All News is Old News

Is Africa a preview of the world's future?

With apologies to D'Arcy Egan, the Plain Dealer's outdoors writer.

I have taken the liberty of rewriting a portion of Mr. Egan's article "Is the Illinois River a preview of Lake Erie's future? The Battle Against Asian Carp," which appeared in the October 22, 2011 edition of the Plain Dealer. After all, the Asian Carp isn't the first invasive species.

The Wooly Mammoth Press-Prevaricator, Oct. 22, 55,001 BC

SOMEWHERE IN AFRICA - There have been experts who say human beings won't survive outside of this small enclave in Africa. The rest of the world is too cold, they suggest, and will not provide the level of comfort the funny looking bipeds need in order to thrive and reproduce.

But nobody needs to tell the saber-tooth tigers and mastodons how amazingly adaptable and resilient humans are, and how they can easily overwhelm and change a way of life. The humans are thriving here, and many mammoth scientists firmly believe they would flourish in other parts of the globe, especially in places where there is plenty of game and a wealth of fish in the lakes and rivers to encourage them to eat heartily.

As you travel through Africa, it is startling to watch the humans become comfortable on the lands they have claimed for themselves. The humans are seemingly everywhere, from smart-mouthed youngsters to behemoths who can weigh 300 pounds and much more.

It is impossible not to imagine what would happen should these erstwhile apes continue to come down from the trees and migrate to other areas.

Humans have proven they can dominate an ecosystem, displacing the native animal species. In some sections of Africa, humans already make up 90 percent of the population. Day by day, the humans are expanding their range, with new populations most recently found in a place called Europe.

If they make it to other parts of the world, experts say the humans could overwhelm the native species and, given their ravenous habits, deplete the food supply.

In the worst case, various species could face the danger of flying spears and arrows, and predatory species could see their prey disappear.

A 15-mile tour of one river provided a clear picture. Humans were everywhere, ready to grab rocks and spears at the sound of approaching wildlife. They could be spotted all along the banks of the river. They jumped up and down, yelling for their young to bring them weapons. The erratic "thumps" we felt were caused by humans hitting us with rocks they tossed from the shore.

When the number of humans increased in Asia Minor a few years ago, native species were amazed. They couldn't believe humans used weapons to obtain food, and sometimes made a game of killing native species. Dangerously armed humans were stalking the same animals local species relied on for nourishment.

"Of course they're dangerous," said one lion. "A tiger cub was recently hit by a flying spear. The spear punctured his chest. He needed to have it removed by his parents."

Preposterous Predicament

The assignment was to have fun with words beginning with P-R-E. I had fun doing this. Whether or not anyone else will find any fun in it remains to be seen.

Jackie was surprised to see Herman, her husband, in the middle of the living room attempting to touch his toes.

"What, pray tell, are you doing?"

"My preamble," he said, slowly raising himself to the full-upright position, although his stomach remained several inches below his belt. "These are the stretching exercises I do before taking my walk."

"Your walk usually ends up a prebendary."

"I know. I know," Herman said. "There were times when I walked to the bar and bent the elbow for a few days and usually wound up in the gutter. But those days are over. I'm jumping on the wagon."

"If I were you, I'd be careful. As fat as you are, if you jump on, you'll probably put the wagon in a prefixed condition."

"They'll just have to repair it," he said. "Besides, I'm going on a diet and I'll soon be a sight to behold."

"I bet," Jackie said. "I'd love to stay and watch your preamble. But I've got an appointment with the doctor, and I want to be prelate. They get so angry when I'm not on time."

After Jackie left, Herman wandered into the bedroom and looked at himself in the full-length mirror. He wasn't proud of the rotund reflection, but he thought he should have Jackie take a picture of his prefigure. Then, when he got down to a buff one-sixty-five, she could take a picture of his post-diet form. Maybe he could sell his weight-loss secrets and get rich.

