Think you’re smart? Maybe, maybe not. But tell you what---you don’t know stuff. Did you know, for instance, that a snail can sleep for three years without even reading an Ayn Rand book? Of course you didn’t. Or that all polar bears are left-handed? Look it up. Did you know that there is an aquatic creature called a hydra which doesn’t age and can live forever unless it lives in an open carry state? How about this---can you name the one place in the United States where the buffalo roam and the deer and the antelope play? We can, but we’re not telling (yet). Maybe you need to get out more, free yourself from the shackles of your comfy little nest, up to your ears in prescription medicine management.
A few of you might know that 120 years of age is the new 110. In a summary of their new book Longevity Industry 1.0, authors Dmitry Kaminsky and Margaret Colangelo report that “Life expectancy can be longer than we assume. On average, middle-aged people today can expect to live 120 years. The elderly can expect to live to 100, young people to 120 and Willie Nelson can only be stopped by kryptonite.”
Maybe they’re right. The United Nations reports there are now some 573,000 centenarians in The Villages alone. There will be 3.7 million on the planet in 2050. Stock in Depends is skyrocketing and Pinellas County is annexing all available land for shuffleboard court
construction. Last week, the Beach Boys filled in the final dates of their 2030 tour even though they readily admit their woodies are almost out of….well….gas. “Our nonagenarian audience just won’t let us quit,” proclaims 82-year-old Mike Love. “We’ll have fun, fun, fun til someone takes our CPAP machines away.”
How About Them Apples?
“An apple a day keeps the doctor away, although this might not apply to carnival candy apples or the iPad mini.”---Hippocrates
You also don’t know much about apples. No, not those ridiculous watches, the ones you eat. Despite some very bad and undeserved publicity (Thanks a lot, Eve—you, too, Wicked Witch), apples are steadily rising in popularity and for very good reasons. For one thing, they increase fertility and sperm count, if you’re into that kind of thing. Second, an apple has about 115 calories and five grams of fiber per serving. Third, the fruit’s polyphenols and fiber help balance the bacteria in your gut which has been taken over by intestinal street gangs. Don’t peel the thing---two-thirds of an apple’s antioxidants and much of its fiber is found in the skin.
Apples aid weight loss, smooth digestion, help relieve the heartbreak of constipation, arrest diarrhea, regulate bowel movements, protect your bones, reduce cholesterol, boost brain power, cleanse gums and help you learn to play the ukulele. That’s apples, folks---when you care enough to eat the very best. Dirt cheap.
What About Lizzie’s Hippie Cows?
When The Queen was alive, people obsessed over her corgis and horses. Almost nobody knew she owned all the swans in London and nary a soul was aware of her cows. Queen Elizabeth’s farm manager Mike Osman reports that these bovines have been around forever and can trace their bloodlines back to the reign of Victoria, who received the critters as a gift in 1871.
As you might suspect, Elizabeth’s cows got the royal treatment, and that extended to sleeping on waterbeds, or gigantic pillows the size of waterbeds. “As the cow lies down, the water pushes underneath the pressure points where the cow lies,” explains Osman, “and the cow winds up floating. They love the things. Sometimes they even come back in the daytime to take a nap.”
So far, there have been no reported incidents of the animals having sex on the rolling surfaces. “I think it takes awhile to get the knack,” Mike supposes. “It’s probably only a matter of time, and they have plenty. The Queen left instructions they will continue to be fussed over. They’re very spoiled, you know.”
Loyal to Her Majesty as he might be, Osman is somewhat put out that the cows are taking their good fortune too much for granted. “I mean, a few of them have already started hanging blacklight posters in their stalls. I might be forced to draw the line soon.”
You Never Hear Of The Apostle Islands
Sure, you know about the Grand Canyon, Yosemite and Yellowstone National Park, which happens to be the answer to the question in the first article. You may have even heard of Zion, Bryce Canyon and Glacier. Big deal, everybody knows about those. But nobody ever told you to visit the Apostle Islands. You don’t even know where they are, right? We’ll make it easy for you: Wisconsin. Yep, that’s right. So the next time you head north to load up on cheese curds and butter burgers, you might want to mosey over to the Apostle Islands National Lakeshore, a stretch of coastline with 21 islands encompassing 69,372 acres way up at the northern tip of the state on Lake Superior. If you wave, Sergeant Preston can see you from there.
