27 – The Yachatian-on-the-Street Interviews Continue

Posted on November 19, 2012 by Dave Baldwin


RUBBERY SHRUBBERY Post 27
Intentionally or not, you have reached the Rubbery Shrubbery (RS) blog, a narrative set in the Oregon village of Yachats (YAH-hots), “Home of the World’s Largest Ocean!” Its citizens—called Yachatians (yah-HAY-shuns), or Yahotties (yah-HOT-tees)—are out to obtain a Major League Baseball franchise. To learn more about Yachats, please go to this page or go to GoYachats.

Yachatians have been queueing up for the opportunity to write the next version of the RS blog. First in the queue today is the team of Harrison Grutch and his associate Tyler Macaroon—the same two geezers who wrote this thing last time we met.

The Yachatian-on-the-Street Interviews Continue
by Tyler Macaroon and Harrison Grutch

This here is Tyler, taking over for Harrison. Sorry for this switcheroo but Harrison has been busy understanding his estranged wife’s point of view for the past several days. He’ll be understanding for quite some time from the looks of it. Meanwhile, we’ll just move along as if nothing has happened to him.

Let’s see…since we last met, Loretta Quibblestack has submitted a number of Smelt logo suggestions, all thought provoking in Loretta’s unique, terrifying manner. And Cadence Waxpepper (long infatuated with angels) is still plotting (in a kindly way) to buy, steal, or at least borrow the Anaheim Orange County Los Angeles California Fullerton Azusa Angels baseball team. But we’ll forge ahead as though none of that has happened.

Recall that last time we promised to talk to Boswell Carfinch and Levity Pribble. I hate to disappoint you, but Levity wasn’t available. She had to cut her toenails today. Fortunately Boswell never cuts his toenails, so I found him at his usual spot, on the bench in front of the Yachats Post Office.

That’s always the first place to look for a Yachatian. The P.O. is where one can get the latest weather report, Dow Jones Average, rundown on local earthquakes and tsunamis, recap of political and corporate scandals, and the mail.

Before we get into the interview, be forewarned that Boswell has a hard time focusing because of his chronic fear that the world is passing him by. This is no mid-life crisis—Boswell has felt this way since he was six. So I was prepared for this quirk, knowing we couldn’t get to the meat of the interview until Boswell felt assured everything is up to date in Yachats.

Tyler: So, Boswell, how do you feel about Yachats having a team in the major leagues?

Boswell: Tyler, we’ve got to do something and do it fast—the world is passing Yachats by, you know.

Tyler: Wow! How’d you do that em dash thing? I’ve never heard anyone say an em dash.

Boswell: Listen, try to focus, will you? The world is whizzing right by us. Maybe getting a major league team will put us in the fast lane, in the thick of the action, where it’s all happening, in the swim of things, seizing a few moments…

Tyler: Just do that em dash thing one more time, okay? Ah, c’mon. Just once… Hey, that’s not an em dash! For one thing, that’s vertical…

At this point, Boswell decided to take a break to mull our question over. But no matter. We still had plenty of Yachatians in the vicinity, so I chose one at random.

Skinly Scattata, author of Suspending Disbelief in Your Job Interview, happened to be coming around the corner at that moment, so I chose him at random. Skinly and I are old friends. As unsual, he was dressed as a 13th century nobleman.

Tyler: Skinly, are you going to be a fan of the Yachats Smelt?

Skinly: Well, I was planning to be one of their biggest supporters, but a couple of days ago I read an article while sitting in the waiting room of my plumber. It said researchers have found that the health of a sports fan takes a big hit whenever the rooted-for team loses.

Tyler: Oh, oh! Losing sports teams must be taking quite a toll on the nation’s health.

Skinly: You bet! And I figure baseball teams lose more games than anyone else. I don’t want to risk it with the Smelt or any other sports team.

Tyler: You need a team that never loses, and I know of one—it’s a sasquatch caber toss-and-grab team down in Duck Egg.* Haven’t lost yet. Won the world’s championship in Scotland the past fifteen years in a row. Figure 1 shows a sasquatch about to catch a caber tossed by her teammate.

Figure 1. Sasquatch running after a caber. Note the camellia she is wearing in her hair—the official uniform adopted by the Duck Egg team.

Skinly: Caber toss-and-grab? Sounds perfect. I’m feeling healthy just thinking about it.

Tyler: Hmmm…I wonder…I’ve been rooting for my buddy Harrison as he discusses things with his estranged wife, the evil Pansy. This might be like rooting for a losing team.

Skinly: Could be. You need to choose your friends with care. Choose Pansy.

* A community southeast of Yachats.
** Photo taken from the historic Patterson-Gimlin Film.

Next Time: We’ll attempt to forge ahead, but then, it would be ridiculous to forge behind. And for all you know, it might be a mermaid who will be first up in the interviewee queue.

NOTE: Please go to “Leave a Reply” at the bottom of this page to tell us how the RS blog has enriched your life. We all will be pleased and astounded.

NOTE AGAIN: Although Eric Sallee and Dave Baldwin are above responding to baseless accusations, they’re still mulling over those that have a base.

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26 – Yachatian and Yahottie on the Street

Posted on November 9, 2012 by Dave Baldwin


RUBBERY SHRUBBERY Post 26

Welcome to the official Rubbery Shrubbery (RS) blog. It describes the efforts of Yachats (YAH-hots), Oregon, and its citizens—called Yachatians (yah-HAY-shuns), or in some cases, Yahotties (yah-HOT-tees)—to acquire a Major League Baseball franchise. To learn more about Yachats (Home of the World’s Largest Ocean), please go to this page or go to GoYachats.

Today Harrison Grutch returns to write the post, this time assisted by his good friend Tyler Macaroon. They will describe their attempts to interview ordinary Yachatians regarding how they feel about the new local Major League Baseball team, the Smelt.

Yachatian and Yahottie on the Street
by Harrison Grutch, assisted by Tyler Macaroon

This is Harrison again, back with my sullen assistant Tyler. A couple of days ago (with no help from Tyler) I interviewed randomly chosen citizens to find out how enthusiastic they are about the Smelt. I confess I was nervous—I had never done a man-on-the-street interview before.

On top of that, my assistant was in a snit (Fig. 1). Didn’t like me calling him an assistant. Well, that’s what he is. He’s not my “associate” or my “collaborator.” He doesn’t like it, but he’ll just have to get over it. After all, he eventually got over…that other thing.

Figure 1. A snit. In this case, it belongs to Othello.*

But back to the interviews. Originally I had intended using my tape recorder, but it caught the hissy fit from Tyler, and the two of them sat sulking in my car, so I was left to scribble down each interview as it whizzed by.

Well, never mind that. For my first interview I found two women-on-the-street—the eminent Dr. Carlotta Frankenbloom and her good friend Hazel Snorr. Dr. Frankenbloom is one of the great thinkers of our time and Hazel is just Hazel.

