Longer Deadline, Please

I finished my op-ed Saturday night after work so I didn't have to get up early Sunday to get it in by noon. I got home at the reasonable hour of 2 last night after work, and slept late (if restlessly) and spent the afternoon at school, giving intermittant help to radio kids and finishing my webzine article/calling about my sports feature. Now I'm at the delicious point where there's nothing more I can do for the night, so I'm watching the movie Clueless.

It makes me happy when you can watch a movie and get taken back to when you first saw it. I saw Clueless when I was in 6th or 7th grade, at a sleepover of my friend Jessica, who was the only girl in band who played the drums. Her dad was also military, and in their hallway was a little painted plaque that said "Home is where the Air Force sends you." I still love this movie. When I was in middle school I thought how cool it would be to be like Cher, and now I just watch and totally love the character. Alicia Silverstone is so pretty, and the character cracks me up--this mix of self-absorption and good will and naivete´.

Class is going to be a bitch tomorrow. I'm get increasingly worried about my feature. We had 6 business days to pull it all together, and that's not a lot. The final product will be a great piece, because I've totally got the people and the expertise to make it happen--it will just all happen after the deadline. I guess it will be in time for class rewrites and getting it sorted to pitch to a magazine. I never thought I'd see the day when I felt like I didn't have enough time for a story. But then, I guess there haven't been any here at BU that I cared about as much as this one.

The guys at work were making fun of me on Saturday for cycling and going to TCU. The guys generally make fun of me anyway, because I can't understand the coaches with thick accents who call up and I didn't know how to spell Tewksville (sounds like Tooksville), but it's fun. I make fun of them. Guys are usually easy to make fun of, and everyone's so good-natured that you can say almost anything.

My sister still hasn't named her cat. Since it's almost certain Dan and I will inherit the cat at some point, we gave our suggestions from last year when Dan was thinking of getting a pair of kittens. Then tonight I told her she should name him Tucker. I just want him named. It's okay to call the Pony "the Pony," because that's him, it fits. But to have both your animals named like that is unacceptable. Especially when there's so many good names out there.

I need good books but I keep forgetting to write down the names of the ones I want to buy. My parents get here in days. Then I go home. I think about it all about once every hour.

Fortnight's Forecast

I'm so tired right now that I slipped into a numbness that wasn't broken until Dan called and told me he was going to buy fish food. The numbness came on this morning, around 10, and when I got home after a VERY long day of classes I changed and had a brownie and turned out the lights at 9:30. Then Dan called, and then my sister called (she got a new job at the Stateline Tack inside a Petsmart, which is awesome because we own half the horse stuff Stateline sells, and she's getting a cat tomorrow), and then I was snapped from "numb" to just "exhausted."

Sunday night I finished up at work and got home by 2, got some food and wound down until 3, and then got up way too early Monday, even though I could have slept until noon. Plagued by my normal Monday night insomnia, I got little sleep last night too, so here I am run-down. My head feels like it's stuffed with all the thick city air, like the rain brought down all the smog and it got stuck in my cranium.

Writing is quickly piling up, and I'm getting a bit anxious. Next week I have an explainer due, an essay or op-ed to write, a game story to do, and a serious narrative pitch, and the week after I have a 1200-word feature due for sports writing. There's going to be a lot of reporting to do. The next two weeks will be uncool. But then my parents are coming to town, which will be great, and there will be a nice bike race to do as well. And then, two days after my parents leave, I go home for a week, where I can meet Julie's new cat and go with Dan down to College Station for a bike race he wants to do.

I need more books. And as soon as I can come up with some I want, I will buy them. While I forgot to ask my editor how much I'm getting paid, another agate told me he thinks it's 10 or 11 dollars an hour, so I should make double per month what my TA-ship pays. Not only can I buy books, but I can completely pay of my credit card and hopefully even squirrel away some money for the venture into the real world.

