I have to say, the selection process went extremely well for this first edition of The Box.
(In an entirely unrelated matter, if anyone is interested we are seeking a new intern.)
Now, let’s get to this week’s photo… Continue reading Another random moment from “The Box” of unclaimed photos
(It’s Sunday! That one day each week we allow ourselves a lazy start to the day by laying in bed a little longer! Sundays are also reserved for Flashbacks here at Ned’s Blog, which is my way of being lazy by running a post from the distant past. So in a way, we’re laying in bed together!
*awkward silence*
OK, well… I really need to go brush my teeth…)
In spite of this danger, I asked if I could go undercover to investigate what Fox News reported as “a growing crisis in schools across the country — and we’re pretty sure that country is somewhere in the U.S.”
What I’m talking about, of course, is the growing crisis of “Flamin’ Hot Cheetos” addiction.
According to an article in the Chicago Tribune, a teacher in New Mexico wants to ban Flamin’ Hot Cheetos from school due to the snack’s complete lack of nutritional value and its addictive nature.
“But Twinkies are fine,” she added. Continue reading Investigating the latest crisis: Flamin’ Hot Cheeto addiction
Regular readers of this blog know my weekly Nickel’s Worth on Writing is when I utilize my 15 years as a columnist to offer writing insights that famed author John Grisham recently heralded as “…where I found inspiration for many of my most memorable characters, particularly those who die in the first chapter.”
Or as Fifty Shades author E.L. James called it, “Writing advice that exemplifies the reason some authors need a good spanking.” Continue reading As an author, you can’t be everything to everyone — unless you have a fog machine
…TAT-tat-tat-TAT-TAT-tat-tat-TAT…
[Breaking News: from another strangely irrelevant moment in our newsroom…]
Coming back from lunch, I walked into the newsroom to find a fellow journalist and three individuals in mid-interview. As I took my seat across the room, I felt my blood run cold as I overheard their accusations about the nightmare scenario our government shutdown is leading to.
“Dear GOD!” I said, sending my chair against the wall as I stood. “How can this happen here?! In AMERICA?!? Men being sterilized in processing plants! We have to tell people!”
After an awkward silence, one of the individuals exchanged glances with the rest of the group. “Um, we’re talking about MAIL sterilizing and processing plants, not male sterilizing plants.”
Sometimes, there’s no graceful way to exit a room…
(Welcome to this week’s edition of Flashback Sunday, that special day we travel back in time and highlight posts you’ve probably never read because (a) All six of my followers back then turned out to be debt collectors, or (b) I was still accidentally posting everything to my “about” page. This week’s Flashback was inspired by the latest iPhone release, which seems to be getting mixed reviews by consumers who, coincidentally, have been unable to call from their new phones to lodge a complaint. Keep in mind this is still better than the Nokia cell phone issue which, as you may remember, included suddenly bursting into flames — again, making lodging a complaint extremely difficult…)
Except when it explodes in your pants.
I’ve never really liked cell phones to begin with. Now that they’ve started self-detonating, I like them even less. According to a news article sent in by Dan Collins of Alpharetta, Ga., Nokia has launched an investigation into why, once again, two of its cell phones burst into flames.
And yes — I said AGAIN.
As you might expect, demand for Nokia cell phones has dipped slightly as a result of these incidents. That’s because luxuries like instant text messaging, computer games and video imaging don’t mean much if your cell phone suddenly ignites into flames, turning your morning commute into a flaming lap dance and an appearance on The World’s Wildest Police Chases. Continue reading Latest iPhone still no match for Nokia flaming cell phone
I’m reporting live from the Florence Festival of Books, where I arrived to find a crowd waiting at my booth! I should mention it also happenes to be located next to the restrooms. Apparently, someone had forgotten to unlock the door, so the crowd quickly dissipated once the janitor showed up. Still, I have gotten one pre-order, which I think is a reflection of may marketing savvy…
As an extra enticement, I am offering a bite from the corners for anyone who orders two or more copies of Humor at the Speed of Life. Needless to say, I expect those corners to go fast.
I will be bringing you live updates throughout the day, using my scone as a measure of my success. If you’re in Florence this afternoon, stop by for my reading at 3 p.m. If you’re not in Florence, start driving now…
There comes a time in every man’s life when he must set an example for his son by crawling under the house to fix something. This must be done with apparent fearlessness even though he knows whatever needs fixing is going to be located in the darkest corner of the home’s underbelly, probably behind a spider web the size of a commercial fishing net.
Several years ago, I used plywood to seal up the underside of our home and stop what I suspected were nightly “rave” parties hosted by our cat. These parties generally started around 11:30 p.m. and were held directly beneath our bedroom floor, where it sounded like 20 cats playing Twister. Naturally, I had no choice but to break up these parties by getting out of bed and shoving our 60-lb. Labrador headfirst through the crawl space in our closet floor.
My point is this: Sealing things up stopped the cat parties. Unfortunately, it also turned the crawl space under our home into a frightening black void where, thanks to evolution, a species of hairy, sightless, spider-like rodents with large fangs and the ability to mobilize telepathically has nested, colonizing into the hundreds.
Possibly even thousands.
I know this because I’ve shined a flashlight down there and — this is not an exaggeration — I’m pretty sure I saw something move. Continue reading Your home’s underbelly is no place to be manly
Some of you know, in addition to being a columnist, I’m also a volunteer firefighter. Though it’s been quiet lately, last night we had two tap outs. The first was at 10 p.m. for a small wildfire that took us a couple of hours to put out. The next call was a structure fire at 1 a.m. that turned out to be a false alarm. Final bed time: 1:45 a.m.
When my alarm went off at 4:45, I put my pants on backwards and slid my feet into my wife’s high heels.
Things pretty much went downhill from there. Continue reading In case you’re looking, I moved… The Door
(It’s Flashback Sunday! That time when we roll up our sleeves and dig into the distant past for something that hasn’t been seen in many years. Sort of like literary proctologists, except without the physical discomfort or awkwardness. That said, today’s Flashback is from 2005, back before I even had a blog because I still referred to going online as “Using the Internets.” The inspiration for this column came from my then seven-year-old son, who became fascinated with putting things in his belly button. I’m just glad that particular curiosity ended there…)
As with most explanations I find myself giving as a parent, things started with a simple “No.”
In this case, it was: “No, you can’t save chewing gum in your belly button.” My son then countered with the inevitable “Why?”
“Because it’s gross,” I explained, then added for good measure: “What if it gets stuck?”
“It won’t, Dad.”
“It might — so take it out.”
A roll of the eyes, droop of the shoulders. “But why-y-y-y-y?”
“Because I said so.”
Eventually, it always comes down to that answer, which isn’t an answer at all. But for some reason it seems to do the trick. At least it used to. Apparently on this day, my son had awakened a little wiser, and with a better understanding of the difference between battles and wars.
…of my dog, Stanley.
In fact, within 10 minutes of posting a shot of his nose, my dog surpassed the number of “selfie” requests I have received since joining Twitter three months ago. It doesn’t matter my only request came from a spam link to a senior citizens dating website called “Old Dogs Seeking New Tricks.”
What matters is that I have been unable to shake a stalker called “Granny C-Pap.” Continue reading NO, it doesn’t bother me my dog has more selfie requests than I do
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