In case you were wondering why I was mostly absent from my blog yesterday, it’s because I spent the day at the fire station preparing for our annual Siuslaw Valley Firefighter Association’s St. Paddy’s Day Spaghetti Feed. And by “preparing for it,” I don’t mean stretching out my stomach and putting on pants with an elastic waist. I was cooking off 60 pounds of pasta and dicing up 30 pounds of tomatoes while Capt. Liz Iabichello cooked off 40 pounds of meat and diced 10 pounds of onions.
Today, we’ll finish the sauce, make garlic bread and prepare the salad for tonight’s fundraiser dinner, which is from 4 to 7 p.m. If any of you happen to be on the central Oregon coast tonight, stop in! We’re expecting about 300 people but I’m sure we can find you a table.
Any guesses why he’s missing part of his middle finger? Some of you may remember when San Francisco Chronicle executive editor Phil Bronstein was attacked by a 7-foot-long Komodo dragon back in 2001. Oddly enough, it wasn’t a letter to the editor gone horribly wrong, or even a marketing stunt for “Crouching Editor, Hidden Dragon” that spurred the attack. It actually happened during a special behind-the-scenes tour at the Los Angeles Zoo aimed at rewarding high-end financial contributors.
As a result, officials were forced to “re-evaluate” the special visiting privileges reserved for major donors — and without question, feeding yourself to a seven-foot lizard definitely falls into the “major donor” category.
More than a decade later, zoos are still struggling to find ways of rewarding major donors with experiences that, as one zoo official put it, “Offers a unique and exciting interaction with animals that doesn’t include offering our donors as dinner.”
The problem is, while there are certainly lots of other, safer animal exhibits that could be toured by big spenders, the danger factor — and storytelling value — drops off considerably once you leave man-eater realm. Being at a dinner party and telling how you stared down a Siberian tiger, then narrowly escaped its claws, is definitely more impressive than recalling the time you held off a hungry Toucan with nothing but a tranquilizer gun and a box of Fruit Loops. Continue reading Being attacked by a Komodo dragon is its own reward
As you may have noticed — and by “you” I mean no one in particular or, quite possibly, no one at all — there was no sound preview on Friday for tomorrow’s post. That’s because I was so busy posting video of my high school long jump attempt on Friday that I completely forgot to record my weekly soundbite! Considering that I, a 48-year-old firefighter, essentially landed a personal best that any third grader would be proud of, I probably should’ve posted my soundbite and forgotten the long jump.
The good news is, my doctor says I should make a full recovery. And so will most of the high school students who witnessed my long jump attempt — just as soon as they complete their group therapy session. Continue reading Please hear me out: Zoos are scary
While visiting Mapleton High School yesterday, it occured to me that it had been more than 30 years since I’d pulled a hamstring. Fortunately for me, the Mapleton track team was only a discus throw away — which I suddenly realized when someone yelled “HEADS UP!”
As it turned out, the Sailors were finishing an inner-team “mini meet.” Despite what it sounds like, it’s not actually speed dating for high school midgets. According to coach Johnny Sundstrom, it’s a four-event “meet” among the squad that helps set individual baseline measurement for athletes in the sprints, distance running, throws and jumps.
The team was on its last event, the long jump, when my natural competitive instincts — normally reserved for “donut day” in the newsroom — were triggered. After talking it over with the coach, and signing a medical release form, then briefly discussing (depending on how things went) the idea of the Ned Hickson Memorial Long Jump, I took my place at the end of the runway. Mapleton senior Katie Dearman volunteered to record this historical event. Or as she put it, “Acquire documentation that could keep the school out of court.”
(It’s my turn over at Long Awkward Pause today, which seemed like a good a time to thank to Clarence Birdseye for freezing foods that traumatized me as a child…)
It’s been more than 80 years since Clarence Birdseye, inspired by ancient food preservation methods used by Arctic Eskimos, made history by introducing the very first frozen food option: “Savory Caribou on a Stick.” Though his first selection was met with little enthusiasm, Birdseye persisted and eventually created a line of frozen vegetables that many of us are still gagging on today.
I, for one, am still unable to walk past lima beans in the frozen food section without getting the dry heaves. This reaction stems from my childhood, and a spoonful of lima beans I’ve been trying to swallow since 1973.
Unless you’ve been hermetically sealed and stuck in a freezer, you already know March is “National Frozen Food Month.” Coincidentally, I should mention this happens to fall in the same month as “National Ear Muff Day,” “Extraterrestrial Abduction Day” and “National Pig Day,” meaning that, for anyone whose pig happened to be wearing ear muffs at the time it was flash frozen by alien abductors, this is a big month for you. (More at Long Awkward Pause…)
If you’re a student or educator, you are probably getting excited about the approach of SPRING BREAK! Wee-HOO! For students of all ages it means a week of crazy fun with little or no responsibility, whether you’re a fifth-grader planning a Spongebob Squarepants marathon to Bikini Bottom, or a college student planning a bikini bottom marathon of a different kind. If you’re an educator, it means a student-free week away from grading papers with so much red ink your desk resembles a sacrificial altar. Seriously, are they learning NOTHING between Tweets in class?!?
