Florida sun, frozen fun? You choose

Florida sun, frozen fun? You choose

By TAMMY MALGESINI
East Oregonian

OK, hands on your buzzer. I have a question for you. Where would you rather celebrate your 50th birthday - go to a festival and gambling in the Colorado Rockies or a trip to Florida and a cruise to the Bahamas?

Before you answer, let me give you a little information about Frozen Dead Guy Days, a festival in Nederland, Colo. At the center of the multiple- day event is Bredo Morstoel, a dead Norwegian, packed in dry ice.

In 2005, Mark Briley and I took his wife, Teri, to celebrate her 50th birthday at the festival, which takes place in early March.

Upon his death in 1989, Grandpa, as he's affectionately called, was cryogenically frozen in Norway. Sometime later, the grand-popsicle was shipped to Los Angeles before taking up residence in a Tuff Shed high in the Rockies.

The permafrost dead guy was "discovered" by the small town of Nederland during a town hall meeting when a relative was denied a certificate of occupancy and would soon be deported back to Norway.

As the story goes, she turned to the person next to her and asked, "Who will take care of the bodies?"

Bodies? Yes there were two; however, since that time Grandpa's refrigerated roomie was cremated. Nothing like extremes - fire and ice.

Herbert Flack, a Belgian actor, knocked 'em dead while filming for a Belgium reality show, "TV De Wereld," during Grandpa's Blue Ball in 2005. Seizing the moment, Mark and I stuck close to Flack for a chance of fame.

People at the International Cryonics Institute and Center for Life Extension (or ICICLE) take the whole cryonics things pretty seriously. During a trip to Grandpa's Tuff Shed I made the faux pas of asking what they expected when they finally thawed the frozen guy. Bo Shaffer, aka the Iceman, corrected me.

"We call it re-animate."

In addition to the frozen ball, the event includes a polar plunge, coffin races, a frozen T-shirt contest, frozen turkey bowling, a grandpa look-alike contest and the crowning of the ice queen.

Yeah, Frozen Dead Guy Days was frigidly fun, but I'm gonna have to go with the cruise to the Bahamas.
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Tammy Malgesini is the EO community editor. Her column, Inside my shoes, appears twice a month. If you've gone to an odd festival, contact her at tmalgesini@eastoregonian. com or 541-564-4539.

Nighttime chocolate feast leads to salt water assault

01/20/2010

Jeter recuperates in the hallway after being treated for eating chocolate.

Nighttime chocolate feast leads to salt water assault

By TAMMY MALGESINI

East Oregonian

He was sicker than a dog.

It all started when Jeter, my German shepherd, decided to get into my cache of chocolate. It ended with him laying with a forlorn look on his face in the hallway at home. Between those two snapshots in time was an adventure I don't want to repeat any time soon.

After getting off work just in time, John and I went to the Umatilla Vikings basketball game, even though I hadn't eaten dinner yet.

By the time we got home, I was very tired and quite hungry. I had just settled onto my daybed with what apparently was a very tasty Healthy Choice roasted turkey breast dinner. After I had eaten a couple of bites, John came upstairs to ask me something.

As he walked into the doorway, Jeter jumped off our bed from the adjacent room wearing a sheepish look on his face. Jeter sleeps on the bed, so it's not unusual for him to lounge around on the waterbed; however, the look on his face said "I've been a bad dog."

When we discovered he had eaten a bunch of Hershey's Kisses and chocolate Santas, tin foil and all, John and I sprung into action. After calling the after-hours number for Oregon Trail Veterinary Clinic, the doggie doc said we could bring him in or try to induce vomiting ourselves.

I headed to Walmart to find some syrup of ipecac. I figured it would be easier to get a little of that down him, rather than a whole lot of salt water.

I started to panic when I couldn't find the spew syrup - the window of opportunity to get the pooch to puke was closing in and I really didn't want to pony up the extra cash to take him to the vet clinic at that late hour.

While frantically searching the aisles, I called Shawn Carvalho. Since she was asleep, I asked her husband if they had any syrup of ipecac - explaining it's used to make people throw up.

They didn't, however, within moments Shawn called me back. I told her what was going on as I continued to search for the elusive elixir.

Hearing the panic in my voice, she stayed on the phone with me - even as I headed to Fiesta Foods.

When a store employee offered assistance, rather than risking a language barrier or unfamiliarity with ipecac, I asked for Pepto Bismol. I figured if I got to the right aisle, I could find it. When she led me directly to the pink stuff, I told her I didn't need it. I could hear Shawn laughing over the phone as I explained what I really needed.

She said they didn't have it, but rather than giving up, I attempted to read the labels. Meanwhile, Shawn had gone to an English-Spanish translation Web site and helped me decipher items on the shelf. After finally determining my quest for ipecac was fruitless, I bought a large container of salt and drove home.

