Category: serious business

No, no, Submitted for YOUR Pleasure

I once scored a lucrative job from someone running a mysterious company that needed a creative writer. Creative is a term that, to me, involves humor. Which is why I’d submitted the following:

Water balloons prevent total, absolute slaughter of pumpkins

A school district in West Virginia of over 1,000 students began a mass slaughter of pumpkins in pursuit of science.

“Organizers say the goal of the event is not to make the squashes go splat, but rather to provide some pumpkin protection…” when dropped from 40 feet.

“It’s an applications process, it’s a physics process,” said one big wig where the demonstration was held.

The winners used a variety of materials. One group used “…milk cartons instead of cups” along with cardboard.

Another group of students found that water balloons, traditionally the weapon of choice for certain middle school and high school enthusiasts, provided adequate pumpkins protection.

Calls made to the Pumpkin Anti-Cruelty Society for a comment were not returned.

Continue reading “No, no, Submitted for YOUR Pleasure”

How to Have a Baby

The first time I heard the phrase “mind like a steel trap” was when my father, PigPen, had a quiet sit-down with my siblings.  My mother was elsewhere. Likely still asleep in her bed.

“Mom’s been sick in the mornings lately. You’ve noticed, I’m sure,” he began.

We had only one bathroom back at the tiny house that had what my mother described as “cardboard walls”.  We nodded to PigPen, yes.

“So it’s only in the mornings.  And her appetite is weird. And she’s gaining weight. Sensitive about all that. Which means…” He waited.

“She’s pregnant,” I answered.

He pointed to me like I was a contestant on the Price is Right. “Mind like a steel trap,” he said. Continue reading “How to Have a Baby”

Confederacy in Quebec

I sent the Director out for a photo shoot, impromptu to capture a different kind of Quebec man.

We were at the bank, about to get some cash when I spied a pick-up truck with a confederate flag on the back window.  His truck had Quebec tags. A curious thing. I squinted harder at the old man in the cab. Was he American?  Why was he taking such a hard stand way up North, past yankee territory to something much worse?

“Go and get a photo of the flag on that guy’s truck,” I pointed.

She looked ahead and emitted an I don’t want to noise. “Why?” Continue reading “Confederacy in Quebec”

Using their words: the Democratic debate

People used their words at the last Democratic candidates’ debate, umpteen days ago.  And while the way they used them, the words, might have changed, since the last debate (old news), they’re still part of their permanent record.  We might as well see what they look like.

A reminder: I copied and pasted the transcript and pasted each speaker into wordle.

Oh, Malley

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Republicans debate war using words and clouds

Since I missed all of last night’s Republican Debate, as well as all of the previous debates I said to myself, “why not let a professional tell me what happened?”  I didn’t use to be this way, but it’s no fun watching debates by myself since I mostly hang out with Canadians and most of them don’t want to watch American politics.

So I read a live-slog through last night’s performances with the Stranger Election Control Board doing the deed. At the 8:02 part of the debate, they said this:

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Ebola Might Not Be a Sneeze in the Park

The recent outbreaks of Ebola in the US brings me back to another contagious time when people were actually doing something about it.

Despite massive preparation (mostly just worrying) on my part, I got H1N1 while driving from Montreal to Boston (my then regular weekly commute).

I’d heeded the calls.  I’d read the posters.  I didn’t dismiss the email from the scientist, old as dust, that MIT circulated admonishing us to do everything to avoid getting the flu.  He’d apparently barely survived Continue reading “Ebola Might Not Be a Sneeze in the Park”

Riding in the car, mesozoic version


The street was lined with bricks, and the car, being from the Mesozoic era, made special noises driving over them. Riding in the car with my father, I sat in the front passenger seat, no seatbelt. I opened and shut the metal rectangle attached to the door handle – the ashtray that my parents never used because it was too small. It was not the usual way home so the car didn’t often make the sound. But sometimes it did because the street or streets were nearish enough. Bumpy bumpy, the car went, but it was musical too. I set my ears up like a dog to a whistle.

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