A financial windfall would solve many problems. Right now, they had enough money, but with wage freezes, inflation and a balloon mortgage, the future would require some belt tightening beyond that needed to keep Herman's pants up around his soon to be slimmer waist. The pretension was obvious every time Herman and Jackie talked about finances. In a month or two, he was sure they'd have to start making difficult choices, and their fiscal fears and anxieties would dominate thoughts and discussions.

At lunchtime, Herman looked for something healthy in the kitchen. He found some prepared apples, but he didn't like to eat the skins and he didn't want to take the time to remove them. So, he went to his stash of Snicker's bars and devoured seven of them. He would have had more, but he heard Jackie come in.

"So, Mr. I'm on a Diet, who ate all the candy bars?" she asked, sneering at the empty wrappers on the counter.

With no time to prefabricate, Herman had invent a story on the spot.

"Little Johnny from next door came over and I let have a few Snicker's. It made him happy, and it got rid some temptation. I'm serious about this diet, you know."

He could tell Jackie was in a prevent mood. She wanted to tell Herman exactly what she thought of him, to yell, and shout, and scream at him. She managed to hold herself in check, but Herman knew he was just one wrong move from setting off a torrent of vitriol.

Two days later, the stress was too much for Herman. He had always thought he was a presage and would one day be renown for his wisdom. But now he was curled up on the couch in his underwear, sucking his thumb and mumbling endlessly in prediction. Jackie smiled. The doctor, who was also her lover, had told her that when Herman began babbling like a child not yet able to speak clearly, she would have no trouble getting him committed and getting a divorce. The doctor had also said he would marry Jackie. But once Herman was out of the way, he said he'd have to give marriage some thought.

"And when do you think you'll think about it?" she asked.

"I'm really busy right now," the doctor said. "I might be able to preponderate some in a couple weeks. Unfortunately, I won't be able to do any actual thinking for at least six months."

Jackie slammed the phone down. "He might be predeceased now," she thought. "But he won't be for long."

History: Same Stuff, Different Epoch

Plain Dealer outdoors writer D'arcy Egan recently wrote a series of articles on efforts to keep Asian carp out of the Great Lakes. In one piece, he discussed the Asian carp's presence in the Illinois River. And what he said about the march of the Asian carp, it seemed to me, could have been said about the march of another species, and I took the liberty of rewriting a section of that piece.

Is Africa a preview of the world's future?

With apologies to D'Arcy Egan, the Plain Dealer's outdoors writer.

The Wooly Mammoth Press-Prevaricator, Oct. 22, 55,001 BC

SOMEWHERE IN AFRICA - There have been experts who say human beings won't survive outside of this small enclave in Africa. The rest of the world is too cold, they suggest, and will not provide the level of comfort the funny looking bipeds need in order to thrive and reproduce.

But nobody needs to tell the saber-tooth tigers and mastodons how amazingly adaptable and resilient humans are, and how they can easily overwhelm and change a way of life. The humans are thriving here, and many mammoth scientists firmly believe they would flourish in other parts of the globe, especially in places where there is plenty of game and a wealth of fish in the lakes and rivers to encourage them to eat heartily.

As you travel through Africa, it is startling to watch the humans become comfortable on the lands they have claimed for themselves. The humans are seemingly everywhere, from smart-mouthed youngsters to behemoths who can weigh 300 pounds and much more.

It is impossible not to imagine what would happen should these erstwhile apes continue to come down from the trees and migrate to other areas.

Humans have proven they can dominate an ecosystem, displacing the native animal species. In some sections of Africa, humans already make up 90 percent of the population. Day by day, the humans are expanding their range, with new populations most recently found in a place called Europe.

If they make it to other parts of the world, experts say the humans could overwhelm the native species and, given their ravenous habits, deplete the food supply.

In the worst case, various species could face the danger of flying spears and arrows, and predatory species could see their prey disappear.

