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?
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”
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.
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…
A gift from a reader helps me demonstrate the possible size differential in the human head within the next generation. (Hint: I’m the one on the left As if we didn’t have enough problems already, according to a report in the journal Science the human brain is getting bigger. In fact, from what I understand (based on my in-depth analysis of a five-word headline in the New York Post), there’s a good chance yours may be outgrowing your skull right now. Signs this may be occurring include: vomiting, nausea, dizziness, frequent headaches and bleeding from the ears. If you suffer from any or all of these symptoms, DO NOT PANIC! They may only be the side effects of your current FDA-approved medication for acid reflux.
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
“…Recent studies show that mild depression after the holidays is not only common but, in many cases, the result of FDAD — Fruitcake Disposal Anxiety Disorder. On one hand, your fruitcake was a gift and therefore deserving of some measure of appreciation. On the other hand, it has already become a chew toy for the neighbor’s pit bull. This often leads to feelings of anxiety long after the holidays have ended, particularly when you see ‘Buster,’ still intoxicated with rum, struggling to dislodge the sugar loaf from his tightly-clenched jaws. So, as a service to our readers, we are offering the following self-help guide: I’m OK—You’re OK. But Give Me a Fruitcake and I’ll Kill You…”
I wasn’t born to swim. This became evident early in life after habitually swimming into the side of pools, then immediately sinking headfirst to the bottom. A number of factors can be attributed to my being hydro-challenged, beginning with the fact that I can’t actually breathe under water.
This traumatic realization was made one morning after watching Aquaman on T.V. and then, as a test to ascertain my level of super powers, trying to inhale running tap water from the kitchen faucet. The experience was a wake-up call, and forced me to admit that the closest I’d ever get to being an underwater super hero is if “dog paddling” and “consuming large amounts of pool water” qualified as special powers.
Yes, this is our actual newsroom door. Welcome to another exciting edition of The Door, where we highlight newspaper clippings that have been taped to our newsroom door by reporters since the time of Star Wars B.C. (early 1970s). Over the decades, these clippings have continued to inspire, “serving as a beacon, drawing us into the jagged rocks of journalism.”
No one actually said that; I just felt quote marks added more drama.
Anyway, today’s clipping comes all the way from Sept. 14, 1988, when then Oregon Attorney General Dave Frohnmayer was beginning his own war on drugs. Dave got a lot of press in those days, as this article in the Register-Guard can attest. It also attests to the importance of word placement in a headline, especially when using things like colons — which Activia yogurt eater Jamie Lee Curtis can tell you. But that’s another story. This morning, we’re talking about a poorly written headline that made it appear as though Oregon’s leader of the war on drugs was dipping into his own stash. Continue reading It’s time once again for… The Door
I have a good friend who is a child care provider. So when she found herself in a bind, I told her I’d be happy to watch the kids for a couple of hours; eight children, all under the age of four.
I did this yesterday.
Today, I’m writing to you from a locked treatment facility for the emotionally disturbed.
Being a parent, it’s not like I didn’t know what to expect.
Because it’s Easter, I chose a special selection for this week’s Flashback Sunday, which is a post that has never appeared on this blog. I chose it because 1) it fits the “flashback” criteria of a writing from my past, 2) many of you have asked about the connection between getting my dog neutered and my own vasectomy mentioned in a recent post, and 3) Easter is about rebirth in many cultures, so this subject seemed somewhat fitting…
It was a foregone conclusion that we would have our dog Stanley neutered once he was old enough. Just like it was a foregone conclusion that, when it came time to deliver him into the hands of the vet, I would be playing the role of Judas. I thought about disguising myself and borrowing someone else’s car so that Stanley would not associate me with his loss of malehood. My ex-wife told me I was being silly.
He’s a dog, she reminded me, and capable of recognizing my scent no matter how I was dressed.
It didn’t help the situation that my four-year-old son, after overhearing our conversation, had reached the conclusion that something serious was happening, and that it involved — but wasn’t limited to — Stanley turning into a girl and biting daddy. Continue reading Pack your luggage; it’s time to get the dog neutered
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.
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