After I sneaked up behind them and tapped them on their corresponding shoulders, here’s how the interview went:

Harrison: Pardon me ladies. I’m writing for the worldwide Rubbery Shrubbery blog, and I’d like…

Carlotta: Harrison, I’m glad you’re here. Tell me, what time do you think it is at the South Pole? With all the time zones converging on it, is it all o’clock or is it nothing o’clock?

Harrison: I..I..don’t know. I hadn’t really thought…

Hazel: Oh, pay no attention to her, Harrison. She’s been driving me crazy with questions—it’s this chronic obsession with time of hers.

Harrison: Well, she is the greatest thinker of our time.

Hazel: You’ve already said that.

Carlotta: Okay, if you can’t answer that one, how about this: is the passage of time real or only an illusion? Or both? And what is the smallest possible unit of time? And how would you explain temporal asymmetry?

Hazel: See there? A while ago she said the second law of thermodynamics is the most fun. Now, what’s up with that? By the way, you could save time with a tape recorder. You don’t write very fast.

Harrison: Yeah, I know, but I just want to get your opinions about the new Yachats Smelt baseball team. Do you each have one?

Hazel: Oh, yes. Mine is that I’d rather have a knitting club. Angelita MacAvity has told me all about her dream…the one where God suggested she forget about baseball, His Druthers are a knitting club. I don’t know anything about baseball, but I do enjoy knitting. I’ve got to go with God on this one.

Harrison: It sounds like you must have a lot of faith in Angelita.

Hazel: Oh, I do. Her dreams have all hit the nail on the head so far.

Harrison: And you, Carlotta? As one of our great thinkers, you must have a well thought out opinion about the Smelt.

Carlotta: No, not really. Tell me, do you think the arrow of time might have one of those little suction cup dealies on its end instead of an arrowhead? (See Figure 2.) And do you buy the claim that “a stitch in time saves nine”? I’d like to see the data from the research on that one.

Figure 2. Hypothetical arrows of time with hypothetical critter.

Harrison: But don’t you have anything to say about the Smelt?

Carlotta: Oh, well, I guess I’ll just second what Hazel said.

Harrison: So there you have it. Two votes for knitting, zero for baseball. Thank you for your time, ladies.

Leaving my worthless assistant behind, I walked down the street and found Cadence Waxpepper, my next door neighbor, just coming out of the library with her arms laden with books. Cadence, to her credit, is a well-scrubbed redhead with extravagant eyes and enviable teeth.

After the usual salutations we got down to the nitty gritty.

Harrison (very businesslike): Cadence, what do you think about all this baseball hurly-burly? You know…getting a team in Yachats and so forth.

Cadence (thoughtfully): I think it’s fine as long as it doesn’t interfere with my TV programs. And I wouldn’t want any foul balls coming through my kitchen window, either.

Harrison (authoritatively): Of course, no one can be sure how this will affect your TV, or garbage pick up, for that matter, but I’ve heard a lot of talk about banning foul balls. Too many people could get hurt. So how do you feel about the team’s nickname, the Smelt?

Cadence (confidentially): Well, frankly I’m a little disappointed. I was hoping we would buy the Anaheim Los Angeles Fullerton California Angels. They seem like a nice team and they have a wonderful nickname. Then we could be the Yachats Angels. Doesn’t that sound…almost sacred? And the ballpark is in the theological district of Yachats.

Harrison (circumspectly): Hmmm! We might not be able to buy the California Santa Ana Los Angeles Anaheim team.

Cadence (persistently): Well, if not, could we be called the Angels anyway? Why can’t two teams have the same nickname if it’s a really good one—nice, clean, and respectable?

Harrison (flummoxed): Errr, maybe. Now my last question is, do you have any suggestions for a team logo?

Cadence (brightly): Why, I certainly do! I think it would be classy to have a big golden Y, for “Yachats,” of course, except we make the Y look like an angel. Look, I’ll draw it on your notepad—we have a Y like this…and then we extend the arms into wings…like so. See? Two golden wingy dingies and we have an angel.

Harrison (taken aback): That would form two golden arches.

Cadence (still brightly): Yes, I guess you could look at it that way. Well, what do you think?

Harrison: I think we’ll need a good lawyer.

* “A Poisonous Mineral [Othello]” by David G. Baldwin (1993) 48″ x 30″ Alkyd, oil, acrylic, and sand on polyester canvas glued on Gatorfoam® panel

Next time: We’ll continue with our interviews. It’ll be Boswell Carfinch on the firing line next time, for sure, and maybe Levity Pribble as well if she isn’t washing her hair.

NOTE: Please go to “Leave a Reply” at the bottom of this page to tell us how the Rubbery Shrubbery blog has changed your life.

NOTE AGAIN: Eric Sallee and Dave Baldwin, while once again denying any involvement with this blog, are still hoping for celebrity volunteers to contribute even a few posts.

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25 – Otis O’Toole, Smelt Head Scout

Posted on November 4, 2012 by Dave Baldwin


RUBBERY SHRUBBERY Post 25

Welcome to the Rubbery Shrubbery (RS) blog. Here we tell how Yachats (YAH-hots), Oregon, and its inhabitants—known as Yachatians (yah-HAY-shuns)—acquire a Major League Baseball franchise. To learn about the village of Yachats (Home of the World’s Largest Ocean), please go to this page or go to GoYachats.

Ingeborg Von Root joins us again today to interview the new Director of Scouting for the Yachats Smelt, Otis O’Toole. Mr. O’Toole is legendary in the world of baseball scouts.

Otis O’Toole, Smelt Head Scout
by Ingeborg Von Root

This is quite a thrill, talking to the great Double O himself. He has been a part of baseball since the days when baseball scouts served double duty, guiding wagon trains across the untamed West. What a wonderful depository of anecdotes that ancient, gnarled brain of his must contain!

I sat with Mr. O’Toole in the grandstand of the Yachats ballpark and asked him to describe some of his more picturesque adventures. The interview went like this.

Ingeborg: You must be excited to be head of scouting for the new Smelt.

Mr. O’Toole: Oh, yeah, I sure am. At my age I don’t get any more excited than this.

Ingeborg: Well, the Smelt are very lucky to have you directing their scouts. Could you explain to us what a baseball scout does?

Mr. O’Toole: It’s a lot like being a big game hunter, except the baseball scout doesn’t shoot anyone. He’s out there in the wilderness looking for a fine prospect with exceptional talent. Not much like a big game hunter now that I think about it. In fact, not at all like…

Ingeborg: Yes, so you go out into the boonies and track down talent?

Mr. O’Toole: Hoo Boy! When you put it that way it sounds like stalking.

Ingeborg: Well, you’ve certainly had a career that’s spanned, Mr. O’Toole. Please tell us about some of the players you’ve signed.

