December 7, 2005

Words inevitable buffoon scribbles

By
Herald Editor

There comes a time when every news- paper columnist resorts to running a glorified list of half-baked random thoughts too ill-conceived to reach 800 word potential.
      This is that inevitable moment.
      Really it was not a question of when but why -complete with TimesNew TC font bullets. While I might be accused of trampling through the Fourth Estate hedgerow, this is the best nut graph of at least a half-dozen rewrites.
      As wordsmiths go, Henry James succinctly summed up journalism as the science of beating the sense out of words. Lord Byron didn't mince words when he referred to a person in my profession as a "hired buffoon, a daily scribbler of some low lampoon condemned to drudge."
      So with much ado about nothing, let the beating and drudging begin.
      - Why does the lunchroom vending machine refuse to take my dollar bill?
      I am the George Costanza of legal tender lost to candy bars with the cookie crunch. A conundrum somewhere between betwixt and a Twix. I smooth out every wrinkle on my George Washington until he looks like a Joan Rivers Botox poster child, yet he only goes in nose deep. It is then that I defile the likeness of our founding father with the saliva trick on all four corners. For a second, George is swallowed whole. However, like a bad Hair Band reunion tour, he always makes an unwelcome return.
      It is at this point that I shout "Novus Ordo Seclorum" and a few things that should not be said outloud - even in Latin. Sure I could go upstairs and exchange my crumpled bill for four shiny quarters but then the machine will have won. Principle always runs roughshod over practicality when taunting inanimate objects are involved.
      If all else fails, and I'm high fructose corn syrup deprived enough, I force-feed Georgie into the vending machine until it submits to my E10 will. In a final act of desperation, Vendo might make the candy, chips or other assorted Lipitor manufacturer's manna fails to fall. Of course this is the part where some chucklehead rocks the machine and falls victim to number 25 on the top 100 undignified ways to die.
      Personally, if I can't stare the Pop Tart down, I walk away. After all, no one wants "Here lies ..." written on their epitaph followed by their name and the words flattened by Frittos.
      - Why do low-wattage bulb teens always run upstairs to escape the chainsaw wielding homicidal maniac in every horror flick?
      Stupid is as stupid does or in this case, stupidly written. My problem is that I overthink - although this column might prove otherwise. If you have to wonder why two teenagers would stop to make out in a haunted house across from a graveyard built on a toxic waste dump you're closer to 40 than 14.
      - Why don't men stop to ask for directions?
      I'll be the first to admit that I'm XY chromosome challenged in this department. Most men fall under the category of lost causes - especially if it involves driving a rental car in an unfamiliar metropolis around 5 p.m. on any given weekday.
      So why can't we be man enough to pull over and seek direction? Quite simply it is the Grog factor. If we acknowledged that alternative route is another way of saying hopelessly lost, the back hair would stand up on our Homo sapien hides. If Grog can't find Holiday Inn, than Grog utter failure. Better Grog devoured by rabid saber-toothed tigers than ask gas station attendant which way to Interstate 12.
      Grog is the same reason I spend half a day changing the oil in my Jeep. After a dozen trips to the auto parts store and one beer run, I've spent $40 in order to save five bucks. Take that Jiffy Lube.
      - Why does the new U.S. nickel with the profile of Thomas Jefferson look like the Mac Tonight half-moon character from those mid-1980s McDonald's ads?
      I know the third president of the United States never wore sunglasses or a black tuxedo but the similarities are uncanny. Actually, it kind of creeps me out. I'm not sure who down at the United States Mint thought Jefferson needed a makeover. Probably the same genius responsible for the "Heaven's Gate" of coinage: the Susan "I'm Not George Washington in Drag" B. Anthony.
      - Why did Stevie Ray Vaughan die in a helicopter crash while the almost Medicare eligible Backstreet Boys still put out albums?
      I hope this isn't an example of Intelligent Design at work or evolution of the species.
      - Here is a question you must now ask yourself: Why did I just spend ten minutes reading these half-baked, ill-conceived, random thoughts?
      I hope you're not looking here for a meaningful answer. As Lord Byron pointed out, I'm just a mere scribbler. Besides, the inevitable has occurred once more; right at 818 words.
      Grand Traverse Herald editor Garret Leiva can be reached at 933-1416 or email gleiva@gtherald.com