Teeth Grinding

There should be gnashing of teeth and rending of garments about all the things didn't accomplish in 2010, but here I am, half a month into 2011 and feeling OK about my slacktitude.

(A side note: I have a 2005 Mac Powerbook, which I love, but it's starting to show it's age. It's a bit slower, it's a bit crankier with wifi, and my "I" button frequently doesn't work. I guess that's a testament to the sort of writing I do.)

I didn't finish my Nanowrimo. Maybe I still will. Maybe I'll say fuck it. Right now I'm daydreaming about NPR's Three Minute Fiction challenge — 600-word short fiction. That's something I can deal with. It all fits onto one page. Right now, I feel like my mind isn't quite working the way I should. I'm scattered and forgetful when I'm not at work, and most of it is because of work, which I won't get into but will say my (incredibly hot and young) dentist told me to stop grinding my teeth and I want to be like, Dude, I'm a reporter, I can't help it, you should talk to my doctor because she knows better than to lecture me on my blood pressure.

The one thing I have stuck with is the running, because I'm sort of afraid of keeling over if I stop logging the miles. I'm not a great runner, and I'm definitely not fast, but I already downgraded to a 10k at the end of February instead of the half-marathon and I find comfort in mindless circuits on the high school track.

People already made New Year's resolutions and a bunch of people have probably already broken them. I didn't really resolve to do anything, because I feel like they're unnecessary for me at this moment. I already made the biggest resolution last year when I said yes to getting married; all I have to do this year is follow through. In the meantime, I'm just going to do what I've been doing: wander about feeling happy if slightly off-center, like I'm wearing sweatpants that are two sizes too big. They're still damn comfy and awesome, just a little off. Not that there's anything wrong with that. This too shall pass.

And now, for my journalism wrap-up of 2010:

I can now say I've had two moments as a reporter that kicked ass. I mean, I've done some investigative things, ruffled some feathers, gotten doors shut on me and phones hung up on me, blah blah, but these are opportunities that were just too good.

In 2004 or 2005, I was editor in chief of the Daily Skiff, the student newspaper at TCU. James Carville, the political commentator, was coming to campus for something, and there were a handful of spots for us student journalists, so I took it upon myself to go, along with another editor or two and a few reporters.

Most of the time I wouldn't go out to something like this; figures visit college campuses all the time. However, I'd just discovered the movie Old School and knew Carville was in it, so I joked to my staff that I'd ask him the question he's asked in the movie during a debate: What is your position on the role of government in supporting innovation in the field of biotechnology?
And so I did. I raised my hand and had to read the question off a notecard. And he laughed. It was awesome.

I one-upped that this December when Uncle Bob, as he's jokingly called around the Schieffer School of Journalism at TCU, was the guest of honor at the big annual fundraiser MD Cancer Center holds in Dallas each year. There was a press conference beforehand, and it was just me, a writer from a Dallas magazine, and a bunch of TV camera people. Schieffer was just sitting there when I walked in, so I introduced myself and could feel myself turning bright, bright red. I was all stammery and hot. He was very gracious and showed me his custom TCU cowboy boots, and when the press conference got started (Tom Brokaw was also there), I asked most of the questions, since I was basically the only reporter there.

At the end, I worked up the nerve to pull out this rolled up poster out of my purse. (I don't have a picture of only the poster, so forgive me for that.) Dan had stolen it from the walls of the journalism school at TCU during homecoming; they raffled off a signed one, which we didn't get, but Dan took that one with the philosophy we could still hang it somewhere.

So I roll this poster out and tell Schieffer this may not be professional, but I'd love it if he could sign my poster. He laughed and held it and showed it to everyone else (hi, Tom Brokaw!) and then signed it to Dan and I and added "Go Frogs!" at the bottom.

I'm going to get that shit signed and you can bet your sweet ass it will be hanging wherever Dan and I take up residence.

Journalism's a weird world. I got through another year, got a second weird notch in my belt of bizarre journalist encounters, and hold on to that sort of thing whenever I wonder what the hell is happening.