After about two weeks of deliberating, I've decided not to take my computer with me to Albuquerque.
This might not seem like a big deal, but to me it sort of is. I leave tomorrow to go back to the Land of Enchantment, one of my homes, and I have all sorts of things planned. The biggest goal of this trip is just to get away, totally, from what I have here in Fort Worth. Not that my life isn't good, but I need a break to retain my sanity. Fall finally coming through North Texas in little fits and starts is helping, but I need more.
I thought about bringing my computer so I can look up places, get directions, blog about the trip, download photos. Then I decided I really don't need that. My parents lent me their GPS, which has directions and directories and whatnot, and I can always buy new memory cards. It's not like I'll be away for that long, either, so it's not like I'll never be able to catch up on blogging. If I run out of room on my camera, I can just buy a new memory card.
What pushed me over the edge is that I don't want to be checking my e-mail or reading the NYT or looking at blogs while I'm away. My computer is very much my tie to the outside world, especially since I don't have a TV, but I don't like feeling that I need it. What I really need is some silence, some time to think, some time to just exist.
When I was in high school in New Mexico, we lived in this fantastic house of the east side of the Sandia Mountains, to the east of Albuquerque. The house was one of four on a cul-de-sac that was sort of in the middle of nowhere; we had two acres, fenced in, including a barn for the horses, a riding arena, a round pen, a basketball court, a garage big enough for our three cars (since I was driving at this time) and still plenty of room to see rabbits and catch horned frogs. Our office room looked west, toward the back side of the Sandias, and the computer desk was in front of the window. We had dial-up at the time, and this is when everybody used AOL and Yahoo was the search engine of choice, and I remember sitting there at midnight or so, hoping and waiting for the dial-up to go through and connect me.
I think I'll be just fine for a few days without internet. I actually feel liberated by the decision. I'll twitter about everything by text message from my phone, but I'll come back and blog when I return home. Stop by in a week and take a look--hopefully I'll have some good photos and good stories.
And yeah, there will be a lot of talk about food.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Security Check
Friday I'm going to Dallas to cover this giant fund-raiser event for M.D. Anderson Cancer Center. I guess they hold it in Dallas because there's more money for Houston; I'm not sure, but this will be my third year going and it's a chance to get out of the office for a few hours, get a free lunch of "eh" quality (but it's free!), and write a quick and easy web story.
This year the guest at the event is former first lady Laura Bush, so the PR people for M.D. Anderson had to get names of reporters turned in ahead of time so we can be checked out by the Secret Service, I guess. Check-in for media is also scheduled for much earlier--so they can frisk us? Who knows? I'm not really one to complain about it; it is what it is, that's fine, but it got me wondering what would be found if anyone did a background check on me.
It made me wonder if the government has a file on my somewhere because I'm a reporter, or because I have a blog where I say I work for the damn liberal media. I wonder if they know I have several thousand dollars on a credit card that seems like it will never, ever be fucking paid off because I've moved on it several times, lived on it for an internship, bought tires and dental services on it and used it to bridge pay gaps with my furloughed job. I'm not a heroin addict or alcoholic, but I like beer and some wines and tequila. Mixed drinks are usually screwdrivers or whiskey sours. If they looked hard enough, would they find the old websites I made when I was in high school, where I posted these melodramatic short stories I would write? Half my characters had some weird disease or syndrome because I had this set of medical encyclopedia things that I would peruse until I found something to obsessively research and then was compelled to use that research in something. (Yeah, ok, we were all weird kids, let's remember that.)
I don't particularly have anything interesting that people could find, I don't think. No arrests, only one speeding ticket ever (I'm usually able to charm my way out of them). No Swiss accounts, although those won't be secret for very long for a lot of people, so that's a moot point. Well, that and I'm a fucking journalist, so I've got shit money anyway. Anyway. I wrote some passionately-worded opinion columns for my college newspaper, but they were all about vaccinations or keeping religion out of science classes or how there were too many freshman clogging the sidewalks and admissions should be tougher.
In grad school, I took some class--I can't even remember the name or topic anymore--that was taught by a conspiracy-theorist honorary professor who was a big writer in her day (although I'd never heard of her, but I've been known to read stupid shit like Twilight and the original Star Wars books, so my knowledge of authors isn't always tremendous). She would talk about how she knew her phone calls were bugged. I'm not sure how she knew this--she was discombobulated at the best of times, and I earned an A by showing up regularly and giving a presentation about the New York Times (the sole grade in the class). But it makes me wonder if my life is boring, since I have no good dirt to dig up.
