Thursday, October 31, 2002

Today's illustrious band:

The Strepitant Mutes



Brought to you by A Word A Day, www.wordsmith.org, and the guy who kept me on the phone for 20 minutes this morning to impart 5 minutes' worth of information.


Strepitant: Noisy; boisterous. [From Latin strepitantem, present participle of strepitare, from strepere (to make a noise).]


Things are hoppin' here at Media Headquarters this Halloween, so I've got to get back to work. No costume for me today; couldn't think of anything.


Wednesday, October 30, 2002

Today's illustrious band:

Three-Year Sandwich



Brought to you by the United States Army.


According to Salon.com, Army researchers are hard at work on the formula for a peanut butter and jelly sandwich that will last up to three years in the field. (Read the full story at http://www.salon.com/people/wire/2002/10/29/army_sandwich/index.html?x.) The sandwich has to withstand extremes of time and temperature without decomposing, yet still taste — and stick to the roof of the mouth — like real PB&J. It will pack about 325 calories and join other MRE marathoners like the pepperoni sandwich and the barbecue chicken sandwich in soldiers' field packs sometime around 2006. The sandwiches are "designed to be as resilient as the troops they feed," surviving a minimum of three years at 80 degrees or six months at 100 degrees, without refrigeration or excessive use of chemical preservatives.


Here's a thought: Why not just borrow the formula of Twinkies instead? Just trade the yellow cake and white filling for peanut buttery cake and grape jelly filling, et voila! A troop-pleasing snack with proven staying power. May I have my patent now, please?



**********

The news on being on the news: My 15 seconds of fame have been rescheduled yet again. The latest report is that the handyman spot filmed at Sensational Acres on Oct 2 is supposed to air on Nov. 29, the Friday after Thanksgiving. Same bat time, same bat channel as before. Let's not hold our breath, though.


Tuesday, October 29, 2002

Today's illustrious band:

High Coup



Brought to you by haiku, the Japanese poetry form that has 5 syllables in the first line, 7 in the second and 5 in the third. A haiku is supposed to contain some reference to a specific season, which the one below does not. I've never been much of a poet, but sometimes I like to pretend. Here's proof:



Should I meditate

instead of writing stories?

Is there a dif'rence?


Monday, October 28, 2002

Today's illustrious band:

If Cats Took Acid


Brought to you by Michael Moschen (aptly pronounced "motion").


Michael Moschen is widely regarded as being one of the best contact jugglers in the world, and one of the most innovative regular jugglers as well. Contact juggling is when the juggler stays in contact with the ball(s) or other prop(s) the whole time rather than throwing things into the air. For instance, he rolls a ball up and down his arms and over the backs and palms of his hands, not unlike the Harlem Globetrotters, but with pants that fit. (Tomorrow's band: Pants That Fit!) It looks like the ball stands still while he dances beneath and around it. Or he swirls several crystal (acrylic, actually) balls in the palms of his hands, tumbling them around and over one another like really big raindrops. Moschen can manipulate 4 softball-sized balls at a time in each hand. With the right lighting, they look like diamonds in whitewater.


A second component of Moschen's show could be described as sound juggling. He's famous for standing inside a big triangular frame, bouncing balls off the three walls in increasingly intricate patterns. Each wall produces a different tone when struck, so there's an element of melody as well as the rhythmic thump of each bounce. Then he adds a few tap-dance steps, sometimes bouncing the balls with his feet. Or he'll place a gong face-down a couple feet above what's essentially a large drum head. He bounces a ball off the drum. As it ricochets upward, it hits the gong, then rebounds precisely into his hand. And I do mean precisely! He kept 5 balls going on this contraption for at least a solid minute last night, throwing faster and faster and faster without ever appearing to move anything but his wrists. Good juggling, like good music, depends on good rhythm. Sometimes they're all the same thing.


