Long before I fell victim to the little invisible ions which pervaded my body and turned me into a radio person, I imagined myself as an ace reporter for a big city newspaper, scooping stories and with much charisma crack news-breaking articles and deciding that my talent was too good to be wasted upon my demise – and thus I'd opt to be a cryogen. Frozen and to come back in 2157 with all my faculties.
Being a reporter, well a cadet, was not what it was cracked up to be. My boyhood dreams was to be an ace and rescue such dinkum lovelies like Brenda Starr (frilly lingerie and all) from an evil moonshine- making freebooter or any other evil being who was out to destroy the idol (perhaps idolette) of my callow years.
Not to be.
It would take years of hard grind; including tackling the dreaded shorthand before the chief of staff, fair man that he was, would even let me near a subject for an interview. The Editor was a godlike person who would condescend to come down from his ivory tower office and even a glance and a nod from him would make my day. Even when his lovely PA entered the office, I'd still tremble.
In my lunchtime reverie I would sit in the park outside the newspaper office, munching my standard fare of vegemite and cheese Invariably the noonday sun would have me nodding off and dream some more.
Luckily I had a built-in bodily clock and as the hour ended I would spring into action and hightail it back to work to cut and paste again.
Well, one particular afternoon, the editor, who was younger than I thought , and his PA – every minute of 23 years of age, came into the newsroom to talk to the senior reporters and the Chief of Staff. It was at that time, I was arranging an appointment for a senior journo.
Having said yes to the appointment. I finished the call with: "That'll be fantastic thank you for your time," and hung up.
An hour later, the editor summoned me to his office: "Go with alacrity lad," intoned the COS.
A lovely smile from the PA and I was ushered into the great man's presence.
He graciously acknowledged my presence and then asked me if I would be so kind as to reach the dictionary on the top shelf of his bookcase. Being eager, as ever, to please I did so.
"Now please find me the word, fabulous, and be as good as to read it for me.
I read the dictionary version, which explained that fabulous, was something relating to fable and legend even to absurd and exaggerated.
Next he asked me to find the word, fantastic. I gulped as I read that it was 'extravagantly fanciful, capricious, grotesque or quaint - and not wonderful.
"I know that it is inherent in you young people to often misuse words. I do not want to hear you plead 'it's common usage as an excuse'. We spend lots of money in teaching you to write well. I expect my staff to speak equally as well. Please try not to use those words again unless you really mean them, okay? You can only enhance your career that way.
Oh by the way, congratulations, your cadetship is over and we're grading you as a class D. One step up the ladder eh! Incidentally, the Chief sub sent me the last piece of copy you wrote. Not half bad. But you've overused the semi colons and thus exceeded your allowable ration. You're banned from using semi colons for a year" he said with the hint of a grin."
"That's fab, sir," I answered. The dictionary missed me by an inch.
To this day, I've only used those words in the way they were intended. The 'boss', who has since left us, did not listen to any of my radio shows - then again, Canberra and Bathurst are miles apart
I'm so glad the boss didn't get me to read Antidisestablishmentarianist. I don't have a cotton pickin' idea of what it means.
Tuesday, July 12, 2005
JABBERWOCKY - THE REAL STORY
Rumours abound in the Queen Of Hearts’ Palace, here in Wonderland, that the arch-foe of the citizens, The Jabberwocky, has been slain by one, a citizen of Beamish, named The Beamish Boy.
Heralds are proclaiming Calooh Callay and the happy crowds in the are shouting “ Oh Frabjous Day!
”This is all well and good. But no one seems to know or at least understand the Jabberwocky.
Jabberwocky, or Jabberwock, as his friends called him, was a simple soul. He liked nothing better than to devour maidens and callow youth and often joked about the contracts offered to him by frustrated parents, who were sick of the kids belting out Eminem or Britney Spears on their ghetto blasters. “They paid me well, for shutting up the awful noise,” Jabberwock told me in an exclusive interview, Brillig Eve, 2002.
Jabberwock’s best friend, Frumious Bandersnatch, tearfully told me that Jabberwock liked nothing better than going to Brillig with his friend, the Jujub Bird, gyre and gimble in the wabe and listen to pop band, Mimsy Borogrove or watching his favorite NBL team, the Mome Raths, outgrabe all others.
“They paid me well, for shutting up the awful noise,” Jabberwock told me in an exclusive interview, Jabberwocky once had a tryout for the Mome Raths, but just missed the cut.
This did not deter him. He continued his career as Callow Youth devourer and made enough money to buy a Tumtum tree plantation and it was here, Jabber met his untimely end.
As a young Jabberwock, the late, anti-hero was considered to be very ugly and although this did not faze him overmuch, it was being called a nerd that unbalanced his mind. This was brought out in a report from the phychology Practice of Jung Freud and McCartney.
Part of this report claimed that if he, Jabberwock, was manxome enough to whiffle through impenetrable objects, such as the Tulgey Woods to get his taunter.
It started off as any normal Brillig holiday. Jabberwocky, Bandersnatch and Jujub planned a day of gyring and gimbling in the wabe.
