I have one more day of freedom before I start my new job at the Fort Worth Business Press. I feel a little queasy--nerves--thinking about it, but I think I'm excited. I'm definitely ready for a steady, solid paycheck, health benefits, a 401 (k), business cards and a chance to get out of the apartment.
But whenever I think about working 9 to 5 in an office instead of doing reporting from my couch on my computer, it makes me a little sad. No more early-afternoon trips to the barn to ride before evening thunderstorms, and no more sleeping late and working into the evening and having Erik as my editor.
I had applied to the Business Press about a month ago, if not longer, in a frustrated fit of fury at the Star-Telegram. They got back to me a week and a half ago, apologizing for the delay, but they offered me a position as a the medical/tech/science reporter and a salary. It took me a while to warm up to the situation. I admit, I had a lot of reservations about it all. I felt like a sell-out. My ego was taking a blow, going from a large metro daily to a small weekly. I'd just gotten settled with my job at the Star-T, and now everything was changing. I wasn't sure I'd like being in such a small office--I was afraid a small office would invite more drama than a large newsroom, where I can stay out of things.
But you never know how any job is going to be before you take it, and I would have been an idiot to turn it down. I can pay off my credit card now, and my bike, and make student loan payments when they kick in. I can pay rent and bills without stressing out at the end of every month about whether I'll have the money. If I want to buy a book, I can buy a book and not feel guilty for not buying groceries later.
Plus, I'll be writing about something I give a damn about. The Star-T was good in that it exposed me to all sorts of stories, good and bad, but they were yanking my chain when they said they wanted more science. They don't. Not really. Some people do, and probably most do in a hypothetical, but when it comes down to a science story or one about a guinea pig hoedown, they're going to go with the guinea pigs. (Yes, there really was an A-1 story about a guinea pig hoedown.)
I admit it was a rush and very empowering to quit a real job.
Being busy will be good with Dan leaving soon, too. It'll keep me occupied and making money to prepare for future adventures, no matter what they are. That will be good. Work won't interrupt my personal life, either. Right now, sources call me on my cell phone (my only phone number) at all hours, interrupting dinner dates and rides on Topper.
And no job is forever. I may love it, or I may hate it, but now I'm excited. Every job is just to get you to the next better one.
Monday, April 30, 2007
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Fuck The Man
I think I may be financially even right now. After months of running up my credit card, wiping out my savings, scrimping and worrying and working my butt off and obsessing about whether I could afford to buy a glass of beer or a dinner out, I think I've finally broken even just in time for paying rent in April.
That is, until you consider taxes. I'm supposed to get back about $430 from the federal government and the state of Massachusetts, which is cool, but because I'm self-employed I think I have to pay taxes quarterly. And the quarter is up. My dad wants me to talk to my aunt about it, because she was a corporate accountant for a long time and knows her stuff, but I'm having a hard time getting everything pulled together and trying to find the time to go see her. She lives about an hour away, and I haven't seen her in maybe two years, so it's not going to be a short visit. But she hasn't said that there's any urgency, so I'm gonna take my time. Fuck the government and them taxing me. I should be able to keep all my money. It's not like I'm getting very much.
Spring has been good. I'm trying to get my bike out more, since there's more daylight (yay!), but work can be distracting, and I'm trying to ride Topper regularly and work out, too. I know Dan wishes I went out more. I wish I did too. But his first love is cycling, and my first love is Topper.
Just the other day I realized we're just a few weeks shy of Easter, and April is next week. When the hell did that happen? Has it already been that long since I left Boston? I got my diploma in the mail Friday, which was exciting, but then it also made me think about how student loans will be kicking in soon (as well as payments on the bike). Even with breaking even-ish, I can work myself into a stressball thinking about how quickly time has gone.
Dan is going to Cleveland at the end of May for a reporting internship after graduation. He's going to be there for at least 3 months, I think, and I know he's hoping for a full-time job out of it. He went up for a few days over spring break, and evidently everyone who's a reporter there now was an intern at some point. It's a larger paper, and they have a lot of moving around with people in and out and changing beats, to keep the paper from getting stagnant.
What excites me about Cleveland is they actually seem to pay attention to science and health stories--they had a story about moon dust on the front page. (Evidently it's like glass dust and got through the ventilation systems of astronauts' suits, causing moon hay fever.) And there's rumour that they're planning on expanding their coverage. So if Dan gets a full-time job, I'd consider moving up there if I can also find something. Plus, it's a huge city for health stuff (ie, The Cleveland Clinic and its heart patients), so hopefully I could find something.
Just when I got out of the cold, I'm considering going back and living on the edge of a great lake. I must be nuts. Topper's gonna need another heavy blanket, I think.
That is, until you consider taxes. I'm supposed to get back about $430 from the federal government and the state of Massachusetts, which is cool, but because I'm self-employed I think I have to pay taxes quarterly. And the quarter is up. My dad wants me to talk to my aunt about it, because she was a corporate accountant for a long time and knows her stuff, but I'm having a hard time getting everything pulled together and trying to find the time to go see her. She lives about an hour away, and I haven't seen her in maybe two years, so it's not going to be a short visit. But she hasn't said that there's any urgency, so I'm gonna take my time. Fuck the government and them taxing me. I should be able to keep all my money. It's not like I'm getting very much.
Spring has been good. I'm trying to get my bike out more, since there's more daylight (yay!), but work can be distracting, and I'm trying to ride Topper regularly and work out, too. I know Dan wishes I went out more. I wish I did too. But his first love is cycling, and my first love is Topper.
Just the other day I realized we're just a few weeks shy of Easter, and April is next week. When the hell did that happen? Has it already been that long since I left Boston? I got my diploma in the mail Friday, which was exciting, but then it also made me think about how student loans will be kicking in soon (as well as payments on the bike). Even with breaking even-ish, I can work myself into a stressball thinking about how quickly time has gone.
Dan is going to Cleveland at the end of May for a reporting internship after graduation. He's going to be there for at least 3 months, I think, and I know he's hoping for a full-time job out of it. He went up for a few days over spring break, and evidently everyone who's a reporter there now was an intern at some point. It's a larger paper, and they have a lot of moving around with people in and out and changing beats, to keep the paper from getting stagnant.
What excites me about Cleveland is they actually seem to pay attention to science and health stories--they had a story about moon dust on the front page. (Evidently it's like glass dust and got through the ventilation systems of astronauts' suits, causing moon hay fever.) And there's rumour that they're planning on expanding their coverage. So if Dan gets a full-time job, I'd consider moving up there if I can also find something. Plus, it's a huge city for health stuff (ie, The Cleveland Clinic and its heart patients), so hopefully I could find something.
Just when I got out of the cold, I'm considering going back and living on the edge of a great lake. I must be nuts. Topper's gonna need another heavy blanket, I think.
Friday, February 23, 2007
Spring
The Stock Show is over, I've been given a beat to cover (social services with some science . . . holla) and