11/25/03’s illustrious band:

Moonspot

Brought to you by my efforts to develop a more cosmopolitan outlook.

Today is Eid Al-Fitr (sometimes spelled Id al Fitr), or the Muslim Celebration of Breaking the Fast, which marks the end of Ramadan, the month of fasting. Money is given to the poor and to children, and everyone gets a new set of clothing. It’s celebrated when the new moon is sighted, around November 25 depending upon where you live.

Today is also Independence Day in Suriname, St. Catherine’s Day in France, Thanksgiving Day in Palau, and National Statehood Day in Bosnia- Herzegovina.

November is Drum Month (thanks to the Percussive Arts Society), Peanut Butter Lovers’ Month (Peanut Advisory Board), Real Jewelry Month (Jewelers of America Inc.), and more. The first week of November was National Fig Week (California Fig Advisory Board). The second was National Split Pea Soup Week (USA Dry Pea and Lentil Industry). The third week was National Children's Book Week (Children's Book Council). Thanksgiving week is also National Bible Week (Laymen's National Bible Assoc.). The last week of the month is Family Caregiver Week (National Family Caregivers Association).

Which just goes to show you that there’s something to celebrate darn near every day if you just know where to look. I was looking at the Earth Calendar, www.earthcalendar.net, and a couple other sources for this very incomplete list. I’ll include future findings here from time to time.

If you don’t know where to look, hedge your bets by giving thanks anyway. Can’t really go wrong there.

The Media Sensation is headed west to give thanks for turkey and trimmings at Mother Media’s house. Band naming will resume on Monday, December 1 (which is Celebrations for the Battle of Ayacucho Day in Peru, Saba Day in Saba, and the Provincial Anniversary of both the Chatham Islands and Westland in New Zealand). Enjoy!

E-mail the Media Sensation: BandNameoftheDay@hotmail.com

Visit the BND archives at http://jugglernaut.blogspot.com.

11/24/03’s illustrious band:

Ebenezer Julius Caesar Percival Wheezer Scrooge

Brought to you by the Chicken Step Lady’s dad. Once upon a time, CSL’s father named a cat Ebenezer Julius Caesar Percival Wheezer Scrooge. Since that was too long a name to spit out with any frequency, he gave the cat a nickname: Sister. The fact that Sister was a tomcat made no difference.

This story led to a further discussion of unlikely nicknames -- of people, not pets. CSL’s dad had a nickname for her, too: Good Ol’ South Dakota. He had given her a different moniker that had initials of S.D., which is also the abbreviation for South Dakota, so naturally he started calling her that instead.

My own dad knew a guy who asked people to call him George because Oscar sounded funny (or was it the other way around?). And I knew a guy who went by his middle name, Lynn, throughout his teens, but decided in his twenties that he wanted to go by his first name, Bruce, because it sounded tougher.

One woman in this conversation had been known as Myrna all through high school, for reasons she never discovered, even though her name is Mary. Another participant knew a guy who had been called by his father’s name during his school days, even though he was not a Junior. When an old classmate phoned his house years later asking for “Jake,” the man’s son said there was no one there by that name and hung up.

Similarly, I grew up with a guy who was Butch up until he graduated from college and moved away from all the people who called him that. (His father, too, had been Butch in his youth but, when he moved into professional life, started introducing himself by his real name.) When people ask me whether I went to school with Tom So-and-so, I have to think hard before answering.

Then there’s The Other Amy, who gained her nickname in adulthood. Her husband Tim is known to his family as Mim-do (sort of like Scooby Doo?). When she married into the family, she became Amy-do. I practice T’ai Chi with a guy known in the studio as Woody and in the rest of the world as Mark. And of course there’s Skeeter, who was plain old Justin until his coworkers discovered he could hear sounds usually detectable only to mosquitoes.

And don’t even get me started on Mike the math guy. He’s been known, at various times, as Tiberius Rand, Spiny Blowfish, Harry, Freighter Shin and Reasonably Hairy Shin, among other things. The man has as many names as stages of life, all of them interesting.

