Hurry Up & Wait

Right now it's 3:23 (according to the phone clock, and 3:17 on the computer clock) and I'm waiting for a source to call me. He was supposed to call at 3, but he's a doctor, and he probably got caught up with a patient. This happens a lot to me. This kind of thing always makes me slightly anxious, though. It's time that's going slowly to waste because I know I can't pick up the phone and call someone else or get up to get a cup of water; the minute I'm on the phone or in the break room, the source will call and then I'll miss it and have to call him back. It'll just be a huge pain.

Rushing and then waiting is the nature of journalism, though. I think I've mentioned this before. You make a whole slew of phone calls, and then things are out of your hands. You're chained to your desk, or phone, or Blackberry or whatever, waiting for this . . . there he is. I'll be back in a half hour . . .

Ha! Totally wasn't him. It was someone else, a PR person, scheduling for another interview tomorrow. I was on the phone for 20 seconds with her and the other line rang, though, so now I have to go listen through my voicemail (I cannot express how much I hate voicemail) and call him back. So now I'll be back in a half hour. For real this time.

At least the gentleman was worth the wait. He was helpful, well-spoken, good for quotes. It's always a pain when you've arranged and waited and hoped for a good interview and then it turns out to bomb. But that's the thing--I don't think people realize how much is out of the hands of reporters. Sure, a reporter should do due diligence, but sometimes there's just not a lot you can do.

The Red Sox play the Angels in game 4 of the ALDS tonight. They should've won last night--Fenway and I were both watching the game--but they didn't. Sad. That's what I spent Friday night doing, too--watching baseball. I rode Topper after work, and he only spooked twice, and then went to Dallas, where Dan and I went to dinner with his friend and a bunch of her friends. I was thankfully able to talk to some of the friends, and had an OK time, and I think I said maybe 10 words to this friend. She just drives me nuts. I don't want to be completely rude, but I don't want to be fake nice either. It's a tough spot to be in.

Today is gray, sort of cool and drizzling off and on. It's a lame attempt at fall weather, but it's better than nothing. It makes me miss the New England fall, with snappy, crisp days of sweaters and hot drinks and being able to smell fires walking to and from the subways stop to my place. The house I lived in was probably close to 100 years old and had been split up into three flats, and our apartment took on a very distinctive smell every fall when we fired up the oil heater to get warm air flowing through the Victorian vents and into our rooms. The best part was a refund form the oil company at the beginning of every summer. But the beautiful falls turned into OK winters and pain-in-the-ass springs where it rained for months on end, so Texas isn't too bad. I'll take what I can get.