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COLUMN: Time to Pay Attention

By Tobin Barnes
You know? It’s the simple things.

Right?

Sure, I like a little complexity, too. It can be stimulating.

But life is teeming with complexity. It comes in spades. You don’t have to look for it, it looks for you.

On the other hand, you’ve got to be paying attention to appreciate the simple things.

They tend to be under the radar.

They don’t compete for your attention.

They’re subtle.

Almost sneaky.

You’ve got to stop yourself every once in a while and say, “Hey, what about this!” If you don’t do that, ffffwwwtt, it’s gone.

And it’s back to complexity.

I didn’t need to tell you that, but I guess I did.

Anyway, now that the trauma of early spring storms is past, it’s time for one of my favorite simple things. I’ve had a couple chances to practice it so far, and I hope there’ll be many more.

Allow me to describe it for you:

It’s a nice spring day, maybe 60’s or 70’s outside--could be even 80’s. Things are greening up. Nature’s ready to explode.

That’s when I get myself a bottle of Corona with a little wedge of lime stuck into it. Maybe a piece of cheese and a couple crackers, too. (I know some people might prefer a glass of wine instead, but only one of whatever is all you need. You don’t need any kind of a buzz to do this.)

Next, I get settled into an adirondack chair on my front porch, and now I’m ready.

Ready to do what?

I’m ready to sit there and look at my favorite tree.

It’s an Austrian pine that we planted about fourteen years ago. Even though the deer have nibbled at it here and there, and it’s suffered some wind damage, it’s my favorite tree.

Oh sure, I like to look at some of the other trees, too, and I like to look at the grass—particularly after it’s newly mowed—but I always come back to the Austrian pine for some reason.

In spring, the pine’s growth ends are starting to develop and sprout out, and I like to watch their progress as the season unfolds. It’s not like I can see it happening, but it’s happening. I can tell the difference one day to the next.

Spring is a season where you’ve got to be paying particular attention. If you don’t, it’s your loss.

Now, I’m fully aware that this is all a little like watching the grass grow, if not a lot like it, but that’s the point. Not much is happening there on my porch, but what’s going on is right up my alley.

It’s the simple life.

For me, it’s a big part of the good life.

Enjoy Your Flight

(Sent by Roy Wilson)

COLUMN: Tough times, strange people

By Tobin Barnes
These are strange times. The media barrage is making me a little punchy. I was reading the news reports the other night, happened to nod off and had the following sub-headlines nightmare:

“Man hoping to be deported streaks down Fla. street”
Works nearly every time

“Hard times lead 21 couples to share wedding”
Of course, that means 21 drunken uncles all in one place

“Man decides to clean with gasoline while smoking”
Wins ‘Dip Stick Doesn’t Touch Oil’ Prize 3rd and final time

“Wash. man caught in HOV lane with unbuckled dummy”
Evidently, sharing the commute with your brother-in-law doesn’t count

“Skeleton found in tree 29 years after suicide”
Found earlier if people took time to appreciate nature

“Museum finds ‘secret’ message in Lincoln's watch”
It prophetically says, “Never trust an investment banker”

“DUI defendant claims that he's his own country”
Uh huh, he’s the prime minister of Outer Freakistan

“Obama to states: Spend stimulus wisely — or else”
Wise spending may stretch the bounds of Audacity of Hope

“President: Economy ‘not as bad as we think’”
However, it could be as bad as we feel

“Patients Are Putting Off Surgery, or Rushing It”
Or doing it themselves in tough economic times

“Man fends off attack with ice scraper”
Ice on windshield proved to be the tougher opponent

“Honda unveils dog-friendly car”
Complete with bark-activated GPS and driver’s side water bowl

“Politician fumes over ‘gay’ elephant in zoo”
Pachyderm count expected to remain static

“Court fines mother for phoning son too much”
Desperate son disappointed to find Katmandu has cell coverage, too

“Boom or bust, veteran bra maker still holding up”
This industry immune to economic sags, downturns

“Woman divorces husband for cleaning too much”
Judge grants on basis that he isn’t really a man

“Cat found alive after 5 weeks under rubble”
Confirms belief that cats never die in earthquakes

“Thief nabbed with 68 tubes of toothpaste”
Glowing teeth in dark alley gives him away

“Clowning around pays off for circus hopefuls”
Doesn’t work for prospective mortuary employees

"US nuclear experts pull out of North Korea"
Feared they'd be shot into space over Japan

"Citigroup 1Q results top Wall Street forecasts"
‘Still breathing’ beats original 'dead by summer' estimate

“Is Your Broker Cheating You?”
And what the heck is the difference?

