cars

Easily Amused

Posted on October 15, 2009 at 12:01 am

by Richard

Here’s a hot flash. A tip from the frontline. Men, it seems, are easily amused. Well, I say it’s men, but for all I know, it could be women as well. Or even just child-like (notice I didn’t say childish) dudes. I know this (for sure, this latest time) because of what happened to me on an early evening drive toward home a couple of nights ago.

I was coming back from a meeting at Zippy the Monkey Boy’s school and had to drive along a dark, winding road that was full of McMansions right up close to the road and smaller houses with practically enormous, wooded lots. It’s a tricky road, so the speed limit’s sort of low.

Anyway, as I was driving along that night I thought I saw something off the road to my right. Instinctively (hey, look it’s a shiny thing. Oooooohhh!), I slowed down and started trying to see what it was. (Maybe I’m easily bored as well?) And I was amply rewarded for my efforts.

There, about a foot away from the side of the road, standing in a shallow swail, was a small fawn. Since I was going so slowly, I touched the brakes and quickly stopped so I could keep looking at the fawn. Now, understand. I know Charlotte, NC, isn’t exactly New York City, but it’s not the uncharted wilds of the Yukon either. I’ve seen deer fleetingly before, darting from one empty lot to another.

But this. . . This was different. The fawn just stayed there. I couldn’t take my eyes off it, dudes. It’s furry, white tail was twitching contentedly as it kept munching on the grass by the road. I’d never been this close to an exceedingly skittish wild animal before.

After a few minutes, another car pulled up behind me. They must have seen the deer because they didn’t honk or anything. They just sat there behind me. Ditto the second car. It was the third car that ruined it for all of us. I’m going to assume the driver didn’t actually see the deer and intentionally frighten it away. But it did. The driver gunned the car’s motor and roared around the three cars stopped in the road. The deer, of course, vanished into the dark woods.

Now, my little dudes love to see animals of all kinds, especially those which live on their own in the wild. So I rushed home and slammed open the door, already spilling my tale of the road-side deer. The little dudes couldn’t have cared less. Apparently, the thrill must be visceral, rather than vicarious. I, though, couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Something as small, as ordinary, as a deer cropping grass along the side of the road had the power to enchant me. Was it seeing the wild nature of the fawn slow long enough to share itself with me? Was it the fact I was surprised to see anything wild in my (sort-of) urban environment? Am I easily distractable? (Oooohh, look. Shiny!) I don’t really know.

All I do know is I was a lucky man, or luckier than normal, for a minute or two.

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Thunderbirds Are Go! No, Really

Posted on September 9, 2009 at 12:01 am

by Richard

There’s a writer named Warren Ellis. Shocking, I know. And so what? Well, every once in a while, this man writes something that really touches me, either in the head or the heart. Recently he wrote how a bunch of puppets (marionettes, really) can help save the world. I think he’s right.

Writing in the UK version of Wired magazine, Ellis talks about how to bring about a future of flying cars and personal jetpacks. In other words, a future we would all really love to live in. Well, at least I certainly would. In the essay, his basic premise is that the 1965 tv show, Thunderbirds, will help raise a new generation of inventive, if now exactly exacting, scientists and engineers.

Thunderbirds is Rescue Fiction. All kids respond to rescue scenarios. Rescue Fiction is emotionally maturing – it removes the wish for magic, religion or flying people to zoom in to save the day; it confirms that it is a far more glorious and dazzling thing to invent ways to rescue ourselves.

What he’d like to do is generate in kids a feeling of self-sufficiency, a feeling of hi-ho let’s go. The wonder of imagination. A personal imagination, rather than something sucked from the great glass teat.

See, the Thunderbirds are a rescue organization founded by an insane billionaire, who bought a remote island, kitted it out with his own spaceship and loads of cool flying vehicles. All so he could go help people.

But here’s the important bit. Not that the stuff in Thunderbirds breaks and people need to be rescued – but that people thought of and built that stuff in the first place. Plans to move the entire Empire State building; nuclear-powered irrigation plants; rocket fuel derived from seawater; sending a crewed space probe to the Sun itself to steal a chunk of solar matter. That’s some big thinking – like something I’d find in Geoff Manaugh’s BLDGBLOGBook. As with all great children’s fiction, it trades in vast, demented concepts – all presented as things people have thought of. That is incredibly important: immense and very beautiful ideas as solutions to problems. And those solutions just happen to be variable- geometry rocket-planes and VTOL megacarriers and space stations tricked out like 1950s ideal robot homes of the future. (Thunderbird 5, it does look a bit like it has wood panelling down its sides.)

As much as I love super-heroes, with their magical men and women swooping down to save the day for poor benighted humanity (and I do), I still think Ellis has a great idea here. Showing kids the sort of whacked-out concepts and designs that run rampant through Thunderbirds is a great idea. If we do, maybe we’ll get a couple of mad scientists in the next generation. Scientists whose imaginations aren’t bound by the conventional. “Those fools on the Council! They thought I was mad! But my invention works! Now I’ll show the world.” That’s a traditional mad scientist rant, yeah?

It’s something I’d like to hear more of.

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The More Things Change. . .

Posted on July 3, 2009 at 12:01 am

Some things, it seems, never will change. Take my middle little dude, just as a for instance. Zippy the monkey boy got his name because, as a little little dude, he would climb anything he saw. I mean anything. Couches, legs, counters, trees, fences, cars. Seriously. Anything.

I’d thought that as he grew older (he’s now approaching his 15th birthday) he just might have grown out of it. Turns out I was wrong. Very, very wrong.

When we were at the beach for our family vacation last month, Zippy and I parted ways after the deep-sea fishing trip. He stayed behind to eat lunch with some of the cousins his own age, while I headed into town for a little shopping. What can I say? That’s how I roll.

Anyway, he headed home with the cousins to an empty condo. There was no one home. To top it off, the front and back doors were locked and, he said, he couldn’t find any way in.

So, what did he do? Did he decide to stay with the cousins? Did he ask an adult for help? No. Of course not.

He reverted to type.

Zippy the monkey boy decided to climb up the outside of the condo to the second-story balcony, clamber over the iron railing and then open the sliding-glass door to get inside. Luckily, the sliding-glass door was unlocked and he got in without incident.

Here’s an artist’s conception of Zippy the monkey boy getting into the empty condo.

chimpanzee_at_disneys_animal_kingdom

Considering the artist has never met Zippy, well, let’s just say it’s a pretty good likeness.

– Richard

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