I’m ready to act as earth’s interstellar ambassador

I recently read that NASA scientists expect to discover alien life “any day now.” 

Actually, the “life” the NASA scientists were referring to is microbial, at best. 

The breathless “reporter” (and I use that word oh, so loosely) made it sound as if NASA is expecting an invasion of little grey men with big eyes, chilly probes and a fascination with the human backside so unnatural it would make Sir Mix-a-Lot blush.

Frankly, any kind of alien invasion would be cool, in my opinion. 

I’d prefer the sort where benevolent, large-skulled humanoids show up with a cure for cancer and an invitation to join the Galactic Republic. But I’d settle for warty, lizard-men who need to be beaten back with nothing but crude, earth weapons and plucky, you-can’t-keep-us-down human spirit.

Anything to liven it up around here and get Donald Trump’s combover’d mug off my Facebook newsfeed. 

If aliens are planning to stop by, I’d like to be the one to make first contact. There’s nobody else I really trust with the job.

You can’t let the government do it. I’ve seen enough movies to know what happens when you get the feds involved. 

If the alien is friendly, he winds up locked away in a secret government facility, poked and prodded so thoroughly he comes to regret ever having heard the word “probe.”

If the alien is aggressive, the feds harvest his DNA to create a race of human-alien hybrids for use on the battlefield. 

So the feds are out. Likewise, kids are no good for first contact situations. All they want is to make friends with the little bug-eyed monstrosity and help E.T. phone home.

Mainstream media (I’m thinking Fox News) also wouldn’t handle the job well. They’d just try to scare the hell out of viewers by pointing out that technically, E.T. is an “illegal” alien.

Nope. It’s important our interstellar visitor contact me first. So, E.T., if you’re reading this and trying to decide where to land, I suggest my back yard.

I’ll show you where the best pubs are, introduce you to some cool humans who don’t want to harvest your DNA or stick a probe in you, and maybe put on some Aretha Franklin music. 

Hopefully, all that will convince you our two species should cooperate, rather than duke it out in an interplanetary cage fight.

It’s a big universe. There’s plenty of room for both of us.

mtaylor@staffordgroup.com

(616) 548-8273

Beach volleyball beats the end of the world any time

I was yakking with one of our sportswriters the other day about good jobs and bad jobs. We both agreed that, in the newspaper world at least, sportswriters have it made in the shade.

Instead of  three-hour city commission debates over whether to ban gum chewing on city sidewalks, sportswriters enjoy free hot dogs and beer at White Caps games. Rather than spending hours on the phone trying to get a quote from the governor's assistant to the assistant press liaison's secretary's cleaning lady, they are front row center carefully monitoring the All Girls Collegiate Beach Volleyball Finals. 

It ain't fair. But since I know nothing about sports, there's not much I can do about it.

Oh, I’m not really complaining. My job is better than most. Better for me, anyway.

I get to write for a living, which I would probably do for free if nobody was willing to pay me (that's between you and me, by the way). I meet a lot of interesting people, I'm always learning new stuff and I don't have a bunch of middle management overlords breathing down my neck day in day out.

One thing I've learned through decades of writing human interest stories is that most folks — not just newspaper writers — like their jobs. My oldest son, Jordan, was a car-show model, one of those guys who stands around all day in a $2,000 suit talking to people about Mustangs and Miatas. My youngest son, James, milks cows and bales hay for a living. They both love their work.

My daughter, Aubreii, runs her own web development business. It involves all sorts of  stress, late nights crying over her laptop, and has birthed in her a great fondness for wine. But again, she loves her job.

My fiancee, Lori, is an accountant. An accountant, for heaven's sake! Like, with numbers!! Personally, I'd kill myself. But yet again, she truly enjoys what she does for a living. Although I can't help notice, she, too, is not averse to the occasional glass of Merlot.

For every job, it seems, there is someone, somewhere who actually enjoys doing it.

I did think of one real stinker, though. I was on Facebook the other day and noticed  one of my friends had posted a link about a world-killing comet that's supposed to destroy the earth in a couple years. I clicked the link and it turns out the guy doing the predicting also predicted the world would end on Jan. 1, 2000. 

He was mistaken. But he's not this time. He says.

Now, it seems to me this guy has a really lousy job, apocalyptic prognostication — predicting the end of the world. If he's wrong, everybody laughs and he looks like a schmuck. If he's right, there’s nobody left to turn to and say, "I told you so!"

Nope, not a fulfilling career at all.

I think I'll just stick with writing. Though maybe it wouldn't hurt to learn a little something about beach volleyball. You know, as a backup plan.

mtaylor@staffordgroup.com

(616) 548-8273

Including Lori, I love 11 women

Lori’s not the first woman I’ve loved. There have been a few. In fact, I have a top ten list. 

Granted, most of the women on my list have never heard of me. OK, none of the women on my list have heard of me, but I’m in love with them anyway. Lori’s not threatened by this; I’m assuming she has a top ten list of her own, undoubtedly populated with flat-bellied cowboy types with steely blue eyes and muscular backsides.

She’s too classy to go public with her top ten list. I alas, am not; so here we go:

10: Shelly Duvall. That’s right, Olive Oyl from that terrible Popeye movie. She’s odd looking, but in a way that — for reasons I cannot explain — I really, really like. Chance she would return my phone calls? Um, maybe .03 percent.

9: Charlize Theron. She’s almost too beautiful, but I’d be willing to overlook this, assuming she was willing to pay for dinner occasionally. Chance she would return my calls? Is there a number less than zero?

8: Betty Boop. Yup, another cartoon character, which probably reveals more about my personality than I should be comfortable with. I’m not actually in love with Ms. Boop, but rather real life Helen Kane, the 1920s singer upon whom the Boop character was based. Chance the she would return my calls? Zero, since she’s been dead a long time and I don’t believe in ghosts.

7: The lady from the Progressive Insurance commercials. I know I’m not alone in this peculiar obsession. I’ve spoken with at least two other guys — one being my eldest son — who feel the same. Chance she would return my calls? Pretty good, assuming I was looking to add Life and Homeowner’s to my current policy.

6: Morticia, from the 1960s Addam’s Family TV series. I’d happily spend eternity in side-by-side matching caskets with Morticia, even if she didn’t speak French. Return my calls? Probably not, for the same reason as Ms. Boop.

5: Morticia, from the Addam’s Family movie, as played by Anjelica Huston. I’m also in love with Anjelica Huston when she’s playing other roles, but as Morticia? Double whammy! Return my calls? I think I may have a shot here, since she once dated Jack Nicholson and he’s even older and frumpier than me!

4: Charlotte Church, the (former) opera singer. She’s cute, yeah, but it’s her voice I love. I saw her on TV 15 years ago and bawled like a baby when she sang “Ave Maria.” Return my calls? Nope, since I wouldn’t call this one in the first place. Too young. But that voice…

3: The mom from “A Christmas Story.” Bad perm and all, I’m crazy about this woman! Return my calls? Probably not. Not after that bad perm comment.

2: Aretha Franklin. I fell in love with Aretha the first time I heard her sing “Chain of Fools.” I was 12 years old and my love hasn’t diminished in the ensuing decades. Return my calls? No. I’m not worthy.

1: Kathy Bates. Most amazing actress ever and I would work for free as her pool boy just to hang around her. Return my calls? Ha! Only if I added too much chlorine.

That’s my top ten list. I’d be interested to hear yours. Email them to me at mtaylor@staffordgroup.com. If I get some good ones, I’ll feature them in a future column.

mtaylor@staffordgroup.com

(616) 548-8273