A response to our press release from friend Alex in California:
MONTEREY, Calif. -- In a major retraction unseen since the Time's mega-apology for Jaysongate, Ron L. and Christine K. have admitted changing the due date and year for their child for tax purposes.
Federal prosecutors say they're considering "big-ass charges" against the couple, but would not elaborate. And in a recent development, Michigan media reporters are rabidly checking the couple's claims that their Ann Arbor house has a rosebush and roof and everything.
"Their claim ...'and everything' seems a little too grandiose, a little too Jaysonesque," said Fibs Magee, columnist of the Detroit Free Press. "In today's journalism, we need precision to maintain our credibility. When the couple last worked in San Francisco, Ron L. was chastised for saying a law firm had 'reamed its customers for sh--loads of bucks.' Such wording is unacceptable, and I think that's what's going on here."
Media critics at the Poynter Institute question the sincerity of Christine K.'s apology. Since her e-mail, the soon-to-be mother has received a two-year endorsement contract by the makers of Pop-Tarts and Fig Newtons.
"We want her to be our poster child for the Fig Newton lifestyle," said a company spokesman. "And when she pops, we want her kid to become our poster child."
Meanwhile, the Niebelungenleid Paper Clip Company of Stockton, Calif., has sued the couple for copyright infringement.
##
Wednesday, July 16, 2003
Tuesday, July 15, 2003
Baby Niebelungenleid
FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE: CORRECTED VERSION
ANN ARBOR, Mich. -- Ron L. and Christine K. are expecting their first child in January 2004.
Christine, who has existed almost solely on Pop-Tarts and Fig Newtons for two months, is due Jan. 22. In a further fit of domestic euphoria, the couple is also buying a house in Ann Arbor that’s got a rosebush and a roof and everything.
The couple remains “in extended negotiations” regarding possible names, although Christine favors the name Niebelungenleid. “I think Niebelungenleid L. has a nice ring,” the mom-to-be said.
Ron could not be reached for comment, though he was recently overheard at Washtenaw Dairy, a local ice cream parlor, bemoaning the upcoming due date. “That means we can’t claim the child tax credit for 2003!” he wailed. “Couldn’t we at least get a dog?”
##
ANN ARBOR, Mich. -- Ron L. and Christine K. are expecting their first child in January 2004.
Christine, who has existed almost solely on Pop-Tarts and Fig Newtons for two months, is due Jan. 22. In a further fit of domestic euphoria, the couple is also buying a house in Ann Arbor that’s got a rosebush and a roof and everything.
The couple remains “in extended negotiations” regarding possible names, although Christine favors the name Niebelungenleid. “I think Niebelungenleid L. has a nice ring,” the mom-to-be said.
Ron could not be reached for comment, though he was recently overheard at Washtenaw Dairy, a local ice cream parlor, bemoaning the upcoming due date. “That means we can’t claim the child tax credit for 2003!” he wailed. “Couldn’t we at least get a dog?”
##
Thursday, July 03, 2003
Oh Yeah, I'm Pregnant
Yup, I'm pregnant.
Now that I've shaken that permanent gin hangover they call morning sickness, I actually have to remind myself of my current condition.
Instead of that crazed For-God's-sake-give-me-a-Pop-Tart look in my eye, I now trot around Ann Arbor with my customary Oh-God-must-I-smile-at-this-person-too expression. People are very friendly around here. It must be all the retirees. The churlish scowl I cultivated in Prague and San Francisco is totally inappropriate here. Nobody smiled in Prague except for the tourists. If I looked too cheerful, I'd get a string of Americans and Germans asking the way to Wenceslas Square. And if I let my guard down in San Francisco, the homeless guys followed me for blocks.
But basically, my morale is good, now that I've switched from Pop Tarts and Fig Newtons to Big Macs and Klondike Bars. But it's kind of a letdown being pregnant in Michigan, because most women over 25 look pregnant here anyway. They all wear these baggy shirts wtih hearts or animals on them. I now look like just another Michigan matron losing the battle of the bulge.
And I keep forgetting I'm pregnant. I spend my day amidst a litany of silent questions: “Why am I so tired? Why am I hungry AGAIN? Why am I wearing this boring shirt?” Then it hits me -- oh yeah, I'm pregnant -- and I have to do a mental check. “Is this my third can of Coke today? Are these books too heavy? Christ, did I just eat three hot dogs? This kid is doomed ...”
That's because today's pregnancy books want you to sit in a purified bubble, gnawing wheat stalks and boiling your drinking water. Last week I read that pregnant women shouldn't lie on their backs, eat luncheon meat or buckle their seatbelts over their tummy. I'd done all three the day before. It's hopeless.
