Mad World | Kelsey Timmerman

40 years later and still no “Beach House on the Moon”

By Kelsey

Today is the 40th anniversary of the moon landing and now there’s renewed talk about going to Mars. To celebrate, I thought I’d re-post a piece that I wrote when President George W. Bush began his own renewed talks about going to Mars. The idea fell to Earth like a lead balloon. With President Obama facing a universe worth of other issues, I doubt that he’s going to jump on the Mission to Mars with much gusto. Today he’ll probably pose with the Apollo 11 alumni, but not commit to much else than a smile.

It’s amazing how far we’ve come in 40 years. Before Armstrong’s giant step, the moon was just something we pointed to and marveled at. Today it’s something we point at and say, “I own that piece right there, next to the Sea of Tranquility.” Yes, even the moon is for sale.

Here’s the piece written in 2004:

“In the past 30 years, no human being has set foot on another world or ventured farther up into space than 386 miles, roughly the distance from Washington, D.C., to Boston, Massachusetts.” The voice was that of President George W. Bush launched from NASA headquarters in Houston to a satellite orbiting at thousands of miles an hour. From the satellite the signal was shot down to us earthlings. Rocking in my recliner, I stared off into the corner of the room listening to the voice of the President emerge from the ether out my radio.

Pyramid, a word association game show featuring two celebrities, was on TV and I was playing along, “Uh…uhh…kids like to play on this…boing…boing…boing…” The clues were given by the voice of Bart Simpson. A Pogostick- I screamed inside my head. The contestant echoed my thoughts and I gave myself a point.

“Today I announce a new plan to explore space and extend a human presence across our solar system.” The game was moving onto the Winner’s Circle; I sat in an entirely different circle in my recliner staring at the TV with a slice of cold pizza in my hand - the Loser’s Circle. I switched off the TV opting for George Bush over Bart Simpson; there’s a first time for everything.

“It is time for America to take the next steps.”

The last few weeks as the world logged onto the NASA website and viewed color panoramic shots of Mars, there had been rumors of manned missions to the Red Planet. It was a mind-blowing prospect- the ultimate journey, at least a three-year mission that would cover approximately 40 million miles…one-way.

I pictured a man, dressed in white, running in a vertical circle in an all white room while an all too intelligent computer plays classical music in the background. The man is interrupted by the appearance of the president of the galaxy, a creature with three arms, two heads, and one big ego that goes by the name Zaphod Beeblebrox. They hold an unusually complex and circular discussion that lasts a short time - a few years - and soon arrive on the Martian surface to find clothed apes swinging from the Statue of Liberty.

This was real science fiction.

“Using the crew exploration vehicle, we will undertake extended human missions to the moon as early as 2015, with the goal of living and working there for increasingly extended periods of time.”

Whoa! Stop the presses. Excuse me Mr. President, but I was never informed of such plans. Mars…fine, let’s go for it, but the moon?? ? No one asked me for permission.

Who am I? I just happen to be an owner of the moon, who appreciates to be kept in the know when decisions are made involving my property.

This year for Christmas my brother purchased me an acre of land on the moon for the bargain price of $35.00. The one-acre of land represents the largest thing that I own. Area G11, Quadrant Alpha, Lot Number 6/1190 located 001 squares south and 006 squares east of the extreme or 6-10 degrees north and 20-24 degrees east, is harmoniously located on the northwest portion of the Sea of Tranquility near the Crater of Argo.

Slices of the big cheese can be purchased from the self-proclaimed “Head Cheese,” Dennis Hope. In 1980, Hope found a loophole in a UN treaty that prevented governments from owning extraterrestrial property, but failed to ban ownership by individuals and corporations. Hope laid claim to the surface of the moon and the eight other planets, forming the Lunar Embassy (www.lunarembassy.com)-one-stop shopping for your extraterrestrial real estate needs.
Mr. President, as an owner of the moon, I hope that you plan to treat it with the respect with which we have treated our own planet. What are your plans for the moon?