Tomorrow I'm going out for a ride. I haven't been out in more than a week, and even if it's raining I may go out. (Cross fingers for dry, though.) Right now, I'm going to eat a bowl of warm soup to hopefully make me drowsy and then crashing.

Papa Gino's Resembles Cardboard

Today was my first day as a Globe employee. I slept late, since it's a Saturday, of course, then ran a few errands and leisurely got ready for it all. It was a bit of a task getting there (an hour of walking to the T, waiting for the T, sitting on the T, walking from the T), but I shouldn't complain because once I get on the T I just sit and read a book. Plus, I'll be driving tomorrow night, since I get out when the paper gets done--sometime between 1 and 2 a.m.

I got a 5-minute explanation of what to do when you answer phones and that was about it. There were two other agates there, and at the busiest point of the night there were probably 5 of us. And because the slow-moving beauracracy (is there any other kind?) still hasn't processed my paperwork, I don't have an employee ID or anything and couldn't get into CCI, the software for all the editing and writing. So I spent my day answering phones, writing down scores and plays by football teams, and looking up random things for people.

Am I the only person who wouldn't really consider calling a newspaper to find out if a game was playing, who won a world championship women's basketball game, what was on ESPN tonight or how baseball playoffs work? I got questions about all those tonight. One guy wanted to know about the Florida-Tennessee rivalry and who won last year. Then he wanted to know about Clemson and Florida State. Another didn't really speak English but wanted me to read him every score from every women's FIBA game today. Here are a couple other phone conversations.

Me: Sports, this is Liz.
Guy: You said Lynn?
Me: Liz.
Guy: Alright. Hey, do you know what's on TV tonight?
Me: Um . . .
Guy: Some games. I'm looking for some games. How about ESPN? What's on ESPN:
Me, frantically getting to the ESPN website: I've got it coming up here on the computer, give me just a second. You know, the Sox are on Fox right now . . . uh, looks like Clemson and Florida State tonight.
Guy: How about ESPN 2?
Me: We've got Texas playing Rice.
Guy: Texas? And Rice? (He sounded disappointed)
Me: TCU is playing on OLN. They're playing Texas Tech.
Guy: Rice is nice. TCU? Texas Christian U?
Me: Yep. I went to TCU, so that's what I'd be watching.
Guy: You want to go to that game?
Me: I'd love to be at that game.
Guy: You want to fly down to that game with me? We can fly to the game. Let's go to the game.
Me: Sure, I'd love to, if you can get me there by kick off. Kick off was seven minutes ago.
Guy: Why don't you give me your number so we can fly to the game. (At this point I'm laughing, he's laughing, and I realize that he is, indeed, as I suspected with the "rice is nice" comment, drunk.)

Another gentleman called and asked for a score. I put him on hold, found the score (I think it was the Harvard game, although I don't remember), and picked back up to tell him. This is about the fifth time I'd had to look up and obscure score for someone. He says thanks, and then asks, "How's your sense of humor today?" I was almost expected something snarky from him after that, so I said, "Well, it depends what it's about." And then he told me the following--a recent survey asked people in the U.S. if they thought immigrants should learn English, and 47% said yes, they should, but 53% said 'no hablo ingles.' It was funny, partially because it was totally not what I expected--a guy calling and telling me a joke. I liked it.

The other agate clerks were nice, but I got the feeling they didn't have the time for me. One stringer named Brendan and I talked a bit, since he sat at a desk by me, and he talked about TCU and then left to cover a game. Another AC took that desk, and his name was Roie (Row-ee) and he sat by me for the rest of the evening, which was nice. We discussed a bit of everything, especially once things got quiet, after 7:30 or so.

And then I left when I was done.

After I filled out paperwork on Thursday, when I was walking out and talking to Dan, he pointed out that I forgot to ask how much I got paid. Whoops. But there was pizza tonight, and it was barely acceptable, but the cinnamon sticks were yummy, and since by that point it was all guys left, I could eat them without too much competition. And as long as I get some food and get to beg for a science or health brief or one teeny-tiny story, pay is secondary.

