All the trees look like chandeliers. Friday afternoon the temperature abruptly dropped about 30 degrees in an hour, and the humid drizzle turned into heavy rain, which has been turning into ice since that night. Yesterday also rained off and on; same thing today. The bridges are covered in grit and the TV news people are getting drivers freaked out about the roads. I got to bust out my big heavy wool coat, which hasn't been out of the back seat of my car since I left Boston.
Tonight I'm finally going to move out of Dan's apartment. Between waiting for the stuff in my bedroom to get moved out and then trying not to catch Julie's cold, it's been about a week and a half back in Fort Worth and still not in the apartment with my sister. I bought a bed for it, though--it's from Little Mexico, and it was a a big old adventure to go get it. Dan and I got it at T Mart, which also sells hooker clothes, used furniture, bootless CDs and DVDs, Fiddle Faddle, car stereo systems and a scraggly parrot. Dan bought a hand-painted replica of Van Gogh's "Starry Night," done by Todd, whoever that is. It's pretty freaking awesome. It's done in oils and framed nicely and everything. It only cost $50 too. And this gem from a place that advertises free beepers.
It's been great being back. I've got stories I'm working on, and I'm doing a lot of work covering the Stock Show. Friday was the first day, and Dan and I both worked. It was fun to be there, and the editor this year is Eric from the Star-Telegram. He's young, and we've hung out with him before (Dan's been working with him for a while), and he's also a good editor--easy to get along with, open to suggestions, and pushing alternative things. Friday I did a charticle, some blogging and got the audio for a slide show. A photographer and I spent most of the morning in the Longhorn barn, where heifers were being gathered for a sale.
I totally got roped into this Longhorn thing. The people are a hoot, and the animals are pretty fun. I kinda like cattle. And I definitely dig on the food, even though all I've had is a funnel cake. I've got plenty more days out there. It pays well, and I enjoy it, and I've got enough work on days that I'm not there to work on other stories.
Part of me is still wondering if I was nuts to turn down two full-time positions. I feel like I wasn't getting a lot done on a couple stories until I got the Stock Show, but I think things will be fine once I'm at my apartment and Dan's in school again (Tuesday). Once all my moving is finished and I'm done with all those distractions, work with the Star-T should be fine. And if not, then I'm back to looking for things . . . I found these jobs, so I'm sure I can find more. Right?
Sunday, January 14, 2007
Monday, December 11, 2006
Sports, This Is Liz
Tonight I answered my last phone at the Globe sports desk and typed in my last sailing agate. Whew. There's one caller who calls up and whenever it's a woman he just promptly hangs up, and that guy called like 6 times today, which ticked me off. And then the giant stat printer for dummy pages broke, which means one of the designers gave me the dirtiest looks ever (even though it was not my fault! geez, people). And I didn't get any work done with my stories.
But I'm done and it was alright. I was afraid this one copy editor would get all emotional on me. He's always asking me questions and talking my ear off with everything, and he writes me e-mails a few times a week about random stuff, like Texas sports or cycling, and I was really dreading leaving because I thought he'd be all blah. (You know what I mean.) I hate saying good-bye to people, all that, Well, what are you doing now? Keep in touch! bullshit. I'd rather just act like it's a normal day and leave. The slot guy gave me an appropriate good-bye tonight . . . "Well, I don't have anything else for you to do tonight. So good luck, and have a nice life." He was nice, but it was just right.
I'm not looking foward to Tuesday night. I'm hoping maybe I can just duck out while no one's looking. Saying good-bye to people is stupid. (Can you tell I spent my entire childhood saying good-bye to people and I'm a little averse to it all now?)
So unless I'm saying good-bye to callers at the end of phone call, I don't want to do it. And here's hoping I can get away with not doing it.
But I'm done and it was alright. I was afraid this one copy editor would get all emotional on me. He's always asking me questions and talking my ear off with everything, and he writes me e-mails a few times a week about random stuff, like Texas sports or cycling, and I was really dreading leaving because I thought he'd be all blah. (You know what I mean.) I hate saying good-bye to people, all that, Well, what are you doing now? Keep in touch! bullshit. I'd rather just act like it's a normal day and leave. The slot guy gave me an appropriate good-bye tonight . . . "Well, I don't have anything else for you to do tonight. So good luck, and have a nice life." He was nice, but it was just right.
I'm not looking foward to Tuesday night. I'm hoping maybe I can just duck out while no one's looking. Saying good-bye to people is stupid. (Can you tell I spent my entire childhood saying good-bye to people and I'm a little averse to it all now?)
So unless I'm saying good-bye to callers at the end of phone call, I don't want to do it. And here's hoping I can get away with not doing it.
Monday, December 04, 2006
First Page of My Novel (Rewritten)
So about a week and a half ago, two weeks ago I got in the mood to write again. I was feeling confident and inspired and wordy, and had decided what needed to be reworked on the next great American novel (as my project is called). And because I know only a few people read this blog, and because these people are probably reading it to procrastinate on something else, and because I believe in indulging procrastinators, may I present: The first page.
This is the slightly reworked version. I've done a lot of good reading since being up here. I think it's helped a lot. And I already test-ran this on Loren, because at one point he inspired me to start writing my acknowledgements when I'd gotten about 100 pages in and then stumped. Loren is the best for this sort of stuff. Plus, I had Dan reading my piece for Ellen, so I had to get my other guy working on something for me too. So . . . here it is. Let me know what you think sometime when we can talk quietly. I'm silly and superstitious and don't want a lot of people who don't know what's going on jumping in and talking to me. (I realize that's weird and I'm okay with that.)
Here we go:
I don’t remember exactly when I was told that no two snowflakes were alike. There were a lot of snowflakes in Massachusetts, and each year I eagerly awaited being able to take my sled out for the first time. Our long, winding driveway sloped down to the street, perfect for sledding, bad for steering. Careening into young trees was a regular occurrence.
All those perfect, original, individual snowflakes got packed together into lopsided snowmen and elaborate snow forts. Nick and I would barricade ourselves across the lawn from each other and hurl snowballs back and forth. When we got tired, we’d throw them at birds and squirrels. We nearly always missed, except for one time I nailed a fat squirrel in a tree. It fell off the bare branch, making a poof in the snow as it landed, and then got up, dazed, staggered for a moment and leapt off deep into the trees.
