Page 5 | MediocreMan

Teaching, Coaching, Mentoring · 5 April 2025

I put out a post a little while ago asking what people might like to see me write about on my blog. I actually got a reply!

I subscribe to a service that gives me social media posts each day of the month. I post something from them pretty much every day on Twitter/X. (I know. I should get over my notion that X will ever go back to Twitter, but I have a difficult time calling it X. I suppose that is another story. I wonder if I wrote it already. Hmm.) At any rate. I have been posting these social media words and pictures nearly every day for a few months now. They are not always posts promoting my books. (I have only set up a campaign for one book so far.) In fact, the schedule only calls for promoting my books one day out of six. Or something like that. Which means that I pretty much promote my book on Saturdays since I only post six days a week. I suppose I ought to change that. After all, there is some science to the calendar. At least that is what they said.

At any rate.

One of said posts was a question asking what I ought to write. It was a great post. But I figured that nobody would reply. But… Lo and behold, I got a reply. One of my cousins said that he would like to read stories about my teaching/mentoring. I was flabbergasted. Somebody actually responded to my post. I have had it happen before, but not very often. In fact, my cousin might be the only one to ever do so. Okay. Maybe not the only one, but certainly only one of two or three people.

Well, I certainly would like to oblige my cousin. After all, he reads my stuff. What is better than that? Besides being my cousin, of course.

Well, I have thought about it and I will certainly come up with some good stories. Not made up, of course. Just good stories about teaching and coaching. I am not sure that I have been much of a mentor, but perhaps I can come up with something close. After all, I do not really do that much teaching either. I try to come beside a student and help him or her along the way. Sometimes I need to prod a person, but usually not too hard. Just enough to get them going.

And there is my first story. No. Not this one. I just got an idea for a first story. Not the first story of teaching, coaching, and mentoring. I have done a few of those over the years. But the first one since one of my dear readers (Did I mention that he is my cousin?) asked for one.

If you ever wonder where bloggers get their ideas, do not ask me. I just come up with stuff. Although it is nice when some of that stuff is asked for. I hope that I can come up with a story now and then about teaching, coaching, and mentoring. I hope I can satisfy at least one of my reader’s curiosity.

(Thanks for replying, Dale.)

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Malapropisms · 29 March 2025

I wondered if I could do an entertaining blog post with a bunch of malapropisms. (You be the judge.)

Malapropisms are sayings where you substitute a wrong word in for the right word. They are usually just mistakes. Like a misspelling or other error. But people can also use them to great comic effect.

I suppose Miss Spelling could be an error. But her parents probably do not think so. I actually do not know if that is a malapropism or just silly. I suppose it is just silly. But I could not help but think of Miss Spelling when I wrote misspelling. Even though I have no idea who Miss Spelling is. Just that she has one more “s” than misspelling.

Speaking of humor. I used to think that I could be a great syndicated humor columnist like Dave Barry was. In fact, I used to think that I could replace him when he retired all those years ago. But alas, nobody called or wrote to tell me that they thought I could do the job. Ah well. Instead, I have written in obscurity for all these years. I suppose that is better than writing in Antarctica. (Now, you understand why nobody called to ask if I would replace Mr. Barry.)

The other great humor columnist that I loved to read was Erma Bombeck. She wrote the seminal work on green grass and how to make it greener. The Grass Is Always Greener Over the Septic Tank. The interesting thing is that now there is no grass over the septic tank. You just get to see the green tops of the tanks. I wonder what she would think about that.

At any rate. It was always great fun to read her writings about life. I do not remember all that she wrote, but I remember being entertained by her column in the newspaper and in her books.

Well, since I have not written any more malapropisms in this piece, I suppose I ought to stop while I am behind. And no. I am not thinking that I am some vulgar word for a behind. I just like the strange saying. After all, most people stop when they are ahead. Which is why it is humorous to stop when you are behind.

Which is a third reason that I am not funny. When you need to explain your lame jokes, people tend not to laugh. Just like when you need to tell them to laugh. They might not even give you the courtesy laugh. Unless of course, the audience’s grades depended on said laughing. (Which, of course, they never have.)

I suppose that I ought to one day get on the shtick. Really up my game. Then again, my dad jokes are subpar even for dad jokes. What worse shtick is there than a dad who cannot tell dad jokes?

Well, so much for malapropisms. I have only used one in this whole piece. Okay. Maybe two. But substituting shtick for stick… Okay. That was lame too. Ah well. So much for humor. And so much for malapropisms. I wonder if Miss Spelling has Dave Berry’s phone number.

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Still Amongst the Beach Detritus · 22 March 2025

[Note: This is the sequel to the sequel, Again Amongst the Beach Detritus. Or the third part to Amongst the Beach Detritus.]

“Stop!”

I felt the pressure let up. I was given a reprieve. The man in the uniform rotated the weight of his foot off of my body onto his heel. Then, he stepped away. I was free. And I did not waste any time. I rushed off to a hiding place amongst the beach detritus. I would bide my time there to see if I could get my claw on the precious again.

***

I was not really paying attention when I heard the voice again. It was the one who held the precious. Sophie. And she was with her knight in shining armor. Joey. I waited amongst the detritus to see if they had the precious. I sulked when I saw that it was not on her finger. Somehow the finger was there, but the previous was not.

Then, I noticed. Sophie had the precious in her other hand. Not on a finger, but between her fingers. Like she was holding it out. Like she was offering it to somebody. Like she was offering it to me!

I shuffled out of my hiding place. I rushed over to Sophie and the precious. She smiled and leaned down. Joey muttered something. If crabs could smile, I would have been smiling the biggest smile any crab had ever smiled. I held out my claw. “Gimme. Gimme the precious.”

Joey smiled. “He actually wants it.”

“Of course he does. He thinks it’s precious.”

It is precious. It is the precious. And she is wrapping it around my arm above my claw. “Oh joy!”

Sophie stands and smiles. I put my claw in front of my body and bend my front four legs.

“Look. He’s trying to kneel. Like he’s some sort of knight. He thinks you’re his queen, Sophie.”

“No. I think he’s just thankful.”

I am thankful. I am thankful that they have relinquished the precious to me. To me! I shuffle off toward my spot in the detritus. But before I get there, I feel myself being lifted. “No! Help me!”

But there is no help. I see Sophie and Joey looking up at me. Their mouths are open and their eyes are wide, but they cannot help. They are getting smaller as I rise.

I look up to see the bird. He has me in his talons. He seems to be smiling. He wants the precious. “You’ll never get the precious, you ugly bird.”

“Precious? Precious? You’re the precious. I just want to…”. He looks down at my claw and seems to notice the precious for the first time. “…I just want to take the precious off your hands. It is so shiny and bright.” He looks forward again and scans the beach. “Plus, you’ll make a nice meal.”

I see where he is headed. The rocks. He’s going to crack my shell on the rocks. He’ll take my precious.

I grab his other talon with my free claw. He squawks. He lets go of my claw that has the precious. But I don’t let go of him. The fall will crush me. And he’ll get the precious.

“Let go, you dumb crab. Let go.”

But I cannot let go. Not yet. Not until… He turns. He turns toward the water. He is squawking again, but he is flying above the water. I look down. Blue everywhere. I let go. “Goodbye ugly bird.”

***

It takes a while, but I find my way back. Crawling along the bottom of the sea and then up onto the beach. The precious is still on my arm above my claw. I am safe in my beach haven. Safe. And still amongst the beach detritus.