One of the most amusing pieces was one in which Moschen himself did not appear at all. From off stage right, he (or someone) rolled a ball across the darkened stage. One of two spotlights picked it up and followed it most of the way across. Then another ball emerged from the wings and the second spotlight picked it up and followed it across. Meanwhile the first spot released its ball, then caught a new one as it emerged. The spotlights performed the function of the juggler's hands. Clever! And a cheap way to kill a couple minutes while the stage was being set for the next scene.


To his nonpercussive pieces, which include dance-juggling with props like hollow pyramids and alate (wing-like) pieces of scrap metal, Moschen adds music. This is the only element of the show I didn't like. His musical accompaniment consists largely of techno compositions that hint at what it would sound like if cats took acid — inside the cats' own heads, at least: lots of deep purring bass and drawn-out synthesizer mrrrowing. I found it distracting rather than complementary.


I'm surprised it bugged me, too; I've been to a couple electronic music performances by Datura (aka Fractal Matt) and found them quite interesting. Maybe that's because I was free to concentrate on the sound rather than being distracted by the sights. This is a pretty small complaint, though. Even from the top of the balcony, my eye was delighted by the light trails Moschen's props blazed across the stage.


Anyway. If you want to experience a bit of the way this guy's mind works, try this audience participation exercise: With your right hand draw a square in the air. Four sides, 1-2-3-4. Do this three times in a row so you've drawn a total of 12 sides. OK. Leave that for a second and with your left hand draw a triangle in the air. Three sides, 1-2-3. Do this four times in a row so you've again drawn a total of 12 sides. Now — you see where this is leading, don't you? — draw the shapes simultaneously, side by side (so to speak), the three squares with your right hand and the four triangles with your left, for a total of 12 sides. When you've mastered this, switch shapes/sides.


GAAAAAAGH!


Friday, October 25, 2002

Today's illustrious band:

Redneck Highrise



Brought to you by Aunt Which Way — or is it Aunt Wrong Way?


Uncle Bups (brother of Mother Media and her Way Out Sisters) and his wife Aunt Bups are in the process of building a new and very nice home. The family have been exchanging many humorous e-mails about the tribulations of dealing with construction and contractors. What if the builders make a horrible mistake? What if they misconnect the electricity and the new house goes up in flames at the first flip of a light switch, or what if they've concealed the bodies of Mafia informants in the foundation? What if they misread the blueprints and, after all this time and expense, it doesn't come out looking like it's supposed to AT ALL?


Click the link to view a possible outcome: http://www.angelfire.com/hi5/jugglernaut/images/RedneckHighrise.jpg.



**********

P.S. Don't forget to SUBSCRIBE to BND (tools at left). Mother Media endorses the process as user-friendly. Starting Nov. 1, the subscription service, not I, will be mailing you band names.


Pardon my Spanish. Bloglet subscribers, I apologize for the strange appearance of Senor Editor's moniker in yesterday's story — Bloglet lost the special N-with-tilde character, renaming him "Seor" Editor. Call it a linguistic learning experience.


Thursday, October 24, 2002

Today's illustrious band:

Other Duties As Assigned



Brought to you by Señor Editor, Media Headquarters' very own version of the Crocodile Hunter.


In the atrium here at MHQ, we have a nice little gardeny area. A greenery service maintains, according to horticulturist Skeeter, a few small beds of crotons, umbrella trees, creeping ficus, peace lilies and liriope (say it: "lir-RYE-o-pee"; it's fun). Workers come to water, prune and periodically replace the plants. And sometimes, when they bring us new plants for old, they also bring reptilian stowaways. Every few months there's a snake sighting in the atrium.


Today's sighting carries a unique twist. Our slithery visitor spotted an empty screw hole in the threshold plate of the doorway leading to the advertising department (no jokes about our ad reps being snakelike, please!) and thought he or she would slip into the dark hidey place for a long winter's nap. However, efforts to fatten up for hibernation proved too successful; it got halfway in and then got stuck. Since these things have no reverse gear, there was a good foot and a half of garter snake sticking out of the doorframe.


All together now: EEEEEUUW!!


