we could not wait for the next Halley’s Comet to come round, as per protocol. Before we begin, I would everyone to go around the room and give their name and field of expertise.
Beakman: My name is Beakman, and my world is zoology.
Spock: I am Mr. Spock. I can be of help with intergalactic astronomy.
Bunsen Honeydew: Yes, greetings. I am Dr. Bunsen Honeydew and this is my assistant, Beeker.
Beeker: MEEP!!!
Honeydew: We are skilled chemists.
Mr. Peabody: And hello, my name is Peabody, and this is my adopted boy Sherman. We are experts in time and space physics.
Nye: Excellent. Now as some of you may have heard, we've lost a brother in science yesterday. I know it's been a while since we've had a meeting or he's been on television, but I just learned that Mr. Wizard passed away, succumbing to cancer at age 90.
Beakman: In tribute, we must each pour a beaker of unknown brightly colored chemical compound out onto the pavement, in honor of our fallen brother.
Beaker: MEEP!
Honeydew: No, not YOU, Beeker. Had you no idea that you and I are named after random laboratory equipment? That Henson fella didn't try too hard in that department.
Beaker: meep...
Honeydew: Yeah, I know.
Mr. Peabody: How can you even understand a damn thing that guy is saying? All of his words are not only unintelligible, they're identical!
Honeydew: Honestly? I haven't a clue what he says all day. Faking it.
Spock: Allow me to mind meld with the lad. I will translate. (engages in mind meld) Ah, you see, Dr. Beaker has some brilliant theories on the acceleration of airborne particle fusion, not to mention some riveting ideas on nuclear atomization of sea turtles. But for now, all he has in his voice is sadness. Complete sadness.
Nye: As do we all, my colleague. Mr. Wizard was a staple in the educating of young minds via television. Without him, I would have no idea how to create a tornado by using a couple two-liter bottles.
Mr. Peabody: What I wouldn't give to put the youth of today in our WABAC machine. They could see that there's more science in two-liter bottles than just cramming a Mentos in there.
Beakman: And I had no idea that I could create contained housefires within my mom's stock pot. Some might say that I can credit my existence on morning television to the man.
Honeydew: You haven’t lived until you’ve created a paper mache volcano, or shot a rocket into the sky between tapings of The Muppet Show. Isn’t that right, Beeker? (looks around) Beeker?
Beeker: Mppp eeeep Mpp Meep Meeee Mppp Meppp.
Honeydew: Don't cry, old friend. It will be okay. Science will live on.
Nye: Of course it will. Thanks to YouTube, anyone can go back and honor Mr. Wizard, as the best intro sequence in scientific history is available there.
Spock: And yet, your intro theme has been viewed over 25,000 more times than his.
Nye: Dude, I'm THE Science Guy. Not some Science Guy. THE Science Guy.
Beaker: MEEP!
Spock: He called you an egomaniacal jerk.
Nye: Big words from a man whose jaw hinges at the back of his neck.

Flushing in Fear

There are dangers in this world. Dangers that people need to be warned about. Natural disasters, potential terror attacks, movies about above-average intelligence infants – the public deserves to know what’s coming to them. Fortunately, we’ve evolved as a species to the point where we can put alert notification protocol in place long before it becomes too late. But before we continue, we pause for this message from the Emergency Blogcast System…

Eeeirrrrrgg. Eeeirrrrgg. Eeiiiiirrrrrrggggh.
This is a test. This is only test. If this were a real blogging emergency, we would have shifted from original, well-crafted comedy in favor of some YouTube video of a guy getting hit in the groin with a baseball. And the screen would flash red. Or something. I don’t know. Never happened before. But it could.This is only a test.

Booooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooop.

You see, just like the EBS, we’ve come up with perfectly good ways to alert people of nearby danger. On highways, we have electronic overpass signage. In Homeland Security, we have a Skittles-sponsored Taste the Rainbow of Doom System. Natural disasters, if meteorological in composition, can be tracked and trumpeted by our friends at the National Weather Service. Their wide array of brightly-colored precipitation maps will let you know when to bring an umbrella and when to get in your car and drive to Arizona.

But what will be in your Flagstaff-bound Camry, praetell?

It’s one thing to warn people about when there will be gale force winds and cows flying through the air. It’s another to remind them to be prepared for the next Aerial Bovine attack. YAB fully endorses the efforts of www.ready.gov, in hopes that the next time a pal of Katrina chooses to blow, we as the American People will be prepared.

