So Brian Said

My dad probably doesn't even hear himself humming right now, much less think I can hear him.

Hey, Dad. Stop that now.

Anyway. I remembered what I wanted to post about. My Mexican pastries. I felt like Papa Noel as I spread wonderful Mexican cheer about the newsroom yesterday. Everyone pretended like they didn't want any, but then, "Oh, well, maybe..."

That's right. These are from La Gloria, and you're going to EAT ONE NOW, DAMMIT!

After raving about them much in advance, I was concerned that some people would be disappointed, but everybody was very much impressed and trying to get more. Hot sportswriter very much appreciated the beautiful, heart-shaped cookie that Martin lovingly picked out and forgot to take with him for Katie A.
--McJangles 11:12 PM
|

After making the error once on an editing quiz 18 months ago, I haven't been able to keep straight the lead vs. leding thing, as you can see in the story below. Actually, you can't, because I've fixed it.

While I was in Detroit, I got my first thank-you note for doing my job. Actually, I've gotten a couple e-mails, but those don't count. The woman from the middle school sent me a little card. I didn't weep, but it was nice to have.

I keep remembering that there is something I need to blog about, but it just never happens.
--McJangles 1:34 AM
|

Yeah, on the Internet. Shut up.

Things are going rather well.

I was an hour late for work as I made my way back from reclaiming Detroit as my hometown. Several months ago, I converted to Episcopalian. Over the weekend, I converted from Episcopalian to ethnic Anglican, in an effort to reconnect with my roots. Then I converted to Jehovah's Witnessing, thanks to Czirok's excellent evangelical work.

Really, when Marty C said he was bringing Czirok to Detroit, I was not excited. But Czirok—whose new name is Gibler—turned out to be a very good sport as I mercilessly ridiculed his religion, which, by the way, is wicked and oppressive.

Anyway, we went to see BRMC at the Majestic, which was cool, but not as cool as the Stick. Xochimilco's was great, and thanks to the help of my surrogate mommy, I managed to join the clean-plate club. I hit Greektown like a madman, leaving a winner. I won't say how much, unless you promise not to tell Martin or Kimmy. I still haven't had any of my La Gloria pastries. I shall fetch those soon.

It appears that the Buchtelite no longer wants the OP/ED blog, so its link is gone. Martin X has chosen to remove himself from my links column, unfortunately, but Hambot has dutifully stepped in to replace him. Chan has started a blog, but we'll have to see if she keeps it up before it gets a link.

I just got a little note in the guestbook from Van Jordan who's writing a book about the winner of the 1936 Akron spelling bee. I had a feeling it would not be pointless to share that information.

He tells me that MacNolia Cox is, in fact, dead. She died of cancer in 1976. Just thought I'd pass that along.

Final note: our weekend editor gets a lot of crap during the week. He's kind of crazy looking, with wacky hair. As the weekend reporter, I was his slave today. As I was having much trouble getting my boring human-interest story started, he kept coming over and asking me annoying little questions. Then he came over and said, "Let me see your lead." I told him it was boring and going to be changed, so he asked a couple quick questions and BAM! Lead written. That crazy guy actually knows what's going on.

Good day, sir.
--McJangles 11:59 PM
|

I don't like when mosquitos shoot up on steroids and buzz around the room. That freaks me out. I actually saw it with the needle.
--McJangles 1:59 AM
|

Yeah. That's right.

EDIT: Times two.
--McJangles 11:18 PM
|

I had hoped to post about the good thing that happened today, but it hasn't quite happened yet.

So we'll have to wait on that.
--McJangles 10:53 PM
|

It seems at least one person from the paper has found my blog, so I don't know how many more now know about it. That means that I'd probably get fired if I vented right now.
--McJangles 2:37 PM
|

Young reporter falls in gulch chasing story, nearly drowns

SHEFFIELD VILLAGE—Cleaning raw sewage off your pants is just one more reason to love newspapering.

You see, there was this big motorcycle accident on I-90. The cops weren't keen on me just traipsing down the ramp to the scene, so I had to spectate from the parking lot of Tire Kingdom. As I spy over the fence, through the weeds and reeds, and into the pack of cops, who do I spy?

