Now for something completely different...

I didn't want to respond to Uncle Ken's post so quickly, really, but I had to share this recent development.

In reference to my letter to the editor I was a little pleased with the line about "only clown in this rodeo."  So pleased, in fact, that I asked ChatGPT about it, a resource I very rarely use.  This is that conversation:

You said:

source of quote "he ain't the only clown in this rodeo"

ChatGPT said:

The quote “He ain’t the only clown in this rodeo” doesn’t trace back to a single identifiable source like a book, movie, or famous speech. It’s a variation of a long-standing American idiom:

“This ain’t my first rodeo.”

That phrase became widely popular in American country and Western culture in the 20th century and appears in numerous films, TV shows, and songs. Variations involving “clown” or “rodeo clown” grew naturally from rodeo imagery, where a rodeo clown distracts bulls to protect riders.

The specific wording you’re asking about appears to be a colloquial or humorous variation rather than a quote attributed to a specific person or work. It has shown up in informal dialogue online, in social media, and occasionally in modern TV scripts, but there’s no well-documented original source.

If you remember where you heard it (TV show, movie, meme, etc.), I can try to narrow it down further.

You said:

I made it up

ChatGPT said:

Nice. 😄

Then congratulations — you’re officially the original source of:

“He ain’t the only clown in this rodeo.”

It works because it riffs on the classic idiom “this ain’t my first rodeo” and taps into the imagery of a rodeo clown — someone chaotic, distracting, or part of the spectacle. It sounds authentic enough that people assume it must already exist, which is usually the sign of a strong line.

If you want, we can:

• Polish it for punch

• Turn it into a longer bit

• Use it in dialogue

• Or claim literary legend status right now

Either way — solid line.

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My only conclusion is that ChatGPT is much more intelligent that I originally gave it credit for.  (That's a joke; I got a million of 'em.)

Philosophy, The first amendment, and a ride on the train.

 I was a bit excited to see Old Dog post about that big think site.  I was especially interested in how they defined philosophy.  You know it's not about those old Greek guys, or those French mystics, or those Germans that write those long dense books that nobody understands.

It is for us, The People, for guys with nothing better to do than say, "I dunno, here is what I think about that."  That is what is what I hope for for this forum, interesting and oddball opinions that give rise to more interesting and oddball opinions.  You know something to talk about.

I wonder if Old Dog got around to reading more of the article.  I did and I got to the part where he was talking about the five different kinds of philosophers.  I generally lose interest when I hear about the six main reasons for whatever, or the seven different kind of things, might as well be astrology.

But still interesting to talk about.  I picked the two different kinds of philosophers that I thought I was and began formulating an answering post.  But before I could get it written down Old Dog was on another trip.

Well a letter to the editor to be exact.  When I got mine in the Sun-Times they called me the day before to see if I was a robot or something.  I have sent out a couple since but no phone call and no letter in the next day's paper.

The beginning of Old Dog's letter is a little off kilter with "Greetings," and the upper case letters, and folks get uneasy when you talk about Jews and movies, but I liked the ending. A world without Daffy Duck indeed.

And now for something a little different.

Seems like for every time you get to the train right before it leaves there are ten times as many that you get there just as it's leaving.  In a fair Universe, that did not have it in for you, there would be an equal amount of last minute boardings and last minute just missings.  Just saying.

So this Saturday the ding that announces the closing of the doors dinged just as I was sliding into a very good seat.  I pulled out my magazine and my reading glasses and was all set for a fine ride early in the morning.

And then this guy, young guy, was leaning over me asking something I couldn't hear above the noise of the doors closing and the train pulling away.  I was sure he was going to launch into some pitiful story that would end up with me giving him money, which I was not in the mood for so I just told him to go away.

He continued his story that I still couldn't hear and I repeated myself louder and he drifted away.

He drifted away to a guy hanging by the straps in front of the door and they had a brief conversation, and the young guy got off at the next stop.

