|
Wednesday, 17 October 2012 15:36 |
|
by Mark Hunter
Perhaps the most interesting thing about this story is that it happened the day before my six-year-old nephew had heart surgery.
That’s not a play for sympathy so much as an explanation of why I rarely make fun of people who suffer misfortunes, unless it’s a comedy on TV or they clearly deserve it. If I saw a video of Adolf Hitler accidentally scorch his mustache I’d laugh my butt off; for anyone else I’d have to wonder if they just got diagnosed with a fatal illness, or recently lost their job, or married Hillary Clinton. Bad stuff.
It’s why I never much liked those funny home video shows – very few men deserve to take a rake handle to the groin.
There is one person I’m willing to poke fun at in cases like this, and the ability to make fun of myself has kept me in columns for twenty years now. The fact that I was distracted at the time is secondary to one simple fact: If what happened to me had been on a Three Stooges movie the whole audience would have howled.
Later, when my attention was focused, I realized it’s not uncommon for me to brush against things when I mow the lawn: the clothesline, lilac branches, low hanging squirrels, and so on. It’s also not uncommon for me to come inside with scratches and scrapes. As lawn mowing qualifies as home maintenance duties, that comes as no surprise to anyone who knows me.
Most of the things I run into are in the back yard. The front yard needs more caution, because the low hanging branches there are at about head level, and thick as my thigh. Encountering them is not a matter of annoyance, but of hospitalization.
What keeps those close calls from becoming calls is that I mow the lawn the same way, every time. I am, as I have a habit of telling people, a creature of habit. I realize now that, over the years, I’ve unconsciously learned just how close I can get to the various obstacles in my yard without actually getting impaled.
Then, earlier this month, I decided to do it differently.
Lawn care enthusiasts say you should change up the pattern in which you mow your lawn. Otherwise you could accidentally create a permanent race track pattern, or something – I don’t know, I never much cared about lawn care.
Still, while I’d rather play in the grass than medicate it and sing to it, it is kind of nice to have a nice looking lawn. So I thought, what the heck: Instead of my normal square pattern, I’d do a bit of a slanted zigzag thing. Where’s the harm?
And so, while looking down, thoughts on other matters, I approached the tree from a different –
BAM!
Some people say moments like this are a blur, or that they remember only the pain, or nothing at all. I remember every instant of it. First of all, let me say how very grateful I am for whoever invented that safety device that shuts off the lawn mower whenever you let go of the handle, because frankly I have no idea what happened to the mower; I found it later about six feet away, making no noise except a low snicker.
But everything else I remember all too well. The branch stopped my head cold, even as my feet kept going for a couple of steps; this had the affect of throwing me backward head over heels. Which is a dumb expression, because it was really heels over head, as my upper torso crashed to the ground and I cartwheeled over, not unlike Charlie Brown failing to kick Lucy’s football.
It was on the edge of a steep (but not high) hill, and by rights I should have rolled all the way down, across the sidewalk, and onto the street. Instead, in a way that would have been cat and/or ninja like if done on purpose, I rolled over and right onto my feet. Instead of seeing birds and stars, I saw flashes of light and heard a low ringing; my skull was a bell that got rung.
It was seriously unpleasant.
One of the odd things about me is that when something like this happens, I often worry more about how it looks than about whether I’m injured. Even in the midst of my gymnastics move, I took note that there was no one visible in the parking lot across the street, but a red pickup truck was just starting to pass me. There’s no way the occupants couldn’t have seen it, and I’m sure they got a big laugh and wished they’d had a video camera. Since they didn’t bother stopping to see if I was okay, I’m petty enough to hope a mile further on they laughed themselves right into a utility pole.
Maybe they just couldn’t catch me: The moment I gained my footing I stumbled directly into the house and away from any witnesses. My wife was in the office and I plopped into the office chair beside her, waiting for the nausea to pass. It took her maybe two seconds to figure out I wasn’t having a good day.
