Leslie Jo Chase, Author at Leslie Jo Chase

March 13, 2015October 7, 2015

Fan mail from some Flounder got me hooked on Randy Lilleston

I’ve been helping a friend with a project and wanted to check in to see how things were going. You don’t ask Emmy Award-winner Nicolas DeGrazia, Creative Director and co-owner of Bitter Jester Creative, Inc. with fellow Emmy award-winner Daniel Kullman, “Hey, how’s the project going?” You want to come up with something witty, or pithy, or some other word that ends with a “y.”

A witty AND pithy idea suddenly hit me in the head like a can of tuna. I would text Nic, “So, any fan mail from some flounder?”

But, it occurred to me that I didn’t know what that really meant. I knew it was from The Rocky and Bullwinkle Show, but couldn’t remember the context in which it was used.

Would it make sense to send Nic a text asking if he had, indeed, received any fan mail from some flounder? And, while I was at it, I thought, “How do flounder write fan mail anyway?”

Did it have deeper meaning? Was it un-P.C? This inquiring mind needed to know.

It was 11:00 AM, and all I had done was lounge around with the dogs. At least I looked super-cute in my completely mismatched flannel pajama pants and fabulous mustard-colored Free People sweater. I was just sitting around, as I often do, waiting to become noticed by someone who wanted to offer me a book deal.

So, instead of snazzing up my LinkedIn profile, or actually working on the book I’m writing I Married him Anyway, I opened an investigative file about fan-mail-sending flounder. I had a feeling I was on to something, “this big.”

In Tybee Island near Savannah, Georgia, visiting The Raskin Family! — In Tybee Island near Savannah,
Georgia, visiting The Raskin Family!

I set out to reveal the mysterious answer to a question those of us raised in the 1960’s and 70’s probably never even thought about or paid attention to. That’s good journalism!

I began by Googling, or as my mother and sister, Beth, say, guggling, “fan mail from some flounder.” I didn’t want to end up sending Nic a questionable text that might encourage him to re-think our friendship.

While researching flounder that sent fan mail, I stumbled* upon a blog with the intriguing name, “Randy Lilleston: Editor/blogger/sometimes a musician” which Google found instantly because the title of one of the blog posts he wrote was “Fan mail from some flounder,” written on April 28th, 2011.

2011? I was not the only person seeking knowledge about fish that send fan mail! I felt just a little bit better about myself.

Randy, if you’re reading this, (I can dream, can’t I?) I guess I’ve been living under a rock, or at least several layers of blankets because it’s been so cold in Chicago, until today, but I had no idea who you were. There. I’ve confessed. And, I don’t feel better.

For the few of you who have never heard of Randy Lilleston either, first, let me say, “Shame on us.” Now that I’ve gotten that out of the way, let me tell you, with deep embarrassment, that his blog post didn’t just happen to pop up at the top of my Google search willy-nilly. This guy is a big deal!

From his LinkedIn bio, I gleaned the following:

“Randy Lilleston is the Editor-in-Chief of Industry Dive, in Washington, DC the Senior-level editor and manager with extensive experience on digital and print platforms. Producer of award-winning journalism for some of the nation’s largest and most respected news organizations. Skilled at building teams, increasing audience size and devising/executing strategy.”

Don’t worry. I didn’t understand that either.

But, I did understand with whom I was dealing when I read the rest of his LinkedIn bio.

“After graduating from the University of Central Missouri with a B.S. in Journalism, Randy was a Washington bureau chief/White House reporter for four years, before becoming the Managing Editor of online ventures and senior editor of CQ Daily Monitor.”

I’m not finished. I just needed to take a breath.

He then became,

“The Senior Editor of politics for CNN.com, moving on to become the Managing Editor at AOL news, and the News editor of USA Today.com. From there, Randy became the Supervising Editor of digital news for NPR.org, before becoming the Editor-in-Chief of Industry Dive.”

Randy, if you’re reading this, I assure you I am not a stalker. I’m just doing due diligence, and, as a Jewish mother, kvelling.

After filling out the form to become the next president of the Randy Lilleston fan club, I put my crayon down and thought to myself, “Why would a guy with such an impressive oeuvre (guggle it) write a blog post about fan mail from some flounder?

Well, I’ll tell you. The first lines of his post are, “I just found out today that the complete Adventures of Rocky and Bullwinkle and Friends has been issued in one DVD boxed set for the first time. Amazon is asking 68 bucks for it. I want it.