Mr. O’Toole: Okay. I’ll start with Wade Wadoo, the best outfielder I ever saw. Great speed, strong arm, could hit anything pitched—born on Shark’s Tooth Island (Fig. 1) in the middle of the Pacific. Came up through the youth leagues there, and then dominated semi-pro baseball on the island. I had to row 380 miles to get to him, but he was worth it. What a ballplayer he was! Unfortunately, he suffered from chronic homesickness. Didn’t last a week in pro ball.

Figure 1. Shark’s Tooth Island, sometimes called Ball’s Pyramid.*

Ingeborg: Oh, that’s a shame. Whatever happened to him?

Mr. O’Toole: The last I heard he was back on the island, waiting for major league baseball to put a team there. I’d say he has a chance, now that the Smelt have broken down the sizeness barrier. Opened up opportunities everywhere for the underpopulated.

Ingeborg: Tell us about another prospect you sought.

Mr. O’Toole: Sure. I rode a mule (a much misunderstood mammal, see Fig. 2) to the bottom of the Grand Canyon once to sign a whiz of a shortstop. A Native American kid. Got down there, sore all over, and found out he had signed with another scout just fifteen minutes earlier. His mom felt bad about my wasted trip and cooked up fried chicken for me. Best I ever ate. Strange, though…only time I’ve seen fried chicken without any chicken bones.

Figure 2. Mule, pretending to munch grass while considering a groin kick to the photographer.**

Ingeborg: Yes, that is odd. So, what was your most exciting adventure?

Mr. O’Toole: Ah, the time I rescued a left-handed hitting catcher from cannibals on Antarctica (see Fig. 3). We raced across slushy ice with natives not far behind hurling spears. We reached our ship just in time, leaving the cannibals—very poor swimmers—bobbing in the water. I asked the ship’s captain their fate. Likely to be eaten by killer penguins in the area, he said.

Figure 3. Photo of Antarctic cannibals hiding in ambush behind a glacier. How many can you spot?

Ingeborg: Oh, my! That was exciting! Now, what was the most unusual prospect you signed?

Mr. O’Toole: Once I was walking around Africa when I came upon a female bonobo who picked up a rock and hurled a sidearm 100-miles-per-hour fastball, smacking a leopard right between the eyes. The cat folded like a Broadway musical. Come to find out the bonobos had studied the situation and had learned that leopard steaks are tasty. This lady was knocking off leopards left and right to feed her whole clan. Some of the bonobos were looking stylish in leopard skin coats and capes.

Ingeborg: That’s amazing! You would think Africa would be too hot for coats.

Mr. O’Toole: Yeah, that surprised me, too. Anyway, the sidearming lady didn’t want to sign a contract. Didn’t want to leave her family, and it would’ve been a nightmare trying to get visas for them all.

Ingeborg: Oh, my! So you had to leave her behind.

Mr. O’Toole: Yep. It’s a shame. Since then, she’s made the leopard an endangered species in Africa. If she had played baseball, a lot of leopard lives would have been spared.

Ingeborg: Well, baseball certainly has the potential for doing a lot of good in the world. Thank you very much for sharing your wisdom, Double O. It’s been a pleasure.

Mr. O’Toole: Thank you for listening to me, Ingeborg. By the way, those stories about me guiding wagon trains are pure malarkey. I had my hands full trying to find baseball prospects. Who had time for a second job? I don’t know how those tales get started.

* Photo borrowed from Wikipedia. Photo courtesy of the National Geospatial-Intelligence Agency.
** Photo borrowed from Wikipedia again. Photo credit: Juan R. Lascorz.
*** Photo borrowed from Wikipedia yet again. Photo credit: Joe Mastroianni, National Science Foundation.

Next time: We’ll learn what the average Yachatian thinks regarding the Smelt. Some interviews are coming up, with hard questions put to them (Yachatians, not the Smelt).

NOTE: If you have comments, please go to “Leave a Reply” at the bottom of this page. Of course, we won’t tolerate anything that’s ridiculous.

NOTE AGAIN: Eric Sallee and Dave Baldwin are amazed at the endurance of the Smelt. They have become a force to be reckoned with. Eric and Dave are attempting to reckon with it.

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24 – The Uniforms & Stuff Committee Do Their Think

Posted on October 29, 2012 by Dave Baldwin


RUBBERY SHRUBBERY Post 24

Welcome to the Rubbery Shrubbery (RS) blog, which describes the efforts of Yachats (YAH-hots), Oregon, and its inhabitants—known as Yachatians (yah-HAY-shuns)—to acquire a Major League Baseball franchise. Each episode relates a bit more of this story. To learn about the village of Yachats, please go to this page or go to GoYachats.

In this posting Dr. Isaac Squibley tells how the Yachats Smelt Uniforms & Stuff Committee (U&SC) tries to provide the Smelt with the very best in baseball costumery.

The Uniforms & Stuff Committee Do Their Think
by Dr. Isaac Squibley

With her unusually large cat asleep at her feet, Betsy Rossini sat motionless in the dim light of her office behind a curtain at the rear of her tailor shop. Through a peep-slit, she glared at the two men who had just entered the front door. She knew Rubik “The Cube” Vladivostok and Percival “Pinky” Fink-Nottle, and she knew why they were there.

The whole Smelt Uniforms & Stuff Committee had made a nuisance of itself ever since the day the seamstress had agreed to design the Smelt uniforms. Each morning, committee members came to snoop and pry. And they always made a mess. Betsy was sick of it.

Rubik and Percy strolled through the shop, casually fingering fabrics and commenting on patterns scattered on the tables. In sidestepping a ribbon display, Rubik upset an antique embroidery machine. He picked it up and dropped it. Twice. On his foot.

Percy then crashed into a cutting table, knocking it over against a domino array of racks and bins, which clattered sequentially to the floor.

Which caused Betsy to shift her attention to the Glock 19 lying on her desk. Skippy, as she calls it, always brings out her full maternal instincts. She picked it up and cradled it. It was warm and friendly. The trigger tantalized her—“Squeeze me! Squeeze me!”

Betsy peeked out at her shop again. Percy was still busy. In trying to pick up buttons and bangles he had spilled, he backed into a dressmaker’s mannequin, which startled him, causing him to ram his forehead into an ironing board.

Woozy but struggling up from the floor, Percy fell in with the hobbling Rubik, and they wobbled toward the back of the shop.

As Percy and Rubik staggered nearer, Betsy could see the dazed look in their eyes. She felt a pinch of compassion, took a deep breath, and reconsidered Skippy. Perhaps she could handle the problem with verbal abuse instead of fire power, but she slid Skippy into her garter just in case. With a sigh, she stepped out from behind the curtain.

“Hey! Don’t be handling the fabrics with those dirty hands, bozos. And don’t be pawing through the patterns.” She threw in a discreet growl at the end for good measure.

“Oh, Hi there! We, uh, just stopped by to…Boy! That sure is an unusually large cat you got there, Betsy.” Rubik was obviously nonplussed.

Percy was more so. “Yeah, and I’ve never seen one do that before. Does your cat bite?”