None other than the sinister Jeff Mohrman, my night-cops counterpart at the competing paper. That son of gun. Realizing that I've been given the shaft, I decide to traipse right over that fence, through the weeds, through the reeds and into the scene.

It wasn't quite that smooth, of course. I stumble over the fence and try to high-step through the weeds. One stumble leads to another, though, and each subsequent stumble just gets worse and worse. Soon, I'm traveling (one L!) down a hill that I never knew was there.

Then I realize: Where there are reeds, there is water. Of course, it wasn't so much, "There are some reeds; I better watch out for water." It was more like, "I'm lying in water. Oh, yeah. Reeds. Water. Damn."

So I pull myself up and mosey over to the scene, making like the water is nothing. It's dark, anyway, so no one's really going to notice. I get up to Mohrman, and that jackass isn't going to give me an ounce of information. Sure, we're competing, but I'm not asking him to give me all the quotes he's collected. I just want to know if anyone's dead. That guy sucks.

Aaaanyway. He stands around and is a jackass, while I go talk to people. Then he follows me around and jumps in every conversation halfway. The really fun one was when I came back to a witness that I had already talked to. He was telling Mohrman what happened, and I said, "So the guy had a beer in just one hand, or in both?"

"Oh, both, and he had one in his helmet, too, 'cause it wasn't a bike helmet, it was one of those beer helmets, so he could drink while he was riding."

And jackass Mohrman says—did I mention that he's a jackass?—"Wait, so which one was wearing the beer helmet?"

I pray to God that Cool Biker Guy—His name is Leo—plays along, and before he even opens his mouth, I've imagined the next morning....

MJ Editor: (watch out, this is exactly how he talks) Bardwell! What the fuck? Why the fuck didn't you get the beer helmet in the story? A guy almost gets hit by a truck while he's driving a bike and wearing a fucking beer helmet? How do you miss that? That's fucking crazy! You're fucking fired!
Brian: Um, actually, the beer helmet was a joke that I said to the biker guy, and Mohrman must not have gotten it.

Meanwhile, across town:

CT Editor: Mohrman! Why did an angry pack of bikers drive their motorcycles into my office? Why is there a libel case against the Chronicle? You're fired!
Mohrman: Curses! I'll get you, Bardwell!

Meanwhile, back across town:

Brian and entire MJ staff: Bwahahahahaha!

Unfortunately, Leo explains that he's joking, Mohrman scribbles the beer helmet out of his notes and looks like he feels pretty stupid. It will have to do.

I wrap up the story and head to the car. When I get in, I very quickly realize that I hadn't just fallen in a little puddle, I had fallen in some very smelly, very raw sewage. When I get into the newsroom, I realize that I not only am saturated, but that I also have sewage caked onto my pants.

I tell everyone the story, and they all laugh very hard. I start writing, and then they all start catching the smell. Now they are not laughing so hard.

I finish my story and make a hasty exit.

Newspapering rocks.
--McJangles 12:55 AM
|

Some kid dropped a thermometer during a science experiment, spreading mercury all over. The Ohio EPA, Emergency Management, police, etc. all responded. I needed to get some information from the EPA, so I have to go through their stupid media relations office to get the goods.

I called Heather there at 3 or 4, and she doesn't call me back. I give her a call just before 6 and she tries again, then calls back empty-handed.

It's not a big story or anything, so it doesn't really matter whether I have EPA comments, but this woman was so emphatically apologetic that it lit a spark of rage and then fueled it.

Since then, I've been swearing at my montior as though it were Ignorant Useless Heather. I just keep hearing her say she's sorry, in that hesitant tone like I'm about to beat her with my belt. Shut up!

I hate apologies. I want one apology, when you've done something wrong. After that, just stop being worthless.
--McJangles 6:00 PM
|

So, hypothetically:

You pull your pizza out of the oven and realize that somehow—between the counter and the oven—a grasshopper made its way to an ugly death right on your cooking sheet. There it is, all shriveled up and crusty and dead. Do you eat the pizza, which is easily three inches away from the insect carcass?

