Richard Frisbie
Author, advertising and
publishing consultant, former editor of
Chicago and other magazines, former creative director of Campbell-Ewald and
other advertising agencies. For more information, click here. Or see
Who's Who in America or,

Margery Frisbie
Consulting editor, historian, poet and author of several books. For more information,  click here or see

The Uncommentator
BLOGS and GLOBS:  I have been writing a blog since 1966, only I didn't know  it. In those days, it came out in the form of a
newsletter on paper. Remember paper? It never got lost in
cyberspace, although if it got wet enough blog turned into glob. I called it
The Uncommentator, and tried to make it amusing.  To read some of my favorites, see

Recent Books by the Frisbies.

© 2013 by Richard Frisbie

The Uncommentator: Story of the Day

The Mammoth Hunter Strikes Again

February, 2013--Although I have been doing all the shopping for a while now, I am still far from expert. Margery still plans and cooks our dinners. A few days ago, Margery spotted a sale on leg of lamb at one of our local groceries. So she added it to my shopping list. When I got to the meat counter, I asked for a leg of lamb. The butcher wrapped a small package (which turned out to be lamb shank).

I said, “This doesn’t look like the picture in the ad.”

The butcher said, “Does it ever look like the ad, ha, ha?”

So I took the meat. But as I continued down my list, the package began to look smaller and smaller. A daughter and her husband were coming to dinner the next night. I finally saw an assistant manager and pointed out that what I had put in my cart didn’t look like the picture in the ad. I was gradually reverting to a more primitive self, stalking the wooly mammoth across the prehistoric plain.

“Oh,” he said. “I’ll get you what you came for.” An underling promptly retrieved a leg of mammoth, I mean lamb, from the store’s freezer. By this time, my common sense had been overcome by the thrill of the chase.

I got home and while I was leaning my spear in the corner, I heard Margery saying, “What on earth is that?” It was a leg of lamb. The whole leg, apparently from the biggest lamb in North America. It took me about an hour with my hacksaw to reduce it to manageable parts.

It’s this sort of thing that keeps me from finishing the mss. of one of the great memoirs of this century. Or, at least, that’s my excuse.

Richard Frisbie

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