Monday, August 01, 2005
Can't swing a dead cat without hitting a cliche
Good lord, how many writing cliches can a person deliver in one column? When it's not a person but Minnesota's Worst Writer the answer is quite a few. Or is it a passel? Or more than you can shake a stick at? In today's outing the K-beast does another masterful job of mucking up what would be, in the hands of the average high school journalism student, a rather innocuous puff piece. I make no comment on the substance of today's column but instead print a verbatim list of the cliches that some editor in the employ of a major daily newspaper let KK pass off as professional writing.
bright lights and big bucks of big-time sports [alliteration is fine, but it doesn't count if you just repeat the words]
making his way through the city's squalid streets
a spanking new school
packed in three vans.
desperately poor people
a humble Central American village [good to avoid the arrogant ones]
hardscrabble farm [do successful people come from any other kind?]
could never ignore a stranger in need.
lots of charitable balls in the air
below the public's radar screen. [that happens ALL THE TIME, we need better radar screens]
What brought him to Guatemala [she said earlier it was a van]
he linked up with
squalid "ravines," [you can drive there on the squalid streets mentioned above]
ramshackle huts [people in these dream of moving to shotgun shacks and later to clapboard houses, the lucky ones get cookie cutter houses, or dare to dream stately manors with manicured lawns]
perch perilously [she avoids the cliched "perch precariously" which might have actually worked better]
start life anew.
education is the key to opportunity [KK done got educated, look what it did for her]
grinding poverty [that's what's affecting those desperately poor people above]
helping people who are trying to help themselves
All that remains for KK is to claim he's happy to be there, hopes he can help the team, and takes things one day at a time. Then she can close up shop and go home and sleep like a log. The sleep of angels, of course. I've said it before and, sadly, I'll say it again, "She gets paid for this crap?"