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Word of the Every So Often
potch: (noun) a type of cheap, worthless opal; anything that is cheap or worthless. Everything the president promised turned out to be potch, one brummagem after another.
The Almost Daily
It’s National Frog Jumping Day. Back on November 18, 1865, Mark Twain published his first story, “The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County.” Of course, that’s not today. Twain, himself, was born on November 30, 1835, which isn’t today, either. He died on April 21, 1910, which is closer. The closest we’re going to get is the Calaveras County Fair, in Copperopolis, California, which is held on the third weekend in May, which is coming up here in just a few days. They have frog jumping and other frog related events, all in honour of Mr. Twain. But here's the thing: The 13th of May will never be on the third weekend of May. Here at the Press we’re all in favour of celebrating Mark Twain, and we have nothing against frogs. What we find a puzzlement is that so many of these holidays are arbitrary, and they don’t need to be.
Cartoon of the Week
Bear With Me
Stuff
One Fine Day in the Mid-Nineteenth Century
Deep in the Woods of British Columbia
– a very short play –
Setting: A clearing in the woods.
At curtain the clearing is empty, but filled with the sounds of birds.
Enter Left Sir Richard along with his trusty companion, Peter, pushing their way out of the undergrowth. They cross to Center.
Sir Richard: (excitedly pointing up into a tree) There! There! Mark it down, my good man. A new species of bird! I think I'll call it a Tit.
Peter: And a fine name it is, Sir Richard. But what kind of tit?
Sir Richard: And right you are, Peter. Bloody well done. As you know, there can be lots of different kinds of tits. And it is our duty to see them all!
Peter: Indeed, but what shall we name this one?
Sir Richard: It was in the bush, so I say it's a Bushtit.
Peter: Brilliant!
Sir Richard: Now doesn't that just make you giggle? Like the Dickcissel. Now there's a silly name. After all, it's not a truly good name if it's not just a tad bit silly, too, now, is it? Now let's be off, and if we're really lucky, we'll find a pecker or two before nightfall. And maybe even a cock! And tomorrow... boobies!
Exit Right Sir Richard and Peter into the undergrowth.
Curtain.
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