Snowbirds, Damn Yankees and Traffic Jams

By Jake Jakubuwski

Copyright, 2012

All Rights Reserved

I was reading some posts on Face Book the other day and one poster told another that he was almost ready to become a “Snowbird.” That is, he was going to retire to Florida as soon as he could get his money, IRAs and the IRS straightened out.

Being a former, twenty-plus year, resident of theSunshine State, I have a bit of knowledge about Snowbirds, in general. Damn Yankees, more specifically — and traffic jams created by both Snowbirds and Damn Yankees who either come to Florida for a vacation or they’re looking for a place to wait out the cold weather in New England, Canada, Detroit and Ohio — especially Ohio.

First off, a Snowbird is a Damn Yankee who is only vacationing, in Florida,  any time between late September to about the middle of April or the first of May. Later, their plumage may change as they take up permanent residence in Florida.

Snowbirds, are a migratory North American species, who begin to show up on Florida (Particularly Southwest Florida. I lived inFt. Myers) highways just shortly before the first frost hits their northern home state or immediately after. They may come for a week, ten-days, a month or maybe even the entire winter. Some sub-species of Snowbirds migrate toLas Vegas, So. California, Arizona and other states that have mild winters.

You can easily spot them. They have Ohio (Or other foreign) license plates on their cars, drive with their foot on the brake and make sudden, unanticipated, turns into alligator farms, Indian souvenir shops and Denny’s. They also like shell shops, Tiki Huts and to tie up traffic on US 41 while rubbernecking at the orange groves or folks fishing in the roadside ditch or canal.

I’ve often wondered, as I followed a Snow Bird from North Ft. Myers to Punta Gorda, how much Sloan’s Liniment they’d have to use to get the “cricks” out of their necks after a hard day of rubbernecking 

If you watch them driving along at a sedate 35 miles an hour (In a 65 MPH zone), you would think they were watching a mobile tennis match. Their heads are constantly swiveling from left to right. Left to right. Left to right. It’s almost mesmerizing to watch. Sometimes it was downright scary.

 Depending on which side of the car, SUV, Motor Home or pickup truck they’re sitting on…their left or right hand and arm are getting a workout as they try to get the other Snowbird to look at the alligator on the side of the road, the dead snake in the fast lane or the gal cutting her grass in a bikini (Well, okay, so I looked at her too!). Stll, I can’t help but speculate about what keeps them from poking each other’s eyes out with all that random finger pointing.

It’s easy to spot them in WalMart. She’s wearing a shocking pink shorts and top ensemble with flip flops that have big daisies on the top of the strap and carrying a huge beach bag decorated with seashells and seahorses. Either that or she’s wearing a Mumu that contains enough material for a Boy Scout to make a good sized tent.

 Usually it – the Mumu – has a floral pattern that reminds me of my grandmother’s old upholstered living room furniture with huge flowers all over it that she had covered with clear plastic covers. She, the Snowbird, still has the same beach bag. Did I mention the blue hair? Or, the paper fan from Flower’s Funeral Home?

 Sometimes they’re not driving but riding three-wheel, adult bicycles.  At various mobile home parks where so many of these Snowbirds nest, they actually decorate those bikes and have parades!

He, on the other hand, is wearing shorts and a nylon see-through shirt or a ribbed undershirt, with black over-the-calf socks and either tennis shoes or leather sandals. Some have on gold wristwatches and most have bad eyesight along with very white legs and extremely red, sun-burned faces. You even see some of the male Snowbirds pulling oxygen tanks and hurriedly puffing on a cigarette before they go into WalMart or Denny’s…

 A Damn Yankee, on the other hand, is a Northerner who has decided to move to Florida for good.

 Or at least until they’re called to their final reward.

 A Damn Yankee may have been a dyed-in-the-wool Snow Bird at one time, but now he/she shakes her fists at the Snowbirds driving and sightseeing and making all those unanticipated stops at tourist attractions. And, generally making traffic a nightmare.

