People often say to me: "Dave, you are a leading journalism professional
and not as short as I expected. What is your secret of success?"
The answer is that, throughout my career, I have always kept one vital
journalistic principle foremost in my mind: Try not to leave the house.
A journalist who leaves his or her house can run into all kinds of obstacles,
Editors; Members of the public; and News events involving actual facts.
All of these obstacles can seriously interfere with the basic work of
journalism, which is sitting around and thinking stuff up. This is what
I mainly do, which is why I have been able to achieve a level of high-quality
journalistic productivity, as measured in booger jokes, that a guy like
David Broder can only dream about.
Nevertheless, every now and then a situation will come up wherein a
story of major importance is breaking somewhere other than in my office,
and I have no choice but to go and cover it. For example, in this book
you will find a column concerning an incident in 1992 when I left my
house and traveled, without regard for my personal convenience or safety,
all the way to my yard, to see the World's Fastest Lawn Mower. That's
the kind of dedicated professional I am.
The result is that this book contains a number of columns based on real
events. There are also some longer articles, most of which originally
appeared in the Miami Herald's Sunday magazine, Tropic; these also contain
an unusually high (for me) level of factual content. That's why this
book is called Dave Barry Is Not Making This Up.
* I want to stress,however, that this title does not mean that this
is a serious book. This book also contains a lot of "tongue-in-cheek"
social commentary and satire, by which I mean lies. I hope you don't
find this mixture of fact and fiction to be confusing. If, in reading
the following pages, you are uncertain as to whether a specific statement
is meant seriously or not, simply apply this rule of thumb: If the statement
makes you consider filing a lawsuit, I was kidding. Ha ha!
* In an effort to boost up sales, we were going to call it Rush Limbaugh
Is Not Making This Up, but there was some kind of legal problem.
The following section, which is mostly about family stuff, contains
the article that pretty much launched my writing career: the story of
my son's "natural" birth. When I wrote it back in 1981, Beth and I were
living in Glen Mills, Pennsylvania, and I had a job teaching effective
* I wrote the article for the Philadelphia Inquirer, and it got reprinted
in many other newspapers, including the Miami Herald, which ended up
hiring me. So in a way you could say that I owe my job to my son. Although
if you consider the amount of money I wound up spending just on He-Man
action figures, I have more than paid him back.
* This could be why we got so far behind Japan. FOOD FOR THOUGHT.
It's getting late on a school night, but I'm not letting my son go to
bed yet, because there's serious work to be done.
"Robert!" I'm saying, in a firm voice. "Come to the kitchen right now
and blow-dry the ant!"
We have a large ant, about the size of a mature raccoon, standing on
our kitchen counter. In fact, it looks kind of like a raccoon, or possibly
even a mutant lobster. We made the ant out of papier-mâché, a substance
you create by mixing flour and water and newspapers together into a
slimy goop that drips down and gets licked up by your dogs, who operate
on the wise survival principle that you should immediately eat everything
that falls onto the kitchen floor, because if it turns out not to be
food, you can always throw it up later.
The ant, needless to say, is part of a Science Fair project. We need
a big ant to illustrate an important scientific concept, the same concept
that is illustrated by all Science Fair projects, namely: "Look! I did
a Science Fair project!"
(I know how we can solve our national crisis in educational funding:
Whenever the schools needed money, they could send a letter to all the
parents saying: "Give us a contribution right now, or we're going to
hold a Science Fair." They'd raise billions.)
Our Science Fair project is due tomorrow, but the ant is still wet,
so we're using a hair dryer on it. Science Fair judges hate a wet ant.
Another problem is that our ant is starting to sag, both in the front
(or, in entomological terms, the "prognosis") and in the rear (or "butt").
It doesn't look like one of those alert, businesslike, "can-do" ants
that you see striding briskly around. It looks depressed, like an ant
that has just been informed that all 86, 932 members of its immediate
family were crushed while attempting to lift a Tootsie Roll.
While Robert is drying the ant, I get a flashlight and go outside to
examine the experiment portion of our project, which is entitled Ants
and Junk Food. On our back fence we put up a banner that says, in eight-inch-high
letters, welcome ants. Under this is a piece of cardboard with the following
snack substances scientifically arranged on it: potato chips, a spicy
beef stick, a doughnut, a Snickers candy bar, chocolate-filled cookies,
Cheez Doodles, Cocoa Krispies, and Screaming Yellow Zonkers. If you
were to eat this entire experiment, you would turn into a giant pimple
We figured this experiment would attract ants from as far away as Indonesia,
and we'd note which junk foods they preferred, and this would prove
our basic scientific point ("Look! I did a Science Fair project!").
Of course you veteran parents know what actually happened: The ants
didn't show up. Nature has a strict rule against cooperating with Science
Fair projects. This is why, when you go to a Science Fair, you see 200
projects designed to show you how an electrical circuit works, and not
one of them can actually make the little bulb light up. If you had a
project that was supposed to demonstrate the law of gravity using heavy
lead weights, they would fall up. So when the ants saw our banner, they
said: "Ah-hah! A Science Fair project! Time for us to act in a totally
unnatural manner and stay away from the food!"
The irony is, I knew where some ants were: in my office. They live in
one of the electrical outlets. I see them going in there all day long.
I think maybe they're eating electrons, which makes me nervous. I seriously
considered capturing one of the office ants and carrying it out to the
science experiment, and if necessary giving it broad hints about what
to do ("Yum! Snickers!"). But I was concerned that if I did this, the
ants might become dependent on me, and every time they got hungry they'd
crawl onto my desk and threaten to give me electrical stings if I didn't
carry them to a snack.
Fortunately, some real outdoor ants finally discovered our experiment,
and we were able to observe their behavior at close range. I had been
led to believe, by countless public-television nature shows, that ants
are very organized, with the colony divided into specialized jobs such
as drones, workers, fighters, bakers, consultants, etc., all working
together with high-efficiency precision. But the ants that showed up
at our experiment were total morons.
You'd watch one, and it would sprint up to a Cocoa Krispie, then stop
suddenly, as if saying: "Yikes! Compared with me, this Cocoa Krispie
is the size of a Buick!" Then it would sprint off in a random direction.
Sometimes it would sprint back; sometimes it would sprint to another
Cocoa Krispie and act surprised again. But it never seemed to do anything.
There were thousands of ants behaving this way, and every single time
two of them met, they'd both stop and exchange "high-fives" with their
antennas, along with, I assume, some kind of ant pleasantries ("Hi Bob!"
"No, I'm Bill!" "Sorry! You look just like Bob!"). This was repeated
millions of times. I watched these ants for two days, and they accomplished
nothing. It was exactly like highway construction. It wouldn't have
surprised me if some ants started waving orange flags to direct other
insects around the area.
But at least there were ants, which meant we could do our project and
get our results. I'd tell you what they were, but I really think you
should do your own work. That's the whole point of a Science Fair, as
I keep telling my son, who has gone to bed, leaving me to finish blow-drying
© 2006 Dave Barry
Learn more about Dave Barry!