Señor Editor, friend of small creatures and a handy fellow with tools, grabbed a power drill and strode to the rescue. While Slim Jim kept a grip on the snake, Señor removed the threshold plate and the door jambs (which rest on the threshold plate, holding it in place). The liberated snake, about a yard long, whipped angrily about during its short journey to the back door. It's now safe outside, where it can regale its fellows with its indoor adventures.


Reptile wrangling is not exactly part of Señor's and Jim's job descriptions, but it probably beats a budget meeting.


Wednesday, October 23, 2002

Today's illustrious band:

Covered With Gods


Brought to you by James the Bear, whom you may remember as the supplier of the infamous Aass beer at the Labor Day party.


The Bear is covered with gods. Odin and Thor adorn his necklace; Freya graces a wristband. He has other items with other gods from other pantheons, too, but these were the ones I've seen. The Bear subscribes to the theory that the more deities you're friendly with, or at least respectful toward, the better your chances of getting one or two to smile upon you. There are worse ways to go through life than covered with gods.


The calendar is covered with gods, too, you know. The days of the week are named for them. The months of the year are, too; see http://www.ernie.cummings.net/calendar.htm#TWO to learn more.

Days of the Band Name:


  • Sunday = Sun's day
  • Monday = Moon's day
  • Tuesday = Tewe's day — a Norse goddess
  • Wednesday = Woden's day, or Odin's day — the Big Kahuna of the Norse pantheon
  • Thursday = Thor's day — Norse god of lightning/electricity
  • Friday = Frigg's day — a rotund Germanic goddess
  • Saturday = Saturn's day — a Roman god

**********

Administrative note: Speaking of subscribing, I'm pleased to announce that the subscription service seems to be working now. You can subscribe (tools in the left-hand column) and receive BND in your inbox each day. Takes about 30 seconds. Or you can just visit the site and read each day's installment there. Bring a friend; it's free.


And speaking of visiting blogsites: Your homework assignment for today is to go to http://thehomelessguy.blogspot.com and read as much as you can. Guaranteed to make you blink.


Tuesday, October 22, 2002

Today's illustrious band:

Space Seeds



Brought to you by Skeeter and the nice scientists at DuPont, and by Star Trek.

Once upon a time, DuPont scientists sent some soybean seeds into space. The seeds germinated, sprouted, flowered and reproduced new seedpods on the International Space Station — the first major crop growth cycle to be completed in space. The beans have now come back home via Space Shuttle Atlantis, and the researchers will examine them to determine if they have improved oil, protein, carbohydrates or other characteristics that could benefit farmers and consumers. They'll plant top candidates to see if the space beans can pass desirable genetic traits to future generations.

That's all very cool in a 21st-century science sort of way, but HELLO, don't these guys watch movies or read books? Every good sci-fi fan knows that bringing something back to Earth from space is just asking for trouble. Having absorbed all those unearthly cosmic rays, the astrobeans could easily mutate in ugly ways, causing hideous accelerated evolution in the human beings who consume them and leading to a new generation of murderous pod people. Or the beans could be playing host to other forms of life entirely, which the unsuspecting scientists at DuPont have already set loose to wreak havoc upon our planet. The third possibility is that the beans have, through the absorption of space radiation, achieved sentience themselves, and now that they understand the fate we have planned for them, they're mighty ticked off. So I wouldn't be so quick to praise this endeavor if I were you. I'd be stocking up the bomb shelter with plenty of canned goods . . . but no beans.

Sowing metaphorical wild oats in space definitely led to disastrous consequences for Captain Kirk and company in the original Star Trek series. In the episode titled "Space Seed" (episode #23, original air date Feb. 16, 1967), the crew of the starship Enterprise discovers a ship full of genetically altered humans who have been in suspended animation since the 20th century. Too impetuous to let sleeping mutants lie, Kirk revives the sleepers. He soon learns that among them is Khan Noonian Singh (played by Ricardo Montalban), who was specially bred to be a ruthless military leader. Khan's ambitions haven't faded during his three hundred-year nap, and he quickly sets about trying to take over the Enterprise and subvert Kirk's crew. Kirk finally regains the upper hand, of course, and after much deliberation decides that rather than send Khan and his henchpeople to prison, he'll beam them down to an uninhabited planet where they can conquer to their hearts' content. After the drop-off, Spock muses that it will be interesting to see what will spring from the seeds they've planted.

