“Thoughts” – It’s hard to believe Thoreau became famous for doing this. Living in these woods and writing down his thoughts. I guess a lot of people say they would like to live in the woods, but almost none of them do it. Maybe that’s why he became famous—because people can continue to live in their big houses in the city and can read about living in a cabin. They can experience it without doing it. Maybe that’s what humans are looking for in life, to experience things without really doing them. That would explain all the televisions and computers and iPhones.
Category: Fame and ambition
“Ditto finds a pencil” (III)
Where’s your pencil? said Virginia. I left it at home, said Ditto. What about the museum, said Virginia, and the tourists and audio phones? I’m not going to do it, said Ditto. Why? said Virginia. I like Concord the way it is. Yes, said Virginia, the library, the cemetery, the inn, and the friendly people at the Main Street Café—it’s a nice town, and more traffic might spoil it. Yes, said Ditto, and encourage someone to put a stop light on Main Street.
“Ditto finds a pencil” (II)
Well, said Virginia, no one in Concord is missing a pencil. No, said Ditto, they looked at us like we were crazy. I guess people don’t use pencils anymore, said Virginia. No, said Ditto, I guess not. What’ll we do with it? said Virginia. If we save it, said Ditto, it might become an antique. An antique? said Virginia. Yes, said Ditto, like putt putt boats, cassette tapes, and common courtesy. And people would travel for miles to see it? said Virginia. Yes, said Ditto, and we’d keep it behind glass, and rent headphones to explain its history. So the tourists would know what to think? said Virginia. Yes, said Ditto, and realize how important it is, and not complain about the admission fee. Visitors would come to Concord from all over the world! said Virginia. Yes, said Ditto, they would.
“Morton’s Pond” (I)
Hello, said Pablo. Hello, said Morton. What are you doing at Walden Pond? I don’t know, said Morton. You don’t know? said Pablo. No, said Morton. Be careful you don’t get any deer ticks. Deer ticks? said Morton. Yes, said Pablo, spring is the season for deer ticks. Oh, said Morton. Where are the other students? said Pablo. Glouster is in Boston with the ducks at Longfellow bridge, Chelsea is at Emma Lou’s house, Frank is living in the Concord cemetery, and the moose just vanished. Do you have any plans for the summer? No, said Morton, I can’t figure out what to do since the semester ended. Maybe you should spend the summer here. Here? said Morton. Sure, said Pablo. What could I do here? said Morton. You could look at things, said Pablo, and listen to things, and write about what you see and hear. Really? said Morton. Sure, said Pablo, just like Thoreau. Who? said Morton. Henry David Thoreau, said Pablo, a man who didn’t know what to do after he graduated from college, so he moved to Walden and wrote about what he saw and heard. That doesn’t sound very interesting, said Morton. Actually, said Pablo, he became famous. Really? said Morton, just because he didn’t know what to do after college?
“Blurtso takes a trip” (XIX)
The stone is clean now, and polished in the sun. And there is no sign of blood. But how many donkeys labored away their lives, hoof after hoof after hoof, to build this place?
“Blurtso takes a trip” (XVI)
What is it in Venice that makes us feel we have been transported in time? Is it the ancient buildings and bridges, the palaces with their frescoes and the moss-lined canals? Is it the smooth-worn stones or the fountains of the piazze? Is it the stillness of the water and the echoing barcarole? No, it is rather the simple sound of voices and footsteps, heard, as if for the first time, in a city without engines, in a civilized world before the automobile.
