It’s been almost three months since I began guest posting weekly writing advice at Gliterary Girl and, as I’m sure you can imagine, my email account has been flooded with questions and feedback.
In fact, we’re going to imagine some right now…
[Insert gauzy dream sequence of Ned, sitting at his computer, thoughtfully scanning through the hundreds of emails he receives each day for male enhancement products…] Continue reading Emails from readers — and why I probably need more disclaimers
The creation of the inflatable church is without question, from a man’s perspective, the most exciting matrimonial advancement since the bachelor party because it means the fun no longer has to end the night before the wedding, somewhere in the general vicinity of a commode. That’s right, the excitement can continue the next day as the groom, flanked by his best man, bounces to the alter in his tube socks to await his blushing bride.
Because a fellow journalist friend and her sister are very close, and because I know how important it is that everything be perfect, I enthusiastically suggested the idea of an inflatable church for her sister’s wedding.
And because she knew I was really trying to help, she smiled and told me I had an inflatable head. Continue reading Inflatable church could have couples bouncing off the walls
I’m sure many of you have noticed my blog has been unusually quiet since Sunday. My regular Tuesday posting of The Door didn’t appear this week, and I haven’t posted a new column since last Friday.
OK, fine. No one actually noticed, so you’ll just have to take my word for it when I tell you: Yes, I’ve been a total blogging slacker this week.
But WAIT! Let me explain!
Ironically, the lack of activity on my blog is directly related to the amount of activity I’ve had going on outside of my blog, including attending a three-day advanced firefighting extrication class, which I will be teaching for our fire department beginning next month. If you lock your keys in the car and want the roof cut off in less than three minutes, I’m your man. The same goes for turning your car into a hard-top convertible or removing those pesky doors. Continue reading Where the heck have I been?
Today’s entry for Flashback Sunday was originally inspired by my need to reclaim my masculinity from somewhere beneath the growing pile of ironing in our home. Being that this falls under my umbrella of responsibilities, it was necessary to make it as dangerous — and therefore manly — as possible. You can be the judge as to whether it was Mission Accomplished or Mission Impossible…
“And four horsemen will come from the sky. And they will lay waste to the land, but not before having their robes pressed by ironing enthusiasts.”
It’s easy to understand how extreme ironing evolved if you keep in mind this simple truth about the male species:
Given enough time, any man performing a mundane task will find a way to hurt himself.
And if you can hurt yourself doing it, then it’s practically a sport already. Sure, bowling and golf may appear to be exceptions to this rule. But ask anyone who has ever jammed their finger in the ball return, or inadvertently left a tee in their back pocket, and they’ll tell you there is plenty of danger involved. Continue reading Only REAL men can iron clothes at 3,000 feet
In my 15 years here at the newspaper, I’ve grabbed more things off the printer than I can count. Which I realize isn’t that impressive considering the source. But a few minutes ago, not only did what I send to the printer disappear in to the void of space, but what I found waiting for me is possibly the most cryptic message I have ever received not involving a lawyer or psychic. So far, no one in the newsroom has claimed it as a missing page to their story — which makes me wonder: Is “Neo” trying to contact me from somewhere in the Matrix?!? Is the office suddenly going to dissolve into green, numbered code all around me?!? Am I just a human Duracell for The Machines?!?
Or have I just had too much coffee on deadline day?
Whether writing a 500-word column or 400-paged manuscript, there comes that satisfying moment when you hit the final keystroke. The sound echoes, in slow motion, reverberating through your body and outward, catching anyone within a three-mile radius in its ripple effect.
Outside your window, traffic comes to a stop. Drivers and pedestrians join together, taking time from their day to cheer, applauding so loud and hard their hands turn pink.
And wait — is that a tear I see glistening in the eye of the Fed-Ex driver?
It’s embarrassing, really.
But who can blame them? Continue reading Do you feel a draft? It’s time to revise your manuscript
Though the story hasn’t received much coverage here in the U.S., Spain’s impending matador strike is big news in Madrid.
Especially if you’re a bull.
Even though no new cases of “Mad Cow” have been documented in fighting bulls — which seems odd, since the whole idea is to get them mad in the first place — Spain’s agricultural ministry insists that an eventual cross-over from cows to bulls to matadors is entirely possible. While some are calling matadors “cowards” for threatening to strike if testing for Mad Cow disease isn’t implemented by the start of bullfighting season in July, others applaud the stance, particularly those within the bovine community, many of whom have started wearing tennis balls on the tips of their horns as a show of support. Continue reading Striking matadors could result in a lot of bull for Spain
Welcome to this week’s posting of The Door (of Shame, Blame and Brilliance), which is brought to you live from our own newsroom door here at the Siuslaw News each Tuesday morning. We’d bring it to you Mondays except that Joe, or delivery guy, stinks up the bathroom, which is located on the other side of The Door, making the newsroom uninhabitable for most of Monday mornings. So we’ll stick with Tuesdays until Joe either retires or changes his diet.
For those of you just tuning in, it’s about TIME you got here! This is when we highlight some of the most shameful or brilliant newspaper headlines journalists here have been clipping and taping to the newsroom door since the early 1970s, back when laptops were solely for the purpose of giving wives or girlfriends a place to sit. Before we begin, we will repeat the mission statement of The Door:
“To serve as a beacon, drawing us into the jagged rocks of journalism”
Again, no one has actually ever said this, but we journalists know that adding quote marks makes it truth. Continue reading It’s time once again for… The Door
When our editor began looking for someone to captain our Boys and Girls Club golf team, it only made sense that she came to me first. That’s because, being that I was once a sports editor, I’m naturally a great golfer.
Just like I’m a great shot-put thrower, quarterback, point guard, stock-car racer, extreme skateboarder, free-style swimmer and calf roper. In fact, I sometimes wonder where I might be today had my sports career not been tragically cut short by my complete lack of athletic talent.
This discovery was made as early as first grade, when, during a dodge ball game, I was knocked unconscious and rushed to the nurse’s office after being hit by the ball.
Forty-seven times.
(And I should mention that recess only lasted 10 minutes in those days.) Continue reading First step to good golfing: Get a grip
Guess WHAT DAY it is?! (For those who are hung over, it comes after Saturday in most major U.S. cities). That’s right — It’s Flashback Sunday! (Again, to those who are hung over, I’m not yelling but merely whispering loudly.) This week’s Flashback is one of my first posts, heralding a time before my discovery of “tags,” and when I thought “Freshly Pressed” was a website for wrinkle-free cosmetic surgery…
Then again, your brain might have actually gotten bigger since you started reading this column. And not just because of the sheer quality of writing — which is always a possibility (keeping in mind the same symptoms may apply.)
Before we go on, I should, as a responsible journalist, take a moment and actually read the article. In the meantime, I’d suggest applying equal amounts of pressure to both sides of your head, just to be safe. Continue reading Larger-brained humans will only lead to swollen heads
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