When I was about six or seven, my mother dug out a microscope (I believe it was hers, from when she was in middle school) and a piece of black cloth and we looked at the snowflakes under the lens, outside in the cold. Taking her gloves off, Mom focused the view for me and let me peer at the crystalline structures, intricate as the twists and ladders of the DNA on the poster in my room. It had come free in a magazine and was an advertisement of some sort. Mom explained that each snowflake was different, just like a person. I peered down the barrel of the microscope, simultaneously understanding and confused. There were just so many; how could there be that many different ones? But there in front of me, under the glass and on top of the velvet, were perfect snowflakes. They were all different.
****
The man had never been married. One could presume that it was because his mind was so singularly focused that he couldn’t put forth the effort to care about someone else. He could barely care for himself. He frequently forgot to eat, and postdocs would bring him back Thai or sandwiches and leave them on his desk, where he would notice them and eat them. If no one brought him food, he might go eight or nine hours without eating, despite the fact that he passed a vending machine on his way from his office and lab to the stairwell. The stairwell, narrow and concrete and with peeling (probably lead) paint, let him go up three floors to the roof, where he could smoke his cigarettes, which had a slightly sweet, mellow smell to them. The postdocs smoked harsh-smelling Camels and Marlboros.
He was well-liked by his coworkers, even if they didn’t really know him. The lab technicians found him fair; when Joseph’s daughter had asthma attacks at school, he could always leave and meet her and the school nurse at the emergency room. When Schuchi’s brother found cheap last-minute tickets from Atlanta to Logan, she brought him into work with her one afternoon. Her brother sat on a stool and cheerily told everyone about how he just couldn’t get used to traditional Southern cooking, much to his new fiance’s dismay.
The man didn’t appear to have any hobbies, even though it was rumored that he came from an extremely wealthy family and he could have taken up whichever expensive hobby would have been befitting to an intelligent, healthy middle-aged man. He never talked about going skiing in Vermont over the weekend or visiting the Cape. Occasionally he joined his staff at the Irish bar down the street from the lab—no matter where you were in the greater Boston area, there was an Irish bar down the street—but he would spend his time getting other people to talk than doing any talking himself. Everyone assumed he was just devoted to his work. After all, he had been a member of the Whitehead Institute and the National Academy of Sciences, and now he was devoted to a stack of books and papers that was taking over a table in his office. It wasn’t related to his work cloning stem cells derived from the livers of rats. But whenever someone asked him what the metastasizing pile was, he merely waved a hand and said, “Just some things I’m thinking about.” No one was able to get more information than that.
This is the slightly reworked version. I've done a lot of good reading since being up here. I think it's helped a lot. And I already test-ran this on Loren, because at one point he inspired me to start writing my acknowledgements when I'd gotten about 100 pages in and then stumped. Loren is the best for this sort of stuff. Plus, I had Dan reading my piece for Ellen, so I had to get my other guy working on something for me too. So . . . here it is. Let me know what you think sometime when we can talk quietly. I'm silly and superstitious and don't want a lot of people who don't know what's going on jumping in and talking to me. (I realize that's weird and I'm okay with that.)
Here we go:
I don’t remember exactly when I was told that no two snowflakes were alike. There were a lot of snowflakes in Massachusetts, and each year I eagerly awaited being able to take my sled out for the first time. Our long, winding driveway sloped down to the street, perfect for sledding, bad for steering. Careening into young trees was a regular occurrence.
All those perfect, original, individual snowflakes got packed together into lopsided snowmen and elaborate snow forts. Nick and I would barricade ourselves across the lawn from each other and hurl snowballs back and forth. When we got tired, we’d throw them at birds and squirrels. We nearly always missed, except for one time I nailed a fat squirrel in a tree. It fell off the bare branch, making a poof in the snow as it landed, and then got up, dazed, staggered for a moment and leapt off deep into the trees.
When I was about six or seven, my mother dug out a microscope (I believe it was hers, from when she was in middle school) and a piece of black cloth and we looked at the snowflakes under the lens, outside in the cold. Taking her gloves off, Mom focused the view for me and let me peer at the crystalline structures, intricate as the twists and ladders of the DNA on the poster in my room. It had come free in a magazine and was an advertisement of some sort. Mom explained that each snowflake was different, just like a person. I peered down the barrel of the microscope, simultaneously understanding and confused. There were just so many; how could there be that many different ones? But there in front of me, under the glass and on top of the velvet, were perfect snowflakes. They were all different.
****
The man had never been married. One could presume that it was because his mind was so singularly focused that he couldn’t put forth the effort to care about someone else. He could barely care for himself. He frequently forgot to eat, and postdocs would bring him back Thai or sandwiches and leave them on his desk, where he would notice them and eat them. If no one brought him food, he might go eight or nine hours without eating, despite the fact that he passed a vending machine on his way from his office and lab to the stairwell. The stairwell, narrow and concrete and with peeling (probably lead) paint, let him go up three floors to the roof, where he could smoke his cigarettes, which had a slightly sweet, mellow smell to them. The postdocs smoked harsh-smelling Camels and Marlboros.
He was well-liked by his coworkers, even if they didn’t really know him. The lab technicians found him fair; when Joseph’s daughter had asthma attacks at school, he could always leave and meet her and the school nurse at the emergency room. When Schuchi’s brother found cheap last-minute tickets from Atlanta to Logan, she brought him into work with her one afternoon. Her brother sat on a stool and cheerily told everyone about how he just couldn’t get used to traditional Southern cooking, much to his new fiance’s dismay.
The man didn’t appear to have any hobbies, even though it was rumored that he came from an extremely wealthy family and he could have taken up whichever expensive hobby would have been befitting to an intelligent, healthy middle-aged man. He never talked about going skiing in Vermont over the weekend or visiting the Cape. Occasionally he joined his staff at the Irish bar down the street from the lab—no matter where you were in the greater Boston area, there was an Irish bar down the street—but he would spend his time getting other people to talk than doing any talking himself. Everyone assumed he was just devoted to his work. After all, he had been a member of the Whitehead Institute and the National Academy of Sciences, and now he was devoted to a stack of books and papers that was taking over a table in his office. It wasn’t related to his work cloning stem cells derived from the livers of rats. But whenever someone asked him what the metastasizing pile was, he merely waved a hand and said, “Just some things I’m thinking about.” No one was able to get more information than that.