It was the place to be, because Emily knew enough first aid to handle the minor problems, and (if it had been necessary) enough common sense to call 911 even if I told her not to. She discovered I had:
A bruise, gash, goose egg, and scrape. All of them, right on the top of my head, toward the front. I can show you the scar.
My conclusion from this experience, you ask? Pay more attention? Be trained in first aid? Hire someone else to mow? Well, yeah. But my big conclusion is that, more than anything else, the best way to learn your lesson is very simple:
Pour alcohol on it.
That’s when the experience became truly unforgettable. by Mark Hunter Perhaps the most interesting thing about this story is that it happened the day before my six-year-old nephew had heart surgery. That’s not a play for sympathy so much as an explanation of why I rarely make fun of people who suffer misfortunes, unless it’s a comedy on TV or they clearly deserve it. If I saw a video of Adolf Hitler accidentally scorch his mustache I’d laugh my butt off; for anyone else I’d have to wonder if they just got diagnosed with a fatal illness, or recently lost their job, or married Hillary Clinton. Bad stuff. It’s why I never much liked those funny home video shows – very few men deserve to take a rake handle to the groin. There is one person I’m willing to poke fun at in cases like this, and the ability to make fun of myself has kept me in columns for twenty years now. The fact that I was distracted at the time is secondary to one simple fact: If what happened to me had been on a Three Stooges movie the whole audience would have howled. Later, when my attention was focused, I realized it’s not uncommon for me to brush against things when I mow the lawn: the clothesline, lilac branches, low hanging squirrels, and so on. It’s also not uncommon for me to come inside with scratches and scrapes. As lawn mowing qualifies as home maintenance duties, that comes as no surprise to anyone who knows me.
|
|
Wednesday, 10 October 2012 21:30 |
|
Fire Prevention: A light look at
a serious subject
(This article first appeared in the Noble County American during 2009’s Fire Prevention Week.)
by Mark Hunter
Fire Prevention Week is here, a time in which we try to – wait for it – prevent fires. Of course, Fire Prevention Week should go on year-round, but if it did we’d have to change the name. So, to give you something you can take with you all year, here’s a quick quiz to see if you know … oh, just relax, nobody’s grading you.
1. Fire Prevention Week was begun after a huge fire burned:
a. The City of Chicago.
b. The entire town of Peshtigo, Wisconsin.
c. A huge swath of Wisconsin and an even larger area of Michigan, all the way from one Great Lake to another.
d. Donald Trump’s hair.
The answer: All of the above. The most devastating forest fires in American history roared through Northeast Wisconsin and lower Michigan on October 8, 1871, leveling at least 16 communities, killing 1,152 people, and blackening 1.2 million acres of land – those are the conservative estimates. The disaster didn’t make much impact on the national news because of that little dust-up going on in Chicago at the same time. I was just kidding about Donald Trump.
2. President Woodrow Wilson issued the first National Fire Prevention Day proclamation in:
a. 1492.
b. 1920.
c. 1980
d. OMG! Nobody told me I’d have to memorize dates!
The answer: d. Meanwhile, since the early 20’s Fire Prevention Week has come during the same week as the anniversary of the Chicago and Peshtigo fires.
3. On the spot where the Great Chicago Fire began now stands:
a. The Chicago Fire Department Fire Academy
b. A shrine to Oprah.
c. Barack Obama’s birth certificate.
d. The burial spot of Donald Trump’s hair.
The answer: a. Can you sense the irony?
4. Okay, here’s an easy true or false question:
The Great Chicago Fire first burned down the O’Leary home.
The answer: False. Although the fire started in the O’Leary barn, a lucky breeze spared their house. However, rumors that Mrs. O’Leary’s firebug cow kicked over a lamp made them a pariah at the Homeowner’s Association meetings for the next 130 years. Later research revealed there’s no proof the O’Leary’s – or their cow – had anything to do with the fire’s origin. In fact, there’s some speculation that a fiery meteorite broke apart as it fell to Earth, explaining how several fires over three states all started at once.
5. Most fires are started by:
a. Mice with matches.
b. Men, women, and children.
c. Zeus.
d. A small, square animal called the Woozy that shoots sparks from its eyes.
