The Door, a sentinel of journalistic milestones and witness to the occasional kidney stone, is closed pending any new developments, i.e. screw-ups.. It’s been almost a year since I opened The Door (of Shame, Blame and Brilliance) in our newsroom to readers, and together we have shared 38 pieces of newspaper faux pas that Siuslaw News reporters have pasted, taped and otherwise adhered to The Door by any means possible since the 1970s. In that time, we have witnessed inventive photo cutlines such as “Shoppers shopping at shops” and entirely too many references to “probes and probing.” We’ve been informed of the obvious, such as how “wearing more clothing can help keep you warmer,” and how easily one wrong letter can lead to senior citizens “crapping themselves in a blanket.”
It’s no wonder The Door has become a journalistic Mecca, capturing the attention of well-known reporters like Barbara Walters (“The Door offers a pureness to journalism I haven’t seen since Anderson Cooper’s booty”), Morley Safer (“Do people still use ditto machines?”), Keith Morrison (“No one knows what seeeeecrets hide behind The Dooooor, especially if someone has flushhhhed”), Geraldo Rivera (“My sources have confirmed Al Capone once used The Door.”), and Anderson Cooper (“Unless it’s a closet door, I’m not interested — and can someone please tell Barbara Walters to stop looking at my butt?”) Continue reading It’s time to close… The Door. So let’s open… The Box!
(It’s Flashback Sunday — but DON’T PANIC! Just because this post isn’t even remotely familiar is no indication you are experiencing the beginning signs of dementia! Actually, the fact that you read this blog at all is probably the best indication. Regardless, posts for Flashback Sunday are chosen because they 1) Have appeared as a newspaper column but not on my blog, or 2) were posted here long ago, back when all of my followers could fit into a two-door Mini Cooper — and did, often for no apparent reason…)
It wasn’t long ago that I found myself driving down the road with an 800-degree onion ring searing my flesh. I had just left a Burger King drive-through and, after exchanging pleasantries at the window and maintaining my composure long enough to exit the parking lot, pounced on my combo meal sack like a hyena at a gazelle feed — laughing and eating, laughing and eating. Continue reading Consumer warning: Beware of dangerous superheated pickles
[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…
As I’m sure you can imagine, being a humor columnist, I am constantly working up a sweat. In fact, I can already feel perspiration forming. By the end of this paragraph, I will be a drippy, sweat-stained mess. Most people don’t know it can take hours to finish a column. The reason has nothing to do with procrastination, writer’s block or even the ability to Google history of Star Wars universe; many of us humor columnists simply become too sweaty to operate our keyboards without sliding off and potentially endangering ourselves and others. Newsrooms everywhere understand this, which is why we are often placed in special cubicles that are refrigerated.
Or at the very least equipped with a drain pan.
Yet somehow, beverage companies continue to overlook us as potential thirst-quenching icons when developing trendy ad campaigns. Chances are, you’ll never see a commercial featuring a humor columnist at a keyboard with green Gatorade streaming out of every pore in his body. Or witness a humor columnist emerge from a droplet of Propel fitness water and do a back flip out of an office chair (which we often do, by the way, sometimes for no reason at all.) That’s because our segment of the beverage-buying market is considered too small to worry about, even though, as analysts have shown, it is a powerful one, at least in terms of odor. Continue reading What says ‘thirsty’ better than a sweaty humor columnist?
The Door (of Shame, Blame and Brilliance): Sentinel of journalistic history and guardian of our commode since 1971. For the moment, the government shutdown has offered a reprieve from the constant media attention The Door in our newsroom has been receiving. The fax machine is silent, which we assume is because Morley Safer has been re-assigned to the capitol instead of faxing threatening images of his rear with the words “You Will, Crack!” scrawled across the top. Likewise, it’s been 24 hours since Keith Morrison or Geraldo Rivera have made an attempt to enter the building in disguise — the last of which was actually done together, when they pretended to be Russian circus clowns seeking asylum in our newsroom. Once again our front office girl, Misty, blew their cover, growing suspicious when “Geraldy the Clown” kept asking her if she wanted to “see Al Capone’s vault some time.”
While things are quiet here at Siuslaw News for now, it’s only a matter of time before the governmental play date between the democrats and republicans ends, and media interest in The Door resumes. First-time readers of this weekly feature are probably asking, “What IS The Door?” and “Why would there be so much interest in it?” and perhaps the most frequently asked question: “How did I even get ON this site?” Continue reading Suffering from postal identity crisis on… The Door
(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…)
Being a journalist, I naturally received an advanced preview of the new iPhone5, which I was told came from a reputable dealer somewhere in Costa Rica. Technology is great.
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…
The Door: Sentinel of journalistic history, barrier to the commode. As expected, the lull in attention from major news outlets seeking an exclusive on The Door didn’t last. Morley Safer has resumed faxing images of his rear, which were mistaken for amateur photos of the moon’s surface until Misty, our front office person, noted that the moon doesn’t have trees. And now that his back has recovered from lifting a Sparkletts water bottle while disguised as delivery man in order to gain access to our newsroom, Keith Morrison has returned to his old tricks; today, he dressed as a meter reader for the local power company and blew the main breaker when his hidden camera fell into the power box.
Because of this kind of intense pressure, I was forced to leave the newsroom and post this week’s edition of The Door (of Shame, Blame and Brilliance) after business hours and away from the office at an undisclosed bar location.
Why the sudden resurgence in media attention? I mean in addition to the fact that The Door is home to the best and worst examples of journalism since reporters at Siuslaw News began taping clippings to The Door nearly four decades ago in an effort to preserve journalistic history while simultaneously insulating the bathroom door?
As with firefighting, when it came to creating my book cover, I insisted on doing my own stunts. In this case, it meant gripping the top of a race car speeding in excess of 120 mph while simultaneously — and this was the tricky part — not messing up my hair. Oh, and I also had to hold up a cardboard sign with my free hand. We considered the idea of holding the sign between my teeth, but that idea was scrapped on the first attempt after driving through a cloud of mosquitos…
OK, fine. None of that really happened. But I would almost rather risk my life on the hood of a speeding car with a mouth full of mosquitos than promote my book, which I’ll be doing for the first time this weekend at a local book festival. It’s not that I’m one of those authors who likes to write about — but who doesn’t like being around — actual people. In fact, I am very much a people person. Not in a Hannibal Lector kind of way, but because I truly enjoy talking with and meeting new people. My anxiety over attending the book festival also has nothing to do with any fear of talking in front of large crowd, or in my case, a handful of strangers looking for the restroom as I read excerpts from my book. The truth is, I volunteer as a host for several community fundraising events each year, so being in front of a crowd — or even several confused strangers — isn’t the issue.
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