The Door in our newsroom: History sentinel and commode shield. Though we have received a small respite from the constant barrage of angry Barbara Walters phone calls, emails from Brit Hume and booty faxes from Morley Safer seeking an exclusive on The Door (of Shame, Blame and Brilliance), today’s post will undoubtedly change that. As regular readers of this weekly feature know, The Door is home to newspaper clippings posted by reporters here at Siuslaw News since the 1970s, highlighting the best and worst examples of print media moments for nearly four decades. It has been called a journalistic mecca; a reporter’s Rosetta Stone; or as Anderson Cooper so eloquently stated, “A sentinel with an impressively large door knob, waiting to be twisted.”
Today’s entry, however, is a first — and something that will undoubtedly have Barbara Walters putting us back on speed dial. But before revealing today’s entry, we must follow a protocol of tradition by joining hands and repeating in a monotone voice similar to Barbara Walters under hypnosis:
The Door is a beacon, dwawing us into the jagged wocks of journawism…
Good morning and welcome to my first post-turning-47 Sunday Flashback! The fact that I’m even able to say “post-turning-47 Sunday Flashback” proves that 1) I am still quite dexterous, at least verbally, and 2) there wasn’t nearly enough tequila involved on my birthday. But one thing I’ve learned as I’ve gotten older is that you don’t need a lot of alcohol to have a good time. In fact, I can experience that same lack of inhibition and disorientation just by getting up from the couch too fast, or having a Red Bull with my Twinkie. Speaking of being disoriented, I believe it’s time we get to this week’s Flashback. As always it comes from long ago, back when I thought “Freshly Pressed” was a website for people with a fetish for naked dry cleaners; back when my only followers were WordPress sites I opened for my pets; back when the only comments I got were things like “Back to work, Hickson!” and “Honey, can you grab some milk on the way home?” Some of you may recognize the photo, which is from my “About” page. And yes, we do have flies that big in Oregon…
What may appear as sleeping to the untrained eye is actually the complex routine of a seasoned journalist focused on a Pulitzer … or possibly a Putziler.Every journalist has a routine. For example, I always write my column early in the morning. The earlier the better. That’s because, generally speaking, I’m not awake yet. Sure, I may be drinking coffee and typing, but if you were to monitor my brain activity, it would register somewhere between an earthworm and the average American watching Here Comes Honey Boo Boo.
Admittedly, my brain doesn’t open for business until about 10 a.m. By then, I’ve been at the keyboard for three or four hours with no real memory of what I’ve been writing. I assure my editor this unique quirk is the sign of a seasoned professional.
And she assures me the reason we need to keep replacing my keyboard is because, at least once a month, she finds me face down drooling on the return key. That may be true, but I tend to do my best work under pressure. And there’s nothing like the pressure of trying to finish a column before saliva short-circuits your keyboard. Continue reading Snoring is just one sign of a seasoned journalist
As you can see, these kids who crashed my birthday party can barely contain their enthusiasm. This week’s edition of Ned’s Nickel’s Worth on Writing is brought to you by a 47-year-old man! [Please note the exclamation point! (Hey, there’s another one!)] Why am I excited about this? And why am I not calling in sick while lining up shot glasses on the kitchen table?!? Because, in addition to my birthday falling on an NWOW Friday, I feel GREAT!
I’m in my PRIME!
And I want the whole world to know how, through positive thinking and the repetitious use of exclamation points, you can believe it too!!
To celebrate, I dressed in my favorite AC/DC T-shirt, jeans and smokey grey Vans. Oh, and Dos Equis underwear. Um, to clarify, those are underneath my jeans, not on top (I haven’t had that much to drink). I also took a moment to record the occasion for posterity by taking a photo. Which isn’t to say I took a picture of my butt. But I did stand next to the only other thing in our newsroom older than me (until my editor gets here), which is The Door (of Shame, Blame and Brilliance). Continue reading It’s my 47th birthday and the excitement is tangible
My wife and I have been trying to come up with an explanation for the volume of dirty clothes that accumulates in our laundry basket on a daily basis.
In an attempt to explain this phenomena by utilizing mathematic principles, we went through the laundry, separated the clothes, subtracted how many days since the basket was empty, and then divided it by the number of children in our home — which lead to an important discovery:
We had become trapped in the bathroom after our pile of clothes fell against the door.
While it’s true we have four children between us, according to my calculations they are changing their clothes every 18 minutes. This includes through the night, when they apparently take turns changing EACH OTHER while sleeping in shifts. This would explain how they can have a closet full of clothes at bedtime, then wake up and have nothing to wear. It would also explain why their bed sheets are always untucked and strewn on the floor by morning; they are using the sheets to drag each other’s sleeping bodies back and forth to the closet. Continue reading Apparently, the laws of physics don’t apply to our family’s laundry basket
The Door, sentinel of journalistic history since the 1970s; preserver of privacy to the restroom.For the time being, it seems major news outlets like ABC, CBS, NBC and The 700 Club have backed off in their pursuit of an exclusive on The Door (of Shame Blame and Brilliance) here in our newsroom. It’s been more than a week since Barbara Walters has called and threatened to “DESTWOY your CAWEERS!” And thanks to a case of hemorrhoids, Morley Safer has stopped faxing us images of his rear, which were starting to resemble a topographical map of civil war battle sites.
We’ve also heard nothing from Anderson Cooper, who seemed to lose interest in what he called “Possibly the most important piece of journalistic history since Chris Cuomo” once he discovered the other side of The Door had a commode instead of a closet.