The answer: b. Zeus is a myth, people – and the mouse was acquitted. Bonus points if you can tell me where I got that Woozy thing from.
Cooking, electrical problems, smoking, and children playing with fire starting materials are the main causes of fires. Kids with matches or lighters cause hundreds of deaths every year, and that ain’t funny.
6. If a fire sets off a sprinkler system:
a. All the sprinkler heads go off, allowing our hero to escape in the confusion.
b. All the sprinkler heads go off, allowing the villain to escape in the confusion.
c. All the sprinkler heads go off, allowing the hero to electrocute the villain.
d. Only the sprinkler heads directly above the fire go off, saving untold lives and property every year.
The answer: d. You might want to consider getting a guard dog, because sprinklers are designed to control fires while doing only minimal water damage.
7. Your smoke detector batteries should be changed:
a. So you have fresh ones available for the TV remote.
b. Every spring and fall, when the clocks change.
c. Because otherwise they could develop serious diaper rash.
d. Because their behavior is just unacceptable.
The answer: b, no matter what time zone you’re in. Could we Hoosiers give that time zone dustup a rest, already?
8. E.D.I.T.H. is important because:
a. She’s the only woman James T. Kirk ever really loved.
b. I said so.
c. Exit Drills In The Home help families escape from home fires.
d. How would Archie get along without her?
The answer: c (and b. Come to think of it, all of the above). Smoke and toxic gases from a fire can fill a home within minutes, so practicing how to safely escape from a fire, and meet up in a safe spot afterward, saves lives. Firefighters are great, if I do say so myself, but most fire victims are dead from smoke inhalation long before fire trucks can reach the scene.
9. Firefighters die:
a. Because that gray is unacceptable.
b. hard.
c. in the wool.
d. At the rate of about a hundred every year.
The answer – is pretty obvious, and not very funny. Not only is the easiest fire to fight the one that never starts, but the least dangerous fire is the one that never starts.
10: Fire is:
a. Fast, sometimes engulfing a home in five minutes.
b. Dark, producing dense smoke and toxic gases.
c. Hot, over 1,000 degrees in a typical structure fire and searing lungs even at a distance from the flames.
d. Deadly, killing 2,900 people in 2008, injuring 14,960 others, and causing over twelve billion dollars in damage.
The answer: All of the above, and that’s no joke. So the next time you see or hear something serious about fire prevention – pay attention. When the real test comes, it’s life or death. (This article first appeared in the Noble County American during 2009’s Fire Prevention Week.) by Mark Hunter Fire Prevention Week is here, a time in which we try to – wait for it – prevent fires. Of course, Fire Prevention Week should go on year-round, but if it did we’d have to change the name. So, to give you something you can take with you all year, here’s a quick quiz to see if you know … oh, just relax, nobody’s grading you. 1. Fire Prevention Week was begun after a huge fire burned: a. The City of Chicago. b. The entire town of Peshtigo, Wisconsin. c. A huge swath of Wisconsin and an even larger area of Michigan, all the way from one Great Lake to another. d. Donald Trump’s hair. The answer: All of the above. The most devastating forest fires in American history roared through Northeast Wisconsin and lower Michigan on October 8, 1871, leveling at least 16 communities, killing 1,152 people, and blackening 1.2 million acres of land – those are the conservative estimates. The disaster didn’t make much impact on the national news because of that little dust-up going on in Chicago at the same time. I was just kidding about Donald Trump.
|
|
Wednesday, 03 October 2012 22:04 |
|
CONTEST BRINGS OUT WRITER’S NON-COMPETITIVE SIDE
by Mark Hunter
I’ve never been a competitive person. You’ve heard of the Class A personality? I’m more like a Class C.
In fact, I almost didn’t enter a contest that was in theory right up my alley, just because I found the name particularly intimidating: So You Think You Can Write.
I felt like Harlequin’s novel writing contest was sneering at me: “So … you think you can write, eh? I’ll chew you up like paper and spit you out like ink!”