“…the moon is home to abundant resources. Its soil contains raw materials that might be harvested and processed into rocket fuel or breathable air.”

Hold on a second sir…Maybe you were unaware of this, but I also am an owner of the mineral rights from the surface of my one-acre to a depth of three kilometers inclusively. I believe that I should be consulted or compensated for property being dug-up, thrown into a rocket, and burnt away. Maybe if I were to accompany the mission…

“Eugene Cernan, who is with us today, the last man to set foot on the lunar surface. He said this as he left: ‘We leave as we came and, God willing, as we shall return, with peace, and hope for all mankind.’”

“America will make those words come true.”

Mr. President, please, I do not appreciate being interrupted. If there is no place for me in your plan,s or respect of my ownership, I will be forced to take matters into my own hands. I love to travel to far off places and a trip to the moon has always been on my list of things to do; I am not beyond seeking the aide of the Russians. They have similar plans in the works and hope to revisit the moon by 2014, a year sooner than NASA. Sir I must remind you that the Russian’s can be bought. In 2015 when you visit the moon and Man Band member/Astronaut, Lance Bass, steps onto the Lunar surface, do not be surprised to see a sign driven into the ground: ‘Private Property. No Trespassing: Any violators will be prosecuted!’

“The vision I outline today is a journey, not a race.”

I respect that sir, I really do. But, please respect my rights as well. In the future I hope to develop an environmentally friendly get- away for the earthbound upon my one-acre. Beachfront on the Sea of Tranquility guarantees to be an ideal location for a dive resort. Customers will have lunar diving a few “small steps for man” away from the front door of the Beach House. There is no atmosphere, promising that customers will return home with the tan of their life. What do you think?

“Let us continue the journey. May God bless.”

I’ll pencil you and Laura in for the grand opening. It’ll be great; I’ve booked Jimmy Buffett.

Mad World

How can I have my midlife crisis if TransAm is dead?

By Kelsey

I thought I had my mid-life crisis all figured out.

In 2029 when I turn 50, I’ll start lifting weights, listen to nothing but the Goo Goo Dolls, dust off the ol’ letterman jacket, and – this is the most important party — buy a shiny new TransAm to make me feel 16 again.

But now that Pontiac is no more, how’s a fella supposed to get through his midlife crisis? Surely you don’t expect me to buy a Mustang, do you?

On my 16th birthday my parents chipped in half for the TransAm I had been pining for. Not one of those weenie ones with a V6 in it. It had eight screaming cylinders of raw American muscle. I was proud of how much gas and rubber it burnt when I dropped the hammer. It looked like the Batmobile and so that’s what I got on the license plate — BATMBLE.

I thought I was cool. One of the last times I drove it, I was picking up Annie from her dorm in college, and a girl walked by staring at the car.

“That’s right,” I thought. “Soak it up. You wish you were going to slide into the co-pilot seat as my Robin, but that seat is filled.”

When her eyes fell upon the license plate, she rolled her eyes. Rolled her eyes at the BATMBLE!

I drove the car slow – not much over the speed limit. I was like an Olympic sprinter strolling through the park – I knew I was fast, I knew that I could toast you, and you knew that I knew I could toast you, but I just puttered along confident in my speed.

The rumor around school was that I landed Annie because of the Batmobile. Never mind that most days I drove my dad’s beat up 25 year-old truck, which had a wood bed and holes in the floor panels. But on the weekends we would take the Batmobile to the movies. Some might think that growing up in the rural Midwest an hour away from a movie theater would be a bad thing. Obviously, they never had the pleasure of riding in the Batmobile.

Annie says that she didn’t start dating me because of the car. When I pressed her for why she started dating me, she rolled her eyes and said that she felt sorry for me.

Even so, I know that she enjoyed the rides in that car. I could tell that she thought I was especially cool when I popped in the CD of the Batman theme song.

How cool was I at 16? That’s coolness that I’ll never be able recover, not at 30, not at 40, and not in 2029 at 50. Especially now that Pontiac is dead.

What are your plans for your midlife crisis?