“Listen, I know why you ‘just stopped by.’ You and your Uniforms gang just want to butt into my business. Well, you asked me to design the Smelt uniforms, and dagnabbit, I’m going to do it without your dadburn interference. So you can just find your way out, and do it without breaking anything.”

“Aw, c’mon Betsy,” Rubik whined. “We just want a little peek at the uniform. We won’t say anything or get in the way or anything.”

Betsy thought about this against her better judgment. “Oh, well. I guess it can’t hurt to let you see what I’ve done. But no comments, you understand. I don’t want to hear one word about what you like or don’t like.”

Betsy stepped back to a rack in the work-in-progress nook and brought out a mockup of the new Smelt uniform. Everything was there, although the trim and lettering were only pinned into place. She held it up. “Well, you’re looking at it.”

Percy stared at the prototype a moment. Then mindful of his manners and Betsy’s reputation, sputtered, “Very interesting.”

But Rubik was choking and sweating from the effort of constraining himself. Finally he couldn’t stand it any longer. “Of course, the real uniforms will be more colorful than white…” He saw the flames rising in Betsy’s eyes. “I mean, it’s a very nice white, don’t get me wrong.”

Betsy didn’t get him wrong. “Have you ever seen a real baseball uniform? I’ve collected dozens of photos out of Baseball Sartorial Review. All of the uniforms worn by the home team are white, you moron!”

Rubik tripled his sweat output. “Well, like I said, that is an exceptional white you have there.”

Betsy snarled.

Percy fidgeted with an unspoken comment for a moment, but then decided to risk it. “Interesting color combination you’ve chosen for the trim and socks. What would you call those colors?”

“Magenta and turquoise.” She waited for them to take the bait.

Rubik nodded but took a couple of shuffling steps backward. “We were thinking perhaps smelt colors might be good. Maybe gray and beige. Maybe silvery gray and silvery beige.”

Percy in his misplaced enthusiasm forgot himself. “It would be great if the uniform could have large scales…you know, like a smelt.”

Rubik added, “And maybe the cap could be shaped like a smelt head.”

Suddenly windows rattled, verbs flashed, and the unusually large cat and terror huddled together under a pile of remnants. And neither Rubik nor Percy was ever seen again in the shop of the little seamstress.

Epilogue: The unusually large cat sat staring at Betsy. “I know. I know. You’re wondering, why blanks,” Betsy said. The cat mewed and Betsy smiled. “Well, it’s because fear is contagious, sweetie.”

Next time: Ever wonder where the new Smelt will come from? From scouts scouring the countryside with a fine-tooth comb, that’s where. Next time we will meet Otis O’Toole, the legendary baseball scout soon to become head of the Smelt scouting department. Otis will share some of his legendary experiences.

NOTE: You can communicate with the RS bloggers by going to “Leave a Reply” at the bottom of this page. The bloggers will be appreciative, to say the least.

NOTE AGAIN: Eric Sallee and Dave Baldwin are still searching for guest writers for this blog. They don’t even care whether you are a celebrity or just a normal person. But they are adamant that writing ability, good sense of humor, and lively imagination are essential. RS can’t afford to lose readers by boring them to death.

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23 – The Stadium Committee Pursues a New Dream

Posted on October 22, 2012 by Dave Baldwin


RUBBERY SHRUBBERY Post 23

Welcome to the unique Rubbery Shrubbery (RS) blog. Herein, we describe the ongoing campaign of Yachats (YAH-hots), Oregon, and its spunky inhabitants—known as Yachatians (yah-HAY-shuns)—to acquire a Major League Baseball franchise. To learn about Yachats, please go to this page or go to GoYachats.

A number of chroniclers are participating in this literary quest. Today’s entry in the RS blog again is written by Dr. Isaac Squibley. He relates the efforts of Brassica Chin and her Yachats Smelt Stadium Committee to follow in the footsteps of the Seattle Pilots.

The Stadium Committee Pursues a New Dream
by Dr. Isaac Squibley

If you want something bad enough, you’re going to get it.

The last time we met, Brassica’s stadium committee listened as Wumpy Mugwump told how Seattle once wanted a baseball team so bad that Major League Baseball’s heart melted seeing all that earnest wanting going on and handed over a franchise just like that. Thus, the Seattle Pilots were born.

Subsequently, the committee thought in unison, “Yachatians can want just as bad as Seattlites, and our baseball stadium is at least as good as old Sicks’ stadium in Seattle, and if we fix it up some, we’ll be right as rain.”

It rained. So the committee clustered under the roof of the picnic shelter. Figure 1 shows the picnic shelter as it appears to one looking down the leftfield foul line from home plate if we had a foul line and a home plate.

Figure 1. Picnic shelter as seen from home plate if we had one.

Figure 2 shows the picnic shelter as seen from center field. You can almost hear crows chirping and gulls twittering in the forest behind you.

Figure 2. Picnic shelter as seen by center fielder.

From the picnic shelter the committee could survey the whole stadium. Nothing better to do, what with rain settling in and making no plans to leave. Keep in mind, the old Seattle Pilots’ stadium had no cozy picnic shelter, no roar of a nearby ocean, no serenades from very big songbirds. The Smelt committee counted its blessings.

Figure 3 shows you the ball field items viewed by the committee.* You see the infield and the current grandstand of the Yachats Baseball Stadium—very similar to Sicks’ Stadium after it was renovated to house the Pilots. Notice the large building behind the backstop in the photo. It is one of two churches across the street from the ball field—this is at the edge of the theological district of Yachats.

Figure 3. View of grandstand and theological district of Yachats.

The committee members stared out between raindrops as their imaginations augmented the Smelt future. Then someone in the front row raised her hand. “Will we still get our retractable roof?”

Wumpy stepped forward to field the question and smile reassurance at her. “Well, I should hope so! I happen to be on the Roof Committee and can tell you we are making plans right now.”

With this exhilarating news, shoulders relaxed, eyes stopped twitching. And feet were put back onto rabbits. What a wonderful thing major league baseball is for a village, bringing it togetherness and a retractable roof!

Taking their boosted spirits in hand, the committee romped through a wonderland of hypothetical improvements to their ball field. Double the seating capacity to sixty. Add features to the infield (e.g., mound and bases). Provide parking spaces. Eliminate mole holes (see Fig. 4). Install an ultramodern outhouse convenient to the grandstand.

Figure 4. Today's macho mole.

The list of upgrades grew rapidly at first, but as the whole caboodle began to take shape before them, minds throttled down and became more pensive. The rain slowed to a drizzle. The committee’s alpha daydreamer, Brassica Chin, gazed out at the field and sighed, “Can’t you just picture the Smelt racing onto the field on opening day?”

And nobody could. What would Smelt uniforms look like?

* Please see RS Post 12 for an explanation of the remarkable optical illusions that make the Yachats stadium appear smaller than it really is.

