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Archive for the ‘Ranting and Raving’ Category

aaaReally? Really?!?!?

Imagine my surprise to find stories I wrote for the Whidbey Examiner now bearing the byline of another writer.

I was doing a little research (emphasis on “little”) by looking back at articles I had written about last year’s Coupeville High School boys’ basketball team prior to tonight’s game in La Conner, which will pit the Wolves against former teammate Taylor Ebersole.

Lo and behold, to my great amazement, I find that Vincent Nattress, another freelancer at the time, is now credited online for stories that are unmistakably mine.

I mean, come on, the second story even uses my patented, Barbara Ballard-baiting two exclamation points in the headline.

I’ve never met Mr. Nattress, but have read some of his stuff and found it well-written. He’s entirely too professional to fall prey to the lure of the double exclamation point.

Not me!!

Since I found these byline-jackings in a mere two minutes, one wonders what I would find if I spent a whole day on the Examiner web site. Have all my stories been stolen, even the few that were actually paid for?

The mind boggles. And then I remember I’m dealing with the evil corporate slack-jaws from Moosejaw, and anything’s possible.

The stories:

http://www.whidbeyexaminer.com/news/168049176.html

http://www.whidbeyexaminer.com/news/168050306.html

http://www.whidbeyexaminer.com/news/168049646.html

http://www.whidbeyexaminer.com/news/168050416.html

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Taya Boonstra, semi-serious.

Taya Boonstra, semi-serious.

Visibly impressed by the pomp of Senior Night.

Visibly impressed by the pomp of Senior Night.

Boonstra and Mitch Pelroy.

Boonstra and Mitch Pelroy.

Taya Boonstra was the bomb!

The photo bomber, that is. During her delightful four-year run as a Wolf athlete (volleyball, basketball, softball, cheer), the brilliant young woman born as Tatiana took great joy in always knowing where the camera was and playing to it whenever possible.

She was the female equivalent of Hunter “he’s gold, Jerry, gold!!” Hammer, just about a foot shorter.

But I bring her up today not for her feisty play on the court and in the field, or her habit of making photos just that much better.

I bring her up because, once again, a new hoops season has been kicked off by the Everett Herald massacring the names of Wolf players, and, when it comes to that, Boonstra is the patron saint.

At one point in her hoops career, the spelling-challenged Herald referred to her as Taya Boonscara, which, admittedly, is kind of cool sounding.

Thursday night/Friday morning, they were back at it, managing to misspell the names of four of the six Wolf players who scored against Cedar Park Christian. Three of six, if you don’t want to get all nit-picky and call them out on dropping the second capitol letter in Jai’Lysa Hoskins first name.

I, however, feel like being all nit-picky, so it counts!

We’ll give credit where credit is due, as the Herald somehow stumbled blindly into getting Hailey Hammer and Breeanna Messner correct.

But then they turned Makana Stone into Mahana Stone, Amanda Fabrizi into Amanda Fabrici and Bessie Walstad into Bessie Walsted.

The last one continues a four-year tradition of messin’ with Bessie, as they have run virtually every letter in the alphabet through her last name at various points.

My favorite — when they called her Walstud. Which, based on her superior play in multiple sports over her high school career, is actually kind of appropriate.

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I always did have an eye for fashion…

When people hear I spend a lot of time covering high school and middle school sports and don’t really get paid for it, they get an odd look in their eyes.

It’s a look that says, “Did you hit yourself on the head, son?” A look that says “Back away slowly, he might start drooling on himself … or us.”

Then I tell them about that magical dream where the booster club rewards my efforts with a house made entirely of freshly-baked brownies (the swimming pool out back is filled with coconut cream pie filling), and they really start backing up. Just not as slowly as before.

If they stuck around, I’d tell them my life has been a series of questionable choices. And it all started with the box full of plaid pants at an elementary school in Kelso, Washington.

These pants were handed out to young rapscallions such as myself, when they would do something which made it impossible to continue wearing their own clothes for the rest of the school day. Such as, oh I don’t know, starting a mud ball war at recess.