Annie, the Batmobile, and I on the way to our Prom in 1997. You wish you were this cool in high school.

Mad World

Bear Gryll gets the Glory, camera crew gets the shaft

By Kelsey

Not pictured: All the locals who lug their gear and the camera crew that captures their glory

Members of Expedition Africa. (Not pictured: All the locals who lug their gear and the camera crew who captures their glory)

Few knows this, but a while back someone asked me to audition for a position as the host of a television series that focused on Tattoo cultures around the world.

I was fresh off my trip to Asia tracking down my clothes - pre-book deal. I set a camera in a field of corn and talked about where I came from and why I would be a great host for their show on tattoos, even though I knew I would be a horrible host for a show on tattoos.

I don’t have any tattoos, nor plan on getting any ever. The only tattoo I would consider getting is one from a man I heard about from some around-the-world sailors. He asks you some questions about yourself, you pay him, and then he gives you the tattoo he wants to give you. If you ask for a certain tattoo, “I want a pony,” the deal is off. “No Tattoo for you!” This option would work for me because if the tattoo looked stupid, I could just blame it on the guy who gave it to me, absolving myself from the decision making process. “Who would have thought that Care Bears were big on that remote island?” I could offer as my excuse.

Anyhow, I digress…

I would have been a crappy host for a number of reasons. First, I don’t have any tattoos. Second, I have a major problem with many of these “go places, do stuff, travel/adventure” shows: the camera crew is completely forgotten.

Bear Gryll…GRRRRR….gets me fired up. Death waits around every ravine, under every rock, and from every angle. At least that’s what he says. As he climbs up the mossy rocks of a waterfall he looks at the camera and says something like, “One wrong step and I fall to my death.” As he wades his way through snake and alligator infested waters he warns, “At any moment I could be attacked and fighting for my life.” Bear Gryll is nuts, sure, but what about the poor cameraman? He’s climbing a mossy waterfall while holding a camera. He’s trudging through death-infested waters while holding a camera.

I’ve been watching Expedition Africa on the History Channel. Four “explorers” are following in the steps of Stanley’s expedition to find Livingstone. The four fight over who’s leading the group where while local porters and even two bushmen look on. One explorer is even carrying around a pith helmet! It’s embarrassing. It’s just a reminder of the ugliness of colonialism. “We’re white, educated, explorers, the locals are cute and all with their bare feet, but we know better than they do.” The group comes across some tough conditions – climbing muddy mountains in the rain, crossing deserts in excruciating heat. But…what about the camera crew who are climbing a muddy mountain in the rain while holding a camera, and crossing the desert in excruciating heat while holding a camera?

I’m not a big fan of half stories and half-truths and that’s what these shows give us.

I would like to see a show about the camera crews who are tossed on ships while holding a camera filming the The Deadliest Catch, the camera woman sitting in the out of control rig barreling down the Ice Road, the dude climbing next to Bear Gryll.

Now that’s a show I could host. Although I suppose then there would need to be another show about the people filming the camera crew who are filming the camera crew.

Not only are the camera crews left out of the story although they are sweating, trekking, risking their lives just like the stars of the show, but the affects the cameras have on the results of the show aren’t acknowledged. Go to your nearest airport and start begging for 100-bucks. Not going to happen. But go to your nearest airport with a camera crew from the Amazing Race filming you, and your chances are good.

I’ve said it before, reality brings death to romance and I would like to make one addendum.

Reality (TV) brings death to romance and cameramen.

(Below the cut is an old column about my Travel Channel Hero Alby Mangels and the time I spent with his nephew in Australia)

Chinese reader worried about the future of her village

By Kelsey

One of the things I ask myself about my book is, “Did I get China right?” I was only in China for a month. (Remember there was no book deal at the time and my leap of faith was getting really expensive.) While I don’t think it’s possible to get a place, especially China, right, I’m overjoyed to get this email validating that I didn’t get it all wrong. And, according to the awesome, fabtabulous, make-my-day letter I just received from a reader in China, I actually might’ve been pretty close.