John mixed some up and I proceeded to suck the solution into a bulb syringe and squeezed it into Jeter's mouth.

After several cups worth he coughed and sputtered and produced a very small amount of vomit.

That would never do.

After adding more salt, I continued to assault my dog with the briney solution. All of a sudden he broke lose from John's grasp, took a few steps and hurled a pile. He took a few more steps and barfed again.

With a headlamp shining from his forehead, John followed the heaving hound around the yard - picking up the puke so Jeter or Lucifer, our German shepherd puppy, wouldn't eat it later.

The salt water was so successful, John couldn't keep up. I followed Jeter around the lawn, tossing a paper towel on each pile. When John started to gag, he reminded me Jeter was my dog, so I took over pick-up duty.

As I continued puke patrol, I soon discovered chunks of turkey, stuffing and carrots intermixed with the chocolate and tin foil wrappers - evidently the chocolate was merely an appetizer.

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Tammy Malgesini is the EO community editor. Her column, Inside my shoes, appears twice a month. You can reach her at tmalgesini@eastoregonian.com or 541-564-4539.

Reflections: Inside my shoes the past year

12-31-2009

Reflections: Inside my shoes the past year

By TAMMY MALGESINI
East Oregonian

I get no respect.

OK, that's a little strong, but I just finished up my first full year as the community editor of the East Oregonian and some of my co-workers don't always view the community page as real news.

These are the same people who readily read (if not write in) the cop log, which certainly isn't Pulitzer Prize writing.

This past fall during a newsroom meeting, Samantha Bates asked if I was writing a precede story on the new exhibit at Crow's Shadow Institute of the Arts.

"Are you talking about the one with Adnan Charara?" I asked.

She didn't remember the name but knew the artist did some brightly colored monoprints.

"That was in Friday's paper - thanks for reading," I said with a laugh.

Photographer E.J. Harris then said, "Oh yeah, I saw that."

Surprised, I said at least a photographer read my story.

"I didn't read it, I just saw the photos in Daily Photos," he responded.

On another recent occasion, Erin Mills, who sits across the room from me in the Hermiston Bureau, opened the paper and exclaimed, "Oh my god, there's no page 3A."

For those of you not familiar with the layout of the EO, page 3A is typically reserved for local news. However, on this particular day the community page graced that space.

"Yeah, it skips from page two and goes directly to page four," I responded in a monotone voice.

"You know what I mean," Erin stammered.

Despite sometimes being dissed by co-workers, there are people out there who respect the community page.

Shortly after I became the community editor, I was talking to EO Publishing Co. Board Chairman Mike Forrester at the company Christmas party.

"The community page is very important - years ago it was called the society page," he said.

And there's a host of people who make my job easier. Near the top of the list is Roberta Lavadour, director of Pendleton Center for the Arts.

She's great about sending press releases. And what earns her a gold star is the accompanying photos are high resolution. So on the rare occasion when I'm twiddling my thumbs pondering how I'm going to fill some space, I'll shoot off an e-mail to see if she has anything she wants to get in.

Another invaluable contributor is Robert Luke of Lukes Photos. There's good reason he received the Community Service Award from the Hermiston Chamber of Commerce in January.

Additionally, people like Erin Heideman of Ione and Carol Michael of Boardman are among the regular contributors to Your EO News. Thanks to their submissions, I rarely have to send out YEON alerts to the rest of the news team.

News Assistant Renee Struthers-Hogge is awesome in putting together the various calendars and forwarding e-mails I may not have. She also keeps me entertained by throwing in an occasional image of me with a moose - thanks to the magic of Photoshop.

And last, but certainly not least, there's Terry Murry, the former community editor who took me under her wing.

Early in my days at the EO, she would call me as deadline loomed with what I called, "Tips from Terry."

And very quietly she would say things like:

"When you're including a quote, put it in a new paragraph."

"Only in very rare circumstances is it appropriate to start a sentence with a number."

"You need to remember to put your story in the right style."

And my personal favorite, "Remember to set off nonessential phrases with commas."

Growing up with ADHD and the bulk of my professional career consisting of clinical writing - all commas were nonessential.

Even though Terry's a Red Sox fan and still owes me a case of Pepsi, some pizza and a feral cat, I truly appreciate her mentorship, which prepared me to step inside her shoes.
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Tammy Malgesini is the EO community editor. Her column, Inside my shoes, appears twice a month. You can reach her at tmalgesini@eastoregonian.com or 541-564-4539.