Worse, it required me to do more of that thing I’ve never much liked to do: Sell myself. In the first phase of the SYTYCW contest (hey, I didn’t name it), authors submit the first chapter and a 100 word synopsis of their novel, and readers vote on which of the chapter ones they like the best.
Self-promotion time again, only “Look at me, look at me,” becomes “Vote for me!” But, hey – competing and promoting are part of the writer’s job, these days. That being the case, here’s the Internet link to my particular entry, which will be open for voting from October 2 until October 11: www.soyouthinkyoucanwrite.com/manuscripts/coming-attractions/
(You can, and most certainly should, look at a bunch of entries and pick the best one. But I’m okay with you only looking at mine.)
That’s a lot to type, but do it for me. Or for community pride. Or for a jug of whiskey like in the old time elections – whatever works. It’s also a chance to take a look at the first chapter of my unpublished novel, Coming Attractions, which like my published stories takes place in northeast Indiana.
Just for fun here’s the synopsis I wrote. You want to talk challenges? Try reducing a 60,000 word manuscript to a hundred words:
Maddie McKinley’s mission to a small Indiana drive-in theater is derailed when she climbs into the wrong van at the dark theater, only to be tackled by the father of two young children inside. Although embarrassed about roughing her up, Logan Chandler is also intrigued by the beautiful young Bostonian, who arrived alone at the movies wearing an expensive dress.
Maddie falls for the Chandler family and their little town, but her job is on the line: Logan’s leading a battle to save the business from developers – and she’s the attorney sent to shut it down.
It’s a romantic comedy. No, it’s funny, really.
After all these years I’m fairly confident in my writing ability, but I don’t have much confidence in my ability to win contests. I was that person in gym class who hid under the bleachers, so I wouldn’t have to lose gracefully. In high school I finally got up the courage to run for student council, only to come in ninth … out of eight candidates.
On our volunteer fire department I ran for captain, but only got four votes for corporal. And we don’t have corporals. Apparently I was given a bit of corporal punishment.
Finally I did win two elections for the Albion Town Council, but only because I promised the voters to put a weatherproof plastic dome over the town. It turns out I was being just a bit optimistic on both cost and feasibility matters. Still, I only lost the next election by six votes after promising never to send troops into Churubusco. (Little historical inside joke, there. Vote for me and I’ll explain it to you.)
It’s a spotty record at best, but this time I have to dig in and actually try to win, which is something I probably should have thought to try before. It would have made dodgeball way less painful. You see, it’s almost impossible to get your book published if you don’t send it out into the cold, cruel world of publishing.
So, for the week of October 2 through October 11, everyone can go to the contest’s website and vote for their choice – not just once, but once every day. (Okay, it’s actually ten days, not a week – I write because I hate math.)
If I get into the top 25, my manuscript will be one of, I’m guessing, 25 or so that will be judged by the Harlequin editors. (I say “or so,” because they’ll choose three wild card submissions.) If I make it to the top three … well, I don’t see the point of looking that far into the future, considering I once ran a marathon and posted a worse time than a guy who had a heart attack halfway through.
I should have stopped to help, but didn’t want to come in last. How was I to know I would anyway, when he hobbled to his feet and ran past me to the ambulance? Maybe I should rethink that Good Samaritan thing … I’ll bet a good round of CPR would have bought his vote. by Mark Hunter I’ve never been a competitive person. You’ve heard of the Class A personality? I’m more like a Class C. In fact, I almost didn’t enter a contest that was in theory right up my alley, just because I found the name particularly intimidating: So You Think You Can Write. I felt like Harlequin’s novel writing contest was sneering at me: “So … you think you can write, eh? I’ll chew you up like paper and spit you out like ink!” Worse, it required me to do more of that thing I’ve never much liked to do: Sell myself. In the first phase of the SYTYCW contest (hey, I didn’t name it), authors submit the first chapter and a 100 word synopsis of their novel, and readers vote on which of the chapter ones they like the best. Self-promotion time again, only “Look at me, look at me,” becomes “Vote for me!” But, hey – competing and promoting are part of the writer’s job, these days. That being the case, here’s the Internet link to my particular entry, which will be open for voting from October 2 until October 11: www.soyouthinkyoucanwrite.com/manuscripts/coming-attractions/ (You can, and most certainly should, look at a bunch of entries and pick the best one. But I’m okay with you only looking at mine.) That’s a lot to type, but do it for me. Or for community pride. Or for a jug of whiskey like in the old time elections – whatever works. It’s also a chance to take a look at the first chapter of my unpublished novel, Coming Attractions, which like my published stories takes place in northeast Indiana. Just for fun here’s the synopsis I wrote. You want to talk challenges? Try reducing a 60,000 word manuscript to a hundred words: Maddie McKinley’s mission to a small Indiana drive-in theater is derailed when she climbs into the wrong van at the dark theater, only to be tackled by the father of two young children inside. Although embarrassed about roughing her up, Logan Chandler is also intrigued by the beautiful young Bostonian, who arrived alone at the movies wearing an expensive dress.
