Cubs – Don’t Get Mad, Get Your Goat

I’m obsessed with the Chicago Cubs baseball team. This statement might seem odd since I’ve never seen them play and I don’t follow sports. Technically, it’s not the game that fascinates me, it’s the curse.

In the 1934, tavern owner Billy Sianis adopted a baby goat (Murphy) that fell off a truck in front of his bar. (The “falling off a truck” thing happens a lot in Chicago.) He was so infatuated with Murphy that he began calling himself Billy Goat, grew a goatee and renamed his bar The Billy Goat Tavern (of Saturday Night Live “Cheezborger, Cheezborger, No Coke” fame).

Billy often took Murphy to unusual locations, including Cubs games. Normally the stands were empty so it wasn’t a problem.

However in 1945, fans converged on the stadium to see the Cubs play in the World Series. Seven years had passed since the Cubs were in the Series; the war was ending – both reasons for hope and excitement. The anticipation was palpable.

Then partway into the game, Billy was asked to remove Murphy because his odor was disturbing other fans. The insult was more than Billy could bear so he placed a curse on the Cubs saying something like: “Dem Cubs, dey ain’t gonna win no more”.

Some people thought this meant the Cubs would never win a championship whereas others thought there would never be another World Series won at Wrigley Field. After all these years, we might find out.

As the second oldest baseball stadium in the United States, there’s a proposal to renovate the field to the tune of $500M. If the request is denied, the owners have threatened to leave Chicago.

Which goes back to the curse. Could this be a turning point for the Cubs? If they left Wrigley would they have a chance at winning the World Series? If another team started playing at Wrigley, would the curse apply to them?

Personally, I don’t think we’ll ever know because I believe the Cubs are here to stay. That leaves only one solution: the renovation must include a place for a goat.

May the farce be with you!

Your IFF,

Pam

Get a goat!

Ci-cay-das, Ci-cah-das

Soon the East Coast is going to be overrun with billions of 17-year cicadas. It’s a colossal event of biblical proportions. I know, because the western suburbs of Chicago went through the same thing 5 years ago.

It’s one of the most fascinating experiences of my life. Normally, I’m squeamish about being outnumbered by creatures with 6 or more legs. Because this could be a once in a lifetime event for me, I embraced it in order to experience the full effect of these unique creatures.

17-year cicadas live underground for (you guessed it) 17 years. When the ground reaches a temperature of 64 degrees, they burrow out, seeking a vertical spot in which to exit their shell.

Emerging from shell

Empty shells

They party for 4-6 weeks with the sole purpose of mating and producing nymphs that will live in the ground for another 17 years. The males make noise to attract females. En masse, their sound is equivalent to a jet engine.

There were so many in Chicago, the zoo paid people to bring coffee cans full of cicadas to feed the animals. Kids had a field day. Dogs were known to get sick from over eating.

They’re everywhere

When I first experienced the cicadas, I walked carefully down a neighborhood sidewalk so I wouldn’t step on any of them. I stopped by a tree to marvel at the sheer number. Little did I know until I looked up that even more were over my head.

There were just as many in the tree over my head

It’s easy to identify the 17-year brood from the run-of-the-mill cicada because they’re different colors. The most notable feature of the 17-years is their red eyes.

17-Year Brood

The annual bugs have dark eyes.

The annual Cicadas are rarely seen

If I’m still in Chicago when the 17-year brood returns, I’ll make the trip to see them again. Fact is truly stranger than fiction.

May the farce be with you!

Your IFF,

Pam

Fractured Cliché #39

The other day my exercise class was full of new people. Someone was standing where Nancy normally stands, so she was forced to move into a new spot in front of me.

Shelly, our instructor, was telling stories. (Somehow she’s able to lead the class, breathe and talk all at the same time. It’s amazing!) One of her quips finished with a quote from Albert Einstein:

What’s the definition of insanity? Doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. (Correct Cliché)

Always looking for blog fodder, I started laughing to myself because I knew she’d gotten it wrong. She should have said:

What’s the definition of insanity? Doing the same thing over and over and expecting the same results. (Fractured Cliché)

It wasn’t until I got home to write down my observation that I realized I was the crazy one.

I’m sure it was Nancy’s fault for standing in the wrong spot. I’m used to things being the same. She messed me up by doing something different.

May the farce be with you!

Your IFF,

Pam

Ein Stein

To Hell And Back

Saying that scientists have made a discovery always lends a certain amount of credibility, no matter how ridiculous the revelation.

It’s been reported that Italian scientists discovered the gate to Hell – literally –  in Turkey (the country not the bird). Known as Pluto’s Gate, this is the genuine portal to the underworld.

Pluto’s Gate (Source: hurriyetdailynews.com)

Just as one might expect from the gate to Hell, it’s bad for your health. Laden with carbon dioxide fumes, even brief contact can be lethal.

I’ve actually been to Hell… in the Cayman Islands. I didn’t breathe any poisonous fumes and as far as I know, it didn’t kill me which leads me to suspect that Pluto’s Gate doesn’t end up in Cayman.