But then I realize, fuck, that's generally ok with me. I go to work; that's fine, I generally enjoy my work, it keeps me busy and (barely) keeps a roof over my head. I go spend time alone with the horses. I feed Fenway marshmallows and donuts and caramel corn, because he is strange. I go out with friends and drink, I spend time lazing around napping with the boyfriend on weekends. I blog about stupid shit.
Sometimes I think right now that's all I can handle. I'll muss up my reputation when I've got the money to rectify it.
(And as a complete side note, my internal clock is effed. I stay up way too late, and even getting up late feels too early during the week. I had this theory it was anemia or something, so I started taking an iron supplement, but I dunno, it's not helping. I think what it really comes down to is that I am naturally a night owl, and sometimes I lapse back into that. Hence why I'm here blogging when I should be finished writing stories and going to bed to read for a bit before sleep. I haven't done the story I thought I would. And I will try to get up early to do it, and odds are I'll sleep in. Good thing there's only two weeks until furlough/vacation.)
This year the guest at the event is former first lady Laura Bush, so the PR people for M.D. Anderson had to get names of reporters turned in ahead of time so we can be checked out by the Secret Service, I guess. Check-in for media is also scheduled for much earlier--so they can frisk us? Who knows? I'm not really one to complain about it; it is what it is, that's fine, but it got me wondering what would be found if anyone did a background check on me.
It made me wonder if the government has a file on my somewhere because I'm a reporter, or because I have a blog where I say I work for the damn liberal media. I wonder if they know I have several thousand dollars on a credit card that seems like it will never, ever be fucking paid off because I've moved on it several times, lived on it for an internship, bought tires and dental services on it and used it to bridge pay gaps with my furloughed job. I'm not a heroin addict or alcoholic, but I like beer and some wines and tequila. Mixed drinks are usually screwdrivers or whiskey sours. If they looked hard enough, would they find the old websites I made when I was in high school, where I posted these melodramatic short stories I would write? Half my characters had some weird disease or syndrome because I had this set of medical encyclopedia things that I would peruse until I found something to obsessively research and then was compelled to use that research in something. (Yeah, ok, we were all weird kids, let's remember that.)
I don't particularly have anything interesting that people could find, I don't think. No arrests, only one speeding ticket ever (I'm usually able to charm my way out of them). No Swiss accounts, although those won't be secret for very long for a lot of people, so that's a moot point. Well, that and I'm a fucking journalist, so I've got shit money anyway. Anyway. I wrote some passionately-worded opinion columns for my college newspaper, but they were all about vaccinations or keeping religion out of science classes or how there were too many freshman clogging the sidewalks and admissions should be tougher.
In grad school, I took some class--I can't even remember the name or topic anymore--that was taught by a conspiracy-theorist honorary professor who was a big writer in her day (although I'd never heard of her, but I've been known to read stupid shit like Twilight and the original Star Wars books, so my knowledge of authors isn't always tremendous). She would talk about how she knew her phone calls were bugged. I'm not sure how she knew this--she was discombobulated at the best of times, and I earned an A by showing up regularly and giving a presentation about the New York Times (the sole grade in the class). But it makes me wonder if my life is boring, since I have no good dirt to dig up.
But then I realize, fuck, that's generally ok with me. I go to work; that's fine, I generally enjoy my work, it keeps me busy and (barely) keeps a roof over my head. I go spend time alone with the horses. I feed Fenway marshmallows and donuts and caramel corn, because he is strange. I go out with friends and drink, I spend time lazing around napping with the boyfriend on weekends. I blog about stupid shit.
Sometimes I think right now that's all I can handle. I'll muss up my reputation when I've got the money to rectify it.
(And as a complete side note, my internal clock is effed. I stay up way too late, and even getting up late feels too early during the week. I had this theory it was anemia or something, so I started taking an iron supplement, but I dunno, it's not helping. I think what it really comes down to is that I am naturally a night owl, and sometimes I lapse back into that. Hence why I'm here blogging when I should be finished writing stories and going to bed to read for a bit before sleep. I haven't done the story I thought I would. And I will try to get up early to do it, and odds are I'll sleep in. Good thing there's only two weeks until furlough/vacation.)
Thursday, September 03, 2009
Escape
As if you didn't already know from Monday's post, it has been a shit week. Some other things happened, which I won't bore you with, but I spent most of yesterday simmering with general anger toward the world. I felt better when I saw Dan for a short while last night--he and his sister are roadtripping to California and left today--but it all returned with a vengeance this morning because it's deadline day.
And then, lo, yonder in my inbox, behold: My second couch confirmation. I am going to Albuquerque.