Fast-forward 15 years to 1982 and the movie Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan. Kirk and his merry men stumble across Khan and his again and find that their seeds have borne poisonous fruit. The nice little planet to which Kirk sent Khan turned out to be an inhospitable desert world, and the last decade and a half has been a living hell. Khan is mad as hell and won't take it any more; he exacts revenge against Kirk in grandiose fashion. Kirk emerges victorious, but just barely, and the epic battle costs him his best friend.

So be careful of the seeds you plant, and where, and tend them well.


"He tasks me. He tasks me, and I shall have him."


Monday, October 21, 2002

Today's illustrious band:

Bananosecond



Brought to you by a friend who sent me a list of humorous "measurements." A bananosecond is the tiny moment of time between slipping on a peel and smacking the pavement. And the shortest distance between two jokes is . . . a straight line. Ba-dum-bum.


Friday, October 18, 2002

Today's illustrious band:

The Scalp Doilies



Brought to you by Bing Crosby.

This week marked the 25th anniversary of Mr. Crosby's death. (I've been listening to NPR in the car again.) I learned many interesting tidbits about the prolific film star — he appeared in 64 movies — and crooner — he's credited with over 1,700 recordings, about 300 of them hits. For instance, Bing had jug ears that his makeup man always had to tape back during filming, and sometimes an ear would pop free mid-take. Bing also lacked enough natural hair on his head to be considered a true matinee idol, so he wore toupees in his movies. He hated them and referred to them as scalp doilies. Upon receiving a new script to consider, he would always count the number of outdoor scenes, giving preference to films with plenty of exteriors in which he could wear a hat and forego the hairpiece.

There's a wealth of further information out there about the Bingster, which I'll leave you to wade through on your own. I might just pick up one of those recordings myself next time I'm in the media store. Hair or no hair, the man had a terrific voice.

Bing Crosby, 1903 - 1977

Media Sensation Jugglernaut


Thursday, October 17, 2002

Today's illustrious band:

The Buttered Fannies



Brought to you by Slim Jim. Not X-rated, I promise.

Earlier this week, Slim Jim and Señor Editor were admiring photos of a motorcycle Señor hoped to buy. He had taken it for a test ride, and while the fit was good, he knew he'd have to replace the small, forward-placed seat with a longer one to accommodate his height. Jim commented that if he didn't want to do so much work, he could just butter his fanny and slide back on the existing seat.

This office is pleased to announce that Señor Editor will soon become the proud owner of this chopped, stretched, custom-painted, as-yet-butterless bike. He has only to sign some papers and drive it home. So let's all wish Señor — and ourselves — one last taste of Indian summer this weekend.

Media Sensation Jugglernaut


Wednesday, October 16, 2002

Today's illustrious band:

Orange-backed Penguins



Brought to you by author James Hynes in his so-far delightful novel The Lecturer's Tale.

The Lecturer's Tale is a fine book on its own merits, but it especially tickles the fancy of an ex-academic like me. In outing the freaks and foibles of a university English department, Hynes could almost be quoting verbatim from my own experiences in graduate school. From tenure-track politics to the sanctioned bigotry of white male bashing, he kicks every brick in the ivory tower. Some critics have complained that all the characters are caricatures; obviously they haven't spent much time on campus lately.

Among my favorite passages is a description of an entrenched professor's subterranean office, its corners mounded with yellowing stacks of papers, its bookshelves crammed with orange-backed Penguins — inexpensive editions of the classics published by Penguin Books, which are easily distinguishable by the orange on their covers.

I think we've all got a few Penguins in our closets. I know all you recovering English majors do. Dust one off and read it just for fun. Then impress your friends with a scholarly analysis of the ways in which "Friends" is actually a postmodern retelling of the story. . . . Or don't.

Media Sensation Jugglernaut


Tuesday, October 15, 2002

Today's illustrious band:

Red Leather Yellow Leather



Brought to you by theater folk and their many rituals.

