A recent study says that reading more helps lower your heartrate, prevent cavities, free political prisoners, and feed slightly hungry children all over the world. Won’t you do your part? Read this, and these, and even some of this, if you’re feeling lucky. I wrote ‘em (well I only helped on the NYE one).

I was going to write something funny today about pirates, but that will have to wait until tomorrow.

I’ve been interning at Newcity for a few months now. About a week or two into the internship, another intern and I were sitting in the office when we were visited by an older man, maybe late 60s, a little hunched over. You could tell by his voice that he’d had problems with his throat, but he walked right over and introduced himself as Don. He explained how he worked part time at Accounts Recievable (“Don Vandermyde, Assistant Accounts Recievable Manager,” I later saw on the Newcity staff list), and then asked us about ourselves– where did we go to school, what we wanted to do, what we were interested in. We nodded and answered his questions, wondering who had sent this man to talk to us. He laughed the whole time. He shook our hands, he welcomed us to the paper, and promised to see us around.

We thought he was eccentric, but friendly is what he really was– something that, unfortunately, seems out of place in the modern world. I only saw him a few more times after that, either working around the office or in the hallways. The most we ever exchanged was a hello or two as we passed each other.

When I got home from work tonight, I got an email from the Newcity publisher. It said, “It is with extreme sadness that I write to inform you that Don Vandermyde passed away this afternoon.”

It also said, “Although deeply challenged by his battle with cancer these last few years, he carried on a manner that should inspire us: still working till his last day, still exploring the country and the planet as he so passionately enjoyed and, most of all, still deeply caring about the people he worked with, in such a way that he actively sought out the opportunity to get to know you, whatever your role or tenure at the company.”

As people go, I’m not that sensitive. I’m not going to pretend that I was his good friend, or even really knew him. There are many others who will know him much better, and mourn him much more than I ever do. And I’m not naive, either– people die every day. Thousands, millions of people I’ve never met meet their fates every day. Heck, you’re going to die someday, and I hardly know you. I’m going to die, and what do I know about anything?

Still, Don was nice to me. He was a face around the office. He was a person that I met, that, if nothing else, I shared a destination with for a little while. For me, he was here, and now he’s gone. And that, I think, is worth a little remembering.

One hundred million US dollars in cash, left on dock #3 at midnight

Crack

Three wishes

Yet another slot in a soulless consumer-centered modern world

Straw turned into gold

A chance at a better life in that new country! America!

“BUY MY BABY!!!11! L@@K! – $300 obo (chicago) pic”

$25 for the first three hours, $5/hour after that

A lifetime of wealth and fame, only to realize that they’ll spend it pining for their baby

Nothing, the dingo ate my baby!

*sigh* You want him? You can have him.

$50 and the promise that we’ll never mention “it” again

When I was a little kid, I was frightened to death of thunderstorms. Whenever gray clouds rolled over my house and that electrical tension slowly moved into my neighborhood, exciting dogs and bugs, I’d freak out. I’d have to run down to the basement and stay there until the storm passed and the thunder stopped. The rest of my family would pay no attention, continue watching television or cleaning the house, but I had to sit on the stone floor of our unfinished basement, waiting out the terror that rained from the atmosphere above me.

It was probably because I received constant warnings against weather. We lived in St. Louis, on the far edge of Tornado Alley, and we did tornado drills at school where we’d run out of the classroom into the darkened hallways and put our heads between our legs until the danger passed. When a storm showed up in the city, the television would run their stock “flood and thunder” advice: Get to the lowest part of the house, stay away from trees and open areas. The front room of my house had large glass windows, too– I conjured visions of the winds imploding them inwards, shards of glass whinging their way across my living room and embedding themselves in our wall, the paintings hung there, my mother’s couch.

As a fear, however, it was irrational. I remember going camping at one point with my family. We had one of those old VW popup vans, and when we stayed somewhere, we put the van up for the night and all slept inside of it, my parents on one side, my brother, sister, and I on the other. One night, a storm moved over the campsite, and the wind and rain grew to a beating, pounding on all side of the van while lightning flashed and thunder shook our popped-up VW. We were never in any real danger, it was just a passing summer storm, but despite my parents’ attempts to calm me, I cried and howled like a banshee until it passed. I was gripped with a phobia of this thrashing, beating monster, the storm that was so much bigger than I was, that threatened me at every turn.