Thursday, November 30, 2006
I Am A Rock Star
I have two more weeks to finish schoolwork, and I almost couldn't give a damn. Today I had an hour-long phone interview with the recruiting editor at the Star-Telegram, and he set up a second interview for the day I get back in Fort Worth (a Wednesday). Just to top it off, I have the Tyler interview on Thursday, the day after. And then I have a third interview on that Friday in Temple.
I rock the journalism world. Like a mo fo.
I feel smug. I feel confident. I feel giddy and excited and my stomach is filled with butterflies. I feel like I really, really need to get some sleep before this all happens, but I don't really foresee that happening. I will be up at work and frantically finishing schoolwork and partying until I leave the day after class ends. Then I land Wednesday morning, have an interview Wednesday night, and have interviews and interviews and driving and driving.
I can't wait!
What makes it even better is that I planned this all perfectly, somehow, and luck helped out afterward. Scheduling that week in Fort Worth was intended to give me time for interviews, but when I booked it I didn't have any interviews to fill the days. Now I do. I won't get to see as much of Dan and my friends as I'd like, but it'll be ok--a lot of them will be in the same position of doing last-minute job things.
I feel like celebrating Thanksgiving for real, now, in December. Let's get thankful. I know I am.
I rock the journalism world. Like a mo fo.
I feel smug. I feel confident. I feel giddy and excited and my stomach is filled with butterflies. I feel like I really, really need to get some sleep before this all happens, but I don't really foresee that happening. I will be up at work and frantically finishing schoolwork and partying until I leave the day after class ends. Then I land Wednesday morning, have an interview Wednesday night, and have interviews and interviews and driving and driving.
I can't wait!
What makes it even better is that I planned this all perfectly, somehow, and luck helped out afterward. Scheduling that week in Fort Worth was intended to give me time for interviews, but when I booked it I didn't have any interviews to fill the days. Now I do. I won't get to see as much of Dan and my friends as I'd like, but it'll be ok--a lot of them will be in the same position of doing last-minute job things.
I feel like celebrating Thanksgiving for real, now, in December. Let's get thankful. I know I am.
Sunday, November 26, 2006
Inspired Confliction
The closer I get to the end of the schoolyear, the more excited I get, and the more worried I get as well. It's the job thing. There's not really anything else to get worried about. After everything is turned in for classes, I go home and do a last-minute job hunt. The editors from the Tyler Morning Telegraph asked that I drive there (the Rose Capital of Texas) on Thursday for an interview . . . "Drive over, we'll take you to lunch and we'll only keep you for four or five hours." That's got to be a good sign, right? I talked to the managing editor for a half hour on the phone, and he was quite enthusiastic that I wanted to do cops and then could move into health. The health writer has been there for like 50 years or something and is looking to retire soon.
I feel fairly confident that they will make me an offer. I feel fairly confident it's going to be hard to accept. If I can ever get in touch with one of the managing editors at the Star-T, I can see if there's any chance of getting a job there. Lee said he could get me started as a correspondent--freelance work, essentially--at about $600 for a 15-inch feature and $100-$200 for news stories. If I could assure I get a couple stories a week and figure something out with health benefits, that could be a real possibility.
The thing is that being in Tyler would be a pain. For a while now I've been resigned to the fact that I probably won't end up in Fort Worth, but the closer the prospect gets, the more I really don't want that to happen. I don't want to have to try and move the horses to a barn as good as the one they're at now. I don't want to try to find an entire apartment to rent, and to buy all the bullshit that comes with living on one's own. I don't want to see Dan and Julie every once in a while. Even if I have weekends off to go home, Dan will be working and so will Julie. If I have days off in the middle of the week, which may be more likely, then they'll have work AND school. If I go to Tyler, it would have to be for a year and a half or two years.
Julie shouldn't have to babysit Topper anymore. And Dan and I are sick of trying to be in the same place at the same time. He graduates in a few months, and then he'll have to get a job. The likelihood that we'll get jobs in the same city are really slim if the city is anything smaller than Fort Worth.
Obviously, I only have one choice. I have to get an agent and get my novel sold and get a nice fat advance.
I don't know how my parents will take it if I decide to stay in Fort Worth and turn down a steady job in Tyler. I don't know how Dan and Julie will take it if I turn down being able to help them out in order to go to Tyler. I know I'd rather be in Fort Worth. I know I can get by on less money there because I'll have less to pay for--sharing an apartment with Julie would be significantly cheaper than trying to furnish and live in an apartment of my own in another town.
I'm absolutely conflicted.
On the other hand, at least I'm inspired. One of Ellen's book agent friends came into class and was talking about the process of getting a book published. She was talking nonfiction, but the more she talked, the more absolutely confident I felt that I could do this. As soon as I get established somewhere I'm gonna start searching for an agent. Wouldn't that be a riot? I'd be a rock star. Even if I got a smallish advance, if it let me live in Fort Worth, work part-time and write, that's all I need.
Earlier this week I ran across some writing I'd done back before college, my senior year of high school. At home I have two massive binders with printed copies of tons of stuff I've written, and I can go back through everything regularly. Since my parents have moved, all of that is in a box in storage somewhere with the rest of my books. I haven't read anything that I'd written just for fun in a long time. It's an experience. Some of the stuff was downright silly, but there were surprising good bits that I could hardly believe had come out of my head.
The combination of the agent and my old stuff made me feel like writing again. I haven't really done anything on my draft since coming up here. I decided I need to relocate my story--it would make more sense to set it here in the Boston area, actually. The Dallas area would have worked, but this is better. And I've done a lot of reading of people I really admire, so now I want to change my writing style a bit. It would be hard to change it too much--my voice is apparent from ten miles away with almost everything I've done--but I'm looking forward to it all. I'm quite serious in that I will get this out.
Also, if you ask me what I'm working on, I'll give you the same old answer: I can't tell you. It's quite silly and superstitious of me, but no one may ever know what I'm working on until it hits stands. Yes, I'm afraid of failure.
Just a few more weeks.