Jabbers’ mom had packed a panic basket of broiled blonde and cold quarterback cuts and a big flask of orange juice.
Miz Bandersnatch, the town’s dessert queen had given Bandersnatch junior, a dozen tarts, which her supplier, K. Naveov Hertz, claimed they came from an unattended windowsill at the palace.
The Jujub family had given their offspring, a generous portion of their Barry Manilow CDs and a player, for their musical enjoyment. As well as that, Mimsy Borogrove would be performing that afternoon.
In a report to police officers Tweedle-Dee and Dumm, a tearful Jujub said all was well until a voice from behind a Tumtum tree kept calling Jabber’s a nerd and wuss. “Bander and I tried to restrain him,” Jujub sobbed. “He went whiffling through the Tulgey Woods. We then saw the Beamish boy.
He was standing near the Tumtum Tree. He had a vorpal sword in hand - anyone knows that the Jabberwockies are no match for the vorpal sword. It was one, two, snicker snee and our friend was gone.” The last we saw of Jabbers was him galumphing through the Tulgey Wood, head in hand.
A Senate enquiiry is not on any agenda - yet.
In tribute, Wonderland Poet Laureate, Lew Carroll, penned this verse.
Heralds are proclaiming Calooh Callay and the happy crowds in the are shouting “ Oh Frabjous Day!
”This is all well and good. But no one seems to know or at least understand the Jabberwocky.
Jabberwocky, or Jabberwock, as his friends called him, was a simple soul. He liked nothing better than to devour maidens and callow youth and often joked about the contracts offered to him by frustrated parents, who were sick of the kids belting out Eminem or Britney Spears on their ghetto blasters. “They paid me well, for shutting up the awful noise,” Jabberwock told me in an exclusive interview, Brillig Eve, 2002.
Jabberwock’s best friend, Frumious Bandersnatch, tearfully told me that Jabberwock liked nothing better than going to Brillig with his friend, the Jujub Bird, gyre and gimble in the wabe and listen to pop band, Mimsy Borogrove or watching his favorite NBL team, the Mome Raths, outgrabe all others.
“They paid me well, for shutting up the awful noise,” Jabberwock told me in an exclusive interview, Jabberwocky once had a tryout for the Mome Raths, but just missed the cut.
This did not deter him. He continued his career as Callow Youth devourer and made enough money to buy a Tumtum tree plantation and it was here, Jabber met his untimely end.
As a young Jabberwock, the late, anti-hero was considered to be very ugly and although this did not faze him overmuch, it was being called a nerd that unbalanced his mind. This was brought out in a report from the phychology Practice of Jung Freud and McCartney.
Part of this report claimed that if he, Jabberwock, was manxome enough to whiffle through impenetrable objects, such as the Tulgey Woods to get his taunter.
It started off as any normal Brillig holiday. Jabberwocky, Bandersnatch and Jujub planned a day of gyring and gimbling in the wabe.
Jabbers’ mom had packed a panic basket of broiled blonde and cold quarterback cuts and a big flask of orange juice.
Miz Bandersnatch, the town’s dessert queen had given Bandersnatch junior, a dozen tarts, which her supplier, K. Naveov Hertz, claimed they came from an unattended windowsill at the palace.
The Jujub family had given their offspring, a generous portion of their Barry Manilow CDs and a player, for their musical enjoyment. As well as that, Mimsy Borogrove would be performing that afternoon.
In a report to police officers Tweedle-Dee and Dumm, a tearful Jujub said all was well until a voice from behind a Tumtum tree kept calling Jabber’s a nerd and wuss. “Bander and I tried to restrain him,” Jujub sobbed. “He went whiffling through the Tulgey Woods. We then saw the Beamish boy.
He was standing near the Tumtum Tree. He had a vorpal sword in hand - anyone knows that the Jabberwockies are no match for the vorpal sword. It was one, two, snicker snee and our friend was gone.” The last we saw of Jabbers was him galumphing through the Tulgey Wood, head in hand.
A Senate enquiiry is not on any agenda - yet.
In tribute, Wonderland Poet Laureate, Lew Carroll, penned this verse.
Twas brillig, and the slithy toves.
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe.
All mimsy were the borogroves.
And the mome rath outgrabe
©al mccartan, 2003
©al mccartan, 2003
HI FROM ME
Hello there. Well, this is my first blog and in keeping with my sense of humor - it's time to share my scribblings with you. I'll share my romance short stories, a chapter or two of a couple of ideas for a novel, some gawsh almighty crook (that means lousy poetry). I do hope you take the time to read and comment freely.
Now! when registering my blog site, I was asked for a photo. Well guys, don't push it, let's leave it to the imagination eh! Well I do have green eyes and I'm of Anglo-Celtic (Irish) origin.
I have a lot of people to thank for helping me with my writing - too many to name here. Well, may be Maria and Linda, Pam and Joseph from WVU (The Village). They've got eyes likes hawks and can spot a missing period, comma or inactive voice from a great distance. Australia to the US is more than a day's drive. Their help is priceless and anything I publish which they've read, is due to their editing. Thanks in advance guys. I'll be back. With a parody on Lewis Carroll's Jabberwocky.
Bye for now.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)