It got worse. I’d run to the basement at the first drop of rain, and I’d stay down there until the storm had passed. I knew it was wrong, but whenever thunder cracked across the sky or even a flash of fall lightning lit up a corner of my eye, my stomach turned and the back of my neck tensed. This was no way to live, in constant fear of something uncontrollable. I had to do something.

So I decided to face it. I was home alone one day when I heard droplets of rain begin to fall on our skylight window. Calmly, I turned off the TV, went out to the garage, and opened the door. The rain was falling heavily on the driveway, little torrents of rainwater pushing fallen leaves around violently. A crack of lighting lit up the garage, and seconds later a peal of thunder split the sky. I had learned at school that you could decipher how far away lightning had struck by timing the thunder. This was close. I paused, standing in my parents’ garage, just barely visibly wavering between the timidity of youth and the resolve of maturity.

I stood and regarded the rain. The thunder cracked, and still I stood.

There was a lawn chair leaned against the garage wall. I grabbed it and stepped out into the pouring rain. Halfway up my driveway, I unfolded it and sat down. The rain and thunder fell around me in torrents, my clothes quickly soaked with rainwater. I sat, saw white lightning break its way across the sky and heard the resounding drums that followed it. I sat, and enjoyed the storm.

Hiya, welcome back to Monday. Hope you had a good weekend. Mine was okay, I could have… used a little… more… sleep… zzz… zzzzzzzz…

Have you ever played Tetris for hours on end and seen blocks when you closed your eyes? Or played Duck Hunt until the wee hours of the morning, and then heard that dog laughing at you when no one else did? Our minds do weird things when put in virtual worlds for long periods of time.

I solemnly swear these have all happened to me at some point– I played one of these games for hours on end, usually when I first got them, and they messed up my real life world somehow:

Tiger Woods PGA Tour 2004: I think I can play golf (not true).

Virtua Tennis: I think I can play tennis (ditto).

Need for Speed III: Hot Pursuit: (while driving) Did that cop just look at me weird? Maybe I should run for it…

Civilzation III: Watch little soldiers fight each other in my sleep.

Gran Turismo: If somehow I got enough money together to buy a hot sports car, I could totally drive it around a track at 120 mph without crashing (probably not true, although I’ve never tried).

Quake 2: Find I have to check the corners of every room I enter.

Grand Theft Auto III: (also while driving) Traffic lights are irrelevant. Also, that pedestrian is totally asking for it.

Goldeneye (N64): Find myself humming the da-duh-daa-daahhh of the Bond theme (I died a lot).

Jet Moto 2: Man, I sure could use a Mountain Dew right about now.

Amplitude: After playing for a few hours, I look around the room and my eyes try to roll upwards into my head.

Half Life, Doom 3: Can’t sleep, headcrabs will eat me. Black and White made me lose sleep, too, but I have no idea why.

F-zero, Ikaruga: Random twitching.

Have any more?

TGIF, everybody! Do people still say that? Of course I remember the triumphant early to mid nineties evening of television that borrowed the phrase, and everyone knows the ubiquitous restaurant/sports bar, but does anyone ever really acknowledge to their deity that today is the last day of the week? I doubt it. I sincerely doubt it.

But I do TGIF. Not only because it’s the beginning of the weekend, but because I am doing not just one but two interesting things today.

1. At 11 a.m. I am going to see horses. And not just any horses. These horses are going to perform Tchaikovsky’s “The Nutcracker”. Yes, yes they are. That’s exactly what it sounds like. At least I think it is, I won’t know until I go see it. But don’t worry, because I am going to write about it for Newcity, so, assuming they want to publish it, you too can share in the experience. And if they don’t want to, I’ll be sure to put something up here for you to enjoy.