Next time: Everything seemed to be whizzing along for the stadium committee until it ran into imagination block. Next time we will visit the Uniforms & Stuff Committee to watch the Smelt’s ace stitcher, seamstress Betsy Rossini, go toe to toe. Consequently, you will learn that modern psychological techniques can be applied and that the reverse is also true.

NOTE: Please help us find famous people who are interested in writing one or more postings of the RS blog. We have in mind top-notch celebrities such as Kurt Russell or Mario Cuomo or Glenn Close. Do you know any of these people? If so, please tell us at the bottom of this page.

NOTE AGAIN: Dave Baldwin and Eric Sallee thank each of you for reading post after post of the Rubbery Shrubbery blog. For your loyalty and stick-to-itiveness you deserve the coveted Golden Smelt Award. Unfortunately, these are conferred by Yachats’s mayor with rigorous discretion. Fat chance you have of getting one.

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22 – The Up, Down, and Up of the Stadium Committee

Posted on October 15, 2012 by Dave Baldwin


RUBBERY SHRUBBERY Post 22

Here we go again—another whirl with the Rubbery Shrubbery (RS) blog. This is your periodic catch-up of Yachats (YAH-hots), Oregon, and its inhabitants—called Yachatians (yah-HAY-shuns)—as they acquire a Major League Baseball franchise. To learn more about Yachats (“Where nature happens every day”), please go to this page or go to GoYachats.

Many of the world’s best writers are yearning to contribute posts to the RS blog. Today’s lucky author will be Dr. Isaac Squibley, whose recent best seller, Living with Quantum Entanglement, has made his name a common household word. Here he describes a scheme whereby Yachats might slide safely into a major league franchise.

The Up, Down, and Up of the Stadium Committee
by Dr. Isaac Squibley

Squelched hope’s disheartening. Dashed expectation’s even worse.

Brassica Chin did her civic duty, pointing out to the Stadium Committee that the triple-decked prefabricated stadium pitched by slick saleslady, Bonnie McQuiver, was not a wise purchase. Subsequently, Ms. McQuiver, outgunned, left for greener pastures and audiences.

But that left the Stadium Committee flumfluxed from struggling with rapid limbic perturbations. Like a bunch of kids ready to go skinny-dipping in the local swimming hole only to discover leaches. Brassica needed to find them a different pond.

She had no idea where to look for even a puddle. Drooping on all sides, each committee member began to trudge toward home. All Brassica could do was commiserate.

But as luck would have it (luck always gets its way), just then Wumpy Mugwump happened by, wearing his customary chlorophyll-stained gardening garments and devil-may-care smile. (Recall that Wumpy became a Yachatian folk hero two days earlier when he admitted to once attending a major league baseball game.)

“You sure are a wretched group. Why so glum?” Wumpy asked everyone en masse just before they crossed the leftfield foul line.

The committee answered him en masse with sighs, sobs, blubberings, and wimperings. “I see,” Wumpy said. “Well, Brassica was probably right. No need to buy a new stadium…celebrity bachelorette bashes, did you say?” He paused to run some trial bash visions through his mind.

“You see,” said Brassica with a slight quaver in her voice, “they’re afraid that Ms. McQuiver is right. Maybe we do need a baubles-and-bangles facility to lure a major league franchise to Yachats.”

Wumpy snickered compassionately. “No, not at all. Let me tell you a story.” Everyone leaned forward, even Wumpy, because everyone loves a story.

“Once upon a time, many decades ago,” Wumpy began, “there was a beautiful, modern city, very much like ours in that it wanted a major league baseball team in the worst way.”

Everyone nodded in agreement. Wanting a major league baseball team in the worst way definitely sounded Yachatian.

So Wumpy went on with his story:

This city thought it would need an expensive new stadium to attract a team, but it didn’t have much money. Rather than just sit around moping, the citizens figured they might as well give it their best shot and see what happens. The old stadium they had wasn’t much better than what we have in Yachats, but they went to work, spraying, scraping, installing a modern outhouse, making the concession stand almost rat-proof.

Then they said to Major League Baseball, ‘Okay, we’re ready for the big time,’ and the team owners, a soft-hearted bunch of great guys, saw how badly this town wanted a team, and despite them not having much of a ballpark or money, said, ‘Aw, sure, folks, a ball team you shall have. Since no team wants to move to your city, we’ll create a brand new franchise just for you.*’

Wumpy paused to light an imaginary pipe (see Fig. 1) while his audience did giddybops in anticipation of the future of his story. When the time was just right, Wumpy stuck the pipe in his pocket and continued:

And that very next baseball season the Seattle Pilots made their debut in the American League. All that hard work and sincere wanting paid off—Seattle had very nearly a major league team of their own.

Figure 1. A photo of a painting of Wumpy’s imaginary pipe. **

* MLB even used the old Statue-of-Liberty trick to get them their cast of players, giving them the tired, the poor, the decrepit and infirm.

** “The Treachery of Images” by Belgian surrealist René Magritte. The script reads “This is not a pipe.”

Next time: Will the Stadium Committee catch the parallels of the Seattle situation with their own conundrum? Or will the committee fall to squabbling about the significance of an imaginary pipe and miss all of the story’s implications?

NOTE: We’ve asked you several times whether you happen to know a brainy celebrity who would be itching to write one or more postings of the RS blog. We would prefer a quality celebrity such as Katie Goodman or Garrison Keillor or Geena Davis. If you know these personages personally or anyone similar, please tell us at the bottom of this page.

NOTE AGAIN: Eric Sallee and Dave Baldwin are considering contributing to future posts of the Rubbery Shrubbery blog.

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21 – The Stadium Committee in Action, At Last!

Posted on October 8, 2012 by Dave Baldwin


RUBBERY SHRUBBERY Post 21

The Rubbery Shrubbery (RS) blog is back in your life again, telling you of the efforts of the Oregon village of Yachats (YAH-hots) and its hearty inhabitants—called Yachatians (yah-HAY-shuns)—to obtain a Major League Baseball team (pre-named the Yachats Smelt). To learn about Yachats, please go to this page or go to GoYachats.

Our volunteer writer today is Ms. Isabel Stackhollow who will continue to tell about the Stadium Committee of the Yachats Smelt Board of Directors. You recall that super-saleslady Bonnie McQuiver of The Stadium Guys, Inc. was just about to close the sale of a magnificent facility for the home of the Yachats Smelt.

The Stadium Committee in Action, At Last!
by Isabel Stackhollow

Brassica Chin has always been short. “Oh, grow up!” her mother would say to her. And Brassica was always picked last for trimming the Christmas tree.

Nevertheless, she is renowned for her politeness—her manners are impeccable and complete due to her great-grandmother’s genes, and since she has had only one great-grandmother, that lady’s genes hold considerable sway.

Naturally, being wrapped in all that etiquette, Brassica is reluctant to claw her way to the front of a crowd to see what everyone else is seeing. So, during Bonnie McQuiver’s sales pitch to the Yachats Smelt Stadium Committee, Brassica could only snatch glimpses of phantom blue diagrams through the crooks of wrinkled elbows and knees.