 A Damn Yankee still dresses about the same as they did when they were Snowbirds but now they mostly have a good tan. If you get trapped into a conversation with a Damn Yankee, they will invariably tell you how much better things were inMinnesotawhere winter lasts longer then the gestation period of Homo Sapiens!

 They also bemoan the fact that it’s too hot, the sun’s too bright and the air is too humid. Duh?  You moved to the semi-tropics, right?

 At least there is seldom any snow, ice storms, blizzards, and little need for Snow Emergency Routes, snow tires and darned few people drop dead from trying to dig their car out of a snow drift that’s about as high as the old Caloosahatchee Bridge.

 Another complaint they have is that there is no ice fishing in Florida! The last time I was in Minnesota and went ice fishing; the only thing I caught was a cold! At least in Florida, I have caught BIG fish that I could eat without using an ice axe to clean them.

 Some Damn Yankees, if they live in Florida long enough, begin to take on local coloration and the only way you can tell them from  native “Crackers” is their accent, That, and the fact they still haven’t gotten over the novelty of eating on the patio, nearly all year around and drinking sweet tea.  Another way is to watch them drive.

 I have a friend in Florida who’s daddy homesteaded (Yeah! Really) a piece of property on Pine Island. As far as Mr. Starling was concerned a Damn Yankee was anyone who lived North of the Florida state line.

 He even went so far to tell me, one time, that: “…them Damn Yankees from Pensacola….”  I gently reminded him that Pensacola was in Florida. He opined that it shouldn’t be because the only thing that made it better then Southern Georgia was the beaches which were just one more place them Damn Yankees could tie up traffic and make life miserable for the native sons..

 About twenty-five years ago, I moved to the Piedmont area  of North Carolina. This is a great place to live except for all those Florida Crackers and Damn Yankees, from Florida, who come up here in the summertime and then want to tell me how much nicer the weather is in Florida.

I spoke to one the other day while we were waiting for a traffic jam to break up and I asked him where he was from. He said: “Florida, but I moved down there from Ohio about ten years ago. I shoulda stayed inOhio!”  I agree — he should have. At the very least, he should have stayed in Florida.

In fact, I might still be living in Florida if the population hadn’t gone into overdrive and there were more Damn Yankees on the road then Crackers. Then, again, I think I’ve become acclimated to this area…I’ll most likely stay here until…

I liked Florida where the fishing was great and I didn’t have to explain why I talked funny. Here, that mostly happens when local folks say: “Y’all ain’t from around here, are you?” After twenty-five years, I’m beginning to blend in and like to think I’m learning to talk like the locals do…

Twenty years ago, I was writing a series of weekly newspaper articles that were mainly concerned with security issues. The one that follows used an experience I had in a Dale Carnegie class to point out that America was getting tired of crooks and cretains just ignoring all the relevant laws and social mores that helped keep our veneer of civilization from craking and falling apart.

Then, yesterday, a “friend” on Face Book posted a story (Joke) about Texas women being independent and willing to do things their own way. That story reminded me of this one about a real cowboy and “Momma” , his wife.

Hope you enjoy it….

Remember, Don’t Booger Momma!

By Jake Jakubuwski

Copyright, 1992, 2012 All rights reserved

            I met Buck and Momma Sumpter (not their real names) at a Dale Carnegie class in 1972.  Buck was a real, honest-to-goodness cowboy, who had literally spent years “in the saddle.”  Momma, Buck’s wife, was bigger than Buck and carried herself like she just wouldn’t “book no foolishness from nobody.”  This, as I later found out, was mostly true.  However, Momma had a marvelous sense of humor and a soft spot for strays and hard luck stories.

At any rate, part of the Dale Carnegie training required each “student” to relate a story about something that had happened during their life that made a lasting impression on them, and what they had learned from the experience.

When Buck’s turn came, he told the following story.

“We was workin’ on a ranch in Wes’Texasan’ Momma an’ me had us a little house down the road from the ranch.  One day, the fellas and I decided to go into town after we was finished work an’ have us a beer or two.”