Which was preferable to the alternative of a bark chip battle, which left 42 kids lying sprawled on the Beacon Hill Elementary playground looking like they had just been involved in a World War II beach attack and caused at least one teacher to quit after having a nervous breakdown.

I coughed up bits of bark for three weeks and when the weather changes, it feels like two or three of the little buggers are still embedded in the back of my knee.

It’s not that I was stupid. I knew how gravity worked and I could read the warning labels just as well as the next kid. I just spent much of my childhood ignoring that buzzing in the back of your brain, the one that tells you to stop being an idiot because you’re about to light yourself on fire with the home-made flame thrower you and Ray Jacoby just built from your dad’s pump canister of carpet cleaning chemicals.

To which I would respond by singing that old Dusty Springfield classic, “You Don’t Own Me” and then wondering why I had just lost my hearing and was now sprawled on my back ten feet from where I had been a moment ago. And why was the ant pile (and half the lawn) now on fire?

So I got detention (and a nice cold) after refusing to stop playing basketball and come in from the playground during a driving rain storm.

I tempted fate (and lost) by grabbing my sister’s TV remote, changing the channel and running away while she was trying to watch a marathon of videos by The Cure. My only mistake — slowing down to look behind me, only to see my sister charging down the hallway like a raptor, fingernails already popped and mere moments from raking down my tender back like the wrath of God.

I stood up on a riding lawn mower once and nailed my head on a low-hanging branch, knocking myself off the moving mower. Since I also managed to later do the same thing on a motorcycle, it probably wasn’t an accident.

Why did I do it all? Probably because I’ve always been living on borrowed time.

I barely made it out of kindergarten, you see.

Washington Elementary was an old, imposing two-story structure which was mercifully shut down a year later, but not before one staggeringly inept new teacher tried, unsuccessfully, to kill off her entire class.

Apparently unaware that five-year-olds have no sense of direction, she sent us off to find our own way to the gym for picture day.

There were 23 of us at the start, straggling through long, dark hallways in a hopeless bid of finding our destination. The weak went first, in a hail of snot and tears. Then the pants-wetters fell, the mommies-boys, the daddy’s little princesses and the one kid who kept yelling “It’s pudding time!!”

Tragically, it wasn’t.

In the end, there was just two of us and we swore a blood oath that if we ever got out of this place, we’d live our life to the fullest and ignore all the rules. I last saw Sally Mae as she fell down an open elevator shaft (it was a dangerous school!) screaming, “Avenge me!”

They found me days later in the basement bathroom, living off of scavenged tator tots, more animal than boy. It took three of them, and several cartons of pudding, to lure me out of the stall.

And yes, I had to wear the plaid pants home.

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   I count four, maybe five ‘staches in this photo, with the Aparicio brothers prominently rockin’ the fuzzy lip.

I have come to mourn a loss. The loss of the high school ‘stache.

Let me take a step back here and explain. I’m not talking about my own ‘stache (I didn’t grow a beard until my days as Sports Editor at the Whidbey News-Times, when I was trying to look semi-distinguished (ha!) and hide the fact that at 21 I was barely older than the athletes I was covering.)

No, I’m talking about the glorious assortment of “Dazed and Confused” ‘staches I saw on Coupeville High School athletes (and a young football coach sportin’ short shorts by the name of Ron Bagby) when I recently went through Sherry Roberts’ Big Bag ‘o Newspaper Clippings.

I’m working on features on both Sherry and husband Jon, both of whom are former CHS Athlete of the Years and the former Ms. Bonacci let me go through her impressive collection of memories from her high school athletic exploits. Or, as Jon calls it, the “Sherry Loves Sherry” box.

And, oh lord, along with the ’80s hair (which I expected) there was also a bevy of ‘staches. In one boys’ basketball photo, at least four of the players were rockin’ the ‘stache.

During this same time period depicted in the photos, it was mentioned that FOUR Wolf teams had gone to state that year, and another two had missed by a single game. At a time in 2012 when CHS has hit a bit of a dry spell when it comes to sending teams of any sport to state, that is freakin’ unbelievable.

And it means only thing. The ‘stache has to come back.

I am calling on every member of the Wolf boys’ basketball team to accept the ‘stache challenge. I’m not talking about merely taking part in No Shave November. I’m talking bout bringing back the Full Bagby!