But there? Really?

Like I said, FEMA has the aforementioned website to instruct people what they will need in desperate times. Of course, the FEMA website may not be on your morning blogroll of things to check out before starting work. That’s understandable. So by partnering with a grassroots effort (and that likely includes the Health and Safety guy that works for us), they’ve designed posters to remind you to be prepared. They’re far more omnipresent that a website. Seems like perfectly good bulletin board fodder to me.

I said BULLETIN BOARD.

In recent years, restaurants have become quite adept at discovering a great way for men to spend just as much time in their bathrooms as women. They call it the Urinal News. (Although I would prefer the much-truncated Urinews.) Above a standing stall, one can find a glass-enclosed front page or sports page of the day’s paper before them. This is cutting edge current events acquisition, people. And I’m all for it.

What I’m not for? Public Service Announcements above thy wall-fused throne.

This is where I found the huge picture of a cyclonic weather system over Louisiana, accompanied by the big red letters “ARE YOU READY FOR AN EMERGENCY???” Good God, people. I don’t exactly find this to be the appropriate time for a FEMA Shock and Awe campaign, do you? Way to catch a guy with his pants, er, open. The last thing I need to think about in this situation is where I’m going to get a flashlight and canned food on such short notice. Lesser men could be shaken by this.

And as I don’t need to remind you – this is the last place we need shaking.

What a New Jersey Will Do

Two nights ago, the Anaheim Ducks became the 2007 Stanley Cup champions. They defeated the Ottawa Senators 4 games to 2, bringing the Cup to the West Coast for the first time ever and reminding Americans everywhere that aside from the Barenaked Ladies, Canada still kind of blows. Now I don’t care that people aren’t watching the games on TV. As long as hockey continues to be the premier live sport, ticket sales ensure that the league can pay for itself just fine. What I do care about is that incredibly important conversation that occurred 15 years ago in a wealthy partner’s St. Paul law office between a reluctantly philanthropic boss and suspended young hotshot lawyer from the Breakfast Club. Now I could simply type the final cut dialogue from memory for you, as a tribute to Anaheim’s victory, but that wouldn’t do it justice. You see, that scene was originally longer – here’s the script as it was originally intended.

Gordon Bombay: Mr. Ducksworth, there are two reasons I came by. First off, I want to let you know things are going well. I'm learning a lot about teamwork, fair play and all that junk.

Gerald Ducksworth: Good, good. And the second?

Bombay: Well, sir, fair play doesn’t come cheap. These kids, my team, have no money. They can’t afford rink time, safe equipment, proper uniforms – that upstart team down the coast in San Jose – have you seen them? My GOD, they’ve cornered the market on teal unis – I predict big things for teal in the nineties. Now imagine sir, being ten years old and stepping out onto that ice. Your name is Teemu Selanne -

Ducksworth: Teemu Selanne? What the hell is a Teemu Selanne? Sounds like a Jedi Knight.

Bombay: No, he’s a left wing. I traded that ridiculous brother and sister ice dancing duo to his junior club in Finland for him. He’s gonna be great.

Ducksworth: Oh. The Force is strong with this one.

Bombay: Hi-larious. Anyway, the point I’m trying to make, sir, is that you wouldn’t be taken seriously and neither are these kids. I’ve got a goalie, Jean-Sebastian Giguere, that six years from now every one will call him by an annoying Will Smith lyrics, and fail to realize what an upgrade in net he’s been over the fat kid from Philly.

Ducksworth: GOLD-BERG…

Bombay: So, I thought maybe the firm could help ‘em out.

Ducksworth: (sighs) How much are we talking about?

Bombay: $157 million.

Ducksworth: No way.

Bombay: Wait a minute. Think of the goodwill. We name the team after the firm. Suddenly, we’re the good guys. Ducksworth, Saver and Gross – the firm that gives back to professional sports entertainment. And God, how horrible would it be if I went to Saver or Gross with this pitch – could you imagine? The Anaheim Gross? Eech.

Ducksworth: What do you mean, Anaheim?? Why the hell wouldn’t they be hear in Minnesota?

Bombay: Two reasons, sir. First, the Lakers once called Minneapolis their home, and they’ve ended up in Cali – so we’re just bypassing the inevitable and starting fresh in our final arena locale. Second, we’ve got the North Stars. Granted, they’ll move to Texas in a year or two, and we’ll get a new team a decade later, but that’s neither here nor there.