I will be splitting my time staying with two different people, sleeping on their couches. Room service? No. But I will be meeting some cool people who are young and generally poor, like me, and are willing to open their homes up to a stranger with a serious case of furloughitis, as it shall henceforth be called. I found them through the CouchSurfing Project, which I cannot recommend enough. It's free, and you sign up, post information, and give as much as you can. In return, you can take what's offered if you ask nicely. It's taking the idea that travel shouldn't be financially treacherous to the next level.
While I do have a place to stay, I am still considering scaling back my plans once in Albuquerque because of my furlough nonsense. I will get paid a few days into my trip, true, but it will be a furlough paycheck. I have decided there are really only two places I must eat at (the Owl Cafe, which serves a great green chile cheeseburger, and Garduno's, a local chain that makes sopapillas that are so perfect and fluffy and delicious that I'd like to live inside one). I've decided I should probably skip the art museums. I may not drink much beer while there. These are serious decisions. But hiking is abundant and cheap--usually just a few dollars parking--and I like the idea of just being outside in the pretty weather.
Speaking of outside endeavors, I may have also found a lead on leasing out the pony. With the days getting shorter, I will have a hard time riding both of the horses this fall and winter on my own. But a trainer I'm friends with has a student who needs a reliable ride, and Po is nothing if not reliable. Reliable and cute. He's pretty damn cute.
Tonight I'm going to the barn then going to watch Project Runway, which is back on, bless everything that is holy, in Tim Gunn's name we pray, amen. Tomorrow I have a concert after work to go to--free!--and Saturday my mother has offered to take me out and pay for my day. Plus I get to see the house they bought in Rockwall. Sunday I will be lazy, and same goes for Monday. This three-day weekend could not come at a better time.
And then, lo, yonder in my inbox, behold: My second couch confirmation. I am going to Albuquerque.
I will be splitting my time staying with two different people, sleeping on their couches. Room service? No. But I will be meeting some cool people who are young and generally poor, like me, and are willing to open their homes up to a stranger with a serious case of furloughitis, as it shall henceforth be called. I found them through the CouchSurfing Project, which I cannot recommend enough. It's free, and you sign up, post information, and give as much as you can. In return, you can take what's offered if you ask nicely. It's taking the idea that travel shouldn't be financially treacherous to the next level.
While I do have a place to stay, I am still considering scaling back my plans once in Albuquerque because of my furlough nonsense. I will get paid a few days into my trip, true, but it will be a furlough paycheck. I have decided there are really only two places I must eat at (the Owl Cafe, which serves a great green chile cheeseburger, and Garduno's, a local chain that makes sopapillas that are so perfect and fluffy and delicious that I'd like to live inside one). I've decided I should probably skip the art museums. I may not drink much beer while there. These are serious decisions. But hiking is abundant and cheap--usually just a few dollars parking--and I like the idea of just being outside in the pretty weather.
Speaking of outside endeavors, I may have also found a lead on leasing out the pony. With the days getting shorter, I will have a hard time riding both of the horses this fall and winter on my own. But a trainer I'm friends with has a student who needs a reliable ride, and Po is nothing if not reliable. Reliable and cute. He's pretty damn cute.
Tonight I'm going to the barn then going to watch Project Runway, which is back on, bless everything that is holy, in Tim Gunn's name we pray, amen. Tomorrow I have a concert after work to go to--free!--and Saturday my mother has offered to take me out and pay for my day. Plus I get to see the house they bought in Rockwall. Sunday I will be lazy, and same goes for Monday. This three-day weekend could not come at a better time.
Tuesday, September 01, 2009
Third Time Is No Charm
Yep, a third round of furloughs.
This was announced by e-mail yesterday. It's not exactly the best way to crush the hopes of your employees, but hey, I'm not the boss. I would have preferred they wait until Friday, when I'd gotten paid, because I would have been brilliantly blinded by the non-furlough paycheck I'd just gotten and may not have realized it was the last one until well into the next week.
I'm not going to do the calculations, but I think this means we get more furlough paychecks--paychecks with 10 percent taken right off the top--than regular paychecks this year. It also means there's another five days that have to be dealt with, but no money to help out with them. I'm also stuck with nine vacation days to use, so I scheduled to take off about two weeks straight for the end of September and early October. I'll still have four vacation days to use up somewhere.