I feel fairly confident that they will make me an offer. I feel fairly confident it's going to be hard to accept. If I can ever get in touch with one of the managing editors at the Star-T, I can see if there's any chance of getting a job there. Lee said he could get me started as a correspondent--freelance work, essentially--at about $600 for a 15-inch feature and $100-$200 for news stories. If I could assure I get a couple stories a week and figure something out with health benefits, that could be a real possibility.
The thing is that being in Tyler would be a pain. For a while now I've been resigned to the fact that I probably won't end up in Fort Worth, but the closer the prospect gets, the more I really don't want that to happen. I don't want to have to try and move the horses to a barn as good as the one they're at now. I don't want to try to find an entire apartment to rent, and to buy all the bullshit that comes with living on one's own. I don't want to see Dan and Julie every once in a while. Even if I have weekends off to go home, Dan will be working and so will Julie. If I have days off in the middle of the week, which may be more likely, then they'll have work AND school. If I go to Tyler, it would have to be for a year and a half or two years.
Julie shouldn't have to babysit Topper anymore. And Dan and I are sick of trying to be in the same place at the same time. He graduates in a few months, and then he'll have to get a job. The likelihood that we'll get jobs in the same city are really slim if the city is anything smaller than Fort Worth.
Obviously, I only have one choice. I have to get an agent and get my novel sold and get a nice fat advance.
I don't know how my parents will take it if I decide to stay in Fort Worth and turn down a steady job in Tyler. I don't know how Dan and Julie will take it if I turn down being able to help them out in order to go to Tyler. I know I'd rather be in Fort Worth. I know I can get by on less money there because I'll have less to pay for--sharing an apartment with Julie would be significantly cheaper than trying to furnish and live in an apartment of my own in another town.
I'm absolutely conflicted.
On the other hand, at least I'm inspired. One of Ellen's book agent friends came into class and was talking about the process of getting a book published. She was talking nonfiction, but the more she talked, the more absolutely confident I felt that I could do this. As soon as I get established somewhere I'm gonna start searching for an agent. Wouldn't that be a riot? I'd be a rock star. Even if I got a smallish advance, if it let me live in Fort Worth, work part-time and write, that's all I need.
Earlier this week I ran across some writing I'd done back before college, my senior year of high school. At home I have two massive binders with printed copies of tons of stuff I've written, and I can go back through everything regularly. Since my parents have moved, all of that is in a box in storage somewhere with the rest of my books. I haven't read anything that I'd written just for fun in a long time. It's an experience. Some of the stuff was downright silly, but there were surprising good bits that I could hardly believe had come out of my head.
The combination of the agent and my old stuff made me feel like writing again. I haven't really done anything on my draft since coming up here. I decided I need to relocate my story--it would make more sense to set it here in the Boston area, actually. The Dallas area would have worked, but this is better. And I've done a lot of reading of people I really admire, so now I want to change my writing style a bit. It would be hard to change it too much--my voice is apparent from ten miles away with almost everything I've done--but I'm looking forward to it all. I'm quite serious in that I will get this out.
Also, if you ask me what I'm working on, I'll give you the same old answer: I can't tell you. It's quite silly and superstitious of me, but no one may ever know what I'm working on until it hits stands. Yes, I'm afraid of failure.
Just a few more weeks.
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
Call Me and We'll Do Something
I woke up Monday thinking I was getting sick with a cold and praying it wasn't another throat infection because I reeeeeeally don't want to deal with a doctor. My throat was sore, my body hurt, I had a headache and I felt like I was burning up. Megan recommended vitamins and echinacea, so I trekked down to the drug store for Tylenol and some magical herbal supplements. I don't take vitamins or anything on a regular basis, and I always lose my Tylenol (I swear I have 8 bottles somewhere), and the cool damp air felt good.
Yesterday I felt better, and it helped that Ellen was out of town and I could nap when I would otherwise be faking that I had something good for my narrative. I do have something good, it's just all scattered right now, and I couldn't be bothered because I wanted a nap. Plus, I had a cover letter to perfect.
The cover letter was for the Star-Telegram. Phil Record told me to send stuff in to Larry Lutz, the recruiting officer/assistant managing editor, and I'm hoping to goodness they have something for me. Anything. Please. Dan worked with my on his cover letter, passing on what he learned from his editor, who's been coaching Dan on internship applications. It took three or four tries before I got a cover letter that worked.
I overnighted my stuff to Larry, and it's all I can do not to call right now to see if he got it. I'm going to call Phil instead, and let him know I sent it in (maybe he'll talk to Larry for me) and find out when I can call. I feel like a girl who just met a guy she really, really liked and she wants to call to hang out or something but doesn't want to sound desperate. (I admit, that analogy is from Catherine, who was one of my editors.)
I don't want to sound desperate, but I sort of am. I desperately want this job, to be able to live with my sister, to be in the same town as Dan again, to have Topper and Mexican food and Blue Mesa margaritas and mild winters and big skies.
Tonight I might try to go running. I haven't been since before school started, and I've been a total of like 4 times since last school year. I was on my bike a lot, which is great, but I don't want to deal with traffic and all the debris on the road from the rain. But I'm feeling schleppy and need to get out.
I found a bit of an antidote to my sleeping problem. I found that if I leave my reading light on I can more easily fall asleep. It's kinda pitiful that I have to trick my body into thinking I'm taking a nap in order to sleep.
So close and yet so far away. I can't believe it's been a year and a half already, but in some ways it seems so damn long.
Yesterday I felt better, and it helped that Ellen was out of town and I could nap when I would otherwise be faking that I had something good for my narrative. I do have something good, it's just all scattered right now, and I couldn't be bothered because I wanted a nap. Plus, I had a cover letter to perfect.
The cover letter was for the Star-Telegram. Phil Record told me to send stuff in to Larry Lutz, the recruiting officer/assistant managing editor, and I'm hoping to goodness they have something for me. Anything. Please. Dan worked with my on his cover letter, passing on what he learned from his editor, who's been coaching Dan on internship applications. It took three or four tries before I got a cover letter that worked.
I overnighted my stuff to Larry, and it's all I can do not to call right now to see if he got it. I'm going to call Phil instead, and let him know I sent it in (maybe he'll talk to Larry for me) and find out when I can call. I feel like a girl who just met a guy she really, really liked and she wants to call to hang out or something but doesn't want to sound desperate. (I admit, that analogy is from Catherine, who was one of my editors.)