2. In the evening I am going to this. That’s right, a release party for a videogame. How sweet, right? And look at all those sponsors– videogame companies, videogame magazines, controller makers, anime production companies. It’s like a nerd’s paradise! Plus, there will be free beer! But of course there’s a downside to everything, and in this case, it’s that the game (kiddie japanese card game knockoff) probably sucks. Still, you should be jealous, because I’m going to a videogame release party, and you’re probably not. Sucker.

In light of all this excitement, I couldn’t come up with anything to write about yet again. Fret not, because I’ve got plenty of stuff saved up. This one’s about a book that showed up on Oprah and started selling like hotcakes at the bookstore where I work. I submitted this to a bunch of sites, and not a single one wanted it. I think it was because they’d never heard of the book. It’s a single woman self help thing (it’s written by a Sex and the City writer, and the cover is pink) about how insecure women should be about themselves. I’ve graciously (I do everything graciously) provided an Amazon link for you.

He’s Just Not That Into Anything But Sex

He Is Into You, But Your Insecurity Drives Him Away

He’s Just Not That Into Your Extra 50 Pounds

He’s Worth More Than You Are

He Was Into You, Until You Started Talking

He’s Just Not That Into Ugly

He’s More Into Your Sister

Three Beers Later, He’s Into You

He’s Just Not That Into Women

If you’re looking for something to read, you could read this. I wrote the second item, about the Chicago eBay auction. My name’s not there, but I totally wrote it.

I also wrote this:

Malcolm and the Scots rejoice at having found the head of their King, Macbeth. They carry it back to his body and resurrect him, pull their swords out of Macbeth’s body, pick up a bunch of tree branches and run back to Birnam Wood. Macduff runs off behind them, screaming something about being born of a woman.

Having just been resurrected, Macbeth is heartbroken and moans and whines about “tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow” and life being a brief candle until one of his servants comes in to tell him that Lady Macbeth has died. Suddenly, Macbeth feels much better.

Meanwhile, Macduff and his men arrive at Birnam Wood and reattach the branches to the trees.

Lady Macduff wakes up and finds out she is no longer dead. Still, she might be brain dead, because she’s walking around spouting off nonsense about blood and spots.

Macduff, having restored Birnam Wood, heads back to England just in time to find his son and wife meeting with a few murderers. Apparently they had stopped by a moment ago and accidentally left their knives sitting in Macduff’s son and wife. They retrive their weapons, apologize, and head home. Macduff, Lady, and son enjoy some witty banter.

Macbeth meets with the Witches, who tell him that not only will he be killed by “no man of woman born,” but also that he won’t be dead until Birnam Wood moves to Dunsinane Hill. “Well that’s fine,” thinks Macbeth, feeling much better, “they just put it back a moment ago.”

He goes back to meet with Lady Macbeth and they chat for a bit. Lady Macbeth quickly brings in a banquet, and Macbeth seems pretty freaked out until the ghost of Banquo shows up. Macbeth asks if anyone else can see him, and they all say no, which isn’t surprising because Banquo’s ghost promptly disappears. Macbeth gets much happier, starts to enjoy his coronation, and everyone has a grand old time.

Fleance and Banquo meet up with the murderers and give them back their knives, which they must have dropped in Banquo earlier. Banquo and Fleance, completely healthy, go back to the stables, and spend a wonderful day riding horses.

Earlier that morning, everyone’s going crazy over the killing of the King, Duncan. Macduff, specifically, is running around screaming how horrible it is. Macbeth tries to shut him up, but he just won’t stop, so the devil’s porter decides to shut both him and Lennox out of the castle for the night.

Lady Macbeth and Macbeth are also unsettled over the killing of the king, especially because every time they run water over their hands, blood keeps showing up on them. Finally, Macbeth decides to put a stop to it, and goes back into Duncan’s room. When he emerges, he’s holding a knife, the blood is gone, and Duncan is alive again.

After Macbeth is finished, he and Lady spent the better part of a night arguing. She questions his manhood, calling him “too full of the milk of human kindness.” Macbeth doesn’t have to put up with this– in the past few days, he’s been resurrected and saved both Banquo and Duncan. He finds himself wishing she would go insane again, until he decides it’s probably better if he and Banquo take a little vacation to Duncan’s castle.