But standing in the back didn’t prevent her from hearing every undotted “i” and uncrossed “t” of the discourse—Brassica has ears like a Doberman Pinscher (see Fig. 1), metaphorically and vice versa.

Figure 1. A dog-eared yet wolf-eared Doberman Pinscher.*

And because she couldn’t join in the gawking of her fellow committee members, she had time to think about what Ms. McQuiver was saying. Of course, the triple-decked prefabricated stadium being proposed for Yachats sounded great, what with hosting all those top-notch sporting events—Brassica was especially intrigued by Ms. McQuiver’s mention of the celebrity bachelorette bashes—but on the other hand, did Yachats really want to deal with the social stigma of being the home of an NBA team?

And why was Ms. McQuiver emphasizing how inexpensive a prefab stadium is? She’s not thinking that Yachats is going to pay for this thing, is she? If the Washington Nationals, say, decide to move their franchise to Yachats, they should build their own stadium. After all, it would be their place of business. Would Yachats build a petroleum refinery and give it to Exxon? Or a whatever-it-is-that-Google-does-business-in and give it to Google? Too ridiculous to even consider.

Yet, Brassica had the uneasy feeling that the rest of her herd was feeling too easy. Except for Brassica, each committee member was turning more and more rapt.

Meanwhile, in front of the ruly mob, Bonnie McQuiver was spieling about the superdeluxe Seabreeze model assembled upon the demo table. Each of the fifteen members of her audience was hit between the eyes by a dollop of magic. Ms. McQuiver felt that warm, luxmorphious rush of one who is about to put one over.

Ms. McQuiver told herself smugly, “Now is the time to close this thing.” She paused to gather a tailwind. Then, “And here is the best part. The Stadium Guys, Inc. is about to end their very special, once-in-a-lifetime offer. If you buy this stupendous triple-deck prefabricated stadium RIGHT NOW, you will still qualify for both a five percent discount AND a five percent rebate! But you have that remarkable opportunity only if you hurry because this offer ends…” She studied her watch. “…in just five minutes! Hoo, boy, are you in luck. You have just enough time to sign this contract and qualify.” She looked at her crowd of fifteen who were now in full rapture. “In fact, you should all share in the credit for this…let’s have everyone get the opportunity to sign this historic contract.”

Ms. McQuiver held up a single radiant ballpoint pen and the crowd ogled it as she knew they would. But before they could surge, from somewhere behind them, an actinic voice rose like the rays of the sun, “Wait! Don’t sign that contract!” And a frigid gust hit Ms. McQuiver’s soul and shivered her as she realized there were sixteen members of the committee. That pesky little Brassica Chin wasn’t to be seen rapturing anywhere!

Before the shaken Ms. McQuiver could recover, Brassica stepped out from behind the committee. Some say she was nearly bathed in a glorious rainbow aura and almost seemed to be wearing a flowing white gown and brandishing an insinuated flaming sword. Quite impressive!

Brassica strode to the front of the committee where she stopped and took aim at Ms. McQuiver. “Don’t tell me you think we’re going to buy a stadium just to lure a sports franchise here. What town would be crazy enough to do that? You must think we all just fell off the rutabaga truck.” See Fig. 2.

Figure 2. Rutabaga truck Ms. McQuiver mistakenly thought they all fell off of.**

Ms. McQuiver tried to rebound. “But the competition to attract major league franchises is very intense. If you lack a first-rate stadium, no team will even give you a glance. And every city wants to be able to call itself a big league city.”

“They do?”

“Of course. Think of the prestige.”

Brassica thought of the prestige. “Yachats has majestic mountains and a shining sea and a wry sense of humor. We don’t need prestige.” The other committee members nodded and mumbled right-ons.

Ms. McQuiver was beginning to wilt.

Brassica continued, “You want to know what I think? I think you try to sell your stadiums to cities because there are a lot more of them than there are teams. I can’t imagine any city is dumb enough to buy a stadium, though, and give it away. You just made all that up, didn’t you?”

“But that really is the way things are done,” pleaded Ms. McQuiver.

Just then Brassica looked down at the contract lying on the table. She shrieked. “It costs THAT much? That’s insane! Even with the millions of dollars we’re given by deposed Nigerian royalty and the millions of euros and pounds we win in obscure European lotteries, we could never raise that much money!”

“But you’ll have the Yankee Stadium of the West,” whined Ms. McQuiver.

“Ha!” replied Brassica. “Go peddle your triple-deck stadiums someplace else. We all know Caveat emptor, and what’s more, ontogeny recapitulates phylogeny, Missy.”

That did it! Bonnie McQuiver didn’t have to take that kind of abuse. Her valuable time could be better spent elsewhere. Besides, she had once eaten a bad candy bar about an hour earlier and was beginning to feel a little iffy. She packed up her table, diagrams, drawings, and assistant, and hailed a cab to the Yachats International Airport where she caught the evening flight to her next sales pitch—in Malabo, Equatorial Guinea. Even though the Yachats airport was a figment of her imagination.

* By David Iannotti. From Wikimedia Commons.
** Courtesy of Rutabaga Society of Spitsbergen.

Next time: Is the stadium a dead issue for the Smelt? Of course not. A completely different solution—a proven solution—will emerge. You’ll slap your forehead in why-didn’t-I-think-of-that disgust when we tell you what it is.

NOTE: We’ve asked you politely several times whether you happen to know a brainy celebrity who would be itching to write one or more postings of the RS blog. A quality celebrity such as Alan Schwarz or Ken Burns or Timothy Egan. Do you know such a person? If you are nodding your head “yes”, please tell us all about it at the bottom of this page.

NOTE AGAIN: Eric Sallee and Dave Baldwin are hoping to have many volunteers anxious to contribute to the Rubbery Shrubbery blog.

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20 – Home of the Smelt

Posted on October 1, 2012 by Dave Baldwin


RUBBERY SHRUBBERY Post 20

This is the Rubbery Shrubbery (RS) blog, an account of the quest of the Oregon village of Yachats (YAH-hots) and its inhabitants—called Yachatians (yah-HAY-shuns) or Yahotties (yah-HOT-tees)—to obtain a Major League Baseball team (pre-named the Yachats Smelt). To learn about Yachats, please go to this page or go to GoYachats.

We are fortunate to have Ms. Isabel Stackhollow join us again in writing this post. She will describe the continuing shaping up of the young Smelt baseball organization.

Home of the Smelt
by Isabel Stackhollow

Ever since news of the spawning of the Smelt hit baseball’s grapevine, salespeople have swarmed on Yachats like mosquitoes on an equatorial missionary.

A scant 48 hours after Annabella Kowalski adjourned the second meeting of the Yachats Smelt Board of Directors (see Posts #13 & 14), the Board’s Stadium Committee was standing again in the ballpark’s center field—transfixed by the slick pitch from Bonnie McQuiver, head of sales for The Stadium Guys, Inc., the world’s #1 seller of prefabricated sports stadiums.