The Media family is by no means immune to the nicknaming bug. Sometimes we’re self-naming. When I was three or four years old and fascinated by firefighters, I insisted upon being referred to as Freddie the Fireman whenever I wore my red plastic fire hat. If I was wearing a different hat, however, I was Joe the Plumber. There are still people in my hometown, ladies of a certain age, who call me Freddie when they see me downtown. My Dad called me Sport sometimes, and called both Sister-san and me Bob.

During junior high, Sister-san was called Max, our grandfather’s name, for a while. I can’t remember the reasoning behind that one, but it made sense at the time. A certain parent of ours is still sometimes called Corn by her siblings. And many, many more.

So. Who are you really?

E-mail the Media Sensation: BandNameoftheDay@hotmail.com

Visit the BND archives at http://jugglernaut.blogspot.com.

11/20/03’s illustrious band:

Haiku Death Match

Brought to you by Skeeter, who attended a poetry slam over the weekend and witnessed a haiku death match in person.

A poetry slam, for those (like me) who don’t know, is, according to Poetry Slam Inc. (www.poetryslam.com), “the competitive art of performance poetry. It puts a dual emphasis on writing and performance, encouraging poets to focus on what they're saying and how they're saying it. A poetry slam is an event in which poets perform their work and are judged by members of the audience. Typically, the host or another organizer selects the judges, who are instructed to give numerical scores (on a zero to 10 or one to 10 scale) based on the poet's content and performance.” Check the PSI web site for a slam venue near you (South Dakota residents needn’t bother).

Skeeter continues, “What is a haiku death match, you ask? It's an event at the poetry slam where two contestants write haiku poetry and carry several with them on stage. One selects a haiku, performs it, and then the other does. The audience gives their applause; the haiku receiving the most applause wins. Our haiku death match was set at 3 wins out of five. The winner was applauded greatly and received a gift of some sort (a certificate for free coffee, perhaps?) and the loser was sent off stage.”

You remember haiku from your high school English class, right? It’s an ancient Japanese poetry form consisting of three lines. The first line has 5 syllables, the second line has 7, the third line has 5. Haiku are traditionally written about nature, color, contrast, surprises and the seasons. Key traits are lightness, simplicity, openness and depth.

Of course, haiku, like poets, don’t always follow the traditional path. Different cultures and different languages contribute to alter and adapt the form. As does modern culture. To wit:

• There’s a whole web site devoted to haiku about Spam (www.spamhaiku.com/spamhaiku/site).

  
  

• There’s a whole web site devoted to haiku about elements in the Periodic Table (www.iscifistory.com/scifaku/elements/periodichaiku.asp).

  
  

• Online newsmagazine Salon.com (www.salon.com) once sponsored a contest inviting readers to submit computer error messages in the form of haiku (http://archive.salon.com/21st/chal/1998/02/10chal2.html).

  
  

• At least one web site features a haiku generator (www.everypoet.com/haiku/default.htm) that draws upon a database of random words to generate poems online. Is it really poetry if a computer “writes” it? Do androids dream of electric sheep? What is the sound of one mouse clicking?

  
  

These are just a few examples of the hai-larity available online. I’ve even perpetrated a haiku or two myself. I leave you with this gem, which indicates why I’m an essayist instead of a poet:

Afternoon blogging

Better than a coffee break

Wakes my lunch-dense brain.

E-mail the Media Sensation: BandNameoftheDay@hotmail.com

Visit the BND archives at http://jugglernaut.blogspot.com.

11/19/03’s illustrious band:

Dream House

Brought to you by your childhood friends.

When I was a young’un, my friends and I spent endless hours fantasizing about the house we’d live in when we grew up. The plan was for all of us to buy a place together and make it into our dream house. Judging from a discussion I had last week, this is a dream not yet outgrown.

