Monday, November 7, 2011

Kangaroo briefs, rocks and eggs: A day in the life of me.

1. Public radio likes to talk about those "driveway moments" when their stories are so compelling that you delay getting out of your car upon reaching your destination in order to keep listening. This happened to me recently. The last sentence of a Vermont Public Radio on-air job opportunity ad for a producer/announcer at the station:
Announcer: "Excellent creative writing skills, a must." 

Wouldn't you expect the ad to say: "Strong journalism background a must"?  Creative News Writing. I kind of like the idea. I think I could be really good at that job. We could have a whole network dedicated to this kind of stuff. ImagiNews. I wanted to call it Creative News Network, but obviously....already taken - CNN. 

2. Also on VPR, a local announcer was reading one of the "underwriter" bits between segments (i.e. a donationally paid advertisement): 

"With underwriting support from so-and-so [I don't remember the company name, which I guess makes this a terrible ad ]. Now featuring men's kangaroo pouch briefs." 

Public radio underwritten by underwear? Weird, but times are tough. What the heck are kangaroo pouch briefs and are they really so much better than regular ones that they need a special ad? And yes, of course I googled "kangaroo pouch briefs" (and now you are too, you weirdo looking at underwear pictures. I sure hope you're not at work).  And besides, aren't kangaroo pouches only for females who need to carry baby kangaroos?  Ha! They are.  I just looked that up too. 

3. Being that this is New England, our soil is chock full of rocks. When I dig in my garden I hit a lot of them and it's pretty tedious really. So sometimes I find my mind slipping into "entertain Jen" mode and it starts imagining that my shovel might be hitting buried skulls or giant femurs from who knows what (but usually a human because that would be the most freaky). I finally get the spade wedged under an edge so I can pop the obstruction out of the soil. I feel a tiny moment of panic when something grayish white and rounded breaks the surface and then a brief moment of disappointment that it's just another damn rock. 

4. Cracking eggs never ceases to be fun. Every time I do it there's the possibility that I'll mess it up -  break the shell too hard so that the yolk gets punctured, not hit it hard enough so you have to go in for a second crack and then shell bits are guaranteed to get into what you're making. Or maybe I'll hit it perfectly.  I can tell by the sound it makes and the way it feels in my hand. I split it open and the perfectly formed insides slide out. Satisfaction. Cracking eggs, a small moment of wonder from something that seems so ordinary. 

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