Wildlife includes bald eagles, falcons and black bears. Sand Island and Raspberry Island have 19th century lighthouses. The famous Lucerne shipwreck is just off the coast of Long Island. The entire area is a photographer’s dream and you won’t be overrun with a gaggle of tourists since there’s no car or RV camping on the national seashore. If you go, our Flying Pie official greeter Tom Kennedy will welcome you with a basket full of delectable native-grown Wisconsin apples. They’ll help you recover from the butter burgers.
Be Here Now. Okay, Then What?
Back in the venerable hippie days, people gathered around Richard Albert, aka Baba Ram Dass to get the scoop on how to draw the most out of their precious single lives. Ram Dass told them to Be Here Now, to focus on the moment, to leave the past behind them and not be preoccupied with tomorrow. To addled hippie zealots like Poppy Fields and Ziggy McWiggy, this meant you didn’t need a plan. It was sort of like the antithetically lousy advice Peggy Lee gave everybody in Manana; “We don’t need a window on such a sunny day!” Let’s get up every morning and roll the dice.
Then the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi came along. He told us that practicing Transcendental Meditation twice a day would create inner peace and predicted that mass meditation sessions could create outer peace, reducing violence and war. The Beatles briefly fell under his spell, a fascination which ended abruptly when Paul McCartney came to his senses and wrote “Fool On The Hill.” By that time, however, maharishis were popping up on every corner, offering blissed-out smiles and dubious advice to paying customers. These included the 13-year-old phenom, Guru Maharaj Ji (forever to be locally remembered as “the baby-faced bullshit artist,” a moniker assigned him by Circus manager Bob Sturm) who traveled the United States claiming he could impart direct knowledge of God to his naive followers. “The Guru knows everything and we know nothing,” proclaimed a rapt Gainesville pot farmer and donor.
The farmer and hundreds of other barefoot adherents who also knew nothing gathered in an open field outside town to hear the word come down from on high. While attendant news media critics dissed the talk for a “lack of intellectual content,” the farmer and his star-struck friends reported visions of sugar plums dancing in their heads. Unfortunately, there was one blissless occurrence at the event. When the farmer got up to leave, he discovered someone had stolen his shoes.
Mr. Natural
The rest of us who knew nothing paid more attention to Robert Crumb’s cartoon character Mr. Natural, who spouted aphorisms on the materialism of the modern world and the salvation to be found in mysticism and natural living. Mr. Natural renounced the material world and lived off anything he could get in exchange for his nuggets of wisdom.
Despite his denunciation of materialism, however, Mr. Natural was an unrepentant sybarite and a bit of a con man, and his advice is sometimes at odds with his image as a sage. Also, he was moody, cynical, self-pitying and suffered from various odd sexual obsessions. He was, as are most gurus, endlessly accosted by would-be disciples seeking the Truth, regarding them with amused condescension and a grudging affection, though his patience often wore thin. Mr. Natural was not above taking sadistic pleasure in making his followers feel like idiots for their lack of knowledge, and his readers ironically often identified with him.
With the gradual diminution of the hippie ethic, the search for the wizard at the top of the mountain has lessened but there will always be searchers looking for the magic man who will deliver The Truth. Religions thrive on this hunger, shysters milk it for all it’s worth, cults are created by the need for arcane knowledge possessed by faux shamans and confidence men. You know nothing. You want to know all. And you’d like a short cut, please.
The Wisdom Of Ed
Except for ancient New Englanders, nobody knows about Ed the Great. Ed lived on top of Mount Washington in New Hampshire, a chilly place in the best of times and when it gets particularly surly, the coldest place in the country. Mount Washington’s latitude, height and atmosphere make it uniquely prone to extreme weather, which can turn from lousy to perilous in a trice. Hardy climbers inured to rough conditions are often awed by the abrupt shift in weather conditions and storms which seem to come out of nowhere, making the place fit for neither man nor beast. And that’s just how Big Ed likes it.