I don't want to sound desperate, but I sort of am. I desperately want this job, to be able to live with my sister, to be in the same town as Dan again, to have Topper and Mexican food and Blue Mesa margaritas and mild winters and big skies.
Tonight I might try to go running. I haven't been since before school started, and I've been a total of like 4 times since last school year. I was on my bike a lot, which is great, but I don't want to deal with traffic and all the debris on the road from the rain. But I'm feeling schleppy and need to get out.
I found a bit of an antidote to my sleeping problem. I found that if I leave my reading light on I can more easily fall asleep. It's kinda pitiful that I have to trick my body into thinking I'm taking a nap in order to sleep.
So close and yet so far away. I can't believe it's been a year and a half already, but in some ways it seems so damn long.
Saturday, November 11, 2006
To Do List
I have one month and one day til my last assignment is due and I'm done. That means I have to find a job and send off the last two internship applications. That means I have to finish Ellen's piece and somehow come up with something to do for Falla---something I can do in one day, something I can take care of quickly. I have to finish my piece for the Globe.
In the meantime, however, there's a whole slew of movies to see and drinks to have with people. I'm crossing my fingers that Dan's a finalist for the Globe internship and gets flown up here for an interview, too, because that would be exactly what I'll need--a good break in the last rush of chaos. Boston is so much more fun when you have someone to do everything with. Life in general is more fun that way. But if not, I'm back home in a month, so all will be well.
I pulled my jumper necklace out the other day because I was missing Topper. It's a James Avery charm of a horse and rider going over a jump, and I put it away for a while because I'm afraid of the loop breaking and losing the charm forever. They don't make that charm anymore, and I'd be so sad if it were gone. When I'm at home I may ask to have a new loop put on it, just as reinforcement.
The plan is for me to go home for about a week, bum around with Topper and Dan, and Julie and I fly out for Christmas. Dan and I will meet up back in Boston, do last-minute stuff, celebrate New Year's and then leave on the 1st. I don't even know what to think about everything. It'll be funny to know I won't be driving back up here in another three months.
Things are good.
In the meantime, however, there's a whole slew of movies to see and drinks to have with people. I'm crossing my fingers that Dan's a finalist for the Globe internship and gets flown up here for an interview, too, because that would be exactly what I'll need--a good break in the last rush of chaos. Boston is so much more fun when you have someone to do everything with. Life in general is more fun that way. But if not, I'm back home in a month, so all will be well.
I pulled my jumper necklace out the other day because I was missing Topper. It's a James Avery charm of a horse and rider going over a jump, and I put it away for a while because I'm afraid of the loop breaking and losing the charm forever. They don't make that charm anymore, and I'd be so sad if it were gone. When I'm at home I may ask to have a new loop put on it, just as reinforcement.
The plan is for me to go home for about a week, bum around with Topper and Dan, and Julie and I fly out for Christmas. Dan and I will meet up back in Boston, do last-minute stuff, celebrate New Year's and then leave on the 1st. I don't even know what to think about everything. It'll be funny to know I won't be driving back up here in another three months.
Things are good.
Saturday, November 04, 2006
Slow Season
Yesterday was one of those cold days where there are clouds but they're so compact and low that the sky looks fake. The particular color of blue wasn't helping any. By late afternoon I was sorry I didn't have a scarf and gloves. My legs are starting to get itchy, which means it's becoming winter.
I booked a flight back to Texas today for the day after Ellen's piece is due and after the last day of classes. The exciting thing is it only cost $99 ($117 after taxes) and Dan can actually pick me up. We also think we have an in at his uncle's beach house in Connecticut, so we can leave on the 1st and stay there. We can stay out all night and still make the short drive down there. Then we'll head back to Texas with my computer, my TV, my bike and my little table in my car and get him back to work and me back home.
Tomorrow starts my week of posting for SciTini, as I'm the acting managing editor. My start wasn't very good. No one turned in a single thing on time, and I finally got in a story for Monday . . . and that story was supposed to be turned in a week ago. It kinda ticked me off. I'm trying to revamp one of my own stories (an additional one) so I have stuff to put up. The whole thing just has me angry because that's the central thing of being a journalist: meeting deadlines. If you are consistently late, you shouldn't be in journalism. It's shoddy work. Seriously. Now, I don't know if these people have been consistenly late--I'm only ME for one week--but from the way everyone's been talking, I think everyone's late all the time. Am I the only person who's only been late once?
I'll get off my soapbox now. But things get me riled up when they're close to my heart, and deadlines are close to my heart.
Now that my last article is underway for the website, I'm feeling funny. It's almost like I've got too little to do. I'm only working on approximately 4 stories now--Ellen, sports writing, the Globe and then the once I'm slowly piecing together about blood doping. It's remarkable. I'm not saying it's not nice, it's just odd after being so near-overwhelmed with stories. I never knew how busy I was until just now, when it's letting up a bit.
Chelsea is coming into town in about two weeks--I haven't seen her since she went back to Tulane at the end of last fall semester, so it's exciting to see her again. Someone to eat pizza with!
Like I don't eat enough pizza every Saturday at work. We're in the middle of tourney season now, so things have been a little slower than usual. I'm almost dreading tomorrow night because Sundays are slow to begin with. Once the first edition is out, there's not a lot to do.
I'm watching Breakfast at Tiffany's and wondering why no one acts like Audrey Hepburn's characters anymore. I'm glad most women don't wear turban-type hats anymore, though.
I booked a flight back to Texas today for the day after Ellen's piece is due and after the last day of classes. The exciting thing is it only cost $99 ($117 after taxes) and Dan can actually pick me up. We also think we have an in at his uncle's beach house in Connecticut, so we can leave on the 1st and stay there. We can stay out all night and still make the short drive down there. Then we'll head back to Texas with my computer, my TV, my bike and my little table in my car and get him back to work and me back home.