Now I have to rehearse the conversation I will have with my wife, explaining why I really really really need to spend 70 bucks to obtain (to crib the language on Amazon.com) “91 trips in the WABAC time machine, 38 attempts to catch Snidely Whiplash, 91 tales fractured and 50 bits of wisdom from Mr. Know-it-All.”

I feel much better about myself. Thanks, Randy! You’re a regular guy just like the rest of us. And, after reading more of your blog posts, I love your taste in music (The Drive-By Truckers? Awe-some!) but I’ll have to save that for another post.

To read Randy Lilleston’s complete blog, “Fan mail from some flounder,” please click the following link:

http://randylilleston.com/wordpress/?p=1931

So, Nic, by the way “Any fan mail from some flounder?”

* Anyone who knows me knows I’m a klutz, and stumbling is a part of everyday transportation for me.

Note: Nic, Dan, and Randy, sorry for the amount of commas,,,,and probably other punishable uses of punctuation, but to me, it’s all about the fan mail. Who am I kidding? It’s all about the flounder, too.

March 3, 2015October 7, 2015

Wanted: The Next Ann Landers

On Monday, March 2, 1987, exactly 28 years ago yesterday, I saw this ad in the Chicago Sun-Times. I was intrigued. I was curious. I was freshly married, blissfully happy, and knew next to nothing about anything. I was the perfect candidate.

The only thing I did know was that a once in a lifetime opportunity sat in front of me at a time when I had no real responsibilities. I had a great job writing about tractors, lawn mowers, and men’s underwear as a Sears Catalog copywriter, but surely Sears would understand if I needed to leave because I’d won a national search for the next Guru of Guidance.

Of course, there was Richard to think about. But that’s all Richard has ever required. Even before he graduated with honors and a PhD in Richard from the University of Richard, he had always been self-sufficient.

I didn’t really think I stood the slightest chance of landing Ms. Landers’ job. If I had, I would have told myself to “seek counseling,” but talking to myself – – and answering – – might not have boded well, especially when seeking a job in this particular field.

The first thing I did was ask my brother, Paul, who worked with my father, to take a picture of me sitting in their firm’s law library. I wore my favorite raspberry dress with shoulder-pads as large as those worn by most defensive linebackers. Luckily, because it wasn’t humid, I was able to contain my hair within the parameters of a Polaroid.

Then came the easy part, or so I thought. I was a decent writer. I have never had a problem writing about myself when the outcome was funny. But I had to sell myself. Ugh!

Being self-promoting has always seemed so self-promoting-ish to me. I’ve always found it hard to blow my own horn, adopt an air of self-puffery, or even tie my own shoes. Well, that’s not germane (or Tito, or Marlon…) to the story.

I’m so sure I’ll be too nervous by the time I need to promote a book someday, that Veronica and I have already discussed the very real possibility of her being my stand-in at book signings, and appearances on late-night television shows.

That's me on the left, and Veronica on the right. — That’s me on the left, and Veronica on the right.

Need more proof?

Veronica and I are sporting faux piercings for a selfie of our bad selvies.

I decided the best strategy was to just honestly answer the questions to the best of my ability.

They were looking for a person who could give guidance. Okay. I had guided many a girlfriend through rough patches with their boyfriends.

They wanted someone with guts. I didn’t and still don’t have any, but figured I could grow them.

Good Advice? Um, what’s the difference between advice and guidance?

It was time to call Mom.

Mom had no shortage of nice things to say about me, so I decided to say what she said about me. In fact (cringe,) I actually quoted my mother in the letter! You might have noticed by now that I have conveniently excluded from this post the letter of submission I wrote to the Chicago Sun-Times judges. It was so bad it was just too embarrassing to print.

I wrote (cringe cringe, cringe,)

“My mother said I have an ability to communicate and to empathize with people. She also said that I always exhibited good judgement as a child, and that I was always fair, perceptive, and conscientious. She also added that I am a miracle worker with sick pets, and that I have neat drawers.”

What?

Really.

What?

And, Mom, as Richard will gleefully tell you, I don’t have neat drawers anymore.

On March 9th, 1987, I sent the letter and picture in, and then waited patiently (and not so patiently) for a response. What if I actually made it to the semi-finals? Let’s face it. I wasn’t going to make it to the semi-finals…unless:

1. Not one other person in all the land would take the job.

2. All the Barbie dolls in the entire United States of America were unavailable through any and all retail outlets, so there was no other choice but to hire a a fresh-faced, wide-eyed ingenue with teeny, tiny pieces of brightly colored tissue paper floating around inside her brain.

Leslie Jo Chase Korengold: Wake up and Smell the Coffee!

