-
New Rain, Old Ache
Now in the night, with the new rain falling about me,(What though the warm light rings me in from the coldChill on my heart, the thin, immaculate weepingOf new rain brings me the long…
-
The Mule Called Worry
Ah, friend, you’ve plucked a fine thistle of truth there, and Emil O’Foofnick will rub it ‘til the scent comes out. 🌱 See, worry is a peculiar mule. Hitch it to what you can’t…
-
Verify or Vanish: Why Science Needs Its Scraps
Now friends, let me tell you a tale of science that should sound familiar to anyone who ever had a mother with a recipe box. Imagine this: she tries out ten pies, and only…
-
Booze and the Bones: A Foofnickian Tale of Minerals Gone Missing
Friends, let me tell you: drink enough liquor and your minerals will march out of your body like a union strike. Calcium, magnesium, potassium—they all grab their lunch pails and head for the exit.…
-
Hearth
This is a night gone glimmering with rain,When down the street your quiet windows glow,And, almost stumbling in my eagerness,I seek in them a solace that I know. Your hand will lift for me…
-
Song for a Dark Hour
N. Scott Thurston isn’t your garden-variety poet. He’s an experimental voice, blending movement, rhythm, and words into something less like a tidy sonnet and more like a storm blowing through the hedgerow. He writes…
Emil O'Foofnick
That’s all I have to say, I will say no more.
Follow Me On Social Media
@emilofoofnick
This is how it all started…
If you ever received a letter in the 1940”s or so, from my father, N. Scott Thurston, you might have noticed it was signed not with his own name, but with the curious moniker Emil O. Foofnick. And, just below, you’d read the line: “I said what I want, so I’ll say no more. This wasn’t just a bit of whimsy. Emil O. Foofnick was a concoction brewed from the Thurston side—a blend of the wit passed down from a pen-and-ink artist grandfather (who, as family legend has it, once knew Mark Twain himself) and my father’s own flavor of playful mischief. Emil O. Foofnick was a signature, a wink, and a gentle dare: say your piece, and know when to let silence do the rest. I sometimes think Emil O. Foofnick would have gotten on just fine with Mark Twain, trading barbs and swapping stories over ink-stained pages. Twain, after all, understood the art of a well-placed word—and the wisdom of knowing when to stop.
I didn’t inherit the pen exactly, but I did inherit the curiosity. My path meandered through laboratories full of pathogenic organisms (where the only thing sharper than the pipettes was my sense of caution), wandered into the fields of organic agriculture (where I learned how soil and sweat can make miracles), and eventually led me to the world of probiotics and enzymes—as part of Master Supplements and USEnzymes—where invisible helpers work wonders in ways even Twain might have called “peculiar, but true.” This blog is my way of signing in as Emil O. Foofnick: part scientist, part storyteller, and always a bit of a Thurston—ready to say what I want, and sometimes, to say no more.
So pull up a chair. Expect a little science, a little mischief, and maybe a dash of Twainian wisdom. After all, as Emil O. Foofnick would say:
“I said what I want, so I’ll say no more.”
Emil O’Foofnick
Writer And Journalist