Kind of an odd thing, but sometimes if you are not familiar with the station you might get on the northbound train rather than the southbound train that you wanted, and to change trains you get off at the next stop and wait for a train going in the other direction.  Now that I thought about it maybe he was asking the guy which train he was on.  And thinking back to when he approached me his voice was more like asking a question than asking for money.  

Of course I could be wrong maybe he was asking for money, but then maybe he wasn't.  No way to tell now.  But you know I should've at least listened to him, no matter what.  My bad.  I fucked up.  I was down one with The  Universe.

I got off at my station and walking towards the stairs I saw this guy standing right in my way.  Just lollygagging, just doing nothing, but standing in my way.  I shoved past him, maybe gave him a tiny bump, muttered something like "Sorry," or "Scuse me." and he looked up at me and said "Don't let that happen again," and then added, "You piece of shit."

Kind of odd.  Kind of funny.  I smiled a little, now I was even with The Universe.

What do you guys think?

Following Uncle Ken's lead

Quite a while back, if memory serves, Uncle Ken mentioned that he had a letter printed in The Sun-Times.  Well, he ain't the only clown in this rodeo; sent my first letter to those guys recently.  It's been more than a week and I haven't heard a peep so I guess it didn't meet their lofty standards.  So here it is, in its entirety.   A little quirky perhaps, but I think it makes a valid point.  Enjoy (or not!).

Greetings!

I have something to say about Anti-Semitism.

I've read that there have been complaints that JEWS CONTROL HOLLYWOOD!!!! (Grrr!, mutter, mutter).

Well, of course they do; they created Hollywood.

Without Jews there are no Warner Brothers.

Without Warner Brothers there are no Looney Tunes.

Without Looney Tunes there is no Daffy Duck.

I do not want to live in a world without Daffy Duck.

Shalom!

And the clock keeps ticking...

I came across this web page today and this early paragraph really grabbed me, reminiscent of Institute discussions from long ago.  This is all I've read so far; I'll get to the remainder later today.  I suspect it will be quite savory.  Or not.

Philosophy is a practice of wonder and logic; curiosity and introspection; dialectic and meditation; criticism and advocacy.  We all do some of these things, some of the time. We all philosophize, but we do so in different ways.

https://bigthink.com/mini-philosophy/which-of-the-5-philosophical-archetypes-best-describes-you/

 

 

Of Beagles and Masks

I'm pretty sure that I told the story about how Talks With Beagles got his name at least once before, but we never get tired of those old classics.  

I named him Splash after a friend of mine who was a commercial fisherman down in Florida.  His colleagues named him that because he used to fall off the boat a lot.  Right from the start, I had the feeling old Splash was going to be that kind of dog.  

Beagles were never bred for cognitive intelligence you know.  They were bred for rabbit hunting skills and for the friendly manner with which they interact with humans and most other dogs.  In order to interact with humans at all they need to understand a few simple commands like "come" and "stay".  Splash's human language skills got lost somewhere in the gene pool, so I had to learn to speak to him in his native tongue, which I did.  Truth is, I already had decades of experience listening to the beagle language, I just needed to learn to speak it fluently in order to communicate with Splash. Although beagles have a limited vocabulary, they can be downright eloquent with their use of inflection and emotional delivery.  Like the old saying goes, "It's not what you say, it's how you say it."

When I first started on the internet, I was told that I needed to come up with nom de net.  I had recently read a book about Native Americans, and I was impressed with how their names were chosen.  Although old Splash has since gone off to the Happy Hunting Grounds, his legacy will now live on forever in cyberspace.

I never cared much for those covid masks.  Although they might have had some medicinal value, I thought their main purpose was to make us more docile and easier to manage like those poor people in Japan and Red China.  Be that as it may, they're mostly gone by now, and good riddance.

Origin stories

 Well you know a beagle is a dog.  Actually though I think his proper name is Talks with Beagles which I think is the name of an Indian or maybe it is Old Dog taking on an Indian name, or maybe it has something to do with The Freehold.  I will bow out on the subject and wait for Beagles to supply his own origin story.  

