A new principal hired by Copley High School, Marisa Bavaro of Brunswick, lasted all of five hours before turning in her resignation.
And how did she resign?
By sending a text message.
And what did the text message say?
“Can’t take job. Don’t call.”
Now there’s a classy move.
What a great example for the youth of America.
Nuked from afar
Speaking of rude ... after five years as host and producer of the NewsNite on the Western Reserve PBS channel, Eric Mansfield was informed the show was being canceled via email.
But he is far more discouraged by the demise of the weekly news talk show itself, noting that Akron has already lost its evening newscast twice.
“We are too big of a community not to have our own broadcast news presence,” he says.
Odd choice
A TV commercial for Cuyahoga Community College urges students to sign up for the fall semester. The earnest fellow on the soundtrack intones, “Tri-C — where futures begin.”
Among the kids shown in the Tri-C hallways during the 15-second spot: a girl wearing a pink T-shirt with “KENT” across the front.
Muddling through
This story comes compliments of a highly paid Beacon Journal editor (we’ll call him “Doug Oplinger”) who should have been behind his desk rather than wandering the streets. But it is an amusing little anecdote, so maybe he earned at least a small percentage of his pay.
Couple days ago while walking on High Street from Polsky’s to the office, a man pulled up alongside me and said, “Where ... is ... innoculator?”
He had a thick accent — possibly German — but he doesn’t say enough to be sure.
So, I’m thinking, is he looking for flu shots? The hospital maybe? A clinic?
I say, “I’m sorry?”
He says, “Innoculator... it’s ... innoculator?”
Obviously, he realizes he doesn’t have the words to get through this, and he can see I’m puzzled.
Then he says, “Cre ... ates ... jobs.”
“Ooooh! You mean the Incubator. Take a right, take a left, then second light on your right.”
Hot scoop
Emily Oliff, a PR maven in New York City, sent the following email to me, Bob.
“Dear Kim,
“Juggling a fast-paced career, kids and increasingly destructive UV affronts, the modern professional mother has little time to keep her body in control, let alone approaching perfection. How about a story on a miraculous solution that will mystify the masses?”
Dear Emily,
How about slowing down your own fast-paced career long enough to put the correct name on your emails? Only then will I consider doing a story about a miraculous solution that will mystify the masses.
Please slow down in a hurry, because I can’t wait to help you mystify the masses. That has always been one of my chief goals.
More stripping
I vowed I wouldn’t do this again, but, hey — it’s an election year. Who keeps a promise?
After three previous columns that included theories on the origin of the term “devil strip,” I’m going to add one more because this one’s intriguing and new (at least to my ears).
Bob Bonchak, a trust officer for Huntington, has spent a lot of time looking into the origination of phrases. He says this one comes from an old nautical term for “the last plank on the old wooden ships.”
“It was a very crucial plank, because it was the one right before the water,” he says.
He’s not exactly sure how the devil reared his ugly head, but Bonchak points out that a number of nautical terms and phrases were devilish.
“ ‘Between the devil and the deep blue sea’ means the guy’s overboard, because you’re between there and the devil strip.”
And, since we’ve already returned to devil-strip hell, I might as well pass along two more entries in the Alternative Names category.
Referring to an assertion by a wetlands consultant that the term originated from the days when developers were permitted to create a thin strip of land next to a new road to force the owner of adjacent properties to pay him for access, Brad Davis of North Canton writes:
“I come from Northern California, logging country. There the 6-foot piece of land was called a ‘spite strip.’ ”
And a reader who grew up in Sioux City, Iowa, says it was known as “the parking.” No, they didn’t park on it, but that’s what they called it.
Now cease and desist!
Bob Dyer can be reached at 330-996-3580 or bdyer@thebeaconjournal.com.