Beyond the Butterfly Effect

The Butterfly Effect is a figure of speech borrowed from meteorologists used by social scientists to describe an essential element of the chaos theory, "sensitive dependence on initial conditions." Fancy words for the simple idea that everything is everything (else).

Originally announced to coincide with the ninth anniversary of the murders of 9/11, but really for reasons that had everything to do with the Reverend Terry Jones' pathetic sense of inadequacy and almost pathological need for attention, and absolutely nothing to with the Lord's work, there were promises/threats of Koran burnings by the Dove World Outreach Center in Gainesville, Florida.

A flurry of headlines, satellite up link trucks scattered all across the church's parking lot delivering updates like hot pizza to a semi-somnambulant nation, concerns about wholesale reprisals as responses voiced by national leaders who were infuriated at the malevolent stupidity of such a grandstanding gesture and finally, at almost the last moment, the Righteous Rev dialed the rhetoric back to eleven, but only for a time, it turned out.

Proving that those who claim to follow Jesus can be at least as hateful and stupid as those who believe they are followers of Mohammad, Terry torched a Koran and half a world away, people who wanted nothing more than to help humans living in the fourteenth century get closer to the world of today were murdered in a violently extreme reaction by a mob who saw disrespect of their religion.

I'm impressed that in what I think of as a sixth or seventh-world nation (in terms of infrastructure and living standards) such as Afghanistan, word of the burning could have spread as quickly as it has, but there are numerous reports that the Dove World Outreach Center actually carried the desecration live on the internet which certainly helped spread and speed the ferocity of the protests.

It's discouraging to see the haste with which we take every tool we invent and turn it into a weapon against one another. Perhaps we beat plowshares into swords only because we can't figure out to kill one another with the damn plowshares. Hatred, TJ, begets hatred and a world view that dictates an eye for eye leaves us all blind and unable to see the beauty which surrounds us. If there's a God in the sky, looking down, what can he think of what we've done to the world that He created.

-bill kenny

We're born again, there's new grass on the field

I grew up and have grown old as a fan of the New York Yankees. Some of that was an accident of geography, living in Central New Jersey when your baseball choices were the Phillies of Philadelphia or the Bronx Bombers, but a lot of it was deliberate because when you wanted to see stars you went to Yankee Stadium.

A week into this year's season (that will stretch into November) and all any of us who follow major league baseball can agree upon is the odds of going 162 and zero are close to zip.

Despite being a (rabid) fan of Yankees Pinstripes, I confess to a growing fondness for another kind of stripes, those of the Connecticut Tigers, the Single-A New York-Penn League affiliate of the Detroit Tigers, who call Norwich's Dodd Stadium, home.

Our Connecticut Tigers are about ten weeks away from their home opener against the defending champions of the NY-Penn League, the Tri-City Valley Cats (a farm club of the Houston Astros). The first pitch is at 7:05 Monday night, June 20th. And you can believe it's a coincidence of the calendar that the first day of summer is the next day, if you'd like and I promise to not suggest one of us is confusing cause and effect.

Yeah, I know the weather's been brisk around here with barely a hint of Spring so the idea of baseball in June sounds far away, but the Tigers' home opener will be here before we know it. I was up at Dodd Stadium a couple of weeks ago with a few hundred other hearty souls on a sunny but chilly afternoon when Sacred Heart University's Pioneers beat the UConn Huskies.

The field, despite the awful winter, was in good shape and it was a lot of fun every half inning or so to move around and try out different seats and check out the sight lines all over the facility. I'm a bit prejudiced, but I don't think there's a bad seat in the house.

Dodd Stadium is a decade and half old but has held its age well. There's something about watching enthusiastic beginners who are just starting their journey to the Major Leagues. The young men on the playing surface are keenly aware the odds are stacked against their getting to the big leagues, but they put in the hours in the batting cages, on the infield ground ball drills, perfecting a sacrifice bunt and understanding who the cut-off man is with runners on first and second with less than two out. Because you never know if you're gonna be that guy.

Watching baseball on television isn't anywhere near the same experience as being in the stands and the atmosphere at a minor league game is far more fun than you'll feel at Fenway or Camden Yards. Don't get me wrong, the players leg out infield grounders just as hard at Dodd Stadium, but I suspect there aren't as many chicken dance contests at Citi Field.

Baseball is still America's game and the mental math and the game of manager's strategy within the game on the field is what turns casual followers into fanatics and brings all of us of all ages to the stands game after game year after year.