The key feature of a dream house was, of course, that no parents would live there, just us friends, free to do as we pleased. We intended to stay up late, sleep in, eat ice cream for breakfast straight from the cartons in the freezer in our super-slumber-party bedroom (with bunk waterbeds) and watch cartoons all day long. While wearing our pajamas. There would be pizza or tacos for the other meals, but we weren’t very specific about how the food would get to our table. The menu was also short on variation, since we grew up untroubled by wide arrays of ethnic cuisine.

The architecture of the dream house was truly spectacular. There would be swimming pools, of course: one inside for use during the winter and one outside for tanning during the summer. The outdoor pool would have plenty of slides, and part of it would take the form of a whitewater rafting ride that circled the property (including the pastures where we kept our horses). The rafting section would follow the contours of the land, complete with rollercoastery ups and downs, and at least one scream-long plunge.

The indoor pool would be as warm as bath water, with slides and diving boards of various heights at the deep end. You could also reach the pool via slide from a few rooms of the house, particularly the super-slumber-party bedroom. We’d have a whirlpool and a sauna, too, just like at the Holiday Inn. The pool water would always contain Johnson’s No More Tears detangling solution so our long hair would never snarl when we combed it out after swimming.

In addition to stairs, escalators and glass-walled elevators, the house would contain several firemen’s poles for sliding from upstairs to down. We’d have a trampoline in the playroom, from which you could boing over the deck and into the pool. There would be a machine to twirl a jumprope for you if no one else was available, and a swingset with so many swings you’d never have to take turns. And there would be TVs everywhere so you could see the cartoons no matter what you were doing.

And did I mention the secret passages? My generation was raised on Scooby Doo, so we knew all about secret passages, and we wanted them throughout the house and grounds. Imagine being able to sneak from the house to the stables for a midnight ride!

We were also big fans of The Jetsons, so we wanted lots of pushbuttons. We figured we’d be able to do just about every chore by pushing a button, from feeding the horses to making the beds. Not that we would make the beds, because there would be no one there to tell us to. But we could if we wanted.

Anyway, that’s just a sampling. Nowadays I’m more concerned about my dream house, Sensational Acres, having ample electrical outlets and high-speed Internet access. But if I were to dream, I’d still add a pool and a playroom and a sauna and some skylights, and a couple more bathrooms. What does your dream house look like?

E-mail the Media Sensation: BandNameoftheDay@hotmail.com

Visit the BND archives at http://jugglernaut.blogspot.com.

11/18/03’s illustrious band:

The Whine Line

Brought to you by Fleur Elyse and Miss Pat.

Elyse had some grumbling to do the other day and turned to Pat for a compassionate ear. Pat, being a good friend, said the right things at the right times, and soon Elyse felt better. She joked that Pat should record her reassuring voice so people could call and listen to it any time they needed a boost.

This seemed like a good idea, so speculation turned to how to structure the service. Pat decided she’d call it the Whine Line: 1-900-WHINING. For a fee, you could pour out your woes to Pat and she’d sympathize until your time (or your money) ran out.

However, this seemed like a lot of tedium for Pat, who would no doubt find herself repeating the same platitudes over and over. There had to be a way to make technology do more of the work so Pat could do less.

First, the call should be routed depending on what the problem is. They figured it should be possible for voice recognition software to sift the caller’s speech for key words or phrases relating to work, money, relationships, etc.

Then, at the first pause, the caller would be asked what kind of response he or she would like. “For warmth and sympathy, press 1. For righteous indignation, press 2. For vindictive profanity, press 3.” After that, whenever the caller paused in his or her tirade, the software would insert a situation-appropriate response of the preferred type.

To make it sound slightly less artificial, the computer would cycle through several response phrases within each type. For instance, the “warmth and sympathy” responses for a relationship call would include things like, “Mmhm,” “I hear you,” “You can do better,” “How awful,” “It’s his/her loss” (you’d have to specify your gender and the gender of the person you’re complaining about). “Righteous indignation” responses for a work problem: “You’re so right!” “You’re the only sane person there!” “That’s ridiculous!” “Those idiots ought to listen to you!” And . . . well, we already know what vindictive profanity sounds like, don’t we.