Inevitably, I received a rejection letter in the mail, postmarked April 5, 1987. To the judges’ credit, I didn’t have to wait very long to find out what I already knew. I’ve included a picture of the envelope, too, because, it’s hard to believe, but it was hand-addressed, and only cost .22 cents to return my letter, my picture, and the rejection letter.

Just out of curiosity, did any of you apply to be the next Ann Landers? If so, please share your stories in the comments section below. I’d feel better knowing that I wasn’t the only person I know who responded to the Chicago Sun-Times search for the next Eppie Lederer.

After reading many of her quotes, I have found my favorite:

“Don’t accept your dog’s admiration as conclusive evidence that you are wonderful.” ~ Ann Landers

February 20, 2015

Helen Le Pu

My mother once told a friend how frustrating it was to communicate with her new housekeeper, Helen. Her friend said, “But, Lorraine, you speak Spanish, don’t you?”

My mother said, “Yes, but Helen is Polish.”

Helen has worked for my mother for so long, the only way we’ll ever know her age is by counting the rings around her waist.

I didn’t see Helen often, but when I did, she was always very pleasant.

After Richard and I got married, moved to an apartment, had two children and a cat, we couldn’t keep things as clean as Richard liked.

Richard worked two jobs, and, when not being the loving, devoted mother, wife, and crazy animal lady I have always been, as a freelance journalist, I was frantically meeting deadlines for several magazines.

The cat shed, and so did our children. They were half “Chase,” after all, and we come from hairy stock.

When Richard found hairballs in his shoes, we asked Helen to come every three weeks.

As winter descended, Helen wore a beautiful Camel Hair coat. By February, I suspected Helen had taken a lover because she began to wear perfume.

But, it was not love I smelled in the air. It wasn’t a whisper, or a hint of a fragrance. It stunk up the air with the greatest of ease.

I only had to endure the stench every three weeks, but having always had a rather sensitive proboscis, I began to get headaches and feel nauseated every three weeks, too. I had to say something. But, what?

I didn’t know any Polish. Which words would convey that it was the smell of her perfume – – not her – – that I didn’t like? I didn’t want my words to translate to, “Helen, you smell like a rotting appendix.”

One afternoon I walked into the the living room ready to talk to her about her perfume, just as she finished and left to clean the kitchen.

I took a big sigh of relief, but in doing so, I realized the stench remained the same. How could that be?

I deduced that the smell couldn’t be wafting directly from her person. Like a Bloodhound, I was on a mission. Slowly I crept, step by step, sniff by sniff, until I found the source of the offending odor.

The Eau du Helen was coming from the coat she always put on top of the radiator. The closer I got, the worse it smelled. The heat must have been intensifying the noxious chemicals.

Once I knew from whence the smell came, I was able to try to ask her to please hang her coat on the banister in the hallway, just outside our apartment.

She did. Our encounter went very well. Maybe, a little too well. As a precaution, I didn’t lose sight of my cup of coffee in case she felt compelled to give me a sneezer latte.

One wintery Saturday, when she opened the door to leave, her coat was missing. It suddenly dawned on me that we’d left a bag of Richard’s dirty* shirts in a bag on the banister. The dry cleaner guy must have seen (and smelled) Helen’s coat, and taken it to be cleaned.

I called the dry cleaner and found that my assumption had been correct.

Helen took two busses and a train to get to and from our apartment. If she left later than her normal departure time, she might miss a bus or the train, and possibly not arrive home until the next day, conceivably in a different time zone altogether.

I’ve always disliked story problems, so I was relieved when Richard solved everything by calculating that he could drive the two blocks to the dry cleaner, pick up the coat, and then take Helen to her first point of departure.

Needless to say, we later had to have the car detailed.

After moving into our new house, we parted ways with Helen. She’d have had to take twice as many busses and trains to get there, only leaving her one hour to clean before having to catch the additional busses and trains.

Years later, I stopped by Mom’s one Wednesday afternoon. As soon as my finger reached for the doorbell, I knew Helen was there because The Smell was coming from inside the house.

Helen gave me a big hug, launching my nausea ad nauseam.

She looked me up and down, and said, in the few English words she pronounced so well, I’d swear she’d had lessons from Miss Manners, herself, “You look so good! So fat!”

I smiled, said a quick, “hello” to my mother, and got the hell out of there.

After taking a shower and boiling my clothes, my mother called to try to explain that in Helen’s culture, calling someone “fat” was not meant to be offensive. It was actually a compliment that meant “you must be doing well.”

I didn’t care what Helen meant. My ego had been deflated. I’d worked really hard to only be that fat.