The other possibility is Michigan. I haven’t visited Hell, Michigan yet so I can’t say with certainty there are no deadly gasses. However, if such a phenomenon existed, I’m sure we would have heard about it by now.

It’s not clear to which Hell Pluto’s Gate leads – Cayman or Michigan. It probably depends on how bad you’ve been. Who the hell knows? It may not go anywhere. If that’s the case, to hell with it!

Someday I plan to go to Hell (Michigan, that is) and I’m going to have a helluva good time. I’ll skip the deadly, poisonous route of Pluto’s Gate and simply drive. It should be an easy trip because you know what they say – “the road to Hell is paved”. Besides, I want to experience Hell on wheels.

Going to Hell should be interesting but it doesn’t sound like the most appealing vacation. Frankly, I don’t want to go unless I can come back.

May the farce be with you!

Your IFF,

Pam

Proof I’ve been to Hell

Business Instinked

Have you ever faced a situation in which any decision you made could be a bad one? I experienced this recently with a new consulting assignment.

I was excited to get the work. It was a new client and my performance could send more work my way. I’d prepared for the first meeting, was confident in my ability and ready to go. Then the unthinkable happened.

The evening before the meeting, Dewey and Mia sprinted outside and got sprayed by a skunk. It was dark. The dogs ran out of the house like normal, the outside light came on, and we spotted the skunk. Stephen called the dogs back but it was too late. The skunk was scared and let everyone know. With the dogs now running toward the house, we had to act fast. Dewey came in first and I grabbed him. Picking him up at arm’s length, I threw him in the laundry room sink. Stephen got Mia after she jumped on the sofa.

The smell was horrific. Stephen washed the dogs in order to minimize my exposure.

The next morning the house reeked. It was like an odorous cloud wafting through the house with a smell that would cling to your body. Our noses were desensitized and we had no way of knowing whether or not we smelled.

I pictured myself as a living version of Peanut’s Pig Pen with the odor following me wherever I went. Highly doubting a reputation as “The Smelly Consultant” would garner business, I saw two options for my meeting. (1) Explain what happened and apologize or (2) Pretend it never happened and hope they didn’t notice.

Because Stephen took the brunt of the spray, he offered to conduct a sniff test at work. The logic: if he passed, I would too. Fortunately he smelled normal so I followed my instinct and kept silent. Either my new clients didn’t notice anything or they granted me im-pew-nity for my transgression. I think it was the former because I got the job.

I learned something through this experience. Follow your instinct even if your inn stinked.

May the farce be with you!

Your IFF,

Pam

Stephen assured me I wasn’t smelly

Fractured Cliché #39

Fractured Cliché: Ignoring the white elephant in the room

Correct Cliché: Ignoring the 800 pound gorilla in the room

To me there’s little material difference between these clichés. Imagine a white elephant or an 800-pound gorilla. Either would be hard to ignore.

Something else that would be hard to ignore is two football fields, adjacent to a busy highway, filled with 1,000 marijuana plants, some 10 feet tall. Yet that’s exactly what happened south of Chicago. The pot’s value was estimated between 7 and 10 million dollars. Before the bust, the police must have thought it was just weeds.

In handling the situation, authorities could have generated revenue for Chicago by harvesting the plants and holding a white elephant sale for states with legalized medicinal pot. But they took the high road instead, sending a harsh message – illegal drugs would not be tolerated.

The crop was destroyed, chopped down and burned. I imagine there was an outpouring of community support – a huge crowd watching the whole thing. The smoke was probably thick, but their visible solidarity was necessary to make sure their message was heard.

May the farce be with you!

Your IFF,

Pam

The ladies refused to acknowledge the 800 pound white gorilla in the room

Big Dang Theory

Did you know that swearing can reduce pain? I mean when you swear not when someone swears at you.

Researchers have learned that swearing, unlike other types of speech, uses brain circuitry that’s linked to emotion.

Normal language comes from the outer layers of the brain’s left hemisphere whereas expletives are buried deep inside the right half. Swearing engages the amygdala which triggers the fight-or-flight response and increases heart rate. This in turn results in decreased sensitivity to pain.

I suffer from migraines and profanity is one treatment I’ve never tried so I decided to give it a chance.

Because I live with a parrot, initially I cursed under my breath as I didn’t want Amy to hear me. Whispering was totally ineffective.

Alternatively, it didn’t seem to make sense to say the words at a normal tone – no value in wasting good profanity – so I clamored my curses.

In response, Amy reacted more to my volume than my words. She loves the sound of my voice. With each new malediction, Amy barked back at the top of her lungs.

In short bursts, I highly doubted she would learn to call me an a**hole in the presence of strangers.

Our exchange continued for only a few minutes before I decided that cursing would not cure my ills. Frankly, I’m glad to have stopped because I need time to find a dead mole to bind to my head – another treatment I’ve yet to try.

All in all it was a good experiment but I swear Amy’s calling me a bastard.

May the farce be with you!

Your IFF,

Pam

Use caution when spouting foul language around the fowl