A 15-mile tour of one river provided a clear picture. Humans were everywhere, ready to grab rocks and spears at the sound of approaching wildlife. They could be spotted all along the banks of the river. They jumped up and down, yelling for their young to bring them weapons. The erratic "thumps" we felt were caused by humans hitting us with rocks they tossed from the shore.

When the number of humans increased in Asia Minor a few years ago, native species were amazed. They couldn't believe humans used weapons to obtain food, and sometimes made a game of killing native species. Dangerously armed humans were stalking the same animals local species relied on for nourishment.

"Of course they're dangerous," said a one lion. "A tiger cub was recently hit by a flying spear. The spear punctured his chest. He needed to have it removed by his parents."

Gee, I Didn't See That

"The man who doesn't read," someone once said, "is no better off than the man who can't." 'Tis true. 'Tis true. And 'tis equally true of the man who does not read carefully. That truth smacked me across the face not once but twice within forty-eight hours. And I was trying to get to the library both times. Strange, isn't it.

For some time now I've been telling myself I need a project. After several months of telling myself this, I got around to looking for one, and after a few more months of feigned thought and purposeful procrastination, I determined, one day last week, what the project should be. In the early 1990s, my byline appeared twice in Cobblestone, a history magazine for middle school kids. Why not see what I can do twenty years later, I thought. Being a thoroughly modern man, I went to the magazine's website and took a look at its theme list for the coming year. Saturday morning I found a couple topics I thought I could handle and checked the Ashtabula Library's hours on its website and found it was open from ten until two on Saturdays.

It was quarter of ten, so I powered up the wheelchair and headed to the library at a brisk two-and-a-half miles an hour. I haven't made many trips uptown in the wheelchair, so there was an element of discovery. What I discovered was, not all the sidewalks are ramped. Undeterred by this inconvenience, I managed to reach the library at quarter past ten. That's when I saw the sign on the door, and the sign said the library was open from eleven until four on Saturdays. I stared at it, uttered a few inappropriate utterances, checked to see what time the library opened on Monday and went back from whence I came.

At home, I rolled into the computer room and got on the library's website, determined to verify the webmaster's incompetence. There they were, the hours, in italics, just as I remembered them. But, beneath those hours, also in italics, was a note that those were the summer hours. Directly above the all the italics, in bold Times New Roman, the same print used for the other five days the library is open, the Saturday hours were listed as eleven until four. OK, I guess I should have given it a closer look the first time. But the library would reopen at ten on Monday, according to both the sign on the door and the information on the library's website.

When I got the library Monday morning, the parking lot was empty. Where are all the readers in this town? And the library employees, do they all walk to work? Perhaps they do, but they didn't on Monday. On the door, right above the sign with the hours was another sign: "We will be closed Monday, October 10, for Columbus Day," Too bad I didn't bother to read it on Saturday, October 8.

It Did Not Compute

The computer has been uncooperative for several days.

High Tech and High Strung

The computer is congested

With all the stuff it’s ingested -

The silly poems that I’ve devised

And the inane things I’ve surmised.

Yes indeedy it’s been force-fed

All my foolish nonsense instead

Of important things and the like.

Now it’s told me to take a hike.

All I asked it to do was print,

It said, “Listen, bub, take a hint,

I can’t answer when you call.

I’m not responding. That is all.”

Bad Computer

My computer needs dissected

For not behaving as it ought.

Since it hates to be corrected,

My computer needs dissected

And most thoroughly inspected

Before it’s taken out and shot.

My computer needs dissected

For not behaving as it ought.

Stumped on the Stump

It's in the dictionary: disambiguate.

It reminds me of Bush's misrememberate,

a word that always makes me hyperventilate

and sometimes even makes me discombobulate.

They're words for those who want to circumambulate

proven facts. Politicians overcompensate

with sesquipedalians to overcompensate

for ideas they'd rather not disambiguate.

They also tiptoe as they circumambulate,

or say, "Oh, I guess I must misremeberate.

That liberal press just makes me discombobulate

and more than once it's made me hyperventilate."