Good idea, yes? The Whine Line is now seeking venture capitalists to invest in this exciting start-up opportunity. Send pledges to the address at the bottom of your screen, and you’ll be notified about where you can send actual money. Thank you for calling the Whine Line. Please gripe again soon.

E-mail the Media Sensation: BandNameoftheDay@hotmail.com

Visit the BND archives at http://jugglernaut.blogspot.com.

35 Reasons why

Books are Better than Boyfriends

1. There's no shame in picking up several books at a time, or in paying for them.
   
2. Swapping books with your friends is not only socially acceptable, it's a really good idea.
   
3. You can enjoy the pleasure of a good book in public.
   
4. If a book offends you, you can fling it across the room. You can do the same with a boyfriend, of course, but the book won't sue.
   
5. Books don't hog the remote.
   
6. If you spill a beer with a book nearby, you don't have to listen to lame jokes about "alcohol abuse."
   
7. Sneaking a forbidden book into your parents' house is easy. And even if you get caught, you probably won't get disinherited for it.
   
8. You can have the same book as Oprah -- at the same time.
   
9. It's OK to auction off your old books on eBay.
   
10. Moving quickly from one book to another makes you appear intellectual.
    
11. Old books are good to go back to.
    
12. Not all the good books are taken already.
    
13. Books really are God's gift to women.
    
14. If a book bores you to sleep, no one's feelings get hurt.
    
15. Books can explain things without using sports terminology.
    
16. Checking out the back side of a book is not considered harassment.
    
17. A book will not steal your covers; it has its own.
    
18. Publicly criticizing your book is not bitchy, it's scholarly.
    
19. Restructuring a book to suit your own tastes doesn't make you a manipulator, it makes you an editor.
    
20. A book is guaranteed to have a spine.
    
21. A book can level uneven table legs without littering the house with power tools.
    
22. Boys who have books can bring them out in public without fear of reprisal.
    
23. Married people can have books without breaking any commandments.
    
24. A book might not be much help unscrewing a tight jar lid, but then again, it wasn't the book that screwed it on so tightly in the first place.
    
25. Books with lots of characters inside: good. Boyfriends with lots of characters inside: not good.
    
26. Cheap books: good. Cheap boyfriends: not good.
    
27. Book that claims to speak in God's voice: OK. Boyfriend that claims to speak in God's voice: not OK.
    
28. Arranging your books by size won't damage any egos.
    
29. Interfacing with your book at the office probably isn't against company policy.
    
30. With books, size really doesn't matter.
    
31. Relatives and friends don't keep asking when you're going to get a new book.
    
32. You don't feel left out celebrating Valentine's day without a book.
    
33. You don't have to cringe when friends offer to set you up with a book.
    
34. Ordering books online is legal.
    
35. A book will hold the door open for you anytime.
    

"Outside of a dog, a book is man's best friend. Inside a dog, it's too dark to read." -- Groucho Marx

E-mail the Media Sensation: BandNameoftheDay@hotmail.com

Visit the BND archives at http://jugglernaut.blogspot.com.

11/17/03’s illustrious band:

Crack Balls

Brought to you by Senor Editor and his friend Chris, supplier of the dastardly recipe below. These tasty chocolate-covered cookie wads are as addictive as crack cocaine, and almost as bad for you. Take some to the next holiday party or cookie exchange to secure your place at the very top of the pecking order.

Crack Balls*

1 pkg. Oreo cookies

8 oz. cream cheese (low-fat works fine)

4 1-oz. squares white chocolate

3/4 inch of a 4-oz. block paraffin wax

Finely crush the Oreos. Mix well with the cream cheese. Roll into 3 dozen balls. Chill on wax paper.

Melt chocolate and paraffin wax. Using a toothpick, dip the Oreo balls in the chocolate. Chill on wax paper again.