“Well, we all met up at a place where the music was good an’ the beer was cold an’ ‘fore I knew it, I’d had more beers than I could remember, an’ I could jest make out that the clock said it was midnight.  Man!  I knew Momma was gonna be UNHAPPY!  We didn’t have a phone, an’ I couldn’t call her.  So, I had another beer whilst I thought it out.”

“An’ while thinkin’, I drunk enough of that good, cold beer to get a little confused about where I parked my car.  Truth was, I just plain couldn’t find it.  Not wantin’ to waste more time, I decided I could walk the four miles to the house, in an hour, easy.  An’ I figured it wouldn’t hurt to carry a six-pack along.  After all, it was a warm night”

“Bout the time I got close to the house, I had drunk three of the beers an’ I saw a light still on.  I knew Momma was waitin’ up, an’ I was in for it.  So, real quiet like I snuck up to the house figurin’ that if Momma had dozed off, I could slip in an’ she’d never know, right?  Wouldn’t ya’ know it?  I kin’ a peeked through the screen door an’ Momma was bright-eyed an’ readin’.”

“I knew I couldn’t sneak in, an’ I thought about it a bit an’ figured the only thing to do was have a little fun with Momma an’ try to kid her inta forgettin I told her I’d be back earlier.  So, I snuck real quiet like to the window that Momma was sittin’ by, jumped up real quick an’ let out the godawfulest roar I could.”

“Did that booger Momma!?  Man, let me tell you!  Momma come outa that chair like the devil’d grabbed her ankle!  She turnst t’wards the window with my 12-guage on her hip…an” I knew boogerin” Momma weren’t the best idea I’d ever had!  I threw the last three beers straight up in the air an’ fell back’ards to the ground yellin’, Momma!  (KAYBOOM!).  It’s me!  (KAYBOOM!).  Buck!”

“Momma’s first shot took out the top of the window an’ the three beers I throwed in the air.  Her second took out the screen in the bottom of the window.  I’m lucky t’be here ‘cause that lady knows how to use a shotgun!  An’ if I hadn’t been jest plain, fallin’ down drunk lucky, she’d a got me for sure!”

The instructor asked Buck what he had learned from the experience and Buck said, “I learned that you don’t booger Momma!”

I remembered the foregoing the other day when I saw two bumper stickers on the same car.  One said, “Fight Crime:  Shoot Back!” and the other one said, “When Momma ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy!”  Then several other things popped into my mind.

More Americans than ever are buying guns for protection.  More Americans than ever are taking self-defense classes.  More Americans than ever are demanding their streets and neighborhoods back.  More Americans than ever want stiffer punishment for criminals

Those facts should send Tommy and Tessie Thug a very clear and forceful message:  “Momma (America) ain’t happy!  So, don’t booger Momma!”

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The Ultimate Recyclable

By Jake Jakubuwski

Copyright, 2011

There’s no question in my mind that today “things” are different then when I was a kid. I’m not saying they are better, or worse, just different.

A couple of times a week, I do a coffee klatch with a bunch of other “old” guys who remember twenty-five-cent-a-gallon gasoline and nickel candy bars. One thing I’ve noticed is that all of them seem to think that if we could just get the country back to what it was like right after WWII, everything would be just dandy — again.

As much as I hate to burst their bubble — it ain’t gonna happen. But on the flip side that’s not all bad either.

The Sears Catalog

In the late 40s and early 50s I can remember unpaved streets and outhouses within the city limits of Baltimore. I remember my grandfather’s house inGlen Burnie, Maryland having an outhouse. Indoor facilities consisted of a “chamber pot” that was slid under the bed for use during the night! We also had a hand-pump under the grape arbor where we “drew” our water for cooking, drinking and bathing — year around.

I surely don’t want to go back to living like that. On the plus side, there were not as many automobiles on the roads and streets back then, so the streets were our playground. If we had a game of stick ball going, widely spaced cars, light poles and “ash” cans were home plate and bases. You made do with what you had to do with.

