I write a lot of copy every week. Mostly it’s not worth $65,000 per word, but I was especially proud of this sentence: A NEW HOME FOR DOGS LIVING LIKE PIGS IN THE FILTHY HOUSE OF A NEGLECTFUL BREEDER. If dogs are living like pigs, you know things are really bad.
Now this from the amusing typo file: WHEN NEW YORK STATE BUILT THE THRUWAY, THEY PROMISED TO ELIMINATE TROLLS SOME DAY. That’s very good since there are so many bridges on the Thruway.
Here’s an especially absurd idea: SOME PEOPLE SAY THAT YOUR CAR MAKES A STATEMENT; COMING UP, THE STORY OF A CAR THAT DOESN’T JUST MAKE A STATEMENT, IT SHOUTS OUT A MESSAGE OF PEACE AND TOLERANCE. I wonder if that’s covered under the warranty?
Next, there’s something wrong here but I’m not sure what: HANSON-MANIA STRIKES THE CAPITAL REGION —AND WE FELT QUITE A SURGE OF IT RIGHT HERE AT CHANNEL 13 TODAY! OK, that’s what’s wrong: saying surge, mania, and Hanson in the same five seconds .
Finally, my favorite literary technique, good news/bad news: NICE WEATHER —BUT DANGEROUSLY DRY. LIVE AT ELEVEN.
Nothing’s more satisfying than handing someone a pile of cash to do something you could yourself with the right tools. And a hydraulic lift. And maybe a class at HVCC. But after a $500 brake job, you don’t expect to hear a grating noise when your car is backing up. And I did.
SCRAPE-SCRAPE-SCRAPE! What the f…? That can’t be right. Not after my $500 BRAKE JOB! I pull out of the parking space and there it is again. SCRAPETY-SCRAPETY-SCRAPE. Now I’m furious —and getting ready to drive up (street name deleted) and march right into (repair shop deleted) to give those crooks a piece of my mind. A typical guy reaction at this point is to think, “Hmmmm. Maybe I can fix this myself.” Since ancient times this has been the undoing of many fine men, but I stuck my head under the fender and inspected the place where the wheel is connected to the that other thing. Nothing. I dropped to my belly and edged under the car. Well, that’s your problem right there. I reached way back and yanked out a branch that had stuck to the undercarriage. The rest of the afternoon? I basked in the smug satisfaction of my manly trifecta: smart, handy, and thrifty.
Honda has a whole campaign to make minivans look cool called Respect the Van. As someone who’s been called a loser once or twice for driving a Honda Odyssey, I say right on. Those who disrespect the van need a wake up call. For example, my van can be linked to Greek mythology, because like Odysseus it’s been to both Troy and Ithaca. You might also say that it’s been tempted by deadly Sirens since I drive it to fire calls. Has your car been tempted by deadly Sirens, like Odysseus and my van? I think not. Hey, I stopped trying to look cool a long time ago, and after all, why would I want to drive a BMW 750i when I can have the van? As for the idea that a man’s car represents something else, we turn to Peter Sagal, host of the quiz show Wait Wait … Don’t Tell Me! on NPR:
If a sports car is a symbol for the owner’s manhood, well, my manhood is capacious and large, and like Walt Whitman, contains multitudes. And, improving on Whitman, my manhood has a luggage rack. -Morning Edition 4/26/07