“Alex takes her friends to the street” (IX)
What’s this? said Blurtso. It’s the Baseball Encyclopedia, said Alex, the complete statistical record of every man to ever play Major League Baseball. Wow, said Blurtso, it’s like a history book written with numbers instead of letters. Exactly, said Alex. Who is the greatest player of all time? said Blurtso. Babe Ruth, said Alex. Or Ted Williams, said Harlan. Which one is it? said Blurtso. Babe Ruth, said Alex, hit 714 homeruns, a record which lasted for forty years. Yes, said Harlan, but Ted Williams hit 521 homeruns, and he missed five seasons due to military service. So? said Alex. If he had played those years, said Harlan, and averaged 36 homeruns per year, which is what he averaged for his career, he would have hit 700 homeruns as well. Who had the higher batting average? said Blurtso. Babe Ruth batted .342, said Alex. Ted Williams batted .344, said Harlan. Who was a better defensive player? said Blurtso. Babe Ruth, said Alex, until he got fat. Has anyone else hit 700 homeruns? said Blurtso. Yes, said Alex, Barry Bonds and Hank Aaron. Willie Mays hit 660, said Harlan, and he missed two years in the military, so he would have hit 700. Who is the best defensive player in that group? said Blurtso. Willie Mays, said Alex, but Barry Bonds was also exceptional. Better than Babe Ruth? said Blurtso. Much better, said Harlan. Then why, said Blurtso, isn’t Barry Bonds the best player ever? Because, said Alex, he played in the steroids era. Who was the greatest all-around player, offense and defense? said Blurtso. Probably Willie Mays, said Alex. Or Barry Bonds, said Harlan. But Babe Ruth, said Alex, is the greatest player of all time. Or Ted Williams, said Harlan.
“Alex takes her friends to the street” (VIII)
Two outs, bottom of the ninth, one strike from the championship… here’s the pitch… a swing… it’s a long flyball… the centerfielder leaps… she’s got it!… no… she drops it!… it’s headed to rightfield…
The rightfielder has it it!… no… he drops it!… but here comes the centerfielder!…
Break out the cocoa and pumpkin pies! We made a clean sweep of all the awards, said Pablo. Harlan won the homerun title, Alex won the golden hoof award, Bonny led the league in wins, I had the highest batting average, Ditto had the best on base percentage, and Blurtso hit into the most double plays.
ab h 2b 3b hr rbi r bb so hbp ba obp slg dp
Blurtso 89 11 0 0 1 4 6 0 51 0 .124 .124 0.157 26
Harlan 66 32 6 0 25 89 46 29 26 0 .484 .642 1.727 5
Alex 96 49 9 26 3 23 53 5 3 0 .510 .535 1.343 0
Ditto 1 0 0 0 0 6 52 86 1 7 .000 .989 0.000 0
Bonny 82 53 5 1 6 44 36 11 4 0 .646 .688 0.951 3
Pablo 75 56 24 6 9 77 50 18 0 0 .747 .796 1.587 2
w l ip h bb so hr era
Bonny 10 2 102 123 4 71 17 9.63
“Alex takes her friends to the street” (VII)
I forgot to water my pumpkins this morning, thought Pablo, I wonder what the temperature is today?
The zoo is open until dusk, thought Harlan, and the elephant cage is right by the entrance.
I wonder, thought Ditto, if Dustin Pedroia ever played rightfield?
Ditto’s birthday is tomorrow, thought Bonny, I hope the Dustin Pedroia jersey isn’t too small.
The team is really focused today, thought Alex, the championship is as good as won.
“Alex takes her friends to the street” (VI)
Wow, thought Blurtso, today’s game decides the championship. I’ve never been a champion. I set a record in the ski jump, but was disqualified for being a donkey. That was a relief, because the paparazzi went away. There aren’t any paparazzi here. Or any fans. I guess they’re all at home, listening on the radio. I wonder who’s doing the broadcast? I’ll bet it’s Jerry Remy. I wonder if Jerry Remy played stickball? He grew up in Somerset, so he probably played baseball, on real grass. That would be distracting, playing on grass. As distracting as playing in a pumpkin pie factory. You don’t see many sporting events in pie factories, for just that reason. I wonder if the winners get a trophy? I’d love to have a trophy, tall and shiny, with an action figure on top. Maybe a donkey taking a Ruthian sing, or a donkey making an over-the-shoulder catch, or a donkey gunning down a runner from third. A trophy would look great in the barn, with a little straw around the base. I wonder if being a champion would go to my head? I wonder if I’d begin to stay out late, and go to nightclubs, and get in trouble with the law? The paparazzi would revel in my fall, encouraging the cracks in my character. And I have many cracks. I’m not a role model. I have too many vices… pumpkin pie, hot cocoa, whipped cream. I wouldn’t want anyone to imitate me. I would be a terrible champion. But I sure would like a trophy, tall and shiny, in the middle of the barn.