A Story Not Really About Animals

I was terrified of dogs when I was young and felt like I was the only one, as if I were a rare mammal—genus: Canis terrifidis. In my house, the only creatures I grew up with were fish, the worst pets of all. They belong in the freezer section of your local supermarket. I’m not sure why they’re anywhere near the puppies and kittens in pet stores other than to rip people off since most last slightly longer than a carton of milk. Shop owners should really line up the merchandise in death order: cockatiels and turtles on one end, hamsters and guppies on the other.

I couldn’t blame my parents for denying us; they had a houseful of kids and couldn’t imagine also nurturing a face-licking, Frisbee-fetching, foot-of-the-bed-sleeping, kibble-nibbling, trick-learning, honest-to-god pet. But there were consequences.

Through the Zombie Lens: How the Dead’ish Confirmed My Outlook on Life

It seems every other book these days contains a vampire, a werewolf or, more commonly, a team of staggering zombies. Let’s talk about the latter. They are decidedly mean, violent, and relentless—not unlike your typical serial killer sitting in a faraway prison cell, which begs the question: how shall I treat said beasts in manuscripts that I’m editing?

Certain words are attached only to humans; other words are used only for things. A zombie is essentially a moving corpse, so is Dad still Dad if he’s no longer 100 percent human? Are such semantics considered by the reader, or will he or she care whether the creature is a “who” or a “what” needing a “who” or a “that”? This is why writers hire agonizers.

Junk in the Trunk

One of my favorite I-remember-when one-liners is Katie Couric’s comment to Judge Judy: “I got into news when ‘harass’ was two words.”

Say it out loud, people.

Snark Is Not an Imaginary Critter

Some friends and family think I’m a copywriter. It does sound similar to “copy editor” and looks a lot like its smashed-together cousin, “copyeditor.” No worries. Despite my smartassness, I’m not a hater. I get it. But if I had a job writing sarcastic gold like this, I might switch professions.

What My Kind Fears the Most

One of the many duties of a copy editor is catching small mistakes that can damage credibility. For example, see if you can spot the typo in this ad that appeared in Tacoma’s News Tribune last December:

Hurricane Valentino

 

Ah, yes. Whether you’re in a relationship or not, Valentine’s Day blows in with the force of Christmas and the expectation of Thanksgiving dinner. Enjoy!

Ouch—and Yeah!

 

From Slate’s Dear Prudence column:

I am five years younger than the newest hire [at this newspaper], and I am infinitely more efficient, clear with my writing, and communicative with my sources than the new reporter. [She] constantly works overtime, is defensive to managers, and is overall awkward and completely aloof to her bizarre treatment of sources, other reporters, and bosses. I wonder why nobody ever suggested to this girl that she pursue copyediting instead of reporting.

(You can read Prudie’s snippy response here.)

As a colleague of mine said in her email, I’m laughing too hard to be offended.

Working From Home

 

The following observations took place over the course of a very busy day.

Morning  You don’t really know yourself until you drink a liter of Stumptown and beat an egg.

Afternoon  My seventeen-year-old microwave has lasted five times longer than my MacBook or iPhone.

Evening  I read an article that said a “pentobarbital manufacturer is adamant in its opposition to Florida using it for executions since it may cause suffering.” Then I thought: Why would Adam Ant care?

And, scene.

Initially It’s Funny

 

In December, I published a post about John Waters’ computer auto-correcting his initials to read JEW. Then I saw this nugget about newly appointed Secretary of State John Kerry. It’s not quite clear who is kidding whom here. (Just kidding.)

Old-School Hyperlinking

 

Have you seen the funny and “clever illustrations of bad decisions”? In the same vein, Evan Robertson, a New York–based graphic designer and writer, created a line of striking illustrations based on quotes from famous authors. He described his inspiration for the series in a Huffington Post interview, deftly breaking it down for the internet generation:

Senior Moment

I was walking down the street, when I noticed a much older man looking at me from the storefront up ahead. As I approached, we locked eyes and he hollered, “INDIAN CHIEF!” Was it the nerdy glasses? I took it as a compliment.

Just Talk to Me

I’ve experienced a specific kind of hell on Earth on more than one occasion. It has nothing to do with music yet everything to do with performance. I’m all for creative expression, but may I ask why poetry is too often read in the most unnatural manner possible? I know I’m not the only one who’s been stuck sitting there like a good puppy, eager to listen, ready to be enlightened and shaken. But something kept happening, something distracting, and finally it forced me to scoot out the door with a sneeze face.

Let me elaborate so that you may recognize yourself, you poetry reader.

A Viper in the Pipes

It’s sometimes hard to relax when the radiator sounds like a rattlesnake.

If Only I Were Eugene Mirman

Some people, such as software engineers, make useful things for a living. Other people, like workers in a state unemployment office, make misery for a minimum of one full hour. I endured a phone call from one such person, a dour and condescending lady-robot sliding off the mild end of the autistic spectrum. I haven’t been spoken to like that since I was five. Perhaps she was elitist and judgmental, perhaps she had been encouraged to be suspicious, or maybe she simply hated herself for not getting fired from her horrible job. Wouldn’t it be the sweetest slice of irony to have her get the business end of a phone call from her former employer?

Algorithm

The word algorithm :: evidence that mathematicians should not be in charge of spelling

Make It Happen

Dear Santa,

The last time I wrote you a letter, you ignored me. Why was a swimming pool full of plastic balls out of the question? It was only a little bigger than Chuck E. Cheese’s. I guess I should have just asked for a Blondie concert in our backyard. Anyway, I thought I would try again, this time with an adult list of commands. See to it, or I will tell everyone that you’re a fraud. They will believe me because they know that I know things.

1. the power to make me follow through on my threats
2. a magic red pencil that always has a sharp point a red pen
3. dictionary brain
4. computer brain
5. a part-time job naming babies, pets, drugs, and nail polish—I can freelance

Sincerely and all that,

Me

You Need an Object

In my line of work, as in life, things of a lewd nature creep up from time to time. I spent one day replacing every fucking with fuckin’  in a certain character’s dialogue to better convey his Scottish brogue. I quite enjoyed that one.

Then there was the author who had written about a young girl who fisted in her dress. My eyeballs skidded to a halt.

Death and Typography

Trying to nail down which font is friendly and approachable is about as confusing as figuring out which coffin best speaks to the dearly departed’s personality.

 

Loufoque

French is a silly language :: so many letters pronounced with your eyes, not with your mouth

 

John Waters: JEW

 

When John Waters signs his emails JW, his computer tends to auto-correct it to read JEW (yes, all caps). Sometimes he doesn’t catch it in time and it’s sent out this way. Oh, to receive an email like that:  Blah-blah-blah. Sincerely, JEW. Now that’s pride in one’s tribe.