It's News to Me

 

        How can you tell when a newspaper is sick? First of all it should be read. If it isn’t read then that should be your first clue that it isn’t doing well. The unique thing here is that all newspapers are the same. It doesn’t matter if it’s a small town paper or a thick, big city paper. The cause of a paper becoming ill is always the same, poor circulation.

        Let’s examine for a minute the skeletal structure of the beast. At the top you’ve got the high-dollar business folks. Just down from them are the reporters, columnists, photographers, and sales people. Then you’ve got the actual workers, the ones who get ink on their hands. Down towards the bottom are the early risers. These are the folks who are up before the roosters. They roll the papers, stack em’, and with one eye open and a cup of Joe in their hand, they drive through the neighborhood, tossing the World’s events towards your door.

        Let’s back up momentarily to that cup of Joe. It’s more than likely made by a minimum wage 7-11 employee. They are working the graveyard shift because they either have zero seniority with the company or they are an unliked relative of the store manager. In either case, making a decent pot of coffee appears nowhere on their resume. I would hazard a guess that the pot has been burnt so many times that it may look to be full of coffee, but in fact is simply smoldering, blackened glass.

        It is this rancid cup of Java that causes the driver to wince with each disgusting sip. This reflex causes their open eye to briefly close while the rest of their body shutters, and the long, dangling ash from their cigarette falls to the floor of their rusted-out Dodge Dart.

        It is at this exact point in time, when the newspaper delivery person has eyes closed, that is when they drive right past my house, and I again fail to get a paper. This is the poor circulation I speak of, and it affects us all. I can’t be the only one this happens to.

        I propose raising the wages of the 7-11 employee working the graveyard shift, and making coffee 101 classes mandatory. I believe this to be a viable solution to this problem, as higher wages will attract more qualified employees. My exhaustive research has revealed no other possible cause for such poor circulation, and if there is a more expedient cure, it’s news to me.

        ZC

    Yes, I wrote this back when we actually had newspapers.

The Incident

 

    By the time I had arrived there was a whole crowd around him. "What happened?" I inquired. The stranger standing next to me turned and looked at me. "Someone has taken his pulse." I was shocked. Something like this happening right here on the street. What was this World coming to?

    "Who would do such a thing?" I asked. "Someone said it was some lady dressed as a Nurse." I realized that I had asked too many questions, people were turning around and looking at me as if I might have something to do with all this. Just then the stranger next to me asked, "Where you from, anyway? I haven't seen you around here before."

    "I'm from Smithereens." He looked at me, disbelieving. "Well you must have been born there Pal. Nobody goes there on purpose." I was sorry I walked up to this crowd. I wanted to slink away, go about my business. Just then another voice, from my left asked, "Hey, what's that you've got there?"

    "It's an Inkling." "Yea, well what are you doing with that? Are you supposed to have that?" Quickly the first stranger chimed in again, but this time in a much louder voice. "You can't have that out here. What do you think you're doing?" Now the entire crowd had turned and changed their focus from the man on the pavement to me. "It's just an Inkling." Then even the man lying on the pavement spoke up. "I bet he has a Notion as well."

    I was beginning to panic. I looked across the street and saw Peril Drugs. I couldn't believe it. I was in Peril. I must have gotten onto the wrong bus. I pulled the ticket stub from my shirt pocket. SAVE THIS TICKET, was all it said. "You got on the wrong bus, didn't you?" I looked up. It was a red-head in heavy make-up. A smoking cigarette hanging from her lips bobbed up and down as she spoke. "Yes." I replied. Holding up the ticket I said, "This was supposed to be a one way ticket to Palookaville."

    "What's your name, Honey?" she asked. "Chump. My name is Chump."

    "Well Chump, I'm Floozy. You can call me Ethel. Let's get you off the street."

"I could use a cup of Joe, Ethel."

"You married, Chump?"

"No. No I'm not. You?"

    "Divorced Honey. I made really bad coffee. But don't worry, we'll go to the Café."

"Your husband divorced you because of your coffee?"

"That's right, Chump. One sip and the Judge said it was grounds for divorce."

    I knew I was in Peril but I would follow this Floozy to the Café and have my cup of Joe. Then I would work on this Inkling I had. The only thing going for me was the fact that it was Friday. What could possibly go wrong on a Friday?

    ZC

The Envelope

 

There is just something about an unopened letter. You know it has a message, but you have no clue what it is about.  Is it good news?  You can see that it isn’t from a company or business, no – this looks personal.

But then, I have seen lame and desperate insurance salesmen hand write a letter, in an attempt to fool you.  It never does.  Their first mistake is calling me by my first name.  Only strangers do that.  I don’t even open those, they go straight to the shredder.

This one, however, looks interesting.  Somone bothered to seal it.  How fancy is that?  I don’t know if the seal adds any importance to the message inside, but still – it’s rather cool.  And the fact that the envelope is brown and not the standard white, well that was no accident.  I’d say this is from a very skilled wordsmith.  Someone who places the importance on the receiver of the letter and not on themselves.

I’d like to rip it open and see what is so darn important, but the moment I do, the mystery is over.  The game has ended.  As long as I leave it like this, it can be anything and everything, and last forever. 

I’ll go ahead and leave it sealed for now.  I’ll assume it is from a long – lost Uncle, who has left me his amazing PEZ collection, or 51 shares of Amazon stock.  Who knows?

 

 

 

                ZC

The Experiment

 

You might not be able to tell, but I sit here this morning, typing on my keyboard with my hat on.  It makes me feel different when I have it on, and so I want to see if it also affects my creative ability.  Maybe I’ll find myself writing about things in the shade, or under the roof of a porch, you know, out of the rain. 

My brain is usually aware of things long before I catch on, so I’m sure it already knows about the hat.  Maybe it’s like getting the leash from the hook on the wall, the dog gets all excited thinking he is going for a walk.  Perhaps my brain is patiently waiting for me to go out to the car and drive off someplace.  I can’t really tell if it is all excited or not.  And I can’t really fool it.  Like I said, it knows things way ahead of me. 

OK, so far there doesn’t seem to be a change.  It’s just making me too warm, so I’m taking it off.

 

There, I’m back.  See the difference?

 

I’ll be back later.  I have this strong urge to drive someplace.  Not sure where yet, but I’ll know when I get there.

 

 

 

 

ZC

 

BOGO

 

Beak one, get one

This may seem a little drastic

 

but I need to keep the pigeons off my keyboard.

The Line

 

I accept full responsibility.  I and I alone initiated this blog and all its insanity.  I have openly and willfully scattered moronic nonsense across the globe, with little regard for the grammatical decency or literary ethics, if there is such a thing, and if not – there should be. 

I see my stream of consciousness, much as a river, in which one might pan for gold.  I would expect you could occasionally find a nugget of truth along the way, or maybe a random thought poking out along the bank, much like a sharp branch puncturing a passing raft, but not an expensive one, maybe some flimsy one bought online.

You should have returned it the minute you saw how cheap the thing was.  You certainly shouldn’t have taken a ride in it down the river.  What were you thinking?  Now you’re up the creek.  But, Hey!  That’s on you.  I have to draw the line somewhere.

 

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