As for the players themselves, their energy, engagement and enthusiasm sometimes more than make-up for a lack of on-field skills, but only sometimes. That's why baseball has a farm system where you learn as you go and as you grow. And maybe someday, with enough hard work combined with natural abilities (and some luck), you're on the parent club's opening day roster and memories of Dodd Stadium start to dim, but not for those of us who cheer you on against the Staten Island Yankees, Lowell Spinners or the Jamestown Jammers among others.

This summer head for Dodd Stadium to check out the hometown team, the Connecticut Tigers. Their seventy-four game season may not be that long but the memories can last a lifetime.

-bill kenny

It Depends on the Fish

She was standing at the counter when I entered and I stood the appropriate ATM distance away from her, just far enough away to NOT be mistaken for Todd but not in the next area code either. Good thing, too, because I would've missed this exchange had I been half a step farther away.

After placing her breakfast order by number with a surly sales associate, the woman added, 'and I don't want any mushrooms on the sandwich.' The associate seemed to barely blink as she responded 'the sammiches don't come wif mushrooms' (offered in a 'so there, beyotch' tone of triumph). 'I don't care,' countered the woman, 'I still don't want any.'

The counter person started to say something and the woman put up her right hand and offered with both malice and menace 'you need to shut up and bring me breakfast. And no mushrooms.'

That seemed to take the fight right out of the Employee of the Month and a moment later, it was my turn. 'I'd like what the lady had,' I offered brightly since in short bursts I can be absolutely charming (time's up) 'except I want something different, but no mushrooms.' There was the briefest of moments when it looked as if there might be something less than lovin' it, coming across the counter and then suddenly there wasn't.

What I was living through was Colonel Scheisskopf's announcement that the Sunday parade had been cancelled, though no one had ever held a parade on Sunday or any other day. Confused? Good, that means we're all in the right place and in the same device. I offer this today of all days because while life imitates art, sometimes they're one and the same.

Today, fifty years ago, Joseph Heller's Catch-22 was first published. Happy Birthday. An early review in the New Yorker offered "it doesn't seem to have been written; instead, it gives the impression of having been shouted onto paper." I, for one, wouldn't have it any other way. I own at least three copies published on different continents (though all are in English to include one that is illegal to sell in the United States, it says).

I've been known to give people the book as a gift (I do not like the movie at all, sorry, Mike Nichols) and can quote chapters from memory, down to the punctuation, at the slightest provocation so consider yourself warned.

"It was love at first sight. The first time Yossarian saw the chaplain he fell madly in love with him." I'm hard-pressed to come up with a greater opening line in any published work (okay, except maybe this one), though you won't find it in this online version of Heller's novel which is why you have to go purchase the book.

Until I joined the US Air Force in the middle Seventies I thought Catch-22 was hilarious fiction-I discovered it was anything but and did so just in the nick of time. (I found this today and it suggests, based on its publication date, I was ahead of my time and that the Air Force Academy and every graduate owes me big time.) I can attribute the abbreviation of a career in the service of my country to Yossarian's Fish Dream (Chapter 27, Nurse Duckett; I didn't hate the whole movie, obviously). And considering the career I wasn't having, you are certainly welcome.

Could there be a more revelatory moment in life or art than the exchange between Yossarian and Clevinger that has 'no mushrooms' written all over it: "They're trying to kill me," Yossarian told him calmly. "No one's trying to kill you," Clevinger cried. "Then why are they shooting at me?" Yossarian asked. "They're shooting at everyone," Clevinger answered. "They're trying to kill everyone." "And what difference does that make?"

And in the end, the exchange that echoes across the years: "From now on, I'm thinking only of me." Major Danby replied indulgently with a superior smile: "But, Yossarian, suppose everyone felt that way." "Then," said Yosaarian, "I'd be a damned fool to feel any other way, wouldn't I?" Absolutely Yo-Yo, absolutely.

-bill kenny

Maybe a Week without Snow? (Norwich Meetings 4-9 April 2011)

This is shaping up to be one of those weeks in municipal government where he who hesitates is lunch, which explains that sprig of parsley I found in my shirt pocket. I still don't understand why someone thought liverwurst aftershave was a good idea before we visited the dog pound, but live and learn....

Tonight at seven thirty in City Hall's Council chambers, the agenda reflects one of the more important meetings of the City Council not just for this year but in recent memory. The City Manager will outline his proposed 2011-2012 municipal budget and let's face it, budget formulation is zero fun in the best of times and that's NOT where we are right now. But speaking of hopes for better things, also on the agenda is Council adoption of the plan for downtown revitalization we approved bond money for in November, so it looks talking the talk is over and walking the walk now starts.

