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When the Mountain’s Too Steep and the Map’s Gone Soggy
by Emil O. Foofnick There comes a moment—usually later than you’d like, and never with much warning—when the fixer in you has to lay down the wrench. Maybe it’s during a long night when…
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Momentum, Not Monuments
by Emil O. Foofnick, grayer now, but still turning the crank A song once asked what good is living if you’re nothing when you die. I won’t quote it—lawyers get the hiccups—but I know…
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The Purpose of Profit
I’ve met two kinds of people chasing the same dollar. One runs like it’s a finish line. The other walks like it’s rent day. The first kind makes money for money’s sake—the dollar as…
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The Prayer of Serenity, Replanted
I’ve spent a fair share of mornings arguing with fence posts and losing. You see, the world offers us no shortage of things we cannot change—weather, neighbors, and the mysterious fact that weeds always…
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From the Fermenter to Your Fermenter: A Foofnickian Tale
Alright, pull up a stool by the fire, friend. Let Emil O. Foofnick spin this yarn in the only way it can be told: as a tale of two fermenters—theirs and yours. It begins…
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From Randy’s Fermenter to Your Fermenter
If you ever meet a man who can coax life out of powder and turn a vat of sugar broth into a civilization, tip your hat. Randolph Porubcan was one of those men. He…
Emil O'Foofnick
That’s all I have to say, I will say no more.
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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