Dog to mom: brrrr, it's cold

12/17/2009 Dog to mom: brrrr, it's cold By TAMMY MALGESINI East Oregonian When it's cold enough to freeze my liquid laundry detergent, then I say it's way too cold. OK, well, it didn't exactly freeze, but it gelled up to the point it wouldn't come out of the spout when I pushed the button. I opened the cap and tilted the Costco-sized container - peering up inside, the blue conglomerated, would-be cleaning agent wasn't gonna budge from the bright orange jug. By the way, why is it laundry detergent always comes in brightly-colored containers? Is this some sort of subliminal marketing message that my clothes can be as bright as a box of Crayola Crayons? But I digress - the point is, it's been cold. In fact it's been downright frighteningly freezing to our nearly 4-month-old German shepherd. Lucifer approaches each new weather trend with trepidation. The first time it rained he peered from beneath the porch and retreated to the sliding glass door when a drop hit him smack in the eye. When I responded with laughter, he puffed out his little puppy chest and marched into the yard. When Jack Frost nipped the air, you would have thought it was personified as Jack Nicholson in "The Shining." Lucifer bravely stepped to the edge of the back porch, took one step onto the frost-covered grass and bolted back for the door. So, when it snowed over the weekend, I wondered how he responded. As I lay snuggled in bed, I soon found out as I could hear the gleeful sounds of Lucifer and Jeter playing in the backyard. John later told me when Lucifer first went outside, his eyes darted back and forth - looking at the white, cottony blanket in our backyard. As soon as Jeter romped into the winter wonderland, Lucifer joyfully joined him. Call me sick if you want, but you know many of you do the same thing - the funniest reaction to the weather, which really isn't a reaction at all, but merely some law of physics and gravity or whatever. When everything was coated with a sheet of ice from the freezing rain, Lucifer's legs splayed every which way when he tried to walk. But the clincher was when he somehow got his footing enough to make his daring escape from wintry nightmare - after dashing several steps, he hit the sleet-covered sidewalk and slid head first, crashing into the door. He stood up, shook off the excess moisture and bounded through the door with all the confidence of a young German shepherd, wearing a look on his face that said, "I meant to do that." --- Tammy Malgesini is the EO community editor. Her column, Inside my shoes, appears twice a month. You can reach her at tmalgesini@eastoregonian.com or 541-564-4539.

Rockin' on down the road to Christmas

11/27/2009                  Rockin' on down the road to Christmas By TAMMY MALGESINI East Oregonian I can't sing. In the Bible where is says, "May a joyful noise unto the Lord," well, I take that literally. Other than the time I was delving into a story on karaoke and was cajoled into singing at The Hut Restaurant and Lounge, I try to confine my singing to private environments. For the past month, Christmas tunes have been my mainstay while in the shower and my car. I even announced earlier this month to those within earshot of my desk that rather than using the radio to drown out extra sound in the Hermiston Bureau, I'd be playing Christmas music for the next 10 weeks. Although Thanksgiving, for most people, seems to be the unofficial beginning of when it's acceptable to play Christmas music, I start at Halloween. There are just too many good holiday tunes to cram in between Thanksgiving and Christmas. So, I've been rocking down the road with the likes of "Happy Holidays" by Billy Idol, "A Twisted Christmas" by Twisted Sister, as well as playing the majestic sounds of Mannheim Steamroller and the Trans-Siberian Orchestra. And I even get a little Motown with "Christmas Here with You" by The Four Tops. My husband, John, is always on the lookout for new albums - so when I noticed on Amazon.com that Bob Dylan was coming out with "Christmas in the Heart," John told me he had already pre-ordered it. After listening to it several times, I commented to John that maybe traditional Christmas music wasn't where it was at for Dylan. John was appalled. "You know what the money's going for, don't you?" he said incensed. Proceeds from the album are going to Feeding America. The program will provide more than 4 million meals to people in need during the holiday season. In addition, future royalties will continue to feed the program. Sure it's a noble cause, but "Hark the Herald Angels Sing" was designed to be a joyous song, but with Dylan's raspy baritone, it sounds more like a funeral march. Don't get me wrong, I'm as big a Dylan fan as they come, but a large part of my enjoyment of him is based on his message and not as much on his sound. "Do You Hear What I Hear." No offense, but yes, Zimmy I do, and it sounds like you're "Knock, knock, knockin' on heaven's door." —— Tammy Malgesini is the EO community editor. Her column, Inside my shoes, appears twice a month. You can reach her at tmalgesini@eastoregonian.com or 541-564-4539.