I just saw a Coupeville Middle School basketball game where one of the 7th graders from King’s was sporting a beard, so don’t tell me you don’t have the face for it. You just need to step up and embrace your manhood.

If a few girl hoopsters want to jump in and join the challenge, well … yeah.

And spring athletes, be you baseball players, track runners or soccer players, get those hairs sproutin’!

We’re going back to a time when Coupeville High School was a lot hairier and went to state on a regular basis in every sport — and we’re getting there one ‘stache at a time.

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“Very interesting … but stupid.”

My name is David and I have a problem.

I love the movies. Always have. Always will. Through good times and bad, through classic films and movies so wretched they carve a little bit of your soul away with every flicker. I stopped counting at 10,000 films and that was years ago.

Why, you ask? Because. Just because.

Because “It’s beau-ti-fullllll” turns into “Sweet son of a goat-lickin’ whore, my face is melting!!!” in “Raiders of the Lost Ark.”

Because it’s for kids.

Because I get a little verklempt every time Jimmy Chitwood tells Norman Dale “I’ll make it.” And then does.

Because I get a lot verklempt every time the OPENING music cue starts on “Hoosiers.”

Because I got kicked out of “License to Drive” for hitting a kid with a knotted-up licorice whip, and paid a second time to see the film without thinking twice.

Because you will crap your pants when the hand shoots out of the grave at the end of “Carrie.”

Because “I could have been a contender.”

Because “Truck, what truck?”

Because of the look on Mark Wahlberg’s face during the drug deal gone epically bad in “Boogie Nights.”

Because of the way Milla Jovovich looks. Period.

Because of the final, harmonica-of-death backed showdown between Charles Bronson and Henry Fonda in “Once Upon a Time in the West.”

Because of the way Baloo the Bear’s eyes bug out when he’s rubbing his rear on the rock in “The Jungle Book.”

Because I got to see “A River Runs Through It” with my Montana-raised father before he died.

Because Heath Ledger rocked me.

Because Michael Madsen danced before cutting off the ear.

Because “The Right Stuff” made me want to be an astronaut.

Because “It’s Chinatown, Jake.”

Because Guy Pearce shoots James Cromwell in the back, and then holds up his badge to show them he’s a cop, in “L.A. Confidential.”

Because “That’ll do, pig.”

Because of the most bat-shit twist in cinema history in “Orphan.”

Because of the second most bat-shit twist in cinema history in “God Told Me To.”

Because of what’s in the jars in “Margaret’s Museum.”

Because of the way Jennifer Garner smiles in “13 Going on 30.”

Because of the way Jodie Foster sings  in “Bugsy Malone.”

Because “I would never do it on a Christmas tree!”

Because it’s “Garbage day!!”

Because of the insane two-on-one rooftop fight scene with the guy who sticks his foot above his head and wiggles it in “Jackie Chan’s Who Am I?”

Because James Cagney shoved a half of a grapefruit in some poor woman’s face.

Because Sandra Bullock drove the bus in “Speed.”

Because “I’m melting! I’m melting!”

Because of the way cigarette smoke looks on black and white film.

Because “Dear blender, won’t you help a first offender?”

Because “Look at you Jim, your brain has turned to marmalade!”

Because Buster Keaton dropped a house on his head, for real, before special effects.

Because I saw John Hurt’s epic indigestion in “Alien” for the first time in a hotel in Canada when I was 12, and it still haunts me.

Because Ann-Margret wore the tightest pants in the history of the world while dancing in “Viva Las Vegas.”

Because Audrey Hepburn was flawless.

Because Robert Mitchum had LOVE on one set of knuckles, and HATE on the other set.

Because the money flies away on the wind at the end of “The Killing.”

Because the gold flies away at the end of “Treasure of the Sierra Madre.”

Because the money burns up at the end of the Rat Pack’s version of “Ocean’s 11.”

Because, when I saw “Psycho” for the first time, I knew all the twists, and I still jumped when the detective gets the knife to the face on the staircase.

Because “You tell them I’m coming!”

Because the foreign version of “The Vanishing” doesn’t wimp out at the end.