“Colo. woman, 20, accused of taping dog to fridge”
P.O.-ed pooch’s slashing teeth unique weight-loss method

“No more monkey business: Vasectomies for primates”
Future evolution faces troublesome hurdle

COLUMN: The Trip to Nowhere

By Tobin Barnes

When told that his obituary had been published, Mark Twain said, “The reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated.” That circumstance may have produced two joys for Twain: first, the obituary was inaccurate; second, the obituary, like most tend to be, was complimentary.

Nevertheless, it had to be somewhat startling.

Well, at least I didn’t read my obituary this morning, but, nevertheless, I am not at this writing in early April where I am supposed to be.

Now that could be linked metaphorically to a lot of different categories, but in the present case, no metaphor is intended.

I am not now where I am supposed to be. I just took a trip to nowhere and am, therefore, right back where I started. And, as Queen Victoria used to say, “We are not amused.”

I am supposed to be in South Carolina reveling in an extended and, I’d like to think, somewhat deserved Easter Break. I am supposed to be walking sunny beaches next to rolling surf. I am supposed to be enjoying southern springtime amenities we SoDakers don’t usually get until June. And I’m supposed to be gathering snarky observations about travel for this column and several columns in the future yet to be written, but now necessarily billed as “Not appearing on this page.”

Yes, instead, I’m trapped in the land of ice and snow that the Black Hills have recently become. Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s description of a frozen wasteland aptly applies to western South Dakota after three major spring snowstorms in two weeks: “The ice was here, the ice was there,/The ice was all around./It cracked and growled and roared and howled/Like noises in a swound.”

And oh my goodness, the aborted trip was so well planned. Down to the smallest details. I am nothing if not a detail man. (In so many areas that I consider insignificant, if not trivial, my wife would beg to differ.) My main, perhaps only, personal strength is organization. And this trip to South Carolina was superbly organized. Details, details, details--all considered and dispatched.

Heck, we even had snow shoes at the ready if, God forbid, the weather broke all rules of nature and somehow hit our home with a third blizzard in two weeks.

But how could that happen? Forgettaboutit! No way on God’s frozen tundra could a third blizzard occur in two weeks. Never happened before. And even if this distinct impossibility did became miraculously possible, even for that we were prepared.

With snowshoes! Why snowshoes? Ah, country living says it all.

Before the first snowstorm hit in late March, I had prudently put our second vehicle, a 15-year-old, small-sized pickup, next to our subdivision road at the end of our 500-foot driveway (costs a ton to plow it out). It would be a long walk back and forth through drifts, but at least we could get into town. Besides, the exercise is beneficial, unless, of course, it brings on the potential heart attack.

Remember? I’m a detail man. And good thing. Our main vehicle, a Toyota RAV, has been trapped unusable in the land of ice and snow ever since. It is, as I write, forlornly sunk in a snow bank. A week ago, my wife thought she was going to gradually bull doze a trail with it, a few feet at a time (Mr. Detail Man had not been consulted), through two-foot average snow depth and four foot drifts. She got about 15 yards out of the garage. And there it still sits.

But we still had one vehicle free to make it to the airport. And even with another foot and a half of powdery snow compliments of the third blizzard, we could still carry out our luggage to the distant pickup on our snowshoes. All we had to do was make it to the airport now that the storm was over. Then we’d be in South Carolina.

And we did. We made it to the airport. We were going to South Carolina! Sure there might be a delay, but we were definitely going now.