And a Boxer is a dog, I think even a particular dog. Not sure about that extra T in the middle, but I like it as a short name, much like Beagles is short for Talkswith Beagles, so if you are in a hurry, and  as Movers and Shakers all us Institute Fellows are in a hurry, we could ask for instance, "Hey Freet what time is it by that big ol' clock of yours."  But if you don't like the ring of that then you only have to say and it will never ring out in the slightly dusty halls of The Institute again.

I am thinking Old Dog comes from when he was working in the printshop alongside all those careless snotnoses who were good enough to do the easy shit but when a truly hard task came down the pike they would have to go to the recesses of the shop where the slightly arcane machines were along with Old Dog who was always fucking with something back there.  They would have to put up with the way he shook his head as if to say don't you snotnose dumbasses know anything fer Chrissake?   But in the end Old Dog would get the job done right, and they would flee when he began giving them the details.  I may not have this exactly correctly but I have no doubt The Scourge will set me straight shortly.

Nobody ever asks me why I am Uncle Ken, probably because once I get to telling a story, well it may take a little time.  Actually my full proper name is Kindly Uncle Ken though I think I am the only one who adds the Kindly.  I knew a guy named Walt once and I got into calling him Uncle Walt (like in Disney) because I liked the way it sounded, and then I realized Uncle Ken sounded pretty good too, so that is my story.

I guess I admire grandfather clocks, old and stately like the fellows of The Institute, and I like those 15 minute interludes, a short one for the quarter after, double that for the half hour, and three times for the quarter to I presume.  I like a chatty clock.

Not crazy about cuckoo clocks though, just too damn silly.  Time is like money, a serious business and a bird popping out is way too much razzle dazzle.

I know even less about submersible pumps and pressure switches than I know about grandfather clocks and how Old Dog got his name.  But I'm glad that Beagles got through that crisis with a minimum of trouble.  

But I was kind of hoping we would continue on with the subject of masks.  I know Beagles and I went to the mat on the issue several times and I thought it would be interesting to revisit the issue in a calmer manner than when it was all around us.  Remember that barber who ran a mask free shop for awhile and got in trouble with the local gummint, although I think other parts of the local gummint was on his side.

I would like to bat the subject around with bar talk where anybody can say anything and nobody gets pissed and if you want to derail the subject by telling a joke there is no harm and no foul.

Or not, as long as people are yakking about anything at all I am happy. 

Holy Fark!

Look who's back!  Jumpin' Jesus on a pogo stick; welcome back, buddy.  I've been wondering about your situation, the way you ghosted the blog, even the other blogs you had going.  How rude!, I'm thinking, quite unlike the genteel protocols of The Institute.  But then I'm wondering, maybe Brother Beantown fell on hard times, landed in jail, is in the hospital, or even dead.  Could be anything, really, and I was still working on an (in)appropriate post mocking and/or impugning you and your person, your job, your taste in music; the list goes on.  Even worse, maybe you had your fill of the mutterings of the hapless Midwestern rubes but were too polite to say so.  But I digress.  Good to see you back; it's like you never left.

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It's been a long time since I worked on any carbs but I don't think it's the ethanol clogging the jets, especially if it's an older unit.  All the jets I've seen have been brass, which is impervious to such solvents.  Ethanol is notorious for dissolving hoses and gaskets and the resultant gunk is what is causing the problem.  That's purely my conjecture; there should be a competent small engine mechanic in your area who can square you away.  OR, you could check out Chickanic's YouTube channel; she has excellent chainsaw-fu and may have already covered it.

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-5F?  Meh; you get used to it.  It's the wind that makes it brutal.  Funny story: Used to work with a guy, recent emigre from the Soviet Union, who wore this amazing black sable hat/cap/whatever, the kind you see all the Russkis wearing in the movies.  He'd come into work shivering, talking about how cold it was and I had to smile.  He was from Siberia.

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One final word.  You mentioned "old dogs" a few times.  There is only one Old Dog at the Institute and he be me.  The other members are Beagles and Uncle Ken; please make a note of it.  Yes, you are forgiven.  Thank you for your attention to this matter!  And I've been meaning to ask, "What's a Freet?"