helping us live longer. People are eating better, they quit smoking, they exercise and if they’re really lucky they’ll live to be 86 or 88 or 90. It seems like we’re moving all the pieces around but the end result is the same. The human race is just a giant version of the Detroit Lions offense.
Death is a little different now than it was even thirty years ago because of the Internet. I have exactly one picture of my grandma that I know of. It was taken at my First Communion party so it’s not exactly current (as an aside, my grandma saw that picture in a collage on her 80th birthday and said, “I forgot how good looking I was!”).
But now with devices like Facebook and Youtube people can stay in our lives forever. I’m not sure there’s an expiration date on Myspace or Google so presumably whatever makes it on the net will remain there for all eternity. If I croak and my son Q wants to read some of my old columns, they’ll all be out there, waiting.
But that doesn’t do ME any good. He’ll be reading about flip-flops while I’m dodging worms. So here’s what I’m thinking. Supposedly every person (every living thing actually) has a unique electrical current running through their body. When displayed on a screen, the current is as individual as a voiceprint. What if I figure out a way to capture and store those internal electrical blips on a computer? Maybe someday, someone smarter than me will be able to take the blips and play them back like a record, decoding the series of irregular lines and recreating the person who made them, electronically at least. You could carry your relatives around on a flash drive. We have paperless companies, why not bodyless people?
The cool thing is you could keep updating it so your kid could have “Dad at thirty” and “Dad at forty” so conversations could be held electronically with no mental deterioration. When you’re twenty-five, you can talk to your Dad who’s also twenty-five.
I admit it’s got some bugs to be worked out but hey, they laughed at the guy who invented penicillin. When Marconi talked about harnessing radio waves people thought he was nuts and 100 years ago who would have dreamed of the designated hitter? Storing a body’s electrical rhythm is certainly easier and less expensive than cryogenically freezing a head (and considerably less messy).
Now if I could just get all those people who donate millions of dollars towards curing diseases which we will obviously never cure to send me the money for Tracy-wave Technology™ research, I’ll be golden. Not only will I be rich I’ll be able to live forever and as living options go, when it comes to forever you just can’t…beat it.
The Jello Jump
By Tracy K. Lorenz
Last week I was walking from my car to a Joan Jett concert (a sentence I’m not particularly proud to write) and my route took me through the carnival midway. I now know where the people too ugly to shop at WalMart hang out. But as I was walking I caught the scent of Ban de Sole suntan lotion on the woman in front of me and it triggered a memory.
Back in the days when radio was still locally owned they (the radio stations) would have goofy contests to help promote their business. At that time the undisputed king of radio promotions was WTRU 1600 on your AM dial. Durng one of the first years of the failed Lumbertown Music Festival WTRU had a contest to win a car. The contest was called the “Jell-O Jump”.I had just gotten my drivers license and a car would come in handy, a free car would be handiest of all. I signed up for the contest along with my friends Jeff DePouw and Mark Schaab. Back then the carnival midway was set up in the parking lot at The Mart Dock. The Jell-O jump would take place at the carnival’s entrance near the railroad tracks on a clear but chilly Saturday morning.
But it was still a car and we were there so what the heck, a little Jell-O never hurt anyone.
When I heard about the Jell-O jump here’s what I pictured: A giant pool full of Jell-o and car keys. The disc-jockey would count down from three and everyone would jump into the pool and search for the winning key!
Not even close.
Instead of a pool they had a dumpster. It was a clean dumpster but a dumpster nonetheless. Inside the dumpster was a substance that in no way, shape, or form was Jell-O. It was red, I’ll give them that, but it wasn’t solid. I think the theory was they’d fill a dumpster with water, dump in the powdery mix, add a bunch of ice and “Shazam!” Jell-O would form. Instead it was “Shazam!” slime! Really cold slime.
One look at the concoction and The Schaaby bailed. He was already driving a purple AMC Gremlin, he didn’t need another abomination in his driveway.
There was no “countdown” either. One at a time a person would walk up a ladder and jump into the mixture of water and ground-up horse hooves. Because the Jell-O wasn’t really Jell-O all the keys sunk to the bottom which meant unless you had arms like Manute Bol you had to submerge yourself to find a key. When you found a key you were helped out of the dumpster and lead to an area where the disk jockeys sprayed you down with a garden hose.
For a used Chevy Citation.
Jeff and I decided to hang back a bit and that was a good move, each person who exited the dumpster wicked away enough liquid in their clothes and hair that by the time it was our turn the liquid was only about shin deep. I remember fishing around like I was hunting for clams and the disk jockey yelling at me to submerge. I was like, “Dude, look at that car and then think about what you’re asking me to do.”
Eventually I found a key with my foot. I went to the rinse area, took the hose from the guy and rinsed off my legs and arms. I compared my key to Jeff’s, I had a Chevy key, Jeff had a house key. At least I knew I had one guy beat.
When the last of the 98 other contestants had emerged with a key we were lined up by the car, whoever had the key that opened the locked door was the winner. It wasn’t me, it was a guy named Richard Haggie. I have no idea why I remember the guy’s name but I’m sure winning the car was a life altering moment for him. My friends and I drove home in the Gremlin, sticky but none the worse for wear. Okay, so we didn’t win the car but on the plus side we didn’t win the car. We still had a memorable experience, Jeff and I didn’t chicken out, and I learned that when hopping into a dumpster full of Jell-O it’s best to wait until the liquid is less than…mid way.
Salad Time
By Tracy K. Lorenz
This is what I call the classic “tweener” week. Harley Gras just ended in Muskegon and The Coast Guard Festival starts next week in Grand Haven. In Muskegon you can bring your loved ones out of the basement and in Grand Haven you can put them in.
I actually think “Bike Time” (the WORST event name ever) gets a bad rap. If a bunch of old guys want to walk around dressed like pirates who cares, they live their lives promoting a fantasy, an image, and if a couple days a year they get to hang out with their fellow pirates have at it. It’s no different than a big, noisy, Star Wars convention and I’m sure it brings in upwards of fifteen dollars to aid our local economy.
I spent a lot of time in my younger days in the toughest Motorcycle bar in Muskegon, the “Town Tavern”. There were fights every night, more leather than David Carradine’s hotel room, and a certain camaraderie that comes from everyone being deaf. My days at TT are long gone, I grew up, I moved on, but I have nothing against those who didn’t. I’d just feel weird being over thirty and wearing a piece of clothing with a skull on it (Aunt Jamima head wrap optional). Being an older guy “into” motorcycles certainly isn’t as annoying as older guys who are “into”, say, softball.
And I’ll take the bikers any day over