One thing we did have that we don’t have today was the ultimate recyclable: The Sears Roebuck catalog! Man, that book got used, reused and used up!

Way back before my time, the Sears Catalog sold cars, tractors and even “Modern House Kits”. You could buy garden equipment, groceries, yard goods, shoes, lamps, auto parts, tires, and thousands of other items that just made you look through the catalog for hours and hours and hours wishin’ you had a pocket full of money or, fewer dreams.

By the time I could peruse the Sears catalog, cars, tractors and housing kits were bygones. But it was still a book chock full of things that could be had a little cheaper the in a regular store and your  “Satisfaction” was “Guaranteed”. Not only was the catalog a great way to shop — especially if you lived in a rural area where there were no such thing as malls or even “Department” stores — it was also great entertainment.

We could spend hours looking at bicycles, wagons, Red Ryder BB guns and other things that we kids thought we could not live without but might never own.

I think some of us kids sharpened our reading and math skills with the Sears Catalog. We could look at the price of an item, calculate the shipping and figure out how much we’d have to save over how long a period of time it we wanted to buy new galoshes, a Red Ryder BB gun, a Roy Rodgers hat or a new Schwinn.

I know the Sears Catalog helped me become a better reader — I was always finding new words that I didn’t know, like: ”guaranteed” and “duvet”. I remember my grandmother taking the catalog away from me when I asked her how to pronounce “l-i-n-g-e-r-i-e”. She swatted me upside the head and told me I wasn’t to look in that section of the catalog anymore!

I imagine her admonition probably kept me out of that section of the catalog for a good ten minutes. And, even then, I never looked “in that section” after that unless I was sure there were no adults around or I was by myself in the outhouse. I know that in today’s advertising world seeing a lady in a bra is no big deal. Back then, before I was ten, those glossy photographs of ladies in their “unmentionables” was, well … unmentionable.

The Risqué Factor for pictures like that was high enough that some pre-adolescents had been known to tear those pictures out of the catalogs and show them to their friends in out-of-the-way corners of the school playground and cloak rooms. We didn’t have locker rooms back then because we didn’t have gyms. Regardless, speculation regarding what that lingerie covered was a hot topic back then.

Anyway, back to the more practical side of the “Ultimate Recyclable” aspects of the Sears Roebuck Catalog.

In my grandfather’s house, we lived in what today would be described as a “finished basement”. Back then it was a “cellar”. The floors had linoleum on them and we had an eat-in kitchen and a “parlor” where the radio was — TV was still several years away. My grandfather had a big “Easy” chair that set next to a pot-bellied stove and in the winter months, that’s where Pop stayed most of the time when he wasn’t working.

Every morning, Pop would come downstairs (The bedrooms were on the first floor) and build a fire in the pot-bellied stove. He’d tear a couple of pages out of the “old” catalog, crumple them up, lay a few pieces of kindling on them and light the pile with a kitchen match. When he was satisfied that he had a good start to his fire, he would put a small amount of coal on top of the kindling.

In the spring, when Pop planted his garden, he would use pages out of a catalog, along with newspapers to cover his seedlings and keep them warm and moist.  He also used catalog sheets and newspaper as insulation in his tool shed.

I knew some folks that used the pages as shelf liners in their kitchen cabinets and pantries.

But the way I most vividly remember the Sears    Catalog was in the outhouse. I don’t think I knew what real toilet paper was until I started the first grade! Up until then, we had, and used, the Sears Catalogs in the outhouse! Being paper, they were biodegradable and just kinda disappeared into the stuff at the bottom of the pit.

The glossy sheets (The ones found in the lingerie section) were really not suitable for anything but looking at (At least in my pre-teen mind) or lining shelves and covering seed beds. Judging from my memories of my peers comments, that section did get a lot of attention when they used the “facilities”.