Tonight I was scratching my knee and thought about scars. I had an editor once who said mistakes in stories were like scars--they add character. I think he was trying to convince a copy editor that one of his own stories was fine. I have a scar on my left knee from my knee cap getting kicked and cracked by a horse, and a scar on my right knee from my tights when I fell in ballet. An inch-long red line on the heel of my left hand from my first cycling accident this summer. A little half-circle on a knuckle from slipping scissors when I was in elementary school, probably 3rd or 4th grade. It was in New Mexico. A pencil-top eraser of red on my right shoulder, from a not-happy end-of-the-semester worry in the spring, and a large thumbprint of light pink on my left shoulder, which I don't even want to get in to.

I like my scars, in some way, because they're me and have stories behind them; I guess I feel about them the way people feel about their tattoos. And I like knowing about other people's scars and tattoos. The markings, discreet or unmissable, of where we have been and what we have done. The whole business of it all probably came to mind because I was thinking today of how I'm happy with where I've been, what I've done, with pretty much everything right now. Like some scars, there are things I wouldn't want to explain, but . . . things are good. I'm happier here this semester. Perhaps it's because I can see the end coming. Perhaps it's because I'm still caught in the heady last bits of summer (and the weather is still nice!). Perhaps I've made some semblance of peace with Boston (until it rains again), because my classes are good, I have jobs, and I have a bike, and I know how things will work.

But right now I think I'm getting too philosophical, and I'm trying to watch the movie "My Life," a 1993 flick of Michael Keaton, a terminal cancer patient making video diaries for his unborn son, and Nicole Kidman, looking delicate and pretty and blonde and not annoying, like in Bewitched. Much like that awful movie with Brad Pitt and a skin disease, it's got a lot of pathos and funny clothing of the time, which look bad now because they were trendy then. Like Brad's flick, this has a cultural healer that's called upon to try to help a hopeless case. I have to go inventory other similarities now, and reassure myself that yes, I have chosen the path of light as journalism and pray I will never think of making a movie.

One Step Closer to Media Domination

My feet are killing me. I feel like I've been walking on nubs, or I only have nubs left, or my nubs are on fire, or something like that. I started with heels at 7am and got out of them at 4, when I finally got home. I didn't think I'd be in them as long, and I didn't expect as much walking, but I was wearing slacks and had to make a good impression.

I was dressed up to go to the Boston Globe and fill out paperwork. I'm officially an employee there, now, which is pretty cool and has the potential to be a lot cooler. My sports writing professor, Jack Falla (covered hockey for SI, he's a very well-dressed gentleman who I find very amusing), had mentioned on Tuesday that the Globe might need help on the sports desk, basically doing agate clerk work. So I e-mailed the sports editor and he practically jumped through the computer and dragged me in.

Three days a week, mostly nights, and I'm going to have to learn to drive since the T will be closed. (For example, Sunday night I stay til everything's put to bed, which could be 2 a.m.) The good news is their sports desk is pretty small these days, so I'll meet everyone, and when I told Bob I was a science journalism student, he actually suggested I go harass the science reporters and beg for a story or two.

I'm so in.

Dan knows it too. This is a job he actually did for like four years at the Star-Telegram, and with his connections he got himself a reporting job. One of his dreams is to write for the Globe, and he adores Boston, so I told him I'd work the networking. I admit, I wouldn't have a problem moving back up here again--for a bit--as long as we could live a little further outside the city. Out where there's cyclists and horses and fewer street cleaners 12 feet from the house.

Classes are ok, although things are quickly picking up. The web magazine has been going 9 times smoother than I expected, a hugely pleasant surprise. The copyflow system is good, and I was able to convince people to go for earlier deadlines. You've just got to go earlier with a publication. If you're just writing for the hell of it, milk it to the last moment, but not in a copyflow system.