So let us continue on as we do each Tuesday, and highlight an example of journalistic shame, blame or brilliance from The Door, which reporters have been contributing to for nearly 40 years in an effort to preserve history and, thanks to four decades of glue and tape, keep The Door from collapsing in on itself. Continue reading Barbara Walters, Anderson Cooper back away from… The Door
Sundays always include sleeping in late, breakfast in bed and a deep tissue massage — as long as we keep in mind this only applies to the new royal baby. Which isn’t to say Sunday mornings around here aren’t just as glamorous, depending on the kind of T-shirt and underwear I have on while standing at the coffee maker counting the drips. However, the one thing the Royals DON’T have are Sunday Flashbacks (Not counting Prince Harry). This week, we are again digging deep into the archives, back to 2003, when I still thought blogging was yet another intimate activity that raised more questions than answers. So pull up a chair, grab some coffee and let’s agree to move on from that image of me in my underwear…
This is the face of rising homeowner’s insurance.Each year, we gather as a family to have our pets blessed on St. Francis Day. We do this because we want to give our pets every advantage, particularly if there’s a chance — through divine intervention — that our Chocolate Labrador’s IQ could be raised above that of a standard carrot. I know this is supposed to be a general blessing situation, but I think God would agree there was a serious oversight during Stanley’s creation process.
I know He is very busy.
I know He sees all.
But maybe He was also trying to catch the season finale of “Hell’s Kitchen.”
Whatever the reason, somewhere in the world there’s a dog with two brains. Undoubtedly, its owners are very happy. They don’t care that their dog’s enormous cranium causes people and other dogs to stare. That’s because their dog is smart. Their dog has an instinctive understanding of things like gravity. These owners give thanks to St. Francis each day because their dog, in spite of its bulbous cranium, would never high-center itself on a coffee table in front of company. Continue reading Insurance premium up? You can thank my clumsy dog
If you have a cat, I’m sure you’ve heard about the world’s first TV program specifically designed for cats. This groundbreaking show premiered — ironically — on the Oxygen Network, which demonstrates what can happen when creative minds are allowed to collaborate freely and openly in a room that is actually being deprived of oxygen. That’s the only explanation I have for some of the things I saw on this show; things like cats doing yoga. Cat haiku. And a cat that eats with chopsticks.
Yes, I said a cat that eats with chopsticks.
As you might’ve guessed, the cat I saw doing this was Siamese, which is a breed known for its intelligence. I watched in amazement as Ying-Yow (which is Cantonese for “always hungry”) demonstrated his supreme cognitive skills by using chopsticks fitted with special “booties” to eat a mixture of dry cat food and squid. As impressive as this was, he still isn’t as smart as our cat, which would have simply run away to find a new family.
The Door, preserving journalistic history and restroom privacy. After getting Freshly Pressed last week, pressure from the major news outlets for exclusive access to The Door (of Shame, Blame and Brilliance) has only escalated in our newsroom. And speaking of Freshly Pressed, retired ABC News reporter Morley Safer is still sending faxes of his rear with the words You Will Crack scrawled on them, hoping we will succumb to what he threatened would be “my dogged and relentless pursuit to get the story, as long as I don’t have to leave my study.”
This morning, CNN’s Anderson Cooper was the latest TV journalist to contact us for an exclusive, explaining that The Door is as historically significant to journalists as “the Geraldo Rivera mustache clippings I have preserved in my freezer.” Cooper went on to explain he felt particularly suited to preforming what he referred to as “the big reveal” of The Door to the rest of the world, and how he envisions the segment beginning with him coming out from the other side. Admittedly, I considered the idea but felt the need to explain that the other side of The Door is the newsroom commode.
“It’s not a closet?” Cooper asked.
“No, just a commode and small hand sink. And toilet paper. Usually.”
(Regular readers of this blog — or even readers dealing with irregularity — know Sundays are reserved for flashbacks. And I’m not talking about something that comes as a result of too much tequila the night before. I’m talking aboutFlashback Sundays, which is when I dust off a post or newspaper column from long ago, back when I was building a readership through the promise of free Sea Monkeys. Today’s flashback is from 2005, when I was asked to return to the scene of a crime where, a year earlier, I had committed the act of golf. I chose this post because now, eight years later, I have been asked to do it once more. The only explanation I have for this is that my publisher has started drinking again…)
Golf is so much more exciting than bowling … OK, not really. Well maybe. Actually, now that I think about it … ZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzOur universe is full of mysteries:
Easter Island.
The Bermuda Triangle.
California.
And perhaps the biggest mystery:
Why I was chosen to captain our office’s Relay for Life golf team for a second time. Being asked the first time could be attributed to office members not realizing how bad a golfer I really am. Though none of the injuries sustained during last year’s tournament were life threatening, having six golfers (two of whom were playing the hole behind me) knocked unconscious by balls with my initials on them — I thought — would become my golfing swan song.
(Speaking of which, I’d like to take this opportunity to apologize once again for the tragic death of that swan near the putting green. Had I known the difference between a putter and a pitching wedge, things might’ve turned out differently for that majestic creature.)
[Breaking News: from another strangely irrelevant moment in our news room…]
It’s Friday. A deadline day. Tomorrow’s readers will benefit from today’s laser-like focus in our newsroom — plus whatever it is I do. Today, in addition to the normal pressures and distractions that accompany a deadline day, such as a phone call from the local bridge club or the unexpected arrival of free donuts, I have THIS to contend with… Continue reading … This Just In …
Ned's Blog 