However the newsprint pages that composed the rest of the catalog were ideal for completing the job we went to the outhouse to accomplish. If you ripped out a page and crinkled it up, it made a fairly good substitute for the toilet paper that we did not have. It was a little rough, but usable.

The glossy pages, on the other hand, just didn’t have the wipe-ability of the coarser pages. Besides, those were the pages that Pop was most likely to use in his seed beds — those pages apparently had better “dimensional stability” when they got wet. Pop didn’t use the term dimensional stability but he knew what he was doing.

Now you know why I considered the Sears Roebuck Catalog as being essential to America’s shoppers, gardeners, fire-starters, fledgling readers and mathematicians, nascent voyeurs and as an indispensible aid in helpingAmerica finish the job by being the paper that got the job done.

I truly consider the Sears Catalog (The last “BIG” book was printed in 1993) to have been the ultimate recyclable. From sales to sanitation that book did it all. I don’t miss it but I sure do remember it!

If you’re interested, this link:

(http://www.searsarchives.com/catalogs/history.htm)

will give you a pretty thorough history of the Sears Catalog and the changes it made in the buying habits of Americans. A lot of famous Americans were featured in its pages but for some reason, there’s no mention of the recyclability of that venerable old catalog as we used it.

NOTE: Way back when, I used to write a weekly article for two  newspapers in our area. The articles covered subjects from political pandering to personal pontificating on any subject that struck my fancy. In other words, I had free reign.

 The following was written about Christie, my wife, dressing as a witch on Halloween night and giving out treats to the kids — from tots to twenty-something “kids” — who didn’t want to let go of the opportunity to fill their goodie bags with free candy.

 Anyway, I thought this article might tickle a funny bone, or two, and point out that political correctness is still alive — and just as dumb as I always thought it was. Of course, that’s just my opinion, right?

Halloween Costumes Getting Too Political

By Jake Jakubuwski

 I’m devastated!  Last week, I wrote a column about Halloween safety.  In that column I mentioned that some adults enjoying entering into the “spirit” of the night by dressing in a variety of costumes, and passing out treats to the youngsters that come callin’.  I also mentioned that my wife, Christie, would be one of those adults, and would dress as an ugly, cackling, old witch.

As I said, “I’m devastated!”  You see, at the time I wrote that article, I had no idea in the world that if Christie dressed as a witch, she would be displaying an overt insensitivity (I’m pretty sure I have this right, even though the reasoning seems a bit fuzzy to me) to women who had broken down sexist and stereotypical barriers, but may have been referred to as “witches” while doing so.

And, to make matters worse, by dressing as a witch, Christie would probably…in addition to being politically incorrect … cause others of her sisters who have not been even marginally blessed with physical attractiveness, deep misery (that’s the word I read) and anguish.  Honestly, I didn’t know all this when I wrote last week’s article.  So, I told Christie that the witches outfit was…NOT!

I suggested instead that she could be an Indian Princess.  We researched it, and found that it would demean Native American’s and continue to perpetuate stereotypical thinking.  “O.K.,” sez I, “How about a dancing girl?”  Research:  Tends to perpetuate male dominance by portraying a woman as a second class entity fit only to entertain the domineering male.

All right, then how about a grandmotherly type dressed in an apron and carrying a mixing bowl.  Nope.  I found out that elderly women might take offense at being categorized as cookie-baking, turkey-cooking, apple pie making grandmas.

A bum?  Shoot! You can’t even use the word “bum” any more as that would show a callous disregard to the plight of the socially disadvantaged, economically deprived homeless persons that roam our streets and neighborhoods.

A convict with a ball and chain!  A stereotypical portrayal of a socially dysfunctional element who, through no fault of their own, probably lacked a proper role model…demeaning.

O.K!  Then we’ll make Christie an angel!  No way!  Atheists and persons of differing religions may take offense. Since such a religious characterization might cause an irreconcilable conflict with their beliefs or lack thereof.

Wait a minute!  I just remembered:  my grandfather once told me that “you can please some of the people some of the time, but you could never please all of the people all of the time”.