Except...we weren’t. The airport was closed. You could go into the building if you wanted to, walk around, sit down, wait and mope, but no flights in or out all day.

But, airport people, we snowshoed to get to you. And now you say it didn’t make any difference? Come on! We’re more than willing to risk our lives to get out of here.

Sure, we could have rescheduled to fly out two days later, but fly two-thirds of the way across the country for three days stay instead of five? No way. So we cashed in. We’ve got our money but no South Carolina. We’re crying in our beer.

COLUMN: An Issue or Two

By Tobin Barnes
Some issues have arisen since the last time I wrote. Not sure I’ll be able to handle them all in one writing, but let’s not waste time.

First, I recently had to call off the dogs hot on the trail of the Wall Street fat cats. A few weeks ago--perhaps you remember/perhaps not, it doesn’t matter--I proposed a new tax. I called it the “I-screwed-up-the-nation tax.”

Evidently, Congress was listening--I’m always amazed at the power of small-town journalism--and the House of Representatives strangely took my tongue-in-cheek proposal to heart and passed a 90% tax on AIG retention bonuses.

Well, heck, slow down there Hoss. I was just kidding! I always knew that such a retroactive taxation would probably be unconstitutional. Shucks, I mean, come on!

No doubt something needs to be done to rein in the unbridled greed, but let’s think about this rationally, okay? Anyway, I said as much in a recent tweet on twitter--my subscribers are ready to pounce on my every thought--and now Congress has seemed to back off on that rash taxation plan.

(From now on, I’ve got to be very careful about what I publish in newspapers and on the Internet. Important people seem to be listening.)

Yes, cooler heads have prevailed, and many of the AIGers are now supposedly returning their retention bonuses.

And isn’t that special?

What a nice bunch of guys, huh? And they’ve come to that solution with hardly any coaxing--other than a national uproar akin to Transylvanian villagers storming Dr. Frankenstein’s castle in a torch-lit mob.

Yeah, “retention” and “bonus” have become dirty words, if not laughable words, in our current state--laughable in the sense that it’s soooo essential to keep this kind of irreplaceable “talent.”

That’s right. Another company might hire away these Masters of the Universe to help drive it into the ground, too.

Not to worry. I’ve always thought there’s plenty of that kind of talent to go around without getting into a bidding war.

Uh huh, the words “retention” and “bonus” are going off on a nice little vacation and won’t be heard in our everyday parlance for quite some time now, except maybe as a part of a snarky joke. But don’t worry, other words and schemes having the same effect will soon replace them.

Which brings me to another issue. Why haven’t I ever been offered a retention bonus?
I would have liked to have gotten a retention bonus or two before they became dirty or laughable words. I’ve been in the teaching business for thirty-three years now, and I would have appreciated it, by golly.

Granted, you need to be considered irreplaceable to even think of getting a retention bonus. But as far as I’m concerned, on a personal level, I’m pretty darned irreplaceable. After all, if I’m replaced, I’m no longer there, and that’s serious stuff for me.

Sure, another teacher could easily move into my classroom and do similar things, probably even better, but my unique brand of me won’t be there any more. I think my me-ness is important, at least to me.

So, yes, I’m irreplaceable and also worthy of ridiculously outlandish rewards, maybe penthousian in nature.

Admittedly, I’ve never been in a position to screw up the nation, but if that’s where you have to be to get a retention bonus, Wall Street should have given me shot. I could have screwed things up just as well as the big bucksters currently hiding out from those Transylvanian-like mobs.

Oh! And finally, one other issue:

What kind of advanced degree do you need to understand what’s going on with “Lost”?

Jesus and the Robber

A robber breaks into a home and hears a voice say, "Jesus is watching you."

Startled, he asks, "Who said that?"

Again, the voice says, "Jesus is watching you."

The robber turns around to see a parrot. He asks the parrot what his name is. The parrot replies, "Cornelius."

The robber asks, "Who names a parrot 'Cornelius'?"

The parrot replies, "The same person who named that rottweiler behind you Jesus."
Jokes.com