On a portable bulletin board, Ms. McQuiver tacked diagrams full of geometry and fuzzy set theory, as well as Lemurian architectural drawings. She displayed photos of cities hosting The Stadium Guys’s products, such as Ittoqqortoormiit, Greenland (see Fig. 1). She showed pictures of famous prefabs of the past, such as the glassy Crystal Palace, just a stone’s throw from 19th century London ragamuffins (see Fig. 2). The committee drooled appreciation, and Ms. McQuiver smiled her very, very sincere smile. She beckoned to come closer.

Figure 1. Ittoqqortoormiit, Greenland. Prefab stadium has been folded up and stored during off-season.*

Figure 2. The Crystal Palace.**

“It will be the Yankee Stadium of the West,” she explained, clarifying the whole shebang. “You’ll be so proud, you’ll pop your buttons.” To say nothing of the zippers.

The McQuiver Rule of Salesmanship is: If they can picture it, they’ll buy it. “Imagine we are standing in center field of this YACHATS BASEBALL CATHEDRAL,” she uppercased. “The stadium rises around us.” As she gazed skyward she was the spitting image of Christopher Columbus (see Fig. 3).

Figure 3. Christopher Columbus enacting the spitting image of Bonnie McQuiver.***

“Now imagine it’s opening day. Banners, balloons, and confetti everywhere. The band plays as the Smelt take the field to the roar of thousands. TV cameras all around the stadium capture the images the world is waiting to see. And a horde of journalists in the press box devours the free food.” She turned her back to her mesmerized committee and swept a hand out over the playing field.

But then Ms. McQuiver hesitated and contemplated. “Ummmmm…,” she observed. “I know your weird local optical illusion makes the field appear smaller than it is, but still…perhaps we should be thinking of vertical opportunities.”

When she whirled to face her audience again she announced, “Definitely, you should have a multi-layered structure. Let’s say, three tiers. On the ground floor you could have a basketball arena (the NBA is always looking for places to put franchises) or maybe get an ice hockey team from Texas or Arizona. The second floor could host other sports, such as old-time revivals and rock concerts and celebrity bachelorette bashes.” She nodded her head and noted with satisfaction her audience nodded, too.

“That leaves the top floor for the Smelt, playing high above the city. Imagine the view from up there.” They imagined.

Someone in the front row raised her hand. “Would we still get our retractable roof?”

Ms. McQuiver was delighted. “You certainly can have your roof, pumpkin,” she chuckled. “Now, we don’t manufacture stadium roofs, but all roofs have standardized tabs that slide right into slots we build into each and every one of our stadia. The roof will fit perfectly. So easy a child could do it.”

Ms. McQuiver could feel the committee vibrating in perfect pitch. She knew she had them. She turned back to the field. “Yachats will be the sports capital of the universe,” she exclaimed as she lifted her hands to the sky, a prefab priestess posing in prefab veneration. At the top of her game.

All eyes rose in vertical appreciation of the great hi-rise sports complex—a boggling moment in the history of Yachatian minds.

* By Hannes Grobe, AWI (Own work) [CC-BY-SA-2.5 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.5)], via Wikimedia Commons
** By Philip Henry Delamotte, Negretti and Zambra [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons
*** By Gergio Delucci, “Christopher Columbus Arrives in America.” Published by the Prang Educational Co., 1893. 40802Y U.S. Copyright Office

Next time: Will Bonnie McQuiver make her sale? Will the Smelt play their games in a penthouse overlooking the majestic Oregon coast? Wouldn’t you like to know?

NOTE: We’re still looking for persons to write one or more postings of the RS blog. We’re suggesting it be an intriguing celebrity (not like all the rest)—perhaps John Thorn or Jim Bouton or Tom Boswell. But if you happen to not be one of this trio but would like to pitch in anyway, please don’t hesitate to let us know at the bottom of this page.

NOTE AGAIN: Dave Baldwin and Eric Sallee do not endorse the prefabrication of major sports stadia. At least, not on the central coast of Oregon.

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19 – An Uppity Village

Posted on September 24, 2012 by Dave Baldwin


RUBBERY SHRUBBERY Post 19

This is the Rubbery Shrubbery (RS) blog where we reveal the ongoing campaign of Yachats (YAH-hots), Oregon, and its spunky inhabitants—known as Yachatians (yah-HAY-shuns)—to acquire a Major League Baseball franchise. To learn about Yachats, please go to this page or go to GoYachats.

Today the RS blog is written by Ingeborg Von Root. She has been pondering the publicity strategy of the new Smelt Media Director, Petula Figglesworth.

An Uppity Village
by Ingeborg Von Root

What a coincidence! Yesterday I was thinking, “It would be a good idea to interview Petula Figglesworth and find out how she is settling in to her new position as Smelt Director of News Media and Communications Operations.” And lo and behold!

No sooner thought than there was Petula in front of the Yachats Fire Department with her mother, Bambi Tinkerbell Figglesworth, who was petting and babbling to the two diminutive goats (see Fig. 1*) the fire chief tethers there. Bambi morphed accordingly.

Figure 1. Goatsy-woatsies.

“Now, aren’t you both just the most precious, cuddly-wuddly sweetie pies in the whole wide world. Oooo! Bambi-Wambi just wuvs her widdle sweetums goatsy-woatsies.” One goat was dismayed, the other alarmed.

“Mama, you’re dismaying and alarming the goatsy-woatsies. Come away from there before you get arrested for molesting kids.”

“But they’re so cute! I wuv my teensy-weensy goatums. Oh, yes, I do! You’re both so darling! Would sweetums like a nice big juicy carrot?”

“Ma, you don’t have a carrot! Stop building up false hopes.”

“Puddy-puddy, patty coo, sugarkins.”

I recovered enough to ask, “What did she say?”

“Beats me,” Petula replied. “Let’s try to ignore her.” It can’t be easy having a mother named Bambi.

Ignoring the background coos and glissandos, I launched into my interview of Petula. “Okay. Let’s talk about your new job—it seems you have your work cut out for you, trying to get press coverage for the Smelt.”

But upon hearing that, Bambi’s ears pricked up, which is rare in a woman her age. “It’s absolutely disgraceful the way the newspapers are treating our Smelt,” she huffed. “Just because we’re not as big as some of the other major league cities. Calling us pipsqueaks and runts and uppity! The idea!”

“Oh, Mama, they’re doing no such thing.”

“All that business of ‘you Yachatians should know your place’ and ‘who do you think you are?’”

“Mama, hush now. Go back to entertaining the goatums.”

She did and took her grumbles with her.

“Actually, the media aren’t saying anything about the Smelt, as I’m sure you’ve noticed,” Petula said.

I nodded. “It’s a shame we’re being ignored,” I offered.