Ducksworth: So you’re a lawyer AND a clairvoyant?

Bombay: Nah, some dude named Desmond told me that in the hallway.

Ducksworth: I don’t know about this…

Bombay: Come on, I’ll get you your own jersey…just like Snoop Dogg…

Once again, congrats to the Anaheim Ducks 6-2 Game 6 win over Ottawa.

Apparently, it’s not worth winning if you can’t win BIG.

My Daughter the Box Turtle

So far, we feel we’ve succeeded as parents. We’ve never not known where the baby is. She’s assumed a regular schedule of eating, sleeping, and mayhem. Sure, every now and then I miss a snap or button when changing the kid, but I just tell her it’s how the cool babies wear onesies. She hasn’t insisted on getting her ears pierced or that “According to Jim” is quality television. Yeah, she’s progressing nicely, and we’re proud to be her wingman. Er…men. I mean, people. Yes. Wingpeople.

Except…

I know the adage about how new parents can’t wait to see their children learn to be mobile, but once they figure it out, how those same parents wish that they’d never learned that skill. And maybe a year from now, I’ll regret our recent efforts to teach Clara to become self-moving. But in the meantime, we’ve had a good time watching her learn. When it comes to motion, it’s a very established progression. First, a babies learn how to move their body. Then, they learn to crawl. Third, they’ll figure out how to stand. Fourth, they walk. Fifth, they become college scholarship-eligible high hurdlers with a free ride to a D1 track program. Yep, this progression is old as time.

However, we’ve encountered a bit of a dilemma somewhere around Step 2. For babies, crawling is the easiest way to scamper out of sight or towards that toy that rolled off their chest and four feet off the play mat. The mechanics of it are primitive, yet effective. By propelling oneself forward using the pushing of hands and feet against carper, anyone can motor by without finding the need to stand up. In order to teach this crucial skill, parents can assist by getting their small child more and more used to being on their stomach.

Slight problem: she hates it.

For the last three months, we’ve spent a little time each day placing Clara on her stomach in order to gauge her reaction. And after much research and a whole lot of data, our conclusion is…she hates it. I don’t know what it is about the pressure of floor on an infant-sized rib cage, but it triggers all the sadness of Old Yeller in our little one. She’ll cry, she’ll sob, she’ll have no intention of learning to crawl on this day.

But I guess repetition is the key to learning, and we’ve pressed on. She’s a little more comfortable, but by no means happy with her face-down predicament. And I don’t think it’s because she’s closer to crawling or inner nirvana. I think it’s because…

…she’s found an out.

Like clockwork, Clara has now decided that when faced with the quandary of being on her stomach, she’ll cry until she gets herself into position – and flips over to her back. Yep, she’s got her escape route out of Shawshank. Just a quiet maneuver, and roll to daylight. Or in this case, the ceiling.

Ok, Einstein, now what?

While Clara lies here contemplating what it’s like to be an inverted box turtle, here are some things that she will never end up doing in life, thanks to her patented 180:

The army crawl: Yes, the ever-so-sneaky military maneuver of getting closer to thy enemy while becoming one with the earth requires plenty of stomach-to-soil contact. Not. Gonna. Happen. If she does follow her godfather into the military, she’ll be taking a desk job. Besides, in the future warfare will be completely technological, limiting the need to get grass stains on your shirt, anyways.

Air raid drills: Back when Cuba was a credible threat, school children participated in air raid drills. A siren would go off, and they had to get as close to the ground as possible while hiding under something. (Apparently school desks in the 50’s had some sort of nuclear repellant spray on them that would spare ground-facing students with ease.) Clara’s inability to lie on her stomach won’t hurt here either, considering Cuba has become as threatening as Moby at a steak buffet.

Stolen Base Queen: The fastest of the fast on the basepaths are not afraid of a headfirst slide to elude a tag or to wreak some havoc on those who try to tag. Now the more traditional slide – feet first – would still apply for Clara, but getting her numbers up in the area of Rickey Henderson, Lou Brock, and Maury Wills is just unlikely if she has no interest in being on her stomach. And after she insists on seeing “A League of their Own,” she’ll swear that the only way to steal third is with Dirt in the Skirt, anyway.