It is not abnormal to hyperventilate

when one's stumped and trying to overcompensate

while working so hard not to discombobulate,

worried that someone's going to disambiguate

his harangue. Then he'll claim to misrememberate,

or convolute the truth and circumambulate

it if he can. If he can't circumambulate

embarrassing stuff, he might hyperventilate,

which sometimes causes him to misrememberate

the lies he's spewed. So then he'll overcompensate

and slip in some truth that might disambiguate

the ambiguity and discombobulate

his campaign. And his hopes to discombobulate

the electorate and to circumambulate

the truth will be dashed. If folks disambiguate

his thoughts, all he can do is hyperventilate,

although, he doesn't want to overcompensate

and say he's been known to misrememberate.

The admission that he might misrememberate

could lead voters to think he'll discombobulate

under pressure. He'd rather overcompensate

by making up stuff that will circumambulate

the unpleasant, or make you hyperventilate

and just too distracted to disambiguate.

Politicians overcompensate, misrememberate.

If you disambiguate, they'll circumambulate,

Discombobulate and then hyperventilate.

Give Me that Old Time Religion

I am sitting here waiting for God to speak to me. He hasn't yet, and I'm not sure why. I mean, I'm here every day, listening for his voice in my head, or on the phone, maybe. I even cast a hopeful glance at my e-mail now and then in case that's how God reaches people nowadays. How much trouble would it be for him to call and say, "Just wanted to let you know, Tom, that you're soooo, soooo special, and I have endowed you with special powers of understanding, prophecy and insight"? He's awfully busy, I know, assuring each of the Republican presidential candidates that only he or she can save the country from perdition. But, come on, he's God, isn't he? Surely there's an angel available to take over pumping up Rick Perry's ego for a few minutes while the big guy gets in touch with me. Besides, Rick's well-coifed head might explode if the pumping doesn't stop soon.

I know I won't be an easy case for the angels and archangels, the cherubim and seraphim, and all the heavenly hosts. I've been a happy heathen for decades, and it's been a very long time since my shadow last darkened the door to the sanctuary. So much has changed, and I'll require a considerable amount of remedial work. 

You see, as a lad I donned a white shirt, coat and tie each week for the trek down South Park Road to Sunday school. And as I recall, at least one Sunday a year was given over to a discussion of the parable of the Pharisee and the publican. In that story, the Pharisee stood in the middle of the temple and, with great gusto, thanked God for making him wonderful and awe-inspiring. One of Pharisee's more notable gifts from God was a great set of lungs, which he used to let the less blessed know how proud he was to be him.  Meanwhile, the publican sneaked into a broom closet, mumbled a humble word or two and went on his way to stumble and bumble through life. This annual lesson ended with the admonition to go forth and emulate the publican.

Even to one such as I who has not been paying close attention, it is obvious the theologians have had a change of heart. It is the Pharisees who are favored by God. And if you don't believe me watch FOX News for a few minutes. Everywhere you turn the modern Pharisees are ecstatic because they're sure that voice they hear is the voice of God. And why does God speak to them? Dah. Because they're so wonderful. God doesn't talk to just anybody, you know. There are six billion people on the planet, and God can't very well talk to them all. As a result, he limits his conversation to those who are well off, well groomed, well spoken and who have marvelously self-satisfied smirks. 

And there's that thing about the meek inheriting the Earth. Like all the other ancient wisdom that makes the 21st-Century Pharisees uncomfortable, it is, they say, a faulty translation. Remember, God loves those who love themselves. Meek means weak, and God doesn't like the wishy-washy, full-of-doubt types. That's what all the blessed and wonderful people say, and they know because God told them they are blessed and wonderful. 

But, wait a minute. If all the exceedingly blessed, wonderful and outrageously proud are going to spend eternity at the right hand of God - and they are because God has told them they will - then inheriting the Earth won't be such a bad deal. All those swelled heads will make Heaven awfully crowded.