No matter how my mother tried to spin it, the fat was out of the bag. I think Helen seized the opportunity to get me back for the smelly coat extravaganza.

How long had Helen planned her back fat…I mean pay back? How long had she practiced those exact words in English so she could say them to my fat face?

I am usually not one to hold grudges, but I haven’t stomped foot in my mother’s house on a Wednesday between 9:00 AM – 3:30 PM since.

Fat chance I ever will again.

*Richard’s shirts have never been dirty. He sent them out because, even after lessons from my friend Juliet, I was unable to iron them to his specifications.

There’s still time to submit words for The Mad Libs Project! Please read the blog post from February 8, 2015, and e mail your words to lesliejochase@gmail.com.

Thanks!

February 8, 2015February 9, 2015

The Mad Libs Project, Part I

One of my favorite games is Kerplunk.

You’re probably thinking I’ve lost my marbles because I’m talking about Kerplunk in a story titled “The Mad Libs Project.” That would be a possibility, but I still have three marbles left, so just go with it. I promise, it will eventually make a little bit of sense.

For as long as I can remember, Kerplunk created hours of mindless suspense, and a heck of a good time for me. Some people like to climb mountains, or take on the Class IV rapids of Namangosa Gorge in Ecuador.

Not I. I’m content with the excitement Kerplunk provides as I try to remove a plastic stick from a plastic canister hoping not to disturb any of the plastic marbles balancing precariously inside.

The original Kerplunk! Photo credit: Patrick Hashley — The original Kerplunk!
Photo credit: Patrick Hashley

I like doing research, especially about things I’m writing and actually care about, but to be honest, I wasn’t very intrigued about the origins of Kerplunk. But, the few remaining marbles in my head demanded I do due diligence, and I said, “Fine.” So here it is:

According to http://wwwbestkidstoysever.com/vintage-toys-2/kerplunk-game-a-1970s-game-still-alive, “Interestingly the name KerPlunk is onomatopoeic and based on the sound made by the marbles when a straw is removed and they fall to the bottom.”

I did not find this very interesting because a wild hunch told me that’s how the game got its name, and if you didn’t surmise the same thing, you probably have only two marbles.

But while I was less than impressed by the way in which it received its name, I do think Kerplunk inspired a creative “plunk” heard around the world.

Very interesting! Photo credit: thechaosmommy.blogspot.com

Now, this is cool. I want one in my backyard. Photo credit: aboutcolonblank.com

Another one of my favorite games is Mad Libs. What an ingenious idea. Even with the limited vocabulary I possessed as a child, I’d always end up falling to the floor, giggling, because the stories turned out so silly.

Now I love to play Mad Libs even more because I know about ten more words than I did back then.

Since I was curious about the origin of Mad Libs, I went online and found a fascinating article written by one of its creators, Leonard Stern. For some reason, my computer won’t let me publish a direct link to www.madlibs.com/history, so if you really want to know about it, just Google, “mad-libs history” and the article should just pop up.

Looks rather interesting, don't you think? Photo credit: www.mtvhive.com — Looks rather interesting, don’t you think?
Photo credit: www.mtvhive.com

I think I like to play Mad Libs because it gives me the opportunity to use words and numbers, I wouldn’t in everyday conversations, such as, “Nostril, Dodo bird, sphincter,” and “7,453.”

Why am I telling you about my favorite games? Well, I’m glad you asked. We can’t play virtual Kerplunk, although I have asked Howard*, Leonard*, Raj*, and Sheldon* to work on it.

But, I propose a hypothesis of a paradigm that would allow us to collectively play virtual Mad Libs.

Excuse me. Amy* just fainted.

So, I have written a Mad Libs script, leaving out nouns, verbs, adverbs, adjectives, names of people in the room, and a few numbers.

Of course I can’t tell you the theme of the story, or where it takes place, because then it will just end up nice and easy. But there’s just one thing.

You see we never, ever do anything nice and easy. We always do it nice and funny. So, we’re going to start thinking about the beginning of this story and do it funny, and then, we’re gonna do the finish hilarious. This is the way we do Mad Libs. (Thank you Ike & Tina Turner for allowing me to borrow and, make slight adjustments to, your introduction to “Proud Mary.”)

Please e mail your (family-friendly) contributions to lesliejochase@gmail.com by Friday, March 13th. Submit by e mail only, please.

I can’t wait to see what we come up with together! I’m hoping it will be so much fun that we’ll do it again, hence the title, The Mad Libs Project, Part I.

Mad Libs Logo
photo credit: shelf-life-ew.com

*Characters from The Big Bang Theory

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