So, I’ll tell you what.  When I wrote last week’s article, I wrote it mainly with the idea in mind that I would point out to parents and grandparents how to make Halloween a little safer for the kids this year.  When I wrote this week’s article, I didn’t realize that Christie and I would be politically incorrect and offensive to nearly everyone with a cultural ax to grind.

Consequently, Christie and I have made a decision.  Since we were raised in a culture that promoted Halloween as a time of fun, festivity, treats and being just a little bit frightened by the ghosts, goblins, witches and warlocks that run wild on Halloween night … Christie’s going to greet the trick or treaters dressed as a witch!

Besides, if any of the parents of the wee folks, and those not so wee folks, who come knocking at our door on Halloween night decide that Christie’s costume is inappropriate or offensive, they don’t have to let their becostumed offspring take our treats home with them!

As Christie says:  “Eee, hee, hee!  EEEEEE, HEEE, HEEEE, HEE!

An Open Letter to:

Dr. Janet Kavandi,

Director of Flight Crew Operations

Johnson Space Center, Houston, Texas

 Dear Dr. Kavandi:

 I’ve been reading on the “Net” the last couple of days that NASA has announced it is going to open applications, next month, for an astronaut class that will start in 2013.

 This new class will be the 21^st since the original seven in 1959!

 In the article I read, you said that this is  “…an exciting time to join the astronaut corps.”

 Sounds good to me, Janet, please send me an application!

 I know that I’m not exactly a prime physical specimen and since my back surgery six years ago, I sleep sitting in a recliner. However, from what I can see in the videos I have watched; when you go up into space, you start out in a recliner and spend a lot of time in it while zipping around your flight orbit and watching stars, planets, the earth and space junk zipping by your window. Or are they called ports? Not the recliners, but the windows?

 I also know that astronauts have to have flight experience. I’ve got that!

 I learned to fly a Cessna 150 back in the early 70’s. I even managed to graduate to flying a 172 and finally a 182. I think that’s what it was called. I have flown unaided from Fort Myers, Florida to Orlando, to Tampa and back to Fort Myers! No problems.

 Well, there was a small one when I asked to land in Orlando and the tower told me to “do a right downwind, and turn base…” Please understand, I was new and the controller thought it was funny when I reported a right downwind and he asked if I was “that little plane over the lake?” I said, in my best pilot’s voice: “Affirmative!” The controller told me that since there was no other traffic in the area I could continue with my “left” downwind.

 Okay…it could happen to anyone. I’ll betcha astronauts have flown on the wrong side of some planet, or the other! And, I’ve read about lots of pilots that flew the wrong way. So, I don’t feel that was a major mistake, right?

 I still want a shot at being a part of this new corps of astronauts! I don’t have to pilot the space ship. I can be a navigator; or simply make the coffee for the other astronauts on board.

 I noticed on NASA’s website that they kind of favor folks that have a scientific background. They also lean toward folks that have been to college and have master’s degrees and stuff like that. I wonder how much “Life Experience” counts with NASA?

 I’ve got a lot of that. On the scientific level, I’ve learned that it’s wrong to mix bleach and ammonia (Paint remover and bleach aren’t good together, either). I’ve also learned that when you want to make a Bar-B-Q grill out of a 55-gallon drum that formerly had contact cement in it — using one of those long, fireplace matches to look inside the drum is not the best idea in the world.

 No! It wasn’t me. Honestly! But my buddy, Glen. He told me that’s how his nylon socks melted down around his ankles and his eyebrows got frizzed!

 See, Janet, I really do learn by experience! Not only when I do it, myself, but when friends share their discoveries with me…I think I would qualify as perceptive.

 I’ve also learned to pay attention to signs and written instructions. I’ve seen pictures of the inside of the shuttles and they’re full of signs and tags and stuff. I want you to know that I pay attention when the sign says, “Wet Paint”; I seldom ever touch the surface anymore.