|
|
Wednesday, 26 September 2012 19:25 |
|
by Mark Hunter
The human race spent a considerable amount of its fortune and creative energy making homes more comfortable: Indoor plumbing, air conditioning, entertainment centers, and the ultimate in accurate brand naming, La-Z-Boys. Then, once our domiciles became places where we never had to suffer (except during family dinners), where entertainment and food could be delivered right to our seats …
We went camping.
There are people in third world countries who live in tents, cook over an open fire, and dig holes to, shall we say, deposit their waste in, and dream of someday leaving that all behind for a one room hut with a hole in the bathroom floor and a rain barrel out back. They think we’re crazy.
I suppose it makes as much sense as all the other crazy stuff humans do. We could use sprinkler systems to stop the fire-caused loss of thousands of lives and billions of dollars in property. We could wall off Washington, D.C. and start a new capital from scratch, maybe in Kansas. We could live years longer by not indulging in needless poisons like alcohol and reality TV. If we allow all that foolish stuff, why not camp?
So we did.
My wife/fiancée and I spent the weekend early this summer (Yes, I’m that far behind) at Chain O’ Lakes State Park, which is only a few miles from my home … and so was within driving distance if we forgot something, or if I could talk her into going home and sleeping in a real bed.
The trip started on a high note when the campground gate attendant recognized my name not from a watch list, but because she had my first novel on her Kindle (Several scenes from Storm Chaser are set at Chain O’ Lakes).
It was all pretty much downhill from there.
Emily and I have different tastes in camping. She was a Girl Scout, and basically spent every summer of her entire life in a camp. They wouldn’t let me join the Girl Scouts. I refused to enter the Boy Scouts because there were no girls.
So for her, camping is pointless if you can’t haul whatever you need on your back. That would only work for me if I was The Incredible Hulk, and so could carry a full sized recreational vehicle. “Hulk warm and comfortable!”
She needs a tent the size of my bathtub, a sleeping bag, and a multipurpose knife. I need Internet connectivity.
Who am I kidding? I also need a satellite hookup, a fridge, a real bed, and a freaking toilet. However, I draw the line at taking anything that won’t fit into the RV, or on its roof and sides, or in the truck that’s towing it, or in the camp store.
We compromised and took what would fit in a 2005 Ford Focus. It wasn’t much.
Still, at least I didn’t have to figure out anything myself; Emily pitched a tent while I pitched a fit, built a fire while I built toward a nervous breakdown, and cooked an amazing dish called a shipwreck (and S ’mores) while I … ate.
My biggest contribution to the whole thing was buying fresh batteries to fire up every single source of light in the house, which amounted to 38 flashlights and lamps of various kinds and sizes. That was Plan B. Plan A didn’t work because there wasn’t enough extension cord in the whole town to reach the nearest outlet.
I just don’t like the dark. Never have. Sure, my Scout gal made fun of me, but I’d like to think she appreciated the little circle of light beams I set up around the tent … especially once the coyotes started howling at midnight. Did you know we had coyotes? There’s never a Road Runner around when you need one.