This past weekend, I attended a play with Mother Media, Sister-san and some friends. The show was Tony 'N Tina's Wedding, in which audience members are "cast" as guests at the wedding of Tony and Tina. The real cast members interact with the audience, so in addition to watching the wedding party's scripted performance, you might also find yourself trading meatball recipes with the mother of the bride or dancing with a tipsy usher. Fun stuff.

Anyway, getting up close and personal with the cast reminded me of my college days, when I hung around the theater department a lot. Actors spend a lot of time warming up their bodies and voices while getting psyched up for performances. Most have a certain pre-show routine to help them tame their nerves and get into character. Some of the thespians I knew recited tongue twisters, including "red leather yellow leather," while marching around the theater building.

Other enunciational challenges included:

  • Why do wily women win wealth and wed well?
  • Whether the weather be cold or whether the weather be hot, we'll be together whatever the weather, whether we like it or not.
  • Moses supposes his toes to be roses, but Moses supposes erroneously, for nobody's toes can be posies or roses as Moses supposes his toes to be.
  • I slit a sheet, a sheet I slit; upon a slitted sheet I sit. (This one can result in inadvertent profanity, so practice discretely.)
  • The slick sheik's sixth sheep's sick.
  • Rubber baby buggy bumpers (Mother Media's favorite, and mine too)

Know any more?

While I'm thinking about it, how about tongue twisters in languages other than English? I'm too monolingual to know if you've goofed, but they'd sure be interesting to hear.

Media Sensation Jugglernaut


Monday, October 14, 2002

Today's illustrious band:

Bagels Flambé



Brought to you by myself and Mother Media.

Having Mother Media in town for a few days has been great. We did many things, including coming up with a new recipe that's bound to become a family classic. We covered a lot of territory, from executing a tag-team Martha Stewart-type coup in the guest bedroom to sampling Caribbean cuisine across the boarder in Wisconsin to doing laps in the Mall of America to attending Tony 'N Tina's Wedding. As usual, we also took a lot of pictures, looked at a lot of pictures, caught up on gossip and made a fair stab at dining our way through the metro area.

How busy/flighty/chatty were we? Judge for yourselves.


Bagels Flambé



bagel(s), sliced
butter, slightly softened
fire

1. Apply butter to bagel halves.
2. Place bagels, butter side up, in broiler (they're too fat for the toaster).
3. Turn attention to conversation with person in other room for just one tiny moment.
4. Check bagel(s).
5. Extinguish flames. Remove charred pucks to back yard for birds.
6. Reheat lasagna for brunch.


Wednesday, October 09, 2002

Today's illustrious band:

My Druthers



Brought to you by everyone who has ever said, "If I had my druthers . . . " What the heck are druthers?

According to our good friend Mr. Webster, "druther" is a truncation of the phrase "I would rather." If you say that sloppily, it sounds like "I'd ruther" or "I druther." In other words, "If I were free to choose." So druthers are choices.

If I had my druthers, the English language would be chock-full of such colorful expressions — and it is! There's one now! Sometimes you DO get what you want.


**********
The news on being on the news:
My 15 seconds of fame has been rescheduled for Friday, Oct. 18, at 5:00 on KSTP Channel 5. Once again, please set your VCRs; I'm still having a labor dispute with mine.


**********
The Media Sensation will be incommunicado Thursday and Friday, working on top-secret media projects and playing hostess for Mother Media's visit. Wish us fair weather, and I'll see you Monday.


Tuesday, October 08, 2002

Today's illustrious band:

Mold Nuggets



Today's band name is a public service announcement brought to you by Ralph & Jody.

For an upcoming issue of the Award-Winning Publication, I'm writing a brief story on mold in houses and how it can make people sick. I visited Ralph & Jody this morning to see their damp, jucky basement and hear their tale of woe. Gross? Let's just say I'm glad we're cellar-free over at Sensational Acres. R&J's mold problem is a result of a larger moisture/water leakage problem that went untended by the home's previous owners, and now they're stuck with huge headaches — literally, as mold can cause cold- and flu-like symptoms in people who are exposed to it for long periods.