“Oh, no, it’s exactly what the Smelt want. You see, we’ve learned a lesson from the Milwaukee Brewers. In 1970 Milwaukee extracted the Seattle Pilots (see Fig. 2**) from Seattle without anyone realizing it was in the works. It happened one day near the end of spring training. The Pilots showed up at the ballpark and found themselves Brewers.”

Figure 2. Seattle Pilots in their home playground, Sicks' Stadium (1969).

“That must have been quite a shock to the city of Seattle,” I suggested.

“It was, but by the time they saw what had happened, there was nothing to be done. So Yachats is much like Milwaukee (except not nearly as cold). We’re being quiet, being careful to keep out of the public eye. Then we’ll choose our team and sneak into Washington, DC, or maybe Chicago, and the next morning the Nationals or the Cubs will be wearing Smelt uniforms.”

This was shaping into an outstanding interview, but Bambi’s voice wasn’t to be ignored. “Oooooo! You like being chuck-chucked under the chin, don’t you, babykins. Cootchie, cootchie…”

One goat, cross-eyed and turning green, tried to hold its hooves over its ears. The other staggered wibbly wobbly and attempted the universal barf gesture, but failed for lack of a forefinger.

And poor widdle Ingeborg got diz-diz and queasikins and fwew up my din-din. Ingeborg was sickie-poo…Pablum brain!

Figure 3. Pablum (NOT the cause of Pablum brain)***.

* From: http://www.garagarri.wordpress.com
** Actually the Yoncalla, OR, town team (1921), from the David S. Eskenazi Collection.
*** From Wikimedia Commons.

Next time: The Smelt go looking to solve their stadium issues and get some convincing advice from a questionable source.

NOTE: We are still looking for famous and competent people to write one or more postings of the RS blog. At first we had in mind Grade A celebrities such as Alan Schwarz or Patrick Rothfuss or Timothy Egan. Now we are willing to let our standards degrade a bit to a B+. Please respond at the bottom of this page.

NOTE AGAIN: Eric Sallee and Dave Baldwin thank those readers who have commented on the Rubbery Shrubbery blog, giving us excellent ideas for future posts and making us laugh uncontrollably. In a just world you would be making the big bucks writing this thing. Sorry!

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18 – A Few Practical Issues with the Roof

Posted on September 17, 2012 by Dave Baldwin


RUBBERY SHRUBBERY Post 18

This is the Rubbery Shrubbery (RS) blog, relating the quest of the Oregon village of Yachats (YAH-hots) and its inhabitants—called Yachatians (yah-HAY-shuns) or Yahotties (yah-HOT-tees)—to obtain a Major League Baseball team (pre-named the Yachats Smelt). To learn about Yachats, please go to this page or go to GoYachats.

Ms. Isabel Stackhollow will be writing this post, pinch-hitting for Wumpy Mugwump. Wumpy, who heads the Roof Committee of the Smelt, doesn’t have time to write this because getting a roof for the Smelt’s stadium has turned out to be more complicated than anyone would have guessed. Wumpy’s up to his eyeballs trying to pull the project together. We’re sure Isabel will do an adequate job until Wumpy’s no longer up to his eyeballs.

A Few Practical Issues with the Roof
by Isabel Stackhollow

Sometimes our most cherished assumptions are flat-out wrong. For example, after years of feeling secure, many adults discover there really is a monster under their bed. When was the last time you checked?

The monster under the Smelt bed is a very sweet elderly lady living in Seattle. Wumpy Mugwump discovered this gentle adversary when he went to that city to ask Mr. and Mrs. Safeco if the Smelt could please have the roof from Safeco Field (home of the Seattle Mariners, a baseball team). Mr. Safeco said, “Sure, why not? Hardly anybody comes to the Mariners’ games these days, and I’m sure the players won’t miss it.”

But then he glanced at Louise Safeco, his hard-bitten yet tender wife, and he backpedaled. Mrs. Safeco didn’t utter a word, but offered a hangdog look that expressed, “I’ve become attached to that roof, Harvey. It reminds me of my childhood, when I was happy and pushed a cute little doll carriage (see Fig. 1) that had a retractable top much like that roof.” And she let all her facial muscles go spaghetti and sniffled thrice. Mr. Safeco just melted right there, the wimp!

Figure 1. Cute little doll carriage like Louise Safeco used to push.

Thus, Wumpy was flummoxed. How could he convince Louise Safeco to give up her cherished memories? By finding a doll carriage like the one she had trundled all those years ago? Perhaps.

But before Wumpy could leaf through his Sears & Roebuck catalog he received a call from the Smelt’s deceptively lackadaisical lawyer, Snapper Roadsquill.

[At this point I’ll digress to explain that recently the Smelt decided they need a cunning law firm to handle legal stuff. Therefore, they went to Duck Egg, a town southeast of Yachats, where most Oregonians go to find legal counsel. There they hired the firm of Underrock, Slant, and Roadsquill, LLP, to represent them.]

Mr. Roadsquill had startling news for Wumpy. According to public records, the Safecos don’t own Safeco Field after all. Seeking fame, Mr. Safeco had merely put up a few billion dollars to get his name slapped on the stadium. Mr. Roadsquill chuckled, “Not only does Harvey not own the stadium, he doesn’t own the roof, either, so you can relax.”

Part of Wumpy’s brain relaxed, but the rest replied, “Then who does own the roof?”

Snapper turned serious. “Well, it seems the roof has been leased from one Ling Tom-Pimento, an international lessor of hard-to-get items, like art museums and circus elephants.”

Wumpy turned impatient. “Okay, okay, but are we getting the roof?”

Snapper turned nonchalant. “Hey, I called Mr. Tom-Pimento and said, ‘We’d really like to have that roof,’ and he gave a hearty laugh and said, ‘Hey, why not? We’ll make a deal when I get back from Majúro.’ Currently Mr. Tom-Pimento is in the midst of leasing Bhutan (see Fig. 2 *) to the Republic of the Marshall Islands, but as soon as that is completed we’ll negotiate our roof.”

Figure 2. Bhutan.

Wumpy turned relieved. Then he resumed thumbing through the catalog because no one can shrug off facial pasta and sniffles.

* From: http://www.buddhanet.net/bhutan-gallery/pages/Bhutan%2520114.html

Next time: We will meet the new Smelt Director of News Media and Communication Stuff. And her mother.

NOTE: Perhaps we haven’t made it clear!!! We want outstanding celebrities to step up to the plate and contribute thoughtful yet exciting posts to Rubbery Shrubbery. Maybe Tom Robbins or Jerry Seinfeld or Ursula K. Le Guin. If you know any these personages or anyone similar, please don’t hesitate to let us know at the bottom of this page. Or if YOU happen to be a celebrity of your very own, please let us know that, too. We’ll let you pitch in on writing this blog.

NOTE AGAIN: Eric Sallee and Dave Baldwin thank you for your patience. We don’t know how you do it.

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