My parents are coming to town! Or at least my mom definitely is. The weekend of October 1 and the bike race. They've never been to Boston, and I hope they're both able to come. My dad's work schedule is sort of hellish, but they didn't do anything for their anniversary this year and they need to see Boston while there's still a daughter there, so they can check off two things at once.

And then a few days after they leave, I go back home for a week. It'll be fall break at TCU, so Julie and Dan won't have class on Thursday or Friday, which means sleeping late and staying out late. I'm excited. My sister was going to come here over her fall break, but like me, she's been between paychecks, and she's of the mind that Boston will always be there to see--she's right, too.

Today I had no feet. Tonight it's raining. Tomorrow I'm going to buy cake from Shaw's to celebrate my new job and a great start to the semester. And then Saturday night, my first night at the Globe, I will contemplate my future as a reporter and how to take over the world of newspapers.

Respect My Authori-tay

Friday night was the Hyatt event, which ended with a $114 tab and me drinking some good whiskey sours and eating soup (naturally, everyone has soup at a bar, right?) and then not being able to sleep because of all the sugar in the drinks. Kate had gotten an invite on a ride out in Concord, and so we plotted to drink lots of water (check), leave early (check) and go out (half-check). I didn't go. I completely wimped out on the 9:15 Saturday morning ride of hills and falls. Evidently 3 of the 5 riders fell. Can you believe that? What are the odds? You can bet I would have made it four.

I admit I don't remember what I did yesterday, but I know I saw the movie Little Miss Sunshine last night, and I enjoyed it thoroughly. It was as funny as I expected and the plot was what I expected for the most part, but a nice little part surprised me. The peanut M&Ms for dinner there were also especially good.

There was a women's group ride advertised to start this afternoon at 1 at the Belmont Wheelworks, so I packed my bike up and my jacket to head over. I got there the same time another girl rolled up. Her name was Katelyn, from Vancouver, and she introduced me to the four other women who showed up. There was one catch--they were all on the Wheelworks racing team. I was the only non-team member who showed, so I was sort of worried, but then we started out.

It was 30 miles (putting me at 100 for the week, my goal), and I really have no idea where we were except out on little roads with lots of trees and around a lake, and it was about an hour and a half ride. I started off in the back, just to stay out of the way, but moved my way up through and talked to everyone. They were pretty nice, and I don't know how much they were holding back (we were all still conversing, so we were all working equally hard), but I stayed with them comfortably through everything. It was great. Additionally, I could beat most of them up hills and stay with the other ones. Most of my riding has either been with Dan or on my own, so I never know how I compare to others. Dan says I'm above average, but he's obligated to say that since he convinced me to get into this whole thing. So it was a pleasant ride, and boosted my confidence quite a bit. It was nice to ride and chat with a few new people, not too many to be intimidated, and to have the skills to keep up.

I told Dan all about it because he taught me everything. Plus, I like keeping him abreast of the good stuff since all he saw was me crashing and bonking over the summer. I can say I'm an authority of learning about cycling, but I'm getting better about knowing stuff.

Since it was chilly, I made soup for dinner. Naturally. I didn't make it like heat-up-a-can-of-Campbell's, but I did it from scratch, the way I used to regularly in the winter in Virginia. There's a pot to feed me for days, and I'm looking forward to it. As long as I don't mix with too many whiskey sours, it'll be good.

Just Like a Gunshot

I had class early this morning, which was very bizarre because I was getting off the T and walking home at 10:40 a.m. and was done for the day. I watched a bit of ER reruns, the old ones before they got too crazy, and then went to Target. I admit it was a totally frivolous trip, but I just got my financial aid and I deserve it after this summer. Besides, I don't think I'll do it again.