Serving suggestions:

• Use Oreos with Double Stuff, chocolate crème or mint filling to skew the recipe toward your personal tastes.
  
  
• Add seasonally appropriate food coloring to the white chocolate. If you’re channeling Martha Stewart for some reason, arrange the balls into a pretty mosaic on the serving platter.
  
  
• When describing these treats to your friends, call them Cookie Balls or something less obviously drug-related. “Snowballs” is a favorite of mine, since “snow” can be slang for certain other drugs that are similarly addictive.

  
  

* Band Name of the Day is not responsible for sugar shock, dental cavities, weight gain or obsessive behavior associated with consumption of these items.

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Visit the BND archives at http://jugglernaut.blogspot.com.

11/14/03’s illustrious band:

Ego Patrol

It's Day 5 of Books are Better than Boyfriends Week! Here are the final half-dozen reasons.

• Book with lots of characters inside: good. Boyfriend with lots of characters inside: not good.
  
• Cheap book: good. Cheap boyfriend: not good.
  
• Book that claims to speak in God's voice: OK. Boyfriend that claims to speak in God's voice: not OK.
  
• Arranging your books by size won't damage any egos.
  
• Interfacing with your book at the office probably isn't against company policy.
  
• With books, size really doesn't matter.
  

Convinced? I am! The complete list will be available next week.

If you’re bored, stop by office today and view my new pride and joy: a black T-shirt that says, “I’m blogging this.”

E-mail the Media Sensation: BandNameoftheDay@hotmail.com

Visit the BND archives at http://jugglernaut.blogspot.com.

11/13/03’s illustrious band:

Read 'Em & Weep

It's Day 4 of Books are Better than Boyfriends Week! Here are half a dozen more reasons.

• Restructuring a book to suit your own tastes doesn't make you a manipulator, it makes you an editor.
  
• A book is guaranteed to have a spine.
  
• A book can level uneven table legs without littering the house with power tools.
  
• Boys who have books don’t have to hide them.
  
• Ordering books online is legal.
  
• No one pities you if you’re celebrating Valentine's day without a book.
  

Tomorrow: The final set of reasons!

E-mail the Media Sensation: BandNameoftheDay@hotmail.com

Visit the BND archives at http://jugglernaut.blogspot.com.

11/12/03’s illustrious band:

Cover Blurbs

It's Day 3 of Books are Better than Boyfriends Week! Here are half a dozen more reasons.

• Books really are God's gift to women.
  
• If a book bores you to sleep, no one's feelings get hurt.
  
• Books can explain things without using sports terminology.
  
• Checking out the back side of a book is not considered harassment.
  
• A book will not steal your covers; it has its own.
  
• Publicly criticizing your book is not bitchy, it's scholarly.
  

Tomorrow: Even more reasons! (Unlike some things, this list really is every bit as long as claimed.)

E-mail the Media Sensation: BandNameoftheDay@hotmail.com

Visit the BND archives at http://jugglernaut.blogspot.com.

11/11/03’s illustrious band:

Page Turner

It's Day 2 of Books are Better than Boyfriends Week! Here are the next half-dozen reasons.

And before you start thinking that I’m just griping because I can’t get a date, please be aware that I have had several recently and have another coming up this weekend. I haven’t compiled this list because I don’t remember what it’s like to have men in my life. It’s because I do.

• Sneaking a forbidden book into your bedroom is easy. And even if you get caught, you probably won't get disinherited for it.
  
• You can have the same book as Oprah -- at the same time.
  
• It's OK to auction off your old books on eBay.
  
• Moving quickly from one book to another makes you appear intellectual.
  
• Old books are good to go back to.
  
• Not all the good books are taken already.
  

Tomorrow: Still more reasons!

E-mail the Media Sensation: BandNameoftheDay@hotmail.com

Visit the BND archives at http://jugglernaut.blogspot.com.

11/10/03’s illustrious band:

Books Are Better

Brought to you by my trials and tribulations in the world of dating. This week, the Media Sensation will discourse upon the myriad reasons books are better than boyfriends.