So go downstairs right now and check for dampness, water stains, dark patches on walls or ceilings or carpets, musty smells, and mushy drywall. Get rid of the stuff! Dry it out, clean it up and make sure your house doesn't leak from the outside or prevent moisture from escaping from the inside. The complete expose will appear in our Jan/Feb issue, but I thought I'd give you-all a heads-up.

Thanks to all who have shared their Cube game stories with me. They've been interesting and enlightening. Most players seem to have viewed the exercise as reasonably positive and mildly entertaining. If you didn't, well, it's only a game. And if you see a magnificent black stallion out roaming around, send him back over to me where he belongs, OK? Thanks.


Monday, October 07, 2002

Today's illustrious band:

Cast the Dice



Brought to you by Dungeons & Dragons and other role-playing games (RPGs). Yes, I played D&D in high school. No, I did not worship Satan. Still don't. The group I played with worshipped Mountain Dew and Doritos; there wasn't much room left at the table for ol' Lucifer. (Don't forget to scroll way down for Cube game info, too.)

D&D is a fantasy game full of magic and surreal creatures, through which you pretend to adventure in the guise of an alter-ego character. But RPGs mimic real life more than you might think. One way they do so is in the arbitrariness of each character's luck. If you approach an evil beast that needs slaying, for instance, you say to the Dungeon Master, "I strike it with my sword." Then you roll dice to see if you hit the thing, and if so, how effective your imaginary blow was. A high roll means you did a lot of damage, a low number, only a little. Then the DM rolls on behalf of the creature to see how hard it strikes back. A high roll means the monster smote you, and a low one means you got away relatively unscathed. Dice are rolled hundreds of times per gaming session. You also roll when thinking up a character to play; the dice determine everything from how much protection your armor affords to how smart and dexterous you are.

They aren't just ordinary dice, either. Sure, a set of dragon dice includes a conventional six-sided die. But there's also a four-sider (d4), an eight-sider (d8), a ten-sider (d10), a twelve-sider (d12) and a twenty-sider (d20). (See www.rpgshop.com for some rather lousy pictures; choose one of the dice options from the left-side menu.) A not-too-dangerous weapon like a small knife might only be capable of doing from 1 to 4 points' worth of damage, so you'd roll a d4 to find out how well your knife attack fared. An enchanted sword, on the other hand, might be capable of more damage, so you'd roll one of the bigger dice. (A natural 20 usually means a beheading.) A weak magic spell performed by a low-level (inexperienced) character might rate only 6 to 10 points, rolled with the corresponding die, while a powerful spell cast by a high-level character would merit a throw of the d20.

Once you get used to deciding everything with a roll of the dice, it's hard to go back. So I was delighted recently when I found an orphaned d12 in a parking lot. It sits on my desk now, and I use it to make editorial decisions. Not sure whether to delete a word or phrase? Roll the die! A throw of 9 to 12 means the troublesome verbiage is outta there; between 1 and 4 means definitely leave it in; 5 to 8 means replace it with something else. If I get a 7, you can be pretty sure a semicolon will be involved.

I urge everyone to get some decision dice. If you're just stuck and can't make the call, letting the dice do it for you takes the pressure off. If you're on the fence but then find yourself disagreeing with the dice, you'll realize which way you're leaning. They're also good for fortune-telling; you can throw to see how big your next raise will be (only need a d4 for that) or to figure the percent chance of something happening (d10s work best for percentages). Use your imagination, and be sure to shop around for super-groovy colors. My d12 is a clear smoky grey, appropriate for the inside of a cubicle, but the dice that fueled my teenage adventures were translucent purple. Still got 'em somewhere in my old bedroom.

**********
The news on being on the news: Once again, didn't happen. Perhaps I misunderstood which Friday they meant, but I wasn't on on the 4th. Not at 5:00, anyway. Or maybe more pressing news aced me out of my 15 minutes. Just as well, I suppose, since I never did get the VCR to work. If I find out anything else, I'll let you know.
**********


And now, the moment you've all been waiting for . . .