Save Your Carry-on, Save the World (Pt. 2)

As I had mentioned two posts ago regarding my encounter with Sylar, the first season of “Heroes” has wrapped for the year. While the setting for the final showdown between Sylar and the good guys was cool (a completely abandoned city plaza), the action and the lack of closure with several characters left me disappointed. But hey, I’ve already affirmed my inability to write effective reviews of television and movies, so that’s not what I’m here to do. Instead, I’m going to find work for the Heroes.

You never know when you’ll need some scratch for the ice cream truck.

This may be a big travel summer for the family and me, as we attempt to show off the little one to as many people as possible prior to her becoming, well, more than just little. I know we have at least one more trip via the wild blue yonder, so my encounter at the airport with Sylar may become a recurring theme. Now some people will decry against the crime of overpacking – the method by which you bring everything you own even though you won’t use 80% of it – and I have to admit, it’s a valid point. I’ll be sure to only pack 3 pairs of cargo shorts instead of 4 next time. But one place I will not skimp?

Bringing Heroes to the airport.

The way I see it, each of the superpowered characters on Tim Kring’s NBC creation have some ability to make my trip through the many terminals of an international airport go smoothly. Airports are notorious for letting Vehicular Car-ma kick you in the knees (only to benefit later on, of course), and there’s nothing more frustrating to see even your most uberconservative time management scenario get shot to hell because of something beyond your control. If there were only a group of people able to bend time, space, and matter to help you along the way, you could kiss TSA woes good bye. Our assigned Heroes Airport Tasks (HATs) are as follows:

1. For half a season, Isaac Mendez was the struggling, heroin-addicted artist who could paint the future, complete with comic book-style carnage, intrigue, and color. When the moment would strike him, his eyes would gloss over, and the painting would begin. A whirlwind of brushstrokes would ensue, and when it was all said and done, you’d have canvas-based future. It seems more and more I’m getting on airplanes at ungodly early hours of the day. And since the airlines’ website never seems to be updating in real-time, it would be nice to have a nice watercolor rendering of my plane taking off with a clock in the foreground. It would be nice to know if I should pack a crossword puzzle for a grueling three hour delay. Thanks, Isaac.
2. If you are returning home, you probably have a pesky rental car to square away prior to checking in. Sadly, there’s not enough time to guarantee making it through the lines and getting that minivan back to the off-site parking. Sometimes, it would be nice to be two places in one. Enter Niki Sanders. Just let her evil alter ego do the checking in – I wouldn’t want to see her get pissed at Enterprise for a quarter tank of gas. And while you wait in line with her, you can quote all the Varsity Blues lines you want. Thanks, Niki.
3. Man, has getting through the metal detector ever become a chore these days. Now you know you’re not a terrorist, and since you’ve got the Heroes with you, there’s zero possibility that an actual terrorist would be beating the system with this next maneuver. In case you haven’t flown in awhile, you need to put your personal belongings into these gray plastic bins so that they can be X-rayed. And once you take off your shoes and belt, remove your laptop from your carry-on, drop your spare change, cell phone and keys, you’ve got an impressive 62 plastic bins to collect once you make it through. As long as you assure electronics whiz-kid Micah Sanders that you’re not a terrorist, he’ll gladly “fix” the detector so that all of this can be avoided. Thanks, Micah.
4. You’ve made it into the terminal. Congratulations. Since you have 40 minutes to spare, you decide to stand in line at the Starbucks kiosk for a well-deserved shot of caffeine. Life is good. That is, until some track star sprints right by you trying to make the 9:15 to Tampa and his carry-on hits your venti Latte with the force of Terry Tate. Good thing those 3rd-degree skin burns are only temporary – since Claire Bennet is on hand to help with those pesky searings. Thanks, Claire.
5. We were fortunate enough to travel on a plane last week that our old child mistook for a stationary room with many rows of seats. Had we explained to her that we were cruising at an altitude of 38k, she may have screamed and cried her head off, as babies are prone to do. Now while Clara was an exception to the rule, it is a well-known fact that babies like to cry on airplanes. It’s something having to do with having an audience that allows them to belt so clearly into coach and first-class. However, I wonder what they’re actually trying to tell us, since flight attendants don’t seem to have any actual idea. Enter Matt Parkman. The LAP cop who can read people’s thoughts would be glad to translate babyspeak. Thanks, Matt.
6. All this help and you STILL missed your flight? Just call Senator Nathan Petrelli. He’ll give you a lift.