Even Congress gets what is referred to as “recess.” Let’s be honest: If I performed as poorly at my job as they have, I would get what is referred to as “fired.”
That being said, for the rest of us, spring break holds about as much anticipation as trash day or a release date for “Frozen 2.”
This is particularly true for those of us with teenagers at home, many of whom will openly mock us each day by selfishly sleeping in. Then, in an added display of thoughtlessness, they will still be in their pajamas and deciding on breakfast when we come home for lunch! The audacity! Especially since they misspelled “audacity” on their last quiz! Continue reading Congress gets recess, our kids get spring break — What about US?!
Ned Hickson photo/Siuslaw News Walking through my town’s small baseball park the other morning, I was struck by a bit of nostalgia. This was unexpected, considering what I’m usually struck by when the Cedar Company bird squadron begins its morning maneuvers. With spring approaching, first-year tee-ballers were scattered around the field with their fathers, who were imparting basic hitting and fielding fundamentals, baserunning technique, and clarifying that running home didn’t mean crossing the highway alone.
Watching this, I was reminded of working with my oldest daughter in preparation for her first season of tee-ball fiveeightten not long ago. As you’d expect, we bought a mitt, ball, practice tee and all the equipment necessary to get started on the basics. For obvious reasons, I saw no need to purchase an athletic cup — until I decided to advise her about batting stance, at which point it became obvious that I should have.
Some of you may already be paticipating in the annual celebration of spring break. And by “participating” I mean coming home from work at lunch to find your teen still in pajamas eating Pop-Tarts straight out of the box while playing Call of Duty or streaming Supernatural reruns.
Being a parent, you will smile and playfully tousle their hair. You’ll ask them if they’re enjoying their much-needed vacation from another hard month of schooling. They will grunt in response, causing you to chuckle as you walk to the kitchen, open the refrigerator, and find nothing but a chilled cantaloup rind.
“You must’ve worked up an appetite,” you’ll say, though what you’re really thinking is:
Between early-release days, in-service days and holidays, my kids spent a total of nine days in actual SCHOOL last month! How is this even FAIR! I hate you! I hate everyone!
I know I said the month-long retrospective of The Door in our newsroom was only going to last through February, but the PEOPLE HAVE SPOKEN! Plus, the people sent donuts. And one threat of bodily harm if I didn’t keep The Door open for a other month. You know who you are. (But in case you don’t, it was Paul, Judy, Susan, John, Gibber and about dozen others who made it clear they wanted The Door to remain open for a while longer.) Who am I to argue? At least until I finish these delicious donuts…
The Door: Guardian of historic journalism; protector of commode privacy…
It appears Keith Morrison has given up pursuing an exclusive on The Door (of Shame, Blame and Brilliance) here in our newsroom. There were no creepy messages from him on my voicemail this morning and, after throwing his back out lifting a water jug, he is no longer posing as an Arrowhead Springs water delivery guy in order to gain access. In addition, we’ve stopped jumping whenever the fax machine goes off now that Morley Safer has stopped sending booty faxes with the warning You Will Crack! written on them.
Yes, things are quiet here; the calm before the storm.
I say that because today’s post will likely put me in the crosshairs of one of the most powerful men this country has ever purposely been made to forget about. In fact, his systematic disappearance after leaving the White House was so complete that I can’t even remember where I was going with this…
Wait! I remember, thanks to this newspaper clipping, which illustrates the importance of The Door, and why journalistic icon Geraldo Rivera has called it “The Al Capone’s Vault of journalistic treasures. No really, I MEAN it this time!” and why rearviewed… oops, I mean revered… journalist Anderson Cooper has referred to The Door as “A revealing look at journalism, depending on who comes out of the commode.” Continue reading That time Dick Cheney wanted to blow up our newsroom door
As you might expect, being a writer is a life of excitement. How much excitement? Not to brag, but I think this seven-second video will give you some indication of the kind of pandemonium that breaks out when I arrive for a book signing. This was the scene yesterday as I entered Cottage Grove, Ore.
Indeed, this is when you know you have finally arrived as a writer.
Who cares if no one else knows? I mean besides the crickets and the guy I asked for directions…
In case you were wondering why I was mostly absent from my blog yesterday, it’s because I spent the day at the fire station preparing for our annual Siuslaw Valley Firefighter Association’s St. Paddy’s Day Spaghetti Feed. And by “preparing for it,” I don’t mean stretching out my stomach and putting on pants with an elastic waist. I was cooking off 60 pounds of pasta and dicing up 30 pounds of tomatoes while Capt. Liz Iabichello cooked off 40 pounds of meat and diced 10 pounds of onions. 
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