“I stay as far away from people as I can get,” says Ed, “and this place is perfect. Nobody bothers me and I can get the Red Sox games on my little radio. Now and then a searcher for Truth drops in and we talk and have some kale chips, but most of the time I stay out of sight. Like Jack Nicolson said in ‘A Few Good Men,’ people can’t handle the Truth.”
When I and my friend Tom Rys were fresh out of college, we were serious seekers of knowledge. We heard about Ed and his disdain for visitors and wondered what we could do to appease him, get him to talk to us about the meaning of life, et al. “I have an old first baseman’s mitt once used by Walt Dropo,” beamed Tom. I was doubtful. “C’mon, it’s better than nothing!”
So one fine summer day in the heart of June, Tom Rys and I made the agonizing climb to the hidden aerie of Ed the Great, unsure what might transpire but filled with the optimism of youth. We got to the top in mid-afternoon, paid off a park ranger in candy bars and learned the location of Ed’s cave.
Ed frowned when he saw us. “Punks! That’s all I need!” Tom quickly whipped out the glove once worn by Sox first-baseman Dropo and Ed let loose a minor smile. “I met Walt once,” he recalled. “He got lost on the mountain and was separated from his party. He paid me forty dollars to get him out of here. Let me see that thing.” And with that simple gesture, know-nothings Tom Rys and Bill Killeen sat down on the hard, windy surface of Mount Washington to learn The Truth.
The Gospel According to Big Ed
“Most people run down the blind alleys of life in search of happiness. The pursuit of wealth is a well-worn path, a lust for excitement another, a thirst for fame or status one more. The alleys spread out in all directions, lined with signs advertising the false gods which will make a traveler happy. What most people never realize or accept is that it all boils down to The Basics. What folks really need is:
1.—Someone to Love
2.---Something to do
3.---Something to look forward to
Number one gives you a base, an anchor, someone to hold you accountable. You may get tired or lazy or ill-disposed, inclined to let yourself down, but you will never allow yourself to disappoint this one beloved soul. He or she needn’t be a spouse, it can be anyone.
Number two gives you a purpose in life, a niche where you might use your creativity to excel, be of service, have a garden to steadily cultivate. Martin Luther King once said, ‘If a man is called to be a street-sweeper, he should sweep streets even as Michelangelo painted or Beethoven composed music or Shakespeare wrote poetry. He should sweep streets so well that all the hosts of Heaven and Earth will pause to say here lived a street-sweeper who did his job well.’
Number three often involves a change from the routine, an opportunity to choose a task or adventure with temporary goals---an interesting short-term job, a trip to a new and exciting place, an opportunity to enhance a talent or learn something valuable.
If we are really fortunate, we will hit the Trifecta---something to do and something to look forward to with someone we love. This is an attainable goal for all---it is open to rich men and poor, sinners and saints, the meek and the bold. You can do it with just a slight alteration to your current route. Slow down. Stop and think. Then flip on your turn-signal, take a left and head for Glory! Do these things and you will succeed. You have the personal guarantee of Ed, who is never wrong. Not so far anyway.”
And with that, Big Ed stood up, turned toward home and gave us a final wave. Our class was over. I looked at Tom, who seemed pensive. “What do you think?” I asked him. “Doesn’t seem so hard,” he said.
You Don’t Know These Things Either
1. It’s impossible to hum while holding your nose. Go ahead, try it.
2. The Anglo-Zanzibar War lasted 38 minutes and was the shortest war in history. Everybody on the British side got promoted.
3. The Eiffel Tower was originally intended for Barcelona. They sent it back.
4. There is a Shell station shaped like an actual shell. But only one. It’s in Winston-Salem.
5. President William McKinley was shot right after giving away his good luck charm to a 12-year-old girl named Myrtle. Maybe it works. Nobody has shot Myrtle yet.
6. Scotland has 400 words for snow. Yeah, we don’t believe it either.
7. The last letter added to our alphabet was J. The name Ohn F. Kennedy just didn’t have the same cachet. Not to mention the old taunt,”Hey, hey, L.B. Nothing, how many kids did you kill today?”
8. A flock of ravens is called an “unkindness.” A flock of rednecks is called “Pensacola.”
That’s all, folks….