Ron, meanwhile, is ignoring the pregnancy books and brochures I strategically leave lying around. Instead, he's enamored with some wacky magazine he picked up at a doctor's office: “Paranoid Pregnancy” or “The Psycho Mama” or something like that.
RON: You know, I read that sucking on lemons helps with morning sickness.
ME: Hmmmm, pass me the chocolate sauce.
RON: They've got some interesting exercises in that magazine. There's one where you ...
ME: Hmmmm, pass me the Doritos.
Still, Ron's an involved dad-to-be and I feel lucky to have him. On my tough days, I log onto BabyCenter.com. The women on those message boards have real issues. One lady asks frantic questions that would never occur to me in a million years: "Can I eat white bread? Can I wear suntan lotion? Can I use my wireless phone? Can I pet my dog? Has anybody read about epidurals? Has anybody seen my sanity? I seem to have lost it permanently ...”
Even worse are the women who write long, heartbreaking stories about neglectful husbands, insensitive friends and psychotic mother-in-laws. One working pregnant lady skips lunch so she can give her boyfriend money to pay alimony to his ex-wife. Another woman's mother-in-law is screaming because the baby won't be named after her. The mother-in-law's name is Gertrude or something like that.
I can't read the message boards for long anyway, because I always want to correct people's spelling and grammar. Don't they teach any English in school these days? And what sick mind invented all those smiley and frowny faces?
OK, I'm ranting now. Time for another Klondike Bar.
##
Now that I've shaken that permanent gin hangover they call morning sickness, I actually have to remind myself of my current condition.
Instead of that crazed For-God's-sake-give-me-a-Pop-Tart look in my eye, I now trot around Ann Arbor with my customary Oh-God-must-I-smile-at-this-person-too expression. People are very friendly around here. It must be all the retirees. The churlish scowl I cultivated in Prague and San Francisco is totally inappropriate here. Nobody smiled in Prague except for the tourists. If I looked too cheerful, I'd get a string of Americans and Germans asking the way to Wenceslas Square. And if I let my guard down in San Francisco, the homeless guys followed me for blocks.
But basically, my morale is good, now that I've switched from Pop Tarts and Fig Newtons to Big Macs and Klondike Bars. But it's kind of a letdown being pregnant in Michigan, because most women over 25 look pregnant here anyway. They all wear these baggy shirts wtih hearts or animals on them. I now look like just another Michigan matron losing the battle of the bulge.
And I keep forgetting I'm pregnant. I spend my day amidst a litany of silent questions: “Why am I so tired? Why am I hungry AGAIN? Why am I wearing this boring shirt?” Then it hits me -- oh yeah, I'm pregnant -- and I have to do a mental check. “Is this my third can of Coke today? Are these books too heavy? Christ, did I just eat three hot dogs? This kid is doomed ...”
That's because today's pregnancy books want you to sit in a purified bubble, gnawing wheat stalks and boiling your drinking water. Last week I read that pregnant women shouldn't lie on their backs, eat luncheon meat or buckle their seatbelts over their tummy. I'd done all three the day before. It's hopeless.
Ron, meanwhile, is ignoring the pregnancy books and brochures I strategically leave lying around. Instead, he's enamored with some wacky magazine he picked up at a doctor's office: “Paranoid Pregnancy” or “The Psycho Mama” or something like that.
RON: You know, I read that sucking on lemons helps with morning sickness.
ME: Hmmmm, pass me the chocolate sauce.
RON: They've got some interesting exercises in that magazine. There's one where you ...
ME: Hmmmm, pass me the Doritos.
Still, Ron's an involved dad-to-be and I feel lucky to have him. On my tough days, I log onto BabyCenter.com. The women on those message boards have real issues. One lady asks frantic questions that would never occur to me in a million years: "Can I eat white bread? Can I wear suntan lotion? Can I use my wireless phone? Can I pet my dog? Has anybody read about epidurals? Has anybody seen my sanity? I seem to have lost it permanently ...”
Even worse are the women who write long, heartbreaking stories about neglectful husbands, insensitive friends and psychotic mother-in-laws. One working pregnant lady skips lunch so she can give her boyfriend money to pay alimony to his ex-wife. Another woman's mother-in-law is screaming because the baby won't be named after her. The mother-in-law's name is Gertrude or something like that.
I can't read the message boards for long anyway, because I always want to correct people's spelling and grammar. Don't they teach any English in school these days? And what sick mind invented all those smiley and frowny faces?
OK, I'm ranting now. Time for another Klondike Bar.
##
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