It's a boy

10/27/2009

John Malgesini cuddles with Lucifer, an 8-week old German shepherd puppy who recently joined the Malgesini pack. Staff photo by Tammy Malgesini It's a boy By TAMMY MALGESINI The East Oregonian Things are drastically different in the Malgesini household. Four additional paws found their way into our home this past weekend. Actually, we've been awaiting the arrival of Lucifer, a black German shepherd, since late May - some members of the pack more enthusiastically than others. My excitement began the moment I placed the puppy order with Becky Geyer at Geyer German Shepherds. She's the breeder I got Jeter from 10 years ago. When we had our Airedale terrier put down in January, it wasn't a question of if we'd get another dog, but when. My husband, John, determined immediately he wasn't ready for another Airedale, but four months later, he settled on the idea of getting a black German Shepherd. And to complicate his desire for a specialty dog even further, he wanted a black male with a short coat. Becky planned to breed No No Nanette and Fabian, whose genetics, she said, suggested a high likelihood of producing some solid black dogs. However, their doggie courtship wasn't planned until mid-summer. The wait probably wasn't such a bad thing. It had been more than a decade since we had a puppy prowling around. While puppy-proofing was something we could somewhat prepare for, explaining to Jeter what was about to transpire only led to a quizzical look and cocked head. Each time Becky's name came up on caller ID, a smile spread across my face. When the call came on Aug. 31, I knew it meant puppies. As much as I wanted to excuse the social pleasantries and blurt out, "Were there any black males?" I listened as Becky talked extensively about the whelping process. She finally said, "There were five black girls, two black boys and ..." I didn't hear the rest of the birth count. All I cared about was two black males. "I've never seen so many black dogs - they just kept coming," Becky said. When Becky called a month later to schedule adoption day, she said to watch for a picture before the end of the week. After she e-mailed a photo of Lucifer, John started to get excited. He bought food and water dishes, a collar and a crate. He said before he saw the photo, the dog wasn't real. And for Jeter, the new puppy is now quite real. He seems a little perturbed about having to share our attention with the prince of darkness. And we thought the terrible twos were bad.  Tammy Malgesini is the EO community editor. Her column, Inside my shoes, appears twice a month. You can reach her at tmalgesini@eastoregonian.com or 541-564-4539.

Pepsi addict cashes in her can collection

10/6/2009














Pepsi addict cashes in her can collection

By TAMMY MALGESINI
East Oregonian

They were everywhere.

At the end of my kitchen cabinet, under my desk at work, in a corner in the garage and on the floor of my car - empty cans and bottles. As much as I want my deposit back, I detest having to stand on a sticky floor, smell the pungent odor of stale beer and feel the pain in my shoulder as I feed them into the machines.

I typically donate them to Special Olympics, the Umatilla High School cheerleaders or Agape House, but the last few weeks I've eyed the ever-sprawling piles and thought it would be a nice chunk of change to take with me to the coast. But, was it worth it?

It takes forever. And just when you're getting into a rhythm, you hit the daily limit and have to go to another store.

I almost took a friend's offer to help me for half the take - at least it could turn into a social event.

However, when I was cleaning out my computer bag I found several pages from the Oregon Administrative Rule, which outlined the Beverage Container Act. It's not the sort of material you curl up with and read in front of the fire, but I needed information from it when I was doing a story about the Oregon bottle bill.

It would come in handy again. Carefully counted into separate bags of 144 for larger stores and 50 for convenience stores, I embarked on a quest to get my nickels back.

As I entered the first retailer, I announced I had containers to return for deposit. The clerk told me she could take 100 containers. The other place would tell me their policy was to take up to 96.

In both stores, I responded, "According to the Oregon Administrative Rule I can bring in 144." Clerks at both places repeated their policy to me. After I showed them information from the OAR, they had to talk to their supervisor. (Sure, I could have taken the extra 44/48 cans and taken them someplace else, but that meant another stop. The whole idea was to get my deposits back while expending the least amount of energy and be home in time to watch the east coast feed of "The Amazing Race" ).

I went through my song and dance again, showing the supervisor the OAR, which states in part, "Dealers must not use this rule to frustrate the requirement of the Beverage Container Act that dealers accept returns of up to 144 beverage containers ..."

I truly do understand the frustration of retailers - they don't have room to store them before they are picked up and they have to deal with some yucky cans and bottles. I have frustrations too. I've paid a deposit, they stack up around my house and when I'm ready to return them I'd like the transaction to be as simple as when I purchased the container in the first place.

It seems the Oregon Administrative Rule trumps store policy.

I'm sure it's not every day retailers get someone coming in quoting the OAR and even packing a copy. I think one supervisor thought this was some sort of Beverage Container Act enforcement operation - similar to the tobacco enforcement decoys or Oregon Liquor Control Commission minor decoy operations.

No, it was just a Pepsi addict wanting some extra cash.
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Tammy Malgesini is the EO community editor. Her column, Inside my shoes, appears every other week. You can reach her at tmalgesini@eastoregonian.com or 541-564-4539.