Tuesday afternoon are a pair of meetings in the Integrated Day Charter School, IDCS, in Laurel Hill at the rehabbed old Thermos factory that are probably of value if you have children and/or are looking at schools and/or are interested in seeing how other than a public school system creates the needed educational room to grow for it students and teachers. The IDCS Governance Committee, followed by the Planning Committee, meets at five in their conference room. There's a reason why the school's waiting list is in excess of three hundred children-perhaps you should see for yourself.

And, since I'll never hear the end of this from Dennis if I don't mention it, Wednesday evening at seven in Room 335 of City Hall it's a regular meeting of the Republican Town Committee and if you were waiting for me to say something caustic, hope you have a good book because it'll be a long wait (a party with a person with no sense of Revolutionary War geography and a Congressional leader with a terrific tan needs me to make sport of it? I think not).

Thursday is chock a block with meetings, sort of. The sort of part is on account of the first one, listed on the City's calendar as the Downtown Neighborhood Revitalization Zone at 5:30 though the where is unclear and the deeper you dig the less clear it all gets. I think the schedule and location of meetings posted on the municipal website is actually from last year which is, in a way, a marked improvement over the archive of meeting minutes available. Perhaps the expiration dates of the members' appointments could be brought into the now while we're attempting to comply with the state's mandate on posting of meeting minutes more current than the draft minutes of the August 5th 2010 meeting. Seriously.

The Inlands Wetlands, Watercourses and Conservation Commission meets at seven in the basement conference room of the Planning Department at 23 Union Street. This must be their first session of the year as no minutes for 2011 meetings are available on the website. Yep, that's probably what happened.....

At 7:30 in Room 335 (sit up front or you will hear NOTHING) is the first installment of the municipal departmental hearings on the 2011-2012 budget with Planning and Neighborhood Services followed by Human Services, Corporation Counsel, the Mayor (on Economic Development) and concluding with the Finance Department and Treasurer each having twenty minutes (in theory) to make the case for their respective budget requests and to answer questions from the City Council (fyi, 'who's your daddy?' does not count as a question).

This Saturday's Meeting with the Mayor starts at 9 AM in the Taftville Volunteer Fire House at 134 Providence Street. Bring a squeak toy for the Dalmatian, and for the Mayor, whatever questions you have on where the city is heading and how we're going to get there. We need to start practicing singing in harmony, as tomorrow's just a song away.

-bill kenny

Some Day Somebody's Gonna Ask You a Question

It's a reflection of her curiosity and her calculation. My wife has a lethal set-up for getting what she wants merely by asking for it. It makes no difference if you and she have met just now for the first time in this life or if you've known her for all the years I've made her know me. Simple, direct, seemingly without artifice (but with much deliberation and delivery), she opens her eyes just a little wider, tilting her head slightly to her left as she leans forward to share with you with the softest of Hessicher dialekt, 'I haf a kwestion.'

It's a reflection of her curiosity and her calculation. My wife has a lethal set-up for getting what she wants merely by asking for it. It makes no difference if you and she have met just now for the first time in this life or if you've known her for all the years I've made her know me. Simple, direct, seemingly without artifice (but with much deliberation and delivery), she opens her eyes just a little wider, tilting her head slightly to her left as she leans forward to share with you with the softest of Hessicher dialekt, 'I haf a kwestion.'

At least that's what it sounds like to me. And she always gets an answer and assistance-from the hardware store guy, the shelf-stocker in the refrigerator case at the market, or from one of the swarm of white-coated jargon-spewing health care professionals she fences with on the phone as part of her one woman crusade to understand the complexities and contradictions of the American health care industry.

She raised two children to adulthood for the most part in a culture and society thousands of miles from where she, herself, had been raised, with the barest of assistance from a man whose heroes, he told her the night they met, were Peter Pan and Yossarian. I'm pretty sure she heard me clearly but decided to not make an issue of it.

Thirty-four years ago today I asked her to marry me. Both Pete and Yo-Yo would be pleased. She and I find it difficult to believe that it's been that length of time. I still can't believe she said yes. She says 'it feels longer'. I'm thinking that's because the Germans use the metric system. At least that's why I'm hoping she says that.

My recollection is, after her assent, I asked her if she was sure. Which, come to think of it, sounds exactly like something I'd say. As has happened so often ever since, she assures my recollection is entirely inaccurate. Wie du meinst my dear.