On the way, they’re met by the Witches again, who say that Macbeth will soon be Glamis, Cawdor, and King of the Scots. “Been there, done that,” thinks Macbeth, who beckons Banquo and sprints away. The Witches are left by themselves on the dark and lonely heath, blabbering about Hecate and her spirits.

Back at Duncan’s castle, Macbeth is honored for his prowess on the battlefield. Duncan goes on and on about what a great guy Macbeth is. He forgets to mention that he saved his life, but Macbeth is feeling better than he ever has and doesn’t worry about it.

Macbeth decides a soldier’s life is the place for him, and heads back to the battlefield to do some heroics, away from Lady Macbeth, Macduff, Duncan, and pretty much all of Scotland. He sees the Witches on his way back, and gets out of there before they can make any more predictions. The play ends with the Witches onstage by themselves, chanting that “foul is fair and fair is foul.”

I don’t know if you all were paying attention, but something terrible happened today. “Something terrible happens every day, Mike,” you say, and yes, that may very well be true, but today is a day of terrible days: Ken Jennings has finally lost on Jeopardy. After racking up more than $2.5 million in 75 consecutive games, the glasses-wearing, pimple faced nerd flubbed a Final Jeopardy answer whose question was “What is H&R Block?” Actually, I haven’t ever seen him on TV, I was guessing on that description. I just sort of assume that no one who knows that much has anything putting in extra hours for them in the Looks Department.

Side note: Lisa de Moraes of the Washington Post points out, pretty astutely, that Jennings’ failure just happens to occur the night Jennings is scheduled to appear on Letterman and Nightline. Oh, and it all just happens to be during November Sweeps. Riiiiiiiiiight.

Nonetheless, mikeschramm.com has, through its many contacts in the entertainment industry, been able to obtain a secret memo delivered to the defeated Jeopardy champ by bike messenger from a high powered Hollywood agent. In it, we can find an interesting look at what’s next for Ken Jennings:

Memo
From: Lisa S*******, William Morris Agency
To: Ken Jennings

Re: Doubling Jeopardy

Ken,

Great job on the Jeopardy challenge. It was inspiring watching you know everything– I teared up a little when you said “Who is James I, King of England?” And who could forget “What is calumine lotion?” Great stuff.

And so I was disappointed to watch today, when you finally stumbled off your pace. I guess it has to happen to everybody, but don’t let it get you down too much. What a jerk Trebek was, grinning it up because he finally had his show back.

The truth, Ken, is that you’re the star. You’re the one people want to see beating the crap out of other people at knowing stuff, and don’t let anyone tell you different. There’s a lot ahead for you, Ken. Of course the obvious autobiography (suggested titles: “My Wager is Love,” “What Is Ownage?” and “Suck It, Trebek”), but think about the marketing opportunities. H&R Block will be all over you (as will FedEx, your wrong answer), but did you know that Encyclopedia Brittanica, Farmer’s Almanac, and Trivial Pursuit are all looking for a face? I already heard that Wheaties wants to put together a “Breakfast of Tournament of Champions” box. And don’t stop with selling– let’s get you where you’re comfortable, on television: You could host your own game show, sort of a Win Ben Stein’s Money where the contestants always lose. Or let’s go whole hog and hook you up with a talk show. You’d show those Washington blowhards how much they really know!

Random Senator: “I’m outraged at the latest exporting taxes perpetrated by conservatives! Tariffs have never been raised as high as this 1930 legislation!”

Talk Show Host Ken (interrupting): “Actually, Senator, what is the Smoot-Hawley Tarriff Act? Let’s go to the phones!”

And after an intense marketing and promotional campaign, I can even see Paramount buying in on the picture of the year: “Final Jeopardy: The Ken Jennings Story,” a heartbreaking biopic about your early years reading book after book while the other kids made fun of you. You showed them, Ken, and now not only is it going to net you $2.5 million, but a sweet advance and a nice percentage of box office!

Which is why I’d like to discuss your representation. We at the William Morris Agency have worked for talented celebrities of all kinds over the years, and we’d like to back you up, Ken. Have your people check with my people, and together, we can take “Fame and Fortune” for $800!

Lisa S*******
William Morris Agency