Because Frankie and Annette came back in the ’80s, and brought Pee-Wee along for the beach party.

Because Richard Gere  let his hair go silver.

Because the Alamo doesn’t have a basement.

Because “We gotta do somethin’. I don’t know why “we” always has to be me every damn time. We, we, we. What do I look like, an expert in worm?”

Because of Terry O’Quinn’s shower and shave from Hell in “The Stepfather.”

Because of Catherine Deneuve at the gas station in the rain at the end of “Umbrellas of Cherbourg.”

Because every kid raised on ’80s arcade games knows, without a doubt, “The Last Starfighter” could happen.

Because the warriors salute each other at the end of “Zulu.”

Because of Heath Ledger in the trailer, alone with his memories of a lifetime of hurt, forever unable to find a bit of happiness, in “Brokeback Mountain.”

Because of Lee Marvin, in the back of a car, snapping together his gun, as he races the darkness in “Prime Cut.”

Because “They chopped off his bowling fingers!”

Because Dil stands by her man in “The Crying Game.”

Because the greatest ’80s slasher ever, “My Bloody Valentine,” wraps with the super-creepy, super-groovy “Ballad of Harry Warden,” over its end credits.

Because Einstein invented beer and rock and roll. Yahoo Serious said it was so.

Because of a mad man on a raft covered in monkeys, floating down a shorter-than-he-realizes river in “Aguirre, Wrath of God.”

Because no one rocks the adult diaper like Sean Connery in “Zardoz.”

Because “SUPER DUPER!!”

Because they didn’t use seat-belts, shooting permits or the brake (ever!) in the original ’70s “Gone in 60 Seconds.”

Because of Pam Grier’s awe-inspiring Afro.

Because of Burt Reynold’s awe-inspiring laugh.

Because “She takes after her dear, departed mother.” “Mother died, huh?” “Nope, she just departed.”

Because Donald Sutherland made the freakiest noise known to man at the end of “Invasion of the Body Snatchers.”

Because, check that, Felissa Rose makes the freakiest noise known to man at the end of “Sleepaway Camp.”

Because “My god, she’s a boy!!”

Because of the three chained convicts trying, and failing badly, to jump on a moving box car in “O Brother, Where Art Thou?”

Because of the old guy trying, and failing badly, to jump through a plexiglass  window in “The Hudsucker Proxy.”

Because “Sit down, sit down, you’re rockin’ the boat.”

Because “I don’t want your respect. Who wants respect from a ten-year old kid?”

Because of the crane kick.

Because we knew nothing going in, and then Trinity went running up the wall in “The Matrix” and our brains melted.

Because “I want my two dollars!!”

Because “The Terror of Tiny Town,” an all-midget western from ’38, really exists.

Because “Khaaaaaaaaaaaaannnnnnnnn!!!!”

Because the entire theater went berserk when Randy Quaid came flying in to save the day in “Independence Day.” “I’m back, boys!!!”

Because the tomatoes always attack down hill in the super-cheap, super-fun “Attack of the Killer Tomatoes.”

Because Joan Osborne blows the doors off the building belting “What Becomes of the Broken Hearted” in “Standing in the Shadows of Motown.”

Because Ewan McGregor and Nicole Kidman sing “Come What May” in the berserk, heart-breaking finale to “Moulin Rogue.”

Because “Jimmy, I’m in my nightgown!! Bunnies? I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I like the sound of it!!”

Because every other person in the theater walked out before “Natural Born Killers” was done, but not me. Because I’m stupid that way.

Because I have NEVER walked out of a movie in my life. EVER.

Because we got screeners almost every day for 12 years at Videoville.

Because Patrick Swayze catches one final wave.

Because “BuellerBuellerBueller…”

Because my sister, Sarah, was so freaked out during the snake scene in “Raiders,” she threw her pop all over me.

Because my parents took me to the movies.

Because the first video store owner I ever met couldn’t speak English, didn’t care how old I was, and let me rent everything from “The African Queen” to “Summer School” to “Xtro” — where a woman gives birth to a full-grown alien (think about it…) in CLOSE-UP.

Because all of these things have made me what I am today.

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