 If the sign says, “Slippery When Wet!” I don’t try to slide down the hallway with my tennis shoes on. The main reason I don’t is because I found out, early on, that the slippery areas most often have an end to them. Often a very abrupt end!

 Let me tell you this: You don’t have to worry about me holding on to the railings and handles on gangways and ladders! No, indeed! I mean, at my age and with my “back condition”, I hold on to anything that will help me walk better and I avoid stairways and ladders as if my life depended on it. Also, I always use my seat belt whether I’m driving or riding.

 But on a shuttle mission; stairs, ladders and gangways would not even be a consideration since I would be weightless and could float from level to level and “swim” from one end of a compartment to the other! That would sure take a load off of my knees and hips!

 As far as I know, Janet, I don’t suffer from vertigo so maybe we could eliminate that centrifuge thing that seems to be a part of an astronaut’s training regimen. If we did, then I probably wouldn’t need to bring a barf  bag, or anything.

 When it comes to math and plotting courses, I’m pretty good as long as I can fly VFR (Visual Flight Rules). I also have a pretty good sense of direction and can easily differentiate between “UP and Down” and “Over and Under”. I mean if the shuttle I was on were to pass over Australia: I would know that I was “Down Under!”

 And, when it comes to math, I can count backwards from “10-to-liftoff” without even thinking about it!

 Janet, as far as I’m concerned there is only one serious drawback to me joining the next astronaut class: my weight. The reason I mention that is I know I would need a specially tailored space suit (But, aren’t they all specially tailored?) and my weight might make a difference in the amount of fuel needed to get the shuttle into orbit. But those are, in my mind, minor considerations and I am sure they can be worked out.

 I can’t tell you how excited I am to learn that NASA is going to develop a new astronaut class and I can’t express how enthusiastic I am at the prospect of being one of the chosen few for that class.

 Please expedite my application and I will return it FEDEX Red Label. I’m really serious about this, Janet.

 Respectfully,

 Jake Jakubuwski,

Oxford,North Carolina

 P.S. I will be 73 years old in November. NASA wouldn’t disqualify me on that account would they? I mean John Glenn went back into space when he was a lot older then me…

Was I Right or Just Lucky?

 Over the millennium, prognosticators have been predicting all sorts of dire scenarios for us mortals  on this big blue ball that we call “Earth.” On the other hand there have been those that have predicted sunny skies, cool weather, good fishing and happy marriages.  The point being that either way, things sort of worked out like things always work out — on their own.

I’m not laying any claims to being farsighted enough to predict anything except I’m getting older and hopefully a little smarter. But I’ve read a few articles in the past couple of months about folks experimenting with jelly fish genes and making glow-in the-dark cells that can be used for a variety of medical purposes!

No foolin’! I’m not going to go into all the details ‘cause I don’t really understand anything about chromosomes, genes and genetic engineering except that a lot of good stuff seems to be coming from genetic research. Here’s a couple of links if you’re interested:

 ttp://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VLhU_Cfw9Lc

http://maryeaudet.hubpages.com/hub/Glow-in-the-Dark-Pets

That’s all good. It’s even exciting. It might even be a little scary for some folks. But, as sorry as I am to burst anyone’s bubble — it’s old news!

 Trust me…

Back in September of 2000 (Light years ago in comparison to the speed at which technological advances are advancing), I read in the News & Observer about a Brazilian artist and a French bio-tech lab that were corroborating on genetically altering a bunny so that Peter’s cottontail (Along with the rest of him) would glow under ultra-violet light!

Recognizing opportunity when it knocks, I immediately sent in the following OP-ED piece which the N&O (Raleigh,NC) published sometime around the end of September of that year.

Even though I could see the potential — lo, those many years ago — I failed to call up my stock broker and invest heavily (Even lightly) in bio-techs. Sometimes you’re lucky and sometimes you ain’t. Well, at least the News & Observer) sent me a check for the piece.