It turned out to just be a sliver of cheese and crust that burnt a lot, and I noticed that before I decided about eating the pizza. While it's nice not to be forced into making those tough decisions, like in Dayton, not knowing can be just as haunting.
--McJangles 2:05 AM
|

I thought you all should know that I bought more dictionaries today. One is a lovely padded-type hardcover 1951 Webster's, the one with Noah's picture on the front. Not with the ark. The other is an unabridged Second New International. It is freaking huge. For all of you Buchtelite folk, think of the new dictionary I was drooling over during or just after Fall Preview 2002. This one makes it look like a sissy dictionary, and it has smaller type on its 3,210 pages. Copyright 1934. Yeah, 1934. I think that's older than Martin's vintage Scrabble board. I'm still working on the full OED, but until then, my prescriptive Webster's will do nicely. An eight-inch thick prescriptive dictionary beats a 22-volume descriptive dictionary anyday. All the etymology and usage would be nice, though. Inside my freaking huge dictionary, I found the results of an Akron-area spelling bee. The winner of that spelling bee could very easily be dead by now. Having little else to do, I'll share with you the results of the bee:

Rank Name Age Grade School Missed Word 1. MacNolia Cox 13 8 Colonial ---------- 2. John Huddleston 14 8 St. Vincent's sciatic 3. Maxine Shumate 13 8 Copley candelabrum 4. Margaret Fouse 14 8 Jennings tether 5. Leslie Wagner 13 7 Barberton Lincoln fatuous 6. Ruth Kesterson 13 8 Jackson abrogate 7. Marjorie Trunko 12 8 Copley lorgnette 8. Miriam Curtis 12 8 Cuyahoga Falls Grant abbey 9. Marjorie Lindley 13 8 Richfield ukulele 10. Rose Schuckert 13 8 Carrollton roseate 11. Ruth Mildred Abel 12 7 Carrollton idiosyncrasy 12. Rose Ely 14 8 Barberton Johnson ptomaine 13. Ruth Jones 12 7 Clark, Holmes County pheasant 14. William Kleis 12 7 Crouse vagary 15. Pauline Ducar 14 8 Wayne Twp. No. 5 coquetry 16. Josephine Antolik 13 8 Richfield reconnoitre 17. Marie Arnold 13 8 Medina licorice 18. Luella Heupel 14 8 Springfield Twp. Roosevelt diagnostician 19. Mildred Walker 12 7 Congress, Wayne County ventriloquist 20. Frances Whittemore 11 7 Findley holocaust 21. Betty Keirn 13 8 Spicer inchoate 22. Mary Louise Heacock 14 8 Bowen herculean 23. Jack Taylor 11 7 Windemere reconcilable 24. Avis Fitzpatrick 13 7 Cuyahoga Falls East incandescence 25. Charles Hunton 13 8 Kent Roosevelt shellacked 26. Irene Schwartz 13 8 King veracious 27. Jim Fuchs 13 8 Rankin innocuous 28. Martin Dooley 13 8 Hotchkiss ingenious 29. Richard Ruth 13 8 St. Paul's availability 30. Walter Chester 12 8 Pfeiffer consciousness 31. Joe Zeller 13 8 Lane guillotine 32. Eva Gordon 13 8 Seville deign 33. Bill Rohrbaugh 13 8 Sawyerwood lucre 34. Edith Nystrom 13 8 Seiberling osculation 35. Ernest Workman 12 8 Findley satellite 36. Lucile Nuckles 13 8 Heminger quietus 37. Walter Krstich 13 8 Margaret Park lassitude 38. Jack Wolfe 12 8 Findley potassium 39. Arthur Groom 12 7 Harris emeritus 40. Archie Hogan 11 7 Springfield Twp. Roosevelt rouleau 41. Gloria Sobel 14 8 Rankin cerement 42. Mearl Norman 14 8 Lincoln mutilation 43. Billy Thornton 12 7 Glover qualm 44. Blanche Filey 13 8 Howe repentance 45. Merilyn Baker 13 8 Hiram, Portage County vulnerable 46. Jim Parmenter 13 7 Kent Roosevelt syntax 47. Virginia Waller 13 7 Twinsburg impartially 48. Vernon Bulgrin 12 8 Glover continuous 49. Lucille Denious 13 8 Smith pseudonym 50. Edith Shaffer 13 8 Forest Hill rhythm 51. Marie Riggle 13 8 Carrollton adjudication

I also bought chocolate, but I have no interesting story to attach to that.
--McJangles 11:23 PM
|

Some posts are for my family; some are for Akron folk. This one is just a straightforward journal entry because today didn't suck.