Note that this is not intended to be a man-bashing exercise; most men are decent creatures. In fact, some of my best friends are men; the Michael Collection, for instance, is a source of particular warmth and amusement to me. But the fact remains that while I can carry on quite well without boyfriends, I could never, ever live without books.

So without further ado, here are the first half-dozen reasons books are better than boyfriends.

• There's no shame in picking up several books at a time, or in paying for them.
  
• Swapping books with your friends is not only socially acceptable, it's a really good idea.
  
• You can enjoy the pleasure of a good book in public.
  
• If a book offends you, you can fling it across the room. You can do the same with a boyfriend, of course, but the book won't sue.
  
• Books don't hog the remote.
  
• Relatives and friends don't keep asking when you're going to get a new book.
  

Tomorrow: More reasons!

E-mail the Media Sensation: BandNameoftheDay@hotmail.com

Visit the BND archives at http://jugglernaut.blogspot.com.

11/07/03’s illustrious band:

Doctor the Books

Brought to you by my award-winning magazine.

Congratulate me! My magazine won yet another award last night. This year we got a silver medal in the Best Feature Story category for a story about improving communication between doctors and patients. I didn’t write it, but I did check the spelling once before it was published.

No, my main claim to fame for the evening was rushing the stage to collect my award. Only the gold medal winners were supposed to go up on stage to receive their plaques, but I was so excited to hear my title announced that I jumped right up. My friends called me back before I got to the stairs, fortunately. Unfortunately, our table was the frontmost, centermost table, closest to the stage, so the entire assemblage of publishing professionals witnessed my gaffe. I’m hoping most of them have forgotten by now, but a few coworkers have taken pains to assure me that not everyone has. Or will. I suspect I’ll be hearing about this for a long, long time.

E-mail the Media Sensation: BandNameoftheDay@hotmail.com

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11/05/03’s illustrious band:

Hard Knocks

Today’s blog consists entirely of knock-knock jokes.

1. Knock knock.
   
   Who’s there?
   
   Little old lady.
   
   Little old lady who?
   
   I didn’t know you could yodel.

   
   

2. Knock knock.
   
   Who’s there?
   
   Doris.
   
   Doris who?
   
   Doris locked. That’s why I had to knock.

   
   

3. Knock knock.
   
   Who’s there?
   
   Catch.
   
   Catch who?
   
   Gesundheit!

   
   

4. Knock knock.
   
   Who’s there?
   
   Ya.
   
   Ya who?
   
   What are you so excited about? It’s just a knock-knock joke.

   
   

5. Knock knock.
   
   Who’s there?
   
   Interrupting cow.
   
   Interrup -- ?
   
   MOO!

   
   

6. Knock knock.
   
   Who’s there?
   
   Tank.
   
   Tank who?
   
   You’re welcome.

   
   

7. And my all-time favorite:
   

   
   I’ve got a great knock-knock joke. You start.

   
   

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11/04/03’s illustrious band:

Bring Your Truck

Brought to you by Phantasm, a B-grade horror movie from 1979 that I saw on Halloween.

A Web page I found sums up the plot of Phantasm thus: “A teenage boy and his friends square off against a mysterious grave robber known only as the Tall Man.” It’s a good thing somebody explained it, because otherwise you might sit there in the dark wondering what this movie is about. Is it about flying metallic balls that pierce people’s skulls, liberating impossible amounts of gore? Is it about severed fingers that spew yellow ichor and turn into insects until you jam them down the garbage disposal? Is it about a shape-shifting alien that seduces young men, then stabs them through the heart? Is it about interdimensional slave-dwarf traffic? Is it about giant tuning forks? Is it a showcase of bad hair?

None of these things matter. It also doesn’t matter that the three heroes and the villain appear to be the only people living in their town (small budget for casting, evidently) or that there’s a gratuitous folk music scene thrown in. What matters is that Reggie brings his truck.