Tomorrow starts my week of posting for SciTini, as I'm the acting managing editor. My start wasn't very good. No one turned in a single thing on time, and I finally got in a story for Monday . . . and that story was supposed to be turned in a week ago. It kinda ticked me off. I'm trying to revamp one of my own stories (an additional one) so I have stuff to put up. The whole thing just has me angry because that's the central thing of being a journalist: meeting deadlines. If you are consistently late, you shouldn't be in journalism. It's shoddy work. Seriously. Now, I don't know if these people have been consistenly late--I'm only ME for one week--but from the way everyone's been talking, I think everyone's late all the time. Am I the only person who's only been late once?
I'll get off my soapbox now. But things get me riled up when they're close to my heart, and deadlines are close to my heart.
Now that my last article is underway for the website, I'm feeling funny. It's almost like I've got too little to do. I'm only working on approximately 4 stories now--Ellen, sports writing, the Globe and then the once I'm slowly piecing together about blood doping. It's remarkable. I'm not saying it's not nice, it's just odd after being so near-overwhelmed with stories. I never knew how busy I was until just now, when it's letting up a bit.
Chelsea is coming into town in about two weeks--I haven't seen her since she went back to Tulane at the end of last fall semester, so it's exciting to see her again. Someone to eat pizza with!
Like I don't eat enough pizza every Saturday at work. We're in the middle of tourney season now, so things have been a little slower than usual. I'm almost dreading tomorrow night because Sundays are slow to begin with. Once the first edition is out, there's not a lot to do.
I'm watching Breakfast at Tiffany's and wondering why no one acts like Audrey Hepburn's characters anymore. I'm glad most women don't wear turban-type hats anymore, though.
Monday, October 30, 2006
Into Darkness Again
My last post was my 100th. I feel kinda special.
The clocks got turned back Sunday night. I had a wicked headache during work on Saturday, and my back felt like it was on fire. Even the copyeditor asked me if I was okay-- "You look like you feel pretty bad." It was also pouring like a hurricane, and so it made my normally 20-minute drive into a 45-minute ordeal due to an accident. So I thought I could get an extra hour of sleep and was excited, but couldn't fall asleep because my back hurt so badly.
I ended up crawling out of bed and digging up the bottle of Vicodin from the summer's sprained elbow. I took a third of one and finally fell asleep. I'm beginning to realize that when Topper and I had that fall and when my back got screwed, it was permanent. The DO and the specialists haven't done anything, so I don't know why I'm surprised that every once in a while I can't sleep,
I'm glad I horde my prescription painkillers. The summer after my freshman year--four years ago--my arm got shattered and an infection nearly rotted it off. I rationed those pills until almost the end of my junior year.
Liz, Molly, Karen and I went to see Marie Antoinette on Friday. It was beautiful. The dresses kept making me wish I had one, or could go back then for just a few weeks. I know it was miserable--disease, filth, uncomfortable, horrible class distinctions, on and on, but how pretty and sumptuous those clothes of the upper class.
The time change has me kind of on edge. I can't explain it, except to say it's a good time to be writing. Last night was the kind of night where if I were at home I'd pull out my notes and do some review and work on my novel. Novella. Novela? One hundred pages still isn't really a novel.
My mother called on Thursday and I was telling her how I can't sleep regularly or well and hardly anything sounds appetizing except pizza and fruit. No wonder my sleep schedule is all screwy, I guess.
The bright side of Saturday is Erin is finally wired to the world again. I'd missed her since she got married. I don't know how to explain my relationship with her . . . she's about the perfect friend: you can drink with her, shop with her, dance with her, cuddle with her, talk about anything with her, and copyedit with her. And even though we've seen each other only a few times over a few years, but nothing ever changes. In some ways, she knows me better than almost everybody. She knows the deep, integral stuff about me, not the obvious stuff from day-to-day life. It's refreshing. I absolutely adore her, and it was exciting to know I can find her online again.
Dan wants to buy his bike by about Thanksgiving. He certainly has enough money saved. It's almost intimidating. I've almost got my credit card paid off--only $600 left to go.
The end is so close and so far away.
The clocks got turned back Sunday night. I had a wicked headache during work on Saturday, and my back felt like it was on fire. Even the copyeditor asked me if I was okay-- "You look like you feel pretty bad." It was also pouring like a hurricane, and so it made my normally 20-minute drive into a 45-minute ordeal due to an accident. So I thought I could get an extra hour of sleep and was excited, but couldn't fall asleep because my back hurt so badly.
I ended up crawling out of bed and digging up the bottle of Vicodin from the summer's sprained elbow. I took a third of one and finally fell asleep. I'm beginning to realize that when Topper and I had that fall and when my back got screwed, it was permanent. The DO and the specialists haven't done anything, so I don't know why I'm surprised that every once in a while I can't sleep,
I'm glad I horde my prescription painkillers. The summer after my freshman year--four years ago--my arm got shattered and an infection nearly rotted it off. I rationed those pills until almost the end of my junior year.
Liz, Molly, Karen and I went to see Marie Antoinette on Friday. It was beautiful. The dresses kept making me wish I had one, or could go back then for just a few weeks. I know it was miserable--disease, filth, uncomfortable, horrible class distinctions, on and on, but how pretty and sumptuous those clothes of the upper class.
The time change has me kind of on edge. I can't explain it, except to say it's a good time to be writing. Last night was the kind of night where if I were at home I'd pull out my notes and do some review and work on my novel. Novella. Novela? One hundred pages still isn't really a novel.
My mother called on Thursday and I was telling her how I can't sleep regularly or well and hardly anything sounds appetizing except pizza and fruit. No wonder my sleep schedule is all screwy, I guess.
The bright side of Saturday is Erin is finally wired to the world again. I'd missed her since she got married. I don't know how to explain my relationship with her . . . she's about the perfect friend: you can drink with her, shop with her, dance with her, cuddle with her, talk about anything with her, and copyedit with her. And even though we've seen each other only a few times over a few years, but nothing ever changes. In some ways, she knows me better than almost everybody. She knows the deep, integral stuff about me, not the obvious stuff from day-to-day life. It's refreshing. I absolutely adore her, and it was exciting to know I can find her online again.
Dan wants to buy his bike by about Thanksgiving. He certainly has enough money saved. It's almost intimidating. I've almost got my credit card paid off--only $600 left to go.
The end is so close and so far away.
