Carving up ‘likes’ for local critters

Opinion

Hey there, time traveller!
This article was published 27/10/2018 (2513 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

Attention hip people with state-of-the-art cellphones: today, I would like you to help me win big bucks for all those cute puppies and kitties at the Winnipeg Humane Society.

What Uncle Doug needs you to do is put down your expensive lattes, pick up your smartphones, visit Kildonan Place Shopping Centre’s Facebook page and “like” the jack-o’-lantern I whipped up during Carving for a Cause, the mall’s annual celebrity pumpkin-carving contest.

There I was on Friday morning, for the 10th consecutive year, sweating like the drummer for a heavy metal band in the mall’s centre court, doing battle against 12 other knife-wielding media carving teams — all of whom were given an hour to create gourd masterpieces in support of their favourite charities.

We get a $100 donation for our charity just for competing — and there’s another $100 for the scariest, cutest and most creative pumpkins — but once the carving is done, the mall posts photos of our jack-o’-lanterns on its Facebook page. The one that gets the most “likes” by 10 p.m. on Halloween night earns another $500 for their cause.

This year, Kildonan Place has added prizes for the runners-up — the second-highest vote-getter will receive an additional $300 donation, and the third-highest vote-getter will receive an additional $200. The mall also kicks in 10 cents for every “like” the photos of our pumpkins get on Facebook.

The point is, if I am going to raise some serious moolah for the humane society, I am going to need you hip social-media geeks (sorry, I meant to say “nerds”) to hop on your mobile electronic devices and start liking the pumpkin I whipped up on Friday.

What you need to realize is that you are reading these words today, the day after the competition, which means, barring some unforeseen tragedy, I have finished creating yet another awe-inspiring gourd, which you are currently eyeballing on Facebook.

You should also be aware that I am writing these words on Thursday morning, the day BEFORE the contest, which means, technically speaking, I have not yet carved my jack-o’-lantern in support of the humane society.

Please do not tell anyone else in the media, but as I sit here in my tiny office cubicle, I have no (bad word) idea what I am going to carve on Friday, which is causing Uncle Doug to experience a great deal of what we journalists call “flop sweat.”

The problem is, every year, butcher knife in hand, I wander into the mall hoping to cover myself in pumpkin guts and glory.

And every year, I slouch away, a beaten man, my butcher knife coated in a thick layer of shame, and my body soaked with enough perspiration to float a small battleship.

Most of my rival media teams consist of multiple carvers, each with an assigned task, such as installing tiny motors to make their pumpkin spin like a carousel, or tiny laser beams to zap passing shoppers, whereas I always end up carving by myself, which means once I have finished removing my pumpkin’s guts, there is enough sweat pouring off my pasty body to cause flash floods in low-lying boutiques.

Here is a terrifying fact — the only award I have won in the annual pumpkin battle is one they gave me a few years ago for (and this is the absolute truth) producing the most perspiration of anyone in the contest.

Last week, before the battle, I bravely asked the mall’s marketing manager, Corey Quintaine, whether they would be willing to hire someone to mop my fevered brow with paper towels during the contest.

You’d think Corey would have just laughed this off, but here’s what he replied via email: “I’ve spoken to Sandra Hagenaars, the mall’s general manager, as she has selflessly dedicated herself to the cause of mopping your brow. Now, we just have to find a really, really, really big sponge. And a bucket.”

As I may have already mentioned, my problem this year, along with drowning innocent shoppers in excess perspiration, is figuring out what to carve that will appeal to the judging panel, which typically is less than impressed by my gourds.

Last year, I hit on the genius idea of creating “Doug’s Mouse House,” a jack-o’-lantern that paid homage to the legions of ultra-intelligent mice that invaded my home last winter.

That pumpkin was decorated with $40 worth of plastic mice that were split in half, with each half armed with a tiny skewer, which allowed me to plunge them into the pumpkin’s skin, making it look as if the toothy rodents were chewing into, or out of, my creepy gourd.

In 2016, I bravely plopped down $20 for a cheesy “billionaire’s wig” to decorate my “Trumpkin,” a jack-o’-lantern featuring the clench-fisted countenance and eerie orange skin of then-Republican presidential nominee Donald Trump.

Each year, I failed miserably. So I asked Corey what might tip the scales in my favour this year. 

“Time management is always key, although we’re pretty flexible, especially for carving veterans such as yourself,” the marketing manager explained. “I would definitely suggest to bring your own carving utensil — we have some to choose from, but after years of carving pumpkins, they might need a little sharpening. Coming in with a plan beforehand is also important. I know that Jordan Knight from NCI-FM starts planning months in advance — she is passionate about pumpkins! Crazy for carving! Gaga for gourds!”

Thanks Corey, that’s helpful to know that I should have some kind of “plan” before I start carving, which, of course I have already done, because you are currently looking at, and voting for, my masterpiece on Facebook.

Which reminds me: no matter how lousy my pumpkin is, no matter how stupid, no matter how offensive, it can still be the big winner if it gets enough votes. And if that reminds you of Donald Trump, don’t blame me. Just keep thinking of all those puppies and kitties.

doug.speirs@freepress.mb.ca