Yep, that’s the entire plan for capturing one of the yellow-blooded slave dwarves. The teenager’s older brother is going to restrain him in Reggie’s truck. “Bring your truck,” he says intently. Very, very intently. And what’s so special about Reggie’s truck? Reggie is the local ice cream man. He drives the ice cream truck -- perfect for slave dwarf transport.

Don’t get me wrong; I enjoyed Phantasm. But I can’t say I watched it with a straight face. And the dialogue reminded me of other horrifying inanities my friends and I have heard uttered over the past couple decades. My personal favorite: When I was working a retail job, a customer once picked up one of our fine items and asked, “Is this the biggest one you have in this size?”

Other gems:

• Heard by Senor Editor when he worked at a dive shop and lead scuba-diving expeditions for tourists:
  
  Is there water on all sides of the island?
  
  Is there an ATM at the coral reef?
  
  When is the sunset celebration held? Is there one every night?

  
  

• Inquired of The Other Amy while hiking:
  
  Are there bathrooms up there? “Up there” was the top of a majestic mountain in a remote state park.

  
  

• Questions asked of Datura 1.0, a security guard at a museum/art gallery:
  
  Do those stairs go down?
  
  [pointing at objects visible through window] Do I have to go outside to see those sculptures?
  
  Picasso?
  
  People asking this question want to be directed to the Picasso exhibit, but they usually say only the one name. The museum staff’s favorite response is to stick out a hand and say, “No, I’m [insert name here].”

  
  

And, just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, I picked up today’s newspaper. There, on the front page of the Metro section, is a story about a new addition to the Department 56 catalog. Department 56 is “best known for its light-up Christmas villages, Snowbabies figurines and other seasonal doodads,” according to the article. It’s a replica of the Spam Museum, which was the subject of yesterday’s blog. This newest collectible is about 7 inches high and sells for $63.25 plus shipping. (This poor reporter must have really, seriously hacked somebody off to get stuck with this assignment. Can’t you just picture the staff meeting? “Which of you serious journalists wants the light-up miniature Spam Museum story? Anybody? No one? Well, since Jill’s not here . . .”)

To see more Spamorabilia, ranging from glow-in-the-dark hair scrunchies to tacky-within-tacky Spam snow globes, visit Spam Gifts.

Make it stop!

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11/03/03’s illustrious band:

Spam Exam

It’s time once again for our monthly reading from the Book of Spam! If you ever wanted to know where to go to learn more about Spam than even I can tell you, here’s the dirt from my Official Spam Calendar.

“In September 2001, the Spam Museum opened its doors. Located in Austin, MN -- the one and only Spam Town, USA -- the 16,500-square-foot museum houses a variety of exhibits. An interactive quiz show called the Spam Exam tests visitors’ Spam knowledge. The theater runs a documentary about a few self-proclaimed Spam fans. Different areas highlight the invention of Spam and its marketing around the world. There’s even a simulated production line, complete with hard hats, rubber gloves, hairnets, and earplugs, and a replica of SpamVille, a World War II-era military camp.”

Of all the museum features mentioned above, it’s the simulated production line that intrigues me most. I thought toy grocery store scanners for kids were bad enough, but now there’s a place adults can go to practice being minimum-wage slaves. Would you really want to spend valuable vacation time pretending to be a factory worker? A Spam factory worker? Me neither.

On second thought, though, publishing is a tough business these days, while Spam has proven itself evergreen. Maybe I should stop by for some on-the-job training.

Hope you all had a safe and Spamless Halloween. I did. I had fun watching silly/scary movies, and I socialized so much it’s almost been a relief to get back to the peace and quiet of my cubicle.

I considered spending today hibernating as a way of observing the first stay-on-the-ground snowfall but decided against it. I can’t pass up the opportunity to remind my snow-averse friends that my car has all-wheel drive and heated seats. It does not, however, presently have a snowbrush in the back seat; some clever soul forgot to put it back in the car after spring cleaning. D’OH!

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