jamierubin.netJamie Todd Rubin | Writer

Jamie Todd Rubin Writer Menu Skip to content About/Contact About Me Contact Press Kit Site Policies Reprint Request Policy Guest Posts and Site Advertising Policy How I became a professional science fiction writer Bibliography Going Paperless What I’ve Read Since 1996 Search for: My Bologna Has a First Name April 20, 2020 essays bologna , habits Jamie Todd Rubin Being a creature of habit in these times has its advantages. Daily routines, regardless of how tedious they are, provide a measure of comfort amidst all of the uncertainty. Take lunch, for instance. One of my all-time favorite lunches is peanut butter and jelly. But after a few weeks of that for lunch, I needed a change. Kelly was making a run to the store so I asked her to pick up some turkey, cheese, and bologna. She raised an eyebrow at the latter, but she brought it home. And for the last several weeks, I have been enjoying a turkey, bologna and cheese sandwich for lunch everyday. I have the construction procedure down a few simple steps. While making the sandwiches (I often have two), I found myself singing the Oscar Mayer song that I remember from when I was a little kid. I remember the song perfectly, although I forgot what the commercial was like–with the little kid singing as he fishes and eats his lunch. My kids found it amusing that I’d sing this strange song while making my lunch. The girls, in particular, were intrigued by the song, and each time I set about making my sandwich, they’d ask me to sing the bologna song. They would then try to reproduce it, with mixed results. Over the weekend, however, I had apparently passed some threshold, having made something on the order of 50 of these sandwiches over the last 3 weeks or so. (I will admit to occasionally crawling out of bed in the middle of the night, feeling hungry, and unable to resist making a sandwich.) I started to sing, “My bologna has a first name…” at which point the girls took over the singing, and completed the entire tune perfectly, including the spelling of b-o-l-o-g-n-a at the end. This impressed me, but something else occurred to me that impressed me even more. The commercial with “The Bologna Song” first appeared in the 1970s. The song was created by Jerry Ringlien , who died in 2007. It seemed remarkable to me that my kids would be singing a song from a commercial that aired more than 40 years ago. I wonder what Jerry Ringlien would think of that? During an extended family video chat over the weekend, I mentioned by turkey and bologna sandwiches and was bologna-shamed. Apparently, bologna isn’t particularly good for you. It tastes like a hot dog to me. I imagine it is not the healthiest meat out there, but I also know that I’ll grow tired of it soon enough and switch back to peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for lunch. For now, at time when the world is under quarantine, and we can’t visit family and friends in person, the smallest pleasures help to boost morale. And that small pleasure for me? It has a first name, and it’s O-S-C-A-R… Share this: Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window) Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window) Click to share on Pocket (Opens in new window) Click to email this to a friend (Opens in new window) More Click to share on Tumblr (Opens in new window) Click to share on Pinterest (Opens in new window) Click to share on Reddit (Opens in new window) Like this: Like Loading... View all 2 comments Bird Watching April 9, 2020 essays birds , e.b. white Jamie Todd Rubin I’m the world’s worst bird watcher. I like watching birds every now and then, but I can rarely identify them. It seems like everyone else is aware of the difference between an oriole and a cardinal at a glance, but not me. I like listening to birds, too. Many people can identify the bird by the sound it makes, but all I can do is tell that it’s morning and time to wake up. My and the Littlest Miss name the birds we see around our backyard. There’s Woody, Mercedes, and Belvedere. We spot them now and then, but I doubt it is the same Woody we saw yesterday, or the day before. Birds are like a river in that way. I’ve learned to recognize a woodpecker through brute force. I followed the sound of one until I finally saw him (or her?) high up in a tree. I’ve never been a particularly avid bird-watcher. There are people I see in parks and nearby wetlands that stakeout birds with binoculars and cameras with telephoto lenses. I don’t have the patience for that. E.B. White wrote an essay entitled, “Mr. Forbush’s Friends”. In it he reviewed The Birds of Massachusetts and Other New England States . That essay made bird-watching sound like a fascinating sport. But I still think I’d be no good at it. Bird-watchers “collect” birds, which I understand means they collect observations of birds in the wild. What does this look like, I wonder? I there journal with a checklist where you can mark off the bird and note the date, time, place, and conditions? What I want to ask all of the bird-watchers out there is this: how do you get a bird to sit still for a photo? This morning, there was a bright red bird on the powerline outside my house when I went for a walk. It was twenty feet above me. I stood still and causally reached for my phone to take its picture. As soon as my hand moved toward my pocket, the bird took off. I’d call it a coincidence, except that this seems to happen every time I try to take a picture of a bird. Are they camera shy? Even perched twenty feet above me? Maybe this explains all those binoculars and telephoto lenses. I’ve lost count of all of the amazing photos of birds I would have had were the birds not camera-shy. Now that I think of it, maybe it’s not the camera. Maybe it’s me. I’m not cut out to be an ornithologist, even an amateur one. This was pointed out to me ten years ago by the (then) editor of Analog Science Fiction , Stanley Schmidt. Stan had just accepted my first story for that magazine, “Take One for the Road.” (It appeared in the June 2011 issue.) He asked for two small edits. One was so minor I’ve forgotten it. The other has stayed with me right down to the very moment. I had a sentence in the story which referred to “night owls.” Stan said, “Do you mind changing this to just ‘owls’? The ornithologists among Analog ‘s readers will object to ‘night owls’ as redundant.” I made the change, but I think it would strange to refer to someone who prefers working at night as just “an owl.” Share this: Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window) Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window) Click to share on Pocket (Opens in new window) Click to email this to a friend (Opens in new window) More Click to share on Tumblr (Opens in new window) Click to share on Pinterest (Opens in new window) Click to share on Reddit (Opens in new window) Like this: Like Loading... One comment so far Light Pollution March 20, 2020 essays Jamie Todd Rubin I prefer darkness when I sleep: the darker, the better. Rather than accommodate this, the rest of the world does what it can to fill my nights with light. Take my bedroom, for example. Just outside the front of the house where two of our bedroom windows face, is a streetlight, spilling a pool of bright light onto the street–and through my windows. We pull down blinds and slide curtains to banish the light. But light still manages to encroach on my sleep. The darker it gets the brighter even the smallest light seems. And there are plenty of small, and completely unnecessary light that intrude upon my darkness. In the bedroom alone the cable box has a bright white light on the front of the box to indicate that the power is off. Why a device needs a light to indicate the power is off passes comprehension. If the makers of the box felt a power-off indicator was absolutely necessary, couldn’t they have made it a less harsh red light? I’ve taken to placing a ball of socks in front of the box to hide the light. This is what it has come to. Why is it necessary for TV manu...