As everyone knows — and by “everyone,” I mean anyone who thinks today should really be Saturday — this is normally the day I post Ned’s Nickel’s Worth on Writing, my weekly feature on writing tips authors and publishers have heralded as “Insightful reading that should be a part of every bathroom library,” and “Tips that have helped countless aspiring authors establish themselves as parking attendants.”
This week, however, I’m asking you to hold on to your nickels. Not just because the postmaster here is getting annoyed sorting postcards with a nickel’s worth of change taped to them; and not just because the second part of my follow-up interview with self-proclaimed best-selling author Ima Knowitall was delayed by food poisoning while eating at The Enfermo Taco; and not just because the holiday put me so far behind here in the newsroom that I may need to call a proctologist to get me out.
It’s also because I spent the first part of yesterday goofing off with my family at the lake before reporting for duty at the fire station, covering the
tourist infested extremely popular Port of Siuslaw boardwalk with an engine company during the fireworks display. Given that personal fireworks are prohibited in that area, our job was to look for Roman Candles, wayward sparklers or Whistling Petes, many of whom could be heard ogling young women.
Oh, we were also prepared to put out any fires that may pop up outside of anyone’s hibachi.
In short: There will be no Ned’s NWOW this week. However, as proof that I really was on duty yesterday and not laying face down in a pile of Dos Eques bottles, I’ve included a photo from last night with my engine company: P.J., Capt. Boa, Patrick, me (yes, apparently no one else got the “dress patriotic” memo), Mike and Ted (kneeling).
I hope all of you had a terrific time celebrating our nation’s independence. For those of you who have today off as well, I think that is
completely unfair and a source of much bitterness really great.
I hope to see you all in a couple of days for Flashback Sunday, assuming you’re not fending off Whistling Pete.