Monday, October 23, 2006
Falling
It's fall again. I wore my long wool coat for the first time since May (ha!) yesterday. That coat and I are perfect together, and we've seen a lot. We went to London, trekked through England and Wales and Scotland, saw DC and Texas and now Boston. The trees are quite pretty right now, and the air is perpetually crisp and the sky is prettier lately. It's not too cold or too rainy yet, and daylight savings is still a week away, so my crankiness from the dark hasn't rolled around yet.
In approximately six/seven weeks the semester will be over. My school assignments will be done. I can go home. I will (cross fingers) have a job lined up for January. I will be done with the Globe with a couple of bylines under my belt--even if most of them are from the sports section. I will go to Florida for a bit with my sister, and then Dan and I will move my unshippables back to Texas.
I'm in a mild state of disbelief because it all happened so quickly, the end is approaching rapidly, and yet from day to day things seem to take forever, and part of me wants everything to finish up, already. Being in school is great, but there's a static that you hit. Nothing changes, seemingly. It's the same assignments, the same school stress, the same cycling of semi-clean clothes and five things to eat. I guess I'm finally ready for the real world. I'm ready for some change.
That's not to say that things are bad or anything. My life feels so good and so right--the way it was last school year, just minus some of the school anxiety, now, I guess since I'm accustomed to it here now. I'm just looking forward to some new challenges.
Work is good. It's gratifying. And there's not a ton of places to go with it--I'll get the one or two bylines from the health section if I can, and a few more from sports--but it's like a new hobby right now. It's something that I'll be done with rather quickly, but it'll be fun while it lasts, and it will help me out later. If I can hurry up and get this one article done, I may have a really good clip for future job applications.
I want the last Harry Potter book to come out. Last summer--not the one that just ended, but the one of more than a year ago--I drove to a bookstore in Austin with Dan the day it came out because I had to have a copy. He was skeptical that there would be any copies left, but there were. Even the drug store was selling them.
The prospect of being back in Texas is exciting. I sent clips and a resume out to two papers not too far from Austin last week--close enough to spend the weekends in Fort Worth and still hang out in some new cities.
At Goodwill yesterday I found a pair of unworn designer German shoes in my size. They cost me $5. Things are good.
In approximately six/seven weeks the semester will be over. My school assignments will be done. I can go home. I will (cross fingers) have a job lined up for January. I will be done with the Globe with a couple of bylines under my belt--even if most of them are from the sports section. I will go to Florida for a bit with my sister, and then Dan and I will move my unshippables back to Texas.
I'm in a mild state of disbelief because it all happened so quickly, the end is approaching rapidly, and yet from day to day things seem to take forever, and part of me wants everything to finish up, already. Being in school is great, but there's a static that you hit. Nothing changes, seemingly. It's the same assignments, the same school stress, the same cycling of semi-clean clothes and five things to eat. I guess I'm finally ready for the real world. I'm ready for some change.
That's not to say that things are bad or anything. My life feels so good and so right--the way it was last school year, just minus some of the school anxiety, now, I guess since I'm accustomed to it here now. I'm just looking forward to some new challenges.
Work is good. It's gratifying. And there's not a ton of places to go with it--I'll get the one or two bylines from the health section if I can, and a few more from sports--but it's like a new hobby right now. It's something that I'll be done with rather quickly, but it'll be fun while it lasts, and it will help me out later. If I can hurry up and get this one article done, I may have a really good clip for future job applications.
I want the last Harry Potter book to come out. Last summer--not the one that just ended, but the one of more than a year ago--I drove to a bookstore in Austin with Dan the day it came out because I had to have a copy. He was skeptical that there would be any copies left, but there were. Even the drug store was selling them.
The prospect of being back in Texas is exciting. I sent clips and a resume out to two papers not too far from Austin last week--close enough to spend the weekends in Fort Worth and still hang out in some new cities.
At Goodwill yesterday I found a pair of unworn designer German shoes in my size. They cost me $5. Things are good.
Friday, October 13, 2006
The Departed
I went to go see the movie The Departed on Friday night with my friend Andrew while I was at home. Technically, we went with my friend John Ashley, too, because I hadn't seen him since sometime in the winter, but he showed up after previews had already started, and then left about 5 minutes after the movie was done. It was sort of lame, but he had friends (who also came to the movie with him) who needed rides home.
The movie was definitely worth the $6.50. Heck, I would have even paid $10 or whatever it costs up here. It was gritty and yet funny, and as always, it was weird to see something set in Boston. I feel like I live in a giant movie set. Except for NYC and maybe LA, I don't think any American cities get into movies quite the same way. (DC doesn't count because people always show the posh, political/military aspect of it, not the seedy, disgusting side where crimes are horrific, the way the city can change from an acceptable music venue on one street to the ghetto one block over.) But I go to see it (I think the guy lives on Elm Street, which would be hilarious, because it's probably one of the scary Elm Streets, like the one I first thought I lived on and was disappointed before I found the right Elm up a few miles north.)
It was good to be home, as always. I arrived Wednesday afternoon, and my sister and I hung out (and also spent time at the barn because we thought Topper was colicking, but he wasn't, the dork). Dan was supposed to pick me up around 11, when he got off work, but he ended up getting called out to a standoff in Forest Hill (a Fort Worth suburb) around the time I landed. He didn't get done with it until 7 the next morning, when the guy surrendered. So we got to spend Thursday doing nothing but sleeping and then napping.
The rest of the week was the norm, except Tuesday night I got to go to a dinner at the chancellor's house with all the deans and chairs of departments and Dr. Sanjay Gupta. That was cool. I got to wear nice clothes and see my dean half-drunk (he's from Cambridge, near where I live) and get Dr. Pepper cake, which was served for dessert. I didn't get to actually meet Dr. Gupta, much to my professor's dismay, but it was nice to have the faculty reassure me about my job prospects and everything. They're so great.
Tonight at work I was sitting eating Sour Patch kids (you can buy them in the little cafeteria) and joking with another guy across from me. There was a total moment of flashback to my newsroom, editing, snacking, giggling, yelling to see what files were open or done, whatever. I'm glad to have that back. And I'm going to get it back again for good with a job. If I survive that long.
There's a lot of stuff with school right now. I need to remember to breathe deeply. I also may buy a trainer so I don't have to kit up and leave my house for hours to get a good ride.
