Danny, ever the stirrer of foul things, wants to throw down. From the previous thread comments:
Hey, Nance, I was at the zoo a few weeks ago and we were checking the Pandas (yes the World Famous San Diego Zoo, of course) and one of the keepers and I were chatting. She said that the Panda was indeed a bear and that if it felt threatened it would attack.
The reason I mention this is I seem to remember a few years ago that you said that a certain editor whom you were fond of sent you a little blurb (cartoon panda with a thought bubble?) on your copy explaining how it really wasn’t a “panda bear.” Was that because your usage of the word “bear” was incorrect with the word “panda” or was it because the editor thought it was a sloth and not a bear?
Because it’s not ursine, is what I was always told. But keep in mind, Danno, that was in the Pleistocene era of journalism, when you could still find a glue pot and a green eyeshade somewhere in the newsroom. Needless to say, it was long before Professor Google, which explains:
After almost a century of debate, scientists were finally able to test the genes from pandas and determine that they are actually a species of bear.
Well, that’s a relief. Or maybe not. It’s always difficult when your long-held beliefs are challenged. Next you’ll be telling me it’s OK to say “first annual.” Then it’ll be time to hang up the ol’ jock.
I also learned in the overnight comments that the one, the only Scott Lemieux was in Detroit Metro earlier in the year. Did he call? Did he arrange a meetup for D-town fans of LGM? Noooo. And to think, this is the man whom Lance Mannion’s wife, the Blonde — who made a ghostly apparition-like appearance in yesterday’s entry, under her pre-internet name, Miss Montgomery — raved so wildly about when she met him in person last year, at some New York blog thing. (Sometimes it sucks to live in the Midwest. Detroit blog things just aren’t the same.I kept pressing for details:
“But what was Roy like? Was Roy everything you dreamed he’d be?”
“Who? Oh, he was OK. But Scott Lemieux was hilarious.”
As should be plain, I am a little discombobulated this morning. I frequently am on Friday, when I hit the week’s finish line like one of those marathoners who cannot go one more step. The week was full of drudgery, but paying drudgery, so it had to be done. I did a 900-word Q-and-A on Tuesday and Wednesday — Tuesday for the interview with Mr. Big Stuff and Wednesday for the writing. I always think Q-and-As, i.e., stories written entirely in the subject’s own voice, will be easier. All you have to do is record your talk, transcribe what they say, edit it down, slap an introductory paragraph on the top, turn it in, send the the invoice. Well. I transcribed close to 3,000 words, which took hours, and then discovered something about Mr. Big Stuff: He doesn’t do tangents, apple-polishing, blather. He spoke in complete sentences, even complete paragraphs. The mild headache of transcription — he spoke slowly enough that I was generally able to keep up with the sound file — was replaced by the big one of trimming. Ugh. I felt wrung out and run over, but I made deadline. Yay me.
On the plus side, I had an errand that took me out to Belle Isle, Detroit’s wonderful park-in-the-river. Like everything here, it’s tragic, too — much of it is neglected and closed and on its last legs. But a pretty lady doesn’t get unpretty just because her dress is torn. It was a gorgeous day, sunny, winds out of the south at a flag-snapping clip; it was a pleasure just to make the circle drive and take it all in. Guess what was in Blue Heron Lagoon? A blue heron.
A little bloggage before I go? Sure:
Crocs are on their last…legs, I guess. Why do people hate Crocs so? I don’t own them, but I don’t care if you do. It helps if you’re around young girls, upon whom they look perfectly fine and make cute pool shoes. My own young girl, at 12, now scorns them, preferring a Ferragamo-knockoff sandal I found for her this-summer “good shoes.” She wore them to the Green Day concert earlier in the week, one of those moments when you can see what she’s going to be when she grows up. Shudder. A little more childhood, please.
I won’t be shaving my eyebrows off. Bad hipster doofus, apparently.
Or you guys can discuss Sonia Sotomayor, if you like. The few moments of the confirmation hearings I was able to endure threatened to explode my brain. Jon Stewart sums it up nicely.
Folks, I’m going to Ann Arbor. Enjoy your weekend.