I do remember promising her a marvelous adventure with large amounts of laughter and, I believe, elaborately big dance numbers with Busby Berkley choreography. I may have oversold, ever so slightly, the upside of the matrimonial state with me but she's never complained at how the movie's turned out, even now when we're closer to the last reel and the closing credits than the previews.

Experience is what you get when you didn't get what you wanted. I guess that's another reason why I love her-she's experienced all of me there is and still loves me while I ended up with what I wanted, her. Yay me!

-bill kenny

Captain Cook Would NOT Be Amused

I'm thinking maybe our English cousins celebrate April Fool's Day a bit longer (and more intensely) than do we on this side of the pond. Or not. You be the judge: submitted for your inspection, "Woman Suffering from Depression to Have 'Therapy Pet' Kangaroo Taken Away."

I realize in many applications of tough love programs to combat substance abuse there are animal based figures of speech, such as cold turkey or get the monkey off one's back. And if one fails to get or to stay clean, you've screwed the pooch. What's the matter Lassie, is the Westminster Kennel Club in trouble?

I'm not sure I grasp exactly what therapy pet kangaroo taken away might be as a code or for what and I didn't want to be L7 so I checked in urban dictionary. No joy. The notion that this is an actual, legitimate story from the same people whose language so many of us speak and whose royalty fascinates us (though not enough to emulate George Bernard Shaw or even Robert (I always thought it was a good sized boat) should provide food for thought but I'm more of a dessert tray guy myself.

The old 'what did you say?' story about how the kangaroo got its name has been pretty much been put to bed, which is certainly more than can be said for Irwin, the subject of our newspaper article, leaving me to wonder if microchips and fish can be eaten on Fridays other than during Lent. Say three Hail Mary's and call me in the morning.

-bill kenny

Pranks for the Memories

Today, April Fool's, is a sort of holiday around the world and has been with us for the better part of a millennium (Falcon by Ford; to say nothing of Harrison). The origins of this day seem to stretch back to the time of Geoffrey Chaucer, and Canterbury Tales. I wonder, had Geoffrey ('Jeff' to his friends, perhaps) seen Ashton Kutcher's interpretation, if his face, at first just ghostly, would turn a whiter shade of pale.

Based on headlines across the globe this week, we've been practicing for today except no one was aware we were supposed to only be practicing. On every page in every paper and on every screen that flickers, are stories it's reasonable to assume are simply made up except they're not. And yes, I mean the logic that has US forces attacking Libyan military installations because, as our President explained, their leader is killing his own people. Except...that nut job's been murdering anyone he can put his hands to since he grabbed power forty something years ago. Actually, that is how he came to power in the first place. But as of last week, now it is wrong. Good to know.

Meanwhile, you might assume, there are governments in Syria and Bahrain (among other places and yes, Yemen, I was thinking of you) wondering just how close, if at all, they are to getting a Tomahawk chop from Nick NATO and the Nightimers. And I'd mention what the North Korean government does to its own people, and to everyone else, but we all already know about that-but it's all good I guess. When we awaken and ask how we are here instead of why we are here, we're lost because "if they can get you asking the wrong questions, they don't have to worry about the answers."

Here in lower New England, instead of spring cleaning, we're still snow shoveling. Perhaps the meteorologists are just getting into the spirit of the day. If they are, it'd be a bigger laugh if some of them wandered around their viewing areas and offered snow blower rides (I'm holding out for a pony ride and don't have too many more days before I don't get one again for my birthday).

In Bangladesh, where I imagine a translation of Canterbury Tales might not be an especially good house-warming gift, there are news accounts of the murder of a fourteen year old girl as punishment for being raped (I'll wait while you read that again, or more than a single again). My visceral reaction to the story was that it must be a joke AND it's in terrible taste. It seems to be more an instance of 'take a number' rather than take to the streets in outrage.

And to some extent, that's probably right--years ago, I removed the phrase 'that's the most seven letter gerund ending in ing stupid thing I've heard' because I was saying/thinking it almost non-stop. The stuff listed above happened in recent days and is by no means a complete or even representational reflection of the egregious awfulness that has been happening in Mister Rogers' Neighborhood probably since Eve's heavy steady said 'who doesn't love apples?'

Today, you can stand the world on its head. By tomorrow, no one will remember because nothing you may have done today will seem out of place in a vulgar and venal vale of perdition. A screaming comes across the sky. It has happened before, but there is nothing to compare it to now. Except now.

-bill kenny