Here’s the article, you decide if I was right or just plain ol’ lucky…

A Radiant New Industry

By Jake Jakubuwski

In case you missed it, the News & Observer ran a story about a Brazilian artist and a French bio-tech lab that collaborated on splicing whatever genome or DNA it is that makes certain jelly fish glow, into a rabbit’s genes.

Result: A rabbit that, when you shine an infrared light on it, glows in the dark! Like, everything glows. It’s whiskers, it’s eyes, it’s teeth, tongue and cotton tail!  Wow!

The article went on to say the artist was trying to make a statement and that there was quite a bit of negative feedback from geneticists, religious leaders, ethicists, scientists and a few other “cists”.

Of course there were the concerns about science tampering with the divine design. Animal rights activists expressing alarm and dismay over the fact that the rabbit was not a willing participant and that no one could understand its pain and suffering. Ethicists and creationists were blowing their particular horns; and scientists — along with environmentalists — were expressing concerns about what would happen to the rabbit population should this glow-in-the-dark rabbit escape into the wild and breed with its unenlightened brethren.

The obvious answer to that last question is: given the proclivity of rabbits for practicing the art of reproduction, it probably wouldn’t be long before the world would be overrun with bunnies that were lighting up the night around them. No hiding their light under a bushel for those guys!

Frankly, I’m not sure just how terrible that would be. Especially for hunters. I mean look how easy it would be to draw a bead on a bunny that glows brighter then the moon on a cloudless night!

I think all the naysayers are missing the boat on this one. I think the glow-in-the-dark bunny that the French lab created is the first example of a whole new technology that is on the cusp of revolutionizing a number of industries.

Smith and Wesson, Browning, Remington, Beretta, Colt and scores of other gun manufactures could equip their rifles with infrared scopes that would be guaranteed to illuminate whatever game the hunter is trying to bag. Think of it:Turkeysthat glow green. Deer that glow red; bear that glow chartreuse and quail that flash like a neon sign! Every hunter in the country would want one of the new scopes.

Think about this. Glow-in-the-dark technology would be a boon to regional dish aficionados. If someone ordered “Maryland Soft Shell Crabs” from the menu and their scanner revealed a pinkish glow rather then foam green; they would know those crabs did not come from the Chesapeake Bay! Bostonians would know instantly that the scrod they were eating was really Boston scrod and gourmands in New Orleans would know that the fuchsia fillets on their plates were genuine Mississippi catfish!

The potential is limitless. Not only could we have the family pet uniquely color-coded, scientists could splice infrared markers into the genetic structure of common household germs so we could determine how effective the latest sanitizing, household cleaner is. Carrying that concept a step further, eating at a fast food restaurant would be safer.  We could use our hand-held scanners to determine if the table we were sitting at was clean and the food we ordered was nontoxic. No glowing microorganisms would mean that salmonella, and botulism cultures were nil.

The impact of this technology would be felt in virtually every profession, trade and industry in the world. Building trades would be needed to accommodate the demand for expanded and new research labs. More lawyers would be needed to handle the increase in lawsuits brought against the geneticists by animal rights groups. New regulatory agencies would have to be set up at all levels of government.Hollywood would remake movies like “The Blob” and call it “The Glowing Blob”. Or the “Invasion of The Killer Tomatoes” would become “The Infrared Tomato Massacre”!

We could have a Glow-In-The-Dark Encyclopedia (Random House, of course!) that would rival a Sherwin-Williams color chart. Dusky Almond for eels.Cocoa for elk. Sandalwood for bison. Raspberry for French poodles. Eggshell for deodorizing or sanitizing cleaning agents. That encyclopedia would be a veritable smorgasbord of colorful critters, chromosomes and creatures that would satisfy any appetite, taste, hygienic or decorating need!

This genetically altered, glow-in-the-dark, bunny might well be the genetic equivalent of the discovery of gold at Sutter’s Mill in 1849. A small — artistically inspired — genetic procedure that could lead us down a glowing path to a new and glowing prosperity.

We might even have to change our National Anthem to: “Glow, Little Glow Worm!”

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