I woke up by accident at 8AM and decided to head out to Cleveland Heights for the Holy Name cross country meet. I showed up and found everyone camped out where they're supposed to be, made contact with all the delightful coaches of yesteryear and a few familiar faces.

Nevermind. I can't post this garbage. I'm boring myself. You would have gouged out your eyes.
--McJangles 10:08 PM
|

I had a dream about the new Blogger features last night and I hadn't even used them. It was strange.

I slept about four hours between my Wednesday shift and my Thursday shift, but Thursday didn't have the courtesy to be a slow day.

Some guy in Vermilion drove himself into a train in a successful attempt to kill himself. Then there was a fatal motorcycle accident. Then a Sheffield Village building inspector was busted faking his timesheets.

I just slept for 12 straight hours for maybe the first time since I started working. Twelve hours used to be the default. I need a weekend. Who has brilliant ideas?

Brilliant ideas will not be accepted from siblings or siblings-in-law who want me to watch their children while they have a weekend.
--McJangles 12:34 PM
|

I'm training another new girl at work. She is going to eventually go to the Elyria bureau, while I will continue to rot away on night cops. Where's the Local 1 when you need it?
--McJangles 2:15 AM
|

I'm using arms with a lot of bite marks to eat quesadillas. Whatever that means.
--McJangles 2:34 AM
|

My subscription to Unabridged MW has expired. I don't know what to do. I feel like typing in all caps and using exclamation marks. This is a serious crisis. Or I could just renew. I actually didn't think of that until now. Nevermind.

Incidentally, I was just logging in to look up nevermind, which abridged MW only lists as a conjunction. Whatever unabridged says, it probably doesn't list it as a closed compound, which is how I like to use it.
--McJangles 2:51 AM
|

When will this bullshit with Israel and Palestine end?

I don't mean the fighting, just the news coverage of it. What's the news angle? "Neighbors hate each other, still fighting after 1000s of years."

Every day, it's the same stupid garbage:

Side A blew up a bus, so Side B blew up a building, so Side A sent a suicide bomber into a crowded marketplace at noon, so Side B set off a car bomb. Side A officials denounced Side B officials, saying that they have derailed attempts to bring both sides together. Side B officials said that while the attacks were tragic, it was only natural that there would be retaliation for past trangressions by Side A, who, incidentally, they say was the one to derail peace talks.

Think "Spy Vs. Spy," but with darker skin and funny accents.

How long has this been going on? Forever? Don't we already know this story by heart?

Two solutions:
(1) Blow up the whole thing. All of it. One nuke per square mile, just to make sure. This idea has been proposed several times, but it's always laughingly dismissed. I don't know why. Honestly.
(2) First, deport every official of both the Israeli and Palestinian governments. Now, divide the whole thing into North and South Israelestine. North Israelestine will belong to the U.S., and we will be responsible for running it. South Israelestine will belong to Great Britain, and Tony Blair will make sure things run smoothly there. We will let George Bush have his precious Patriot Act, as long as he only uses it over there to kill assholes who try to blow each other up. In the meantime, there will be forced marriages and mandatory busing to help end segregation. If none of this works, we have a contingency plan: Blow up the whole thing. All of it. One nuke per square mile, just to make sure.

Rule of thumb: Conflicts older than 50 years are not news until they are resolved; this is especially true for conflicts that are 1000 years old.

--McJangles 7:20 PM
|

This like, totally spoke to me.
--McJangles 12:57 AM
|

I guess this makes me a big loser.
--McJangles 3:40 AM
|

Even though life can be really crappy, it sure was fun this weekend. I did a lot of nothing, several somethings, and. I forgot what I was going to say as I drank my pop. Oh well.

Anyway, I was supposed to end the weekend by going out to dinner with Jill, but she canceled on me in favor of making lesson plans or some garbage. She was very apologetic, but I didn't mind. And do you know why?

Because she has already posted a week's worth of homework on her work blog.

I don't think she has any idea how much I appreciate the novelty of all this.
--McJangles 4:49 AM
|