The Game: All is revealed!
OK, it's time for the big denouement. By now you've probably figured out that this is one of those games where your responses to the questions reveal various aspects of your personality. And you're right. The difference with this game, known as the Cube game, is that you do the interpreting yourself, rather than relying on some pop-psych guru like me to tell you what it all means. (I have a book about the Cube game in my office, on loan from WhoSEZ, if you want to check it out.)

So here's the key. Think about how you conceived the various objects and how you had them relate to one another. But don't think too hard — this is supposed to be fun!

The cube represents you.
Intricate? Simple? Closed? Open? Center stage? Distant? Huge? Tiny? Buried in the sand? Standing on edge?

The ladder represents your friends.
The number of rungs allegedly corresponds roughly with the number of people you count as true friends. Is your ladder old and rickety or strong and sturdy? Leaning on you? Providing support? Providing access to your cube's inner depths? Bridging a gap?

The horse is your lover.
Is the horse nearby or far away? Beautiful or mangy? How does it interact with the cube and its surroundings?

The storm is (you guessed it) trouble.
Is your storm approaching, present or abating? Mild or severe?

The flowers are your children and/or your creative "children," your ideas.
How many? Where are they? Multicolored or homogenous?


Friday, October 04, 2002

Today's illustrious band:

Modem Medicine



Brought to you by a Media Sensation with smudged lenses.

Sometimes, when I've been staring at the computer screen too long, I see "modem medicine" instead of "modern medicine" — the r and the n run together to make an m. Sometimes the idea of modem medicine even makes sense, such as when I do health research online or when doctors consult over the internet — or, of course, when the HMO transmits your claim to the insurance carrier.


The Game: Day 5 instructions:
Imagine flowers in your landscape. Where are they? What color(s)?

OK, that's it. Thanks for playing! On Monday, all will be revealed. And it'll amount to more than you think. ;-)


Thursday, October 03, 2002

Today's illustrious band:

The Morals Clause



Brought to you by Ross Kirgiss, the Emmy award-winning consumer affairs reporter from KSTP.

Yes, Virginia, there is a morals clause.

Yesterday was the big day: Both Mr. Handyman and Mr. Kirgiss arrived at Sensational Acres in the afternoon. Tony the handyman set about completing the various repairs I've been saving up for him, and Ross the reporter hung out in my living room with me while Al the cameraman and Bao the intern collected some outdoor shots of Tony at work. There was also about a 3-minute stretch during which Bao asked me a few questions from behind the camera, with Ross occasionally throwing in one of his own. The news crew was there for about an hour, during which time Ross never removed his wool trenchcoat or appeared on camera, as far as I know. I imagine he'll do his bit at the studio or something.

But he and I did visit while the others were outside. We talked about, among other things, our respective journalistic jobs. Since he appears on the air, his image is of great importance, so much so that certain things about it are written into his contract. The TV station has the right to tell him how to dress and how to style his hair. I suspect his tan is also part of the package. If he gains weight or suffers a facially disfiguring injury, his job is in jeopardy. And the contract includes a morals clause, something I had doubted existed in the 21st century: If Ross is seen to behave in a fashion not in keeping with the station's morals, he can be fired.

Doesn't sound like much fun to me. I could turn into a pasty-faced, ill-dressed cousin of Jabba the Hut and then sue my employer if anyone so much as looked at me funny. I could maraud through the countryside raping and pillaging and not get fired from my job. I'm free to grow old and wrinkled, to dye my hair, to pierce whatever I please, to tattoo offensive images across my face if I want to. Mr. Kirgiss isn't. He's traded away some very personal freedoms in exchange for the perks his job brings him. I couldn't do that.

Anyway, the Sensational Acres spot is supposed to appear on tomorrow's 5:00 news on KSTP channel 5. Will someone please tape it for me? I'm not sure I remember how to set the VCR.