Dear Kelsey,

I’m a reader of your book ‘Where am I wearing’. I spent two days finishing your book and I really love it. I’ve learned a lot from your trips and the effort that you made.

I’m a Chinese girl from Hebei province of China. My hometown is very near to Beijing and the economic situation there maybe better than most other areas of China. Right now I’m pursuing my Ph.D degree in Singapore. Believe it or not, my village is more or less the same with Dewan’s hometown. Only grandparents with grandchildren, almost all the young people leave their homes to pursue a ‘better’ life in big cities. Nobody takes care of the fields. Nobody plants crops any more.

I’m worried about the future of my village. One day it might disappear if the situation doesn’t change. I don’t know what I can do for it. I hope one day I can find a way to save my small village.

Thanks for your wonderful book and have a nice day!

Best regards,

Lynn

Here’s part of what I responded: “I think it’s important for young people like you and me to not forget where we came from. I hope you can find a way to save your village and I hope I can find a way to save mine too.”

I never cease to be amazed by how much we ALL have in common.

Mad World

Blog post past: Mrs. Butterworth’s boobs

By Rule29

(From November 2007. Although this post has nothing to do with globalization or garments it is one of the most viewed in the history of this blog.)

mrsbutterworth

Where did Mrs. Butterworth’s boobs go?

When I was kid she was much shapelier. Now, she’s as flat as a pancake.

There are only two reasons why they could have disappeared (none of which is that she is old and gravity plays on such things – because Mrs. Butterworth is ageless):

1) Economics - Pinnacle Food Company, which produces Mrs. Butterworth, decided that they could make a greater profit if they flattened her out, thus robbing consumers of two D-cups of her sweet nectar.

2) Prudishness - After decades of children and adult alike fondling the syrup maven, our culture cannot handle inanimate objects with anatomy.

Banished by corporate greed or by our ultra-conservative culture, Mrs. Butterworth’s boobs are gone.

I miss them.

Now when I’m holding Mrs. B upside down, there is no matronly shelf to rest my index finger upon. Instead, my finger slides down her midriff and onto her hands clasped at her waist, as if to console her.

She’s the saint of syrup with her halo of dried mapley goodness just below her cap, but she’s also a woman. A woman robbed of her womanliness.

Shame on Pinnacle Foods. Shame on us all for sitting idly and allowing them to perform a double mastectomy on our momma of maple.

Mad World

Ehrenreich on “Recession Porn” and poor still not getting by in America

By Kelsey

Recently Author Barbara Ehrenreich revisited some of the people she wrote about in her book Nickel & Dimed to see how they were faring in the current economic climate. She writes about them in a recent Op-Ed in the NY Times:

The current recession is knocking the working poor down another notch — from low-wage employment and inadequate housing toward erratic employment and no housing at all.

She says that the media is obsessed with “Recession Porn.”

the story of an incremental descent from excess to frugality, from ease to austerity. The super-rich give up their personal jets; the upper middle class cut back on private Pilates classes; the merely middle class forgo vacations and evenings at Applebee’s.

Yet the story of the poor getting poorer isn’t reported on. Stripping is up, the number of people crammed in houses and apartments across the company has increased, and even “urban hunting” is on the rise:

In Racine, Wis., a 51-year-old laid-off mechanic told me he’s supplementing his diet by “shooting squirrels and rabbits and eating them stewed, baked and grilled.” In Detroit, where the wildlife population has mounted as the human population ebbs, a retired truck driver is doing a brisk business in raccoon carcasses, which he recommends marinating with vinegar and spices.

I would love to do a similar story with the workers I met in Honduras, Bangladesh, Cambodia, and China. There is little doubt that there lives have changed since I visited them in 2007. We buy less stuff. The factories have fewer orders and jobs.

Ehrenreich writes, “Comfortable people have long imagined that American poverty is far more luxurious than the third world variety, but the difference is rapidly narrowing.”

I would have to argue with that statement. The poor are getting poorer in America and in Bangladesh.

Mad World