I’d forgotten just how dark it can get in the middle of nowhere at night, and I’d also forgotten just how loud insects and animals can get in that selfsame pitch darkness. Between that and relearning that the hard ground is, by definition, hard … well, I didn’t get much sleep that night. Next time I’m bringing a tractor, plow, and disk, and I’m going to fluff that ground up to then make it as smooth and soft as possible.
Or, I’ll buy an air mattress.
It’s the best I can do, because not only can I not afford that big RV, but Emily’s made it clear that anything beyond a little extra padding is out of the question. Not that I won’t get a little extra padding of my own, if we keep making those S ’mores.
I suppose I should be happy to have a woman who isn’t into a lot of extra luxuries.
But next time, could we at least haul in a Porta-Potty? by Mark Hunter The human race spent a considerable amount of its fortune and creative energy making homes more comfortable: Indoor plumbing, air conditioning, entertainment centers, and the ultimate in accurate brand naming, La-Z-Boys. Then, once our domiciles became places where we never had to suffer (except during family dinners), where entertainment and food could be delivered right to our seats … We went camping. There are people in third world countries who live in tents, cook over an open fire, and dig holes to, shall we say, deposit their waste in, and dream of someday leaving that all behind for a one room hut with a hole in the bathroom floor and a rain barrel out back. They think we’re crazy. I suppose it makes as much sense as all the other crazy stuff humans do. We could use sprinkler systems to stop the fire-caused loss of thousands of lives and billions of dollars in property. We could wall off Washington, D.C. and start a new capital from scratch, maybe in Kansas. We could live years longer by not indulging in needless poisons like alcohol and reality TV. If we allow all that foolish stuff, why not camp? So we did.
|
|
Wednesday, 19 September 2012 20:32 |
|
by Mark Hunter
This is a good time to make serious inquiries and observations relating to American politics, with this very important election coming up. But I don’t work that way. So instead, I decided to interview Vice-President Joe Biden. But he doesn’t work that way, so I put together an interview using his own words.
There were so many words. As I researched, I saw the difference between Biden and the much-maligned Clint Eastwood speech from the Republican convention. Eastwood’s unscripted talk was rambling and a bit free-associative, and many people didn’t get his old actor’s technique of speaking to an empty chair. (Although how many of the rest of us could have done better without a teleprompter, including most politicians?) But if you parse out his words, you could make sense of it and it was pretty straightforward.
Biden, on the other hand, often comes out sounding all smooth and politician-like, right up until the instant he verbally steps into a big, stinking load of wet caca. All in all, I’d take Eastwood.
Hello, Mr. Vice-President. I hope you don’t mind that I originally wanted to get the President for an interview …
“He’s busy getting ready for Easter. He thinks it’s about him.”
But do you and President Obama get along? You don’t sit around hoping he catches cold, or something? How do you feel about him?
“You got the first mainstream African-American who is articulate and bright and clean and a nice-looking guy.”
The first? Mr. Vice-President, some people think you’re a little insensitive on the issue of race …
“You don’t know my state. My state was a slave state … my state is the eighth largest black population in the country.”
But – aren’t you from Delaware? That wasn’t a slave state …
“Folks, let me be straight with you…I have a bad habit of doing that.”
I appreciate your candor. Okay, I get that you’re a little uncomfortable with the subject, but how are race relations in Delaware now?
“The largest growth of population is Indian Americans, moving from India. You cannot go to a 7/11 or a Dunkin’ Donuts unless you have a slight Indian accent.”
What? That’s not very funny.
“I’m not joking.”
Well, how do you feel a Republican administration would deal with racial issues?
“They’re going to put y’all back in chains.”
So you still support –
“Barack America!”
Okay, how does he rank compared to other Presidents?
“I can tell you I’ve known eight Presidents, three of them intimately.”
And he – ah – compares favorably?
"I promise you, the president has a big stick. I promise you."
Well, I’d be the last to ask for more details. Still, it seems like during the last election it was difficult to get to know Obama to the extent that we knew his main competitor, Hillary Clinton.