Editorial aside: Too bad pro athletes' contracts don't have a morals clause, eh? Then His Holiness Randy Moss might actually suffer some consequences for committing vehicular assault upon a traffic officer. The court doesn't appear inclined to hold him responsible for his actions — apparently his using his car to push a uniformed pedestrian half a block was a "misunderstanding," and the marijuana joint found in the vehicle probably wasn't his — but I'd still like to see somebody require him to act like an adult. I know, I know, but a girl can dream, can't she?


The Game: Day 4 instructions:
Imagine a storm in your landscape. Where is it? What's it doing?


Wednesday, October 02, 2002

Today's illustrious band:

Genus Prunus



Brought to you by Skeeter, our resident horticultural expert, who knows not only a bunch of cool words, but also what they mean.

Here, he's talking about the scientific system of plant classification. Remember the acronym Kings Play Chess On FiberGlass Stools for remembering the classification system in order: Kingdom Phylum Class Order Family Genus Species? Today's lesson is about the Genus of Prunus, because it's fun to say. Specifically:

Kingdom: Plantae
Phylum: Magnoliophyta
Class: Magnoliopsida
Order: Rosales
Family: Rosaceae
Genus: Prunus

"Prunus is a big genus," writes Skeeter. "It contains peaches (Prunus persica), nectarines, plums, apricots, almonds, cherries, black cherries, chokecherries, sand cherries, etc. Many of the plants have really attractive flowers in shades of white and pink that may be fragrant. The leaves and fruits, or at least pits of the fruits, are dangerous to eat. Botanically, the fruits are called drupes. The genus is in the rose family (Rosaceae)."

Mmm! Prunes!


The Game: Day 3 instructions:
Imagine a horse in your landscape. Where is it? What does it look like? What's it doing?


Tuesday, October 01, 2002

Today's illustrious band:

Logorrhea



Brought to you by Amy, the top-rated Nielsen.

\law-guh-REE-uh\, noun: Excessive talkativeness or wordiness.

Amy points out that "logorrhea" could be a nice way to refer either to "diarrhea of the mouth" (and NO ONE we know suffers from that!) or the excessive use of logos. And she's got a really good point there. Corporate and brand-name logos are omnipresent. I don't get paid enough to carry out anybody's advertising campaign on my body, so I try to keep my clothing logo-free. And it ain't easy! Have you ever made a conscious effort to buy a T-shirt that does not display a logo of any kind? Just when you think you're safe, that little Nike swoosh pops up. Sometimes it's quietly stitched on a pocket in thread the same color as the shirt, but it's there. Even my socks aren't safe.

I'm sure everyone has noticed by now that no public venue or event is free from visible signs of ownership or sponsorship, no movie or TV show free from blatant "product placement" moments. A press release we recently received here at Media Headquarters takes logorrhea one step further. It was for a device that will "emboss" words or symbols into uncooked dough so that even baked pizza crusts and breadsticks carry that all-important consumer message. Logos on pizza? Is nothing sacred?! If I don't like to wear advertising, you can be pretty sure I won't be first in line to eat it.

Athletes, no longer content merely to wear conspicuously brand-name sports gear, are now stenciling product endorsements on their bodies during televised events. I've also read about a guy somewhere in the U.S. who has offered to sell advertising space on his bald head to the highest bidder. And let's not forget the female soccer player who became famous a year or so ago for "spontaneously" ripping off her (logoed) team jersey during a moment of (televised) triumph to reveal a certain brand-name sports bra, thereby turning one of the pivotal moments of women's sports into a commercial.

Looking around my own office I can see half a dozen ads at a glance: a company logo on my tea mug, a club logo on the "property of" sticker on my stapler, a different club logo on my anti-stress squeezey toy, the name of a play embroidered on the extra shirt I keep around to fight off the air conditioning, a brand name and logo on my desk lamp, postcards depicting not only scenes friends have visited but also the name of the shop that sold the cards . . . can't we have just a few moments' peace in which we're not being told what to buy or who to be?

Uh oh, my mood ring is straying into high-stress purple. Time to move on.


The Game: Day 2 instructions:
Imagine a ladder in your landscape. What does it look like? What's it made of? Where is it?