The leaves are changing. Summer is gone, completely, and I think the warm weather is gone too. Well, the warm according to my standards. It's still nice. It's just not hot.
London never felt like a movie set to me, although I'm sure it ranks even higher than Boston as setting. I wonder why it never had that certain surreal feeling? It was surreal in some ways, sure, but not in the same way. And I know that when I leave here, it will all be even stranger.
The movie was definitely worth the $6.50. Heck, I would have even paid $10 or whatever it costs up here. It was gritty and yet funny, and as always, it was weird to see something set in Boston. I feel like I live in a giant movie set. Except for NYC and maybe LA, I don't think any American cities get into movies quite the same way. (DC doesn't count because people always show the posh, political/military aspect of it, not the seedy, disgusting side where crimes are horrific, the way the city can change from an acceptable music venue on one street to the ghetto one block over.) But I go to see it (I think the guy lives on Elm Street, which would be hilarious, because it's probably one of the scary Elm Streets, like the one I first thought I lived on and was disappointed before I found the right Elm up a few miles north.)
It was good to be home, as always. I arrived Wednesday afternoon, and my sister and I hung out (and also spent time at the barn because we thought Topper was colicking, but he wasn't, the dork). Dan was supposed to pick me up around 11, when he got off work, but he ended up getting called out to a standoff in Forest Hill (a Fort Worth suburb) around the time I landed. He didn't get done with it until 7 the next morning, when the guy surrendered. So we got to spend Thursday doing nothing but sleeping and then napping.
The rest of the week was the norm, except Tuesday night I got to go to a dinner at the chancellor's house with all the deans and chairs of departments and Dr. Sanjay Gupta. That was cool. I got to wear nice clothes and see my dean half-drunk (he's from Cambridge, near where I live) and get Dr. Pepper cake, which was served for dessert. I didn't get to actually meet Dr. Gupta, much to my professor's dismay, but it was nice to have the faculty reassure me about my job prospects and everything. They're so great.
Tonight at work I was sitting eating Sour Patch kids (you can buy them in the little cafeteria) and joking with another guy across from me. There was a total moment of flashback to my newsroom, editing, snacking, giggling, yelling to see what files were open or done, whatever. I'm glad to have that back. And I'm going to get it back again for good with a job. If I survive that long.
There's a lot of stuff with school right now. I need to remember to breathe deeply. I also may buy a trainer so I don't have to kit up and leave my house for hours to get a good ride.
The leaves are changing. Summer is gone, completely, and I think the warm weather is gone too. Well, the warm according to my standards. It's still nice. It's just not hot.
London never felt like a movie set to me, although I'm sure it ranks even higher than Boston as setting. I wonder why it never had that certain surreal feeling? It was surreal in some ways, sure, but not in the same way. And I know that when I leave here, it will all be even stranger.
Monday, October 02, 2006
Scary Serious
I'm in the middle of stories right now, and there's two in particular that are surprising me. They've suddenly exploded into "real" stories--something I give a shit about and could actually publish, unlike most of what I've done in this program. Ellen's class last semester wasn't too bad; I largely wrote about stuff I was interested in. But almost everything for either of Doug's classes was crap. It was the pitch he liked the most, usually, and I was always largely ambivalent about them.
But the first one I'm doing now is one I've actually been doing for a week and a half or so for sports writing. It started off about whether blood doping is becoming more easily accessible to rising cyclists, and now it's turned into what's wrong with testing for blood doping, because the agencies who prosecute aren't really being scientific. I got in touch with doctors, I'm getting in touch with Tyler Hamilton, and it's all turning into something professional. I mean, Hamilton is probably one of the biggest names in cycling.
And the other story is for Ellen's class, the narrative we have to do. I think I got the okay today from Parlee cycles (incidentally, they made Hamilton's bikes) to come crash the place for a while and follow people around, etc, for my story about new materials for bikes. I could probably pitch and sell either or both of these to a magazine and actually get published, which is a nice feeling.
My parents were in town this weekend too, which made me happy even though it rained Sunday. I was still working, so they did a lot of stuff on their own, but I think that's good. They do well together like that. And then I'm on my way home on Wednesday for a week. Last night I was driving home from work in the middle of the night and felt genuinely joyous. (It's easy to be happy; being joyous is a little harder to come by.) I was on I-93 and coming out of the tunnel and could see Boston all around me, lit up in the cloudy dark, and I felt content.
Things are going so fast. I'm glad. Dan goes out almost every night with friends and I want to be back to that--going out with him and my sister and people I've known for years. You can sit out on patios and drink beer and margaritas in the warmth.
Just a few more days.
But the first one I'm doing now is one I've actually been doing for a week and a half or so for sports writing. It started off about whether blood doping is becoming more easily accessible to rising cyclists, and now it's turned into what's wrong with testing for blood doping, because the agencies who prosecute aren't really being scientific. I got in touch with doctors, I'm getting in touch with Tyler Hamilton, and it's all turning into something professional. I mean, Hamilton is probably one of the biggest names in cycling.
And the other story is for Ellen's class, the narrative we have to do. I think I got the okay today from Parlee cycles (incidentally, they made Hamilton's bikes) to come crash the place for a while and follow people around, etc, for my story about new materials for bikes. I could probably pitch and sell either or both of these to a magazine and actually get published, which is a nice feeling.
My parents were in town this weekend too, which made me happy even though it rained Sunday. I was still working, so they did a lot of stuff on their own, but I think that's good. They do well together like that. And then I'm on my way home on Wednesday for a week. Last night I was driving home from work in the middle of the night and felt genuinely joyous. (It's easy to be happy; being joyous is a little harder to come by.) I was on I-93 and coming out of the tunnel and could see Boston all around me, lit up in the cloudy dark, and I felt content.
Things are going so fast. I'm glad. Dan goes out almost every night with friends and I want to be back to that--going out with him and my sister and people I've known for years. You can sit out on patios and drink beer and margaritas in the warmth.
Just a few more days.
Monday, September 25, 2006
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.
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.
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
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.
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.
Saturday, September 16, 2006
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.
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.
Thursday, September 14, 2006
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.
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.
Sunday, September 10, 2006
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.
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.
Thursday, September 07, 2006
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.
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.
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
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 . . .
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 . . .
Saturday, September 02, 2006
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.
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.
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