“The more people learn about them and how they handle the pressure, the more their support will evaporate.”
Could anyone on the Republican side have done a good job?
“The only guy on the other side who’s qualified is John McCain.”
So what do you think Obama’s biggest challenge has been?
“A three-letter word: jobs. J-O-B-S, jobs."
Did you two discuss the economy much during the campaign?
“I don’t recall hearing a word from Barack about a plan or a tactic.”
Do you think the government should encourage more private enterprise, or take more of a hands-on approach?
"When the stock market crashed, Franklin D. Roosevelt got on the television and didn't just talk about the, you know, the princes of greed. He said, 'Look, here's what happened’."
But – FDR wasn’t President in 1929, when the stock market crashed … and the only TV sets in existence at the time were expensive experimental units.
“You need to work on your pecs.”
I beg your –
“You all look dull as hell, I might add.”
Well, I don’t think –
“Just sitting there, staring at me. Pretend you like me!”
I’d love to, but don’t you think the administration is going just a little overboard with spending right now? Do you really think that will help the economy in the long run?
“People when I say that look at me and say, 'What are you talking about, Joe? You're telling me we have to go spend money to keep from going bankrupt?' The answer is yes, that's what I'm telling you.”
But what if you’re wrong?
"If we do everything right, if we do it with absolute certainty, there's still a 30 percent chance we're going to get it wrong."
I see. Well, what about foreign policy? Did the President do the right thing, leaving Iraq so quickly?
“My impression is he thinks that if we leave, somehow the Iraqis are going to have an epiphany of peaceful coexistence among warring sects. I’ve seen zero evidence of that.”
What should we do, then?
“Seems to me this would be a good time to send, no strings attached, a check for $200 million to Iran.”
What? You think we should give money to countries that hate us?
“Oh give me a f***ing break."
Well, that – you seem almost threatening.
“I wouldn't go anywhere in confined places now."
Oh, dear. When you go home and look at yourself in the mirror after interviews like this, what do you think?
“What am I talking about?”
(Mark Hunter's first novel, Storm Chaser, was published in June, 2011 by Whiskey Creek Press, which will also publish his anthology of short stories in May of 2012. In addition to his full time job as a Noble County Sheriff's Department dispatcher, Mark is a newspaper writer whose humor column is carried in three local newspapers; a 30 year veteran volunteer firefighter; and is in his last of years as Albion Town Council member. He has a wife, two children, and two grandchildren, and has been in a state of constant exhaustion since the late 80's. When asked if there's any stress in his life he laughs hysterically. He can be reached – eventually – at
This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it
, or through his website at www.markrhunter.com.) by Mark Hunter This is a good time to make serious inquiries and observations relating to American politics, with this very important election coming up. But I don’t work that way. So instead, I decided to interview Vice-President Joe Biden. But he doesn’t work that way, so I put together an interview using his own words. There were so many words. As I researched, I saw the difference between Biden and the much-maligned Clint Eastwood speech from the Republican convention. Eastwood’s unscripted talk was rambling and a bit free-associative, and many people didn’t get his old actor’s technique of speaking to an empty chair. (Although how many of the rest of us could have done better without a teleprompter, including most politicians?) But if you parse out his words, you could make sense of it and it was pretty straightforward. Biden, on the other hand, often comes out sounding all smooth and politician-like, right up until the instant he verbally steps into a big, stinking load of wet caca. All in all, I’d take Eastwood. Hello, Mr. Vice-President. I hope you don’t mind that I originally wanted to get the President for an interview … “He’s busy getting ready for Easter. He thinks it’s about him.” But do you and President Obama get along? You don’t sit around hoping he catches cold, or something? How do you feel about him? “You got the first mainstream African-American who is articulate and bright and clean and a nice-looking guy.” The first? Mr. Vice-President, some people think you’re a little insensitive on the issue of race … “You don’t know my state. My state was a slave state … my state is the eighth largest black population in the country.” But – aren’t you from Delaware? That wasn’t a slave state … “Folks, let me be straight with you…I have a bad habit of doing that.”
|
|
