Once again, we are reminded of the importance of Spellcheck in journalism, and why there has never been a “Wheel of Fortune” champion from Mississippi…
Tag: writing
Another sterling example of investigative journalism…
Often, it’s our job as journalists to take highly technical information and relay it in a way that can be understood by the average reader. Ummm, mission accomplished…
Frozen lima beans: The gift that keeps on gagging
It will have been more than 80 years ago next month 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. Continue reading Frozen lima beans: The gift that keeps on gagging
A man’s guide to romantic cuisine—Step one: Insert beer into chicken cavity
Men, by their very nature, are grillers of food. This is because grilling, aside from providing men with a legitimate excuse to drink beer and play with fire, is actually a sign of romance and affection dating back to the discovery of fire itself. We know this thanks to recently discovered cave paintings depicting what archeologists believe is a romantic meal prepared by a Neanderthal named Glork soon after the discovery of fire. According to archeologists, the sequence goes like this:
Painting one: Glork makes a small fire using a careful mixture of embers, dry leaves, and an assortment of twigs. He then douses it with liberal amounts of highly flammable liquid, creating a massive fireball that scorches the roof of his cave.
Painting two: Glork adds a marinated pterodactyl drumstick to the fire and begins drinking an unidentified beverage.
Paintings three through six: Glork continues drinking a lot more of his unidentified beverage.
Painting seven: Attempting to capture the attention of an attractive cavewoman, Glork uses the flaps of his animal skin to fan the aroma of dinner in her direction. In the process, he inadvertently exposes himself, leading to the creation of what archeologists believe is the very first “Kiss the Chef” apron. Continue reading A man’s guide to romantic cuisine—Step one: Insert beer into chicken cavity
Your space adventure awaits! And mine will just have to keep waiting
So you want to be an astronaut!
OK, neither do I. But suppose we did. And let’s suppose I didn’t routinely freak out anytime I’m launched higher than a pogo stick. Then we would all be very 
excited about all the recent advancements in the area of private spaceflight. Even now, it is possible for us to take a “slingshot ride” to the edge of the atmosphere and back, providing adventurers like ourselves with a breathtaking view of the earth, a few minutes of weightlessness, and, hopefully, at least one change of underwear.
You’ll notice there are quotation marks around the phrase “slingshot ride,” which is the actual term one expert used in describing the flight so that people like me, with no aeronautic experience, could picture themselves being flung headfirst into the stratosphere by something resembling a giant jock strap.
This, of course, would never happen.
At least not in the U.S.
Thanks to the FAA, we can rest assured that any flight heading into the cosmos will first have to meet the same rigorous federal safety standards set by The Jetsons 50 years ago. Knowing this, spaceflight entrepreneurs have spared no expense in designing flight packages cool enough to justify the $98,000 per-person price tag, which includes a disposable flight suit and wacky souvenir vomit bag that reads: Sack launch. Continue reading Your space adventure awaits! And mine will just have to keep waiting
Cold snap puts freeze on taking out trash in your underwear
It’s not often that it gets really cold here along the Oregon coast. And by REALLY COLD, I mean cold enough to warrant using an ice scraper. Now, to someone from Michigan or Maine — where an ice scraper is a six-ton piece of diesel-driven steel with studded tires and a nine-foot scoop — scraping down my windshield with a four-inch piece of beveled plastic that has a smiley snowman on the handle wouldn’t exactly be called a winter crisis (On the East Coast, this is what is commonly known as “spring.”)
However, for us coastal Oregonians, who are kept reasonably warm by jet streams that push cold air to the north and allow naturally abundant hot air to make its way up from California, pulling out the ice scraper means it’s time to revisit some cold-weather-safety procedures. Continue reading Cold snap puts freeze on taking out trash in your underwear
Seriously, remember to love each other like Rufus Valentine
As I’ve mentioned before, I lived in the South for 10 years, with six of those years spent in the suburbs of Atlanta. In the early 1990s, I was a restaurant manager operating in one of Georgia’s largest shopping malls — three stories of glass, sale banners and merchant space spanning six football fields’ worth of mall space.
As you can imagine, I’ve dealt with as many personalities as there are seats in a 280-capacity dining room. The fact that Rufus Valentine dug such a deep groove in my memory should tell you a little something about the man’s character.
I’d like to tell you more.
The first time I saw Rufus Valentine was during the Braves’ heyday in February of 1992, when all of Atlanta was anticipating the spring — and a run at the World Series. Essentially, you could be completely naked; but as long as you had a Braves cap on you were considered properly attired by most Atlantans. Continue reading Seriously, remember to love each other like Rufus Valentine
Looking for excitement? Try feeding your arm to a catfish
No. These folks WANT to hunt catfish by sticking their bare hands into underwater burrows, knowing full well it could be the hiding place of a cottonmouth, snapping turtle, or Dick Cheney. Continue reading Looking for excitement? Try feeding your arm to a catfish
Hello: My name isn’t Larry
There are three things I know about “Larry.”
He is a contractor; he lives somewhere in Multnomah County; and he has the same cell phone number that I do.
The calls started about a month ago, presumably about the time “Larry” got his contractor’s license and began making bids. Since then, he has been a busy man, picking up jobs and making sure that his clients know they can call him any time. Day or night. For any reason at all.
Which they do — to my cell phone.
The Hansons, for example, call whenever they change their mind about what color tile to use around the bidet in their new bathroom. For the Gilmores, deciding between cedar shakes or aluminum siding requires at least one consultation a day. And the Reyboulds are still contemplating the ripple effect of kitchen cabinets without knobs. Mrs. Reybould thinks knobs would make their kitchen look more inviting; Mr. Reybould believes not having knobs would stymie their 2-year-old and keep him out of the cabinets for at least another year. Continue reading Hello: My name isn’t Larry
Don’t panic: It’s just your toilet paper getting smaller
I have a friend in Atlanta who I consider an astute observer. The kind of person who is aware of even the most subtle changes in routine or appearance. Which is why it came as no surprise when I received the following e-mail from him:
I think they shrunk my toilet paper.
According to “Derf” (Note: Out of respect for his privacy I have created a fictitious name that should not be held up to a mirror), his recent purchase of Scott toilet paper seemed “more narrow than normal.”
Because many of you are probably reading this over breakfast, I will not explain how he reached this conclusion, nor will I ever be caught without two-ply toilet paper should he come to visit. What I will tell you is that, after reading about his deductive process, I felt a need to go clean my hands, which I did, by dipping them in kerosene and lighting them on fire. Continue reading Don’t panic: It’s just your toilet paper getting smaller
Ned's Blog 