After that I came back, ate lunch on the back porch, basked in the sun and my new magazines. I resisted napping and went for a ride with Kate instead. We met at the MM trail in Arlington and were pumping up our tires before heading out, and while Kate was finishing her front tire I told her about how Dan rented a bike in the spring from Wheelworks. The men in the shop checked it over and inflated the tires and it was resting against the checkout counter by Dan as he filled out paperwork and paid. I was looking at Shot Blocs or Sport Beans or something, I'm sure, when there was suddenly this loud pop like an explosion or gunshot. Everyone flinched hard. The tube had exploded. I was telling Kate this story, and about a half second after I said "It was just like a gunshot" there was the noise again as Kate's tube exploded. Needless to say, we were shocked and had to make sure not to talk about anything else negative unless that happened as well. I'm thinking we have magical powers.

Tomorrow we have a meeting about our webzine. While I'm excited, I'm also nervous. I know I'll probably get short-tempered and frustrated because I have this vision of how things should run (I'm sure we all have a vision) and I will want things done my way. The last publication I did long-term work at was mine; I called the shots on everything, and I was the ultimate decider on how things should be handled and presented and I did a really good job--I have proof. But I'm going to need to remember that this webzine doesn't have the same aims and the others in the program don't have the same knowledge. I think things will be much better once the site is going and we're turning out stories and everything else, but getting to that point will be interesting. Our class spent about 20 e-mails trying to even decide on a time to meet tomorrow. It'll be interesting to see how long it takes to get stuff done tomorrow. I hope I'm pleasantly surprised.

On the seven-day forecast for the ten o'clock news they show the little clouds or suns and the high and low temperatures, but they also have a little Patriots helmet image on game days. And I thought Texans took their sports too seriously. Evidently, not like these people. I have to say, it's strangely endearing, like a kid's obsession with dinosaurs or mummies.

Classes With Class

Today was the first day of classes, which was sort of a bitch after a great Labour day of a grill-party at Molly's and a baseball game (Red Sox won) at Fenway. Additionally, I haven't gone riding since Thursday (Friday was a day off since Eric was in town, Saturday was thinking it was going to rain, Sunday it really did rain, yesterday was a fun day and today was 12 hours of classes with one-hour breaks on four hours of sleep). I got up early enough to shower and wear something other than sweatpants, but I dunno how long this will last.

But there have been very good things. For example, Kirk and I came up with a brilliant movie idea--a children's movie about moths and baseball. It sounds a bit like Angels in the Outfield, but believe me, it's much better. At least, it was better last night with grossly-overpriced beer in a cheap-ass plastic cup. Molly and Kirk also had some wonderful headlines for Steve Irwin's obit. (Am I the only person really pissed that he's getting the same kind of coverage as a dead head of state?)

Even classes were ok, and Kate and I successfully filled an hour with talk of cyclists and bikes and other important things, like swimming with Olympic gold medalists (which she has now done). As soon as she marries Zabriskie, she can die a happy woman, even if he does currently have a beard. (Aerodynamics and cyclists . . . they shave their legs but grow beards, as Kate pointed out. What good does that do?) I'm actually pretty confident about Ellen's class and the web class this semester, and I think the website will be killer. I'll put the link up here so everyone can see that yes, I still remember how to slap a good headline and deck on something. Horvit and her little copyediting-happy-heart would be proud.

Speaking of Horvit, her husband--an investigative journalist at the Star-Telegram--talked to Dan about the story I wrote for the Weekly. He thought it was pretty good, from what Dan said. Actually, I think Dan's had everyone at the Star-T read it and everyone generally approves, which makes me feel good. All of them also comment on the snarkiness of my sinfully-snarky editor. What can you do? The really scary thing of all this is that if Mark Horvit read my story, Dr. Horvit probably did too. It's a horrible thought. She taught me reporting and copyediting and I never felt even remotely up to her standards. I always felt like I was a vague but sad disappointment to her, and so the thought of her seeing another story of mine makes me quake. Even on the Brite stories, which must've had SOMETHING right, since it got me a scholarship and a national award for reporting, came back from her with a 78 on them or something and a dozen comments on what I did wrong.

