Somebody in North Baltimore ZIP code 21212 offered this for free on Yahoo: "Frozen moose head."
"okay, gross, yes, but this is left from a documentary done on moose," the "freecycle" posting said. "it's frozen, in a large tote, does not have the antlers, from neck up. sooner pick up, the better ... please get it outta here!"
Gotta be a great story there. And I'd like to bring it to you. But for some reason, the lady who posted the thing has been reluctant to go public.
Looked at first like she'd cooperate, and I was all ready with the classic who, what, where: Who'd watch a moose documentary? What happened to the rest of the moose? Where'd she find the freezer space?
"Laura," she wrote, "not too interesting a story, but once the hoards of kids here leave from the playdate, I'll fill you in a bit."
I trust the kids eventually left - and I don't mean frozen and in large totes - but I heard nothing back. So I messaged the moosecicle trafficker again.
"I'm working on dear husband," she wrote. "He's wondering how work will see all this, although I'm not too concerned, since he was responsible for getting rid of it anyway ... why would they care if it was freecycled? He's in a meeting now, so maybe he'll concede after he is out."
He's worried about the boss? I'd be more concerned about PETA.
In any case, that was the last I heard. I'm hoping the woman, who seemed quite nice if awfully mysterious, did not wind up in the Sub-Zero herself.
If you're wondering, somebody out there - I'm guessing really "out there" - did snap up Bullwinkle's noggin.
"thanks for all the strange bizarre responses," the moose head woman wrote on Yahoo a mere four days after she first posted. "it is thankfully gone!"
Let's hope the taker is not so shy. If you're reading this, I'd love to know what you're going to do with the thing. I think.
Might be good to keep the day job
Day job: Towson University vice president.
Nighttime gig: lounge singer.
Gary Rubin, who as vice president of university advancement is in charge of - big breath here - development, philanthropy, marketing and communications at Towson, decided his plate wasn't quite full enough. He turned 60 in August and figured it was finally time to pursue his dream career.
He made a run at professional singing when he was a teenager growing up in Northwest Baltimore. He performed at some country clubs, led campers at Wonderland Day Camp in song. He even auditioned in the New Jersey living room of some guy - he still remembers the name: Mr. Silverman - who represented Bobby Rydell.