I'm still planning to use part of those days to go to Albuquerque, but now my plans have been hit by paycheck worries. I'd planned for N.M. because it was fairly close, fairly cheap, and I thought I'd at least get three or four regular paychecks before going. But no: two regular paychecks, and then back to the skimpy ones. I'm reining in my plans for the trip; not as many museums, not as much food, maybe not buying Christmas gifts there. (Fuck, maybe I'll just scrap Christmas gifts this year. Maybe if I tell everyone now I'll skip accepting them if it means I can skip giving them, my budget will be a bit happier.)
I was really, really pissed off about the whole furlough things yesterday. It happened to fall on a bad day--a Monday, first of all, and secondly I was sore from the crossfit class on Saturday that I think sprained or strained my right elbow. That arm is kinda wonky since I messed it up in college with a bad riding fall and really badly broke it, and I can't straighten it now. I went home and had some wine, took a hoarded muscle relaxer (from the most recent bad riding fall, back in 2007), called my student loan company to get an extension on only paying interest on my loan, and went to bed at 9 p.m.
Today I'm pretty dejected, and I've got shit to do. There are special publication stories to be written and people to track down for this week's normal stories. I just don't want to be here at work today. It's not worth it. I can't really concentrate, and I just need a few days to be in my funk and then I'll be fine. But some days you know you're not going to get much done at work and you still have to be there, and it's frustrating. I'm looking forward to 5 p.m., when I can bolt out of here and go to the barn. A trainer at the barn found a potential family to lease the pony, and both the boys have shoes again, so I'd much rather be at the barn than here at my desk.
I know I'm grateful to have a job, to have health insurance, to be able to afford groceries, even if I'm going to have to redouble my efforts to not spend money. I'm grateful to be with a company that appears to be doing everything it can to not cut people.
But fucking hell, they did a shit job of telling us all this, and we're all pretty damn tired of it. Sometimes I feel like fate is trying to give me a sign but I'm too dumb to take notice and get out. I don't know. What I do know if there's a cold half-bottle of wine in my fridge and I look forward to finishing it.
This was announced by e-mail yesterday. It's not exactly the best way to crush the hopes of your employees, but hey, I'm not the boss. I would have preferred they wait until Friday, when I'd gotten paid, because I would have been brilliantly blinded by the non-furlough paycheck I'd just gotten and may not have realized it was the last one until well into the next week.
I'm not going to do the calculations, but I think this means we get more furlough paychecks--paychecks with 10 percent taken right off the top--than regular paychecks this year. It also means there's another five days that have to be dealt with, but no money to help out with them. I'm also stuck with nine vacation days to use, so I scheduled to take off about two weeks straight for the end of September and early October. I'll still have four vacation days to use up somewhere.
I'm still planning to use part of those days to go to Albuquerque, but now my plans have been hit by paycheck worries. I'd planned for N.M. because it was fairly close, fairly cheap, and I thought I'd at least get three or four regular paychecks before going. But no: two regular paychecks, and then back to the skimpy ones. I'm reining in my plans for the trip; not as many museums, not as much food, maybe not buying Christmas gifts there. (Fuck, maybe I'll just scrap Christmas gifts this year. Maybe if I tell everyone now I'll skip accepting them if it means I can skip giving them, my budget will be a bit happier.)
I was really, really pissed off about the whole furlough things yesterday. It happened to fall on a bad day--a Monday, first of all, and secondly I was sore from the crossfit class on Saturday that I think sprained or strained my right elbow. That arm is kinda wonky since I messed it up in college with a bad riding fall and really badly broke it, and I can't straighten it now. I went home and had some wine, took a hoarded muscle relaxer (from the most recent bad riding fall, back in 2007), called my student loan company to get an extension on only paying interest on my loan, and went to bed at 9 p.m.
Today I'm pretty dejected, and I've got shit to do. There are special publication stories to be written and people to track down for this week's normal stories. I just don't want to be here at work today. It's not worth it. I can't really concentrate, and I just need a few days to be in my funk and then I'll be fine. But some days you know you're not going to get much done at work and you still have to be there, and it's frustrating. I'm looking forward to 5 p.m., when I can bolt out of here and go to the barn. A trainer at the barn found a potential family to lease the pony, and both the boys have shoes again, so I'd much rather be at the barn than here at my desk.
I know I'm grateful to have a job, to have health insurance, to be able to afford groceries, even if I'm going to have to redouble my efforts to not spend money. I'm grateful to be with a company that appears to be doing everything it can to not cut people.
But fucking hell, they did a shit job of telling us all this, and we're all pretty damn tired of it. Sometimes I feel like fate is trying to give me a sign but I'm too dumb to take notice and get out. I don't know. What I do know if there's a cold half-bottle of wine in my fridge and I look forward to finishing it.
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