Horvit never wrote a single comment about something that was good. I don't know if I've ever gotten one from Doug, either, even though he might say something nice. Maybe that's why I'm more partial to Ellen. Even if I know my story is really good, it's nice to hear others at least make a nod to that.

I got my Trek Travel catalog today. I still haven't opened it, I'm so excited. I also haven't opened my two Newsweeks that arrived simultaneously today as well. Want to know what I did read, though? The Princess Bride. Great movie, no denying, although I'm not one who walks around quoting it or anything like that. But the book mildly annoyed me. If you read it, you probably know what I'm talking about. There's all these little asides and parentheticals that probably either come off as incredibly charming and precocious or damn annoying after a bit. And when I was done, I realized hey, I write this in constant tangents and parentheticals and useless side notes . . .

But people don't pay $6.95 or whatever it is a paperback costs to read this.

(I didn't pay. I borrowed the book from my roommate.) And I just saw a commercial for the movie All the King's Men, and every time I see Jude Law I fume at his horrible, horrible face. He's not even remotely attractive because he always has this smarmy look, no matter what he's doing. If only everyone looked like Dave Zabriskie . . .

Crappy Judge of Character

My parents are in Tampa and were battening down the hatches for assorted hurricanes and tropical storms and whatever else, and the Times this morning was talking about the remnants of Ernesto in the mid-Atlantic region, so (I'm getting to my point, stay with me) this morning's gray and very windy sky didn't seem like great weather for, well, anything except Halloween. I slept till after noon, when Dan woke me up, and decided not to ride because I didn't want to be 18 miles from home when it started death-throes-of-a-hurricane raining. It's spring-style windy out there, too (oh, you all from the Southwest know exactly what I'm talking about), and I don't like dealing with that unless I'm at Benbrook.

I wimped out is what I'm basically saying. And I judged everything wrong because it didn't end up raining at all.

After watching the second half of Donnie Darko (thank goodness for good movies) I spent the afternoon reading and thinking and pondering and mulling over things on the back porch.

The weather affects me way too much.

There's this horrible (and I mean HORRIBLE) movie called Dirty Love that I think I mentioned before. Dan and I found it on some obscure movie channel over the summer, and I'm watching it again right now. It's a Jenna McCarthy flick (it's not porn, in case you were wondering) about a girl who's boyfriend cheats on her, so she's trying to get over him. Carmen Electra (prettier than McCarthy in my book) thinks she's black and it's got the skinny geeky kid from American Pie (hate that movie). (I use a lot of parentheticals, don't I?) It's so highly amusing in so many ways, probably because it won Razzies for worst movie, worst director, worst screenplay and worst actress of the year. Yay for obscure stuff. Another great obscure movie with a blonde--Splendor. I think I saw that a dozen times in the wee hours of the morning as a freshman.

I tried looking for the second and third books of the Regeneration series by Pat Barker today and it didn't work. It was a used bookstore, though, and it's not like I would have bought them right now, but what the heck. Browsing never hurts. Last night I was going through some Wilfred Owen and Sassoon poetry and got really ticked off at the state of politics today. More particularly, the state of war right now.

And so because it's a brooding day outside and I spent a good portion of the day brooding, I think other people should brood too.

If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est
Pro patria mori.
(W. Owen, 1918)

I would rant outright, but I think everyone knows what I'm talking about right now. And while I don't completely think everything about Iraq is evil-intentioned or built on lies, I do think things are way out of control and speaking as someone who's part of the military way of life, all the soliders and airmen (including those of our allies) need to be sent home asap.

I'm done now. Blustery days make me wish it either WERE Halloween or I could be home enjoying it with my sister out at the barn for a wild ride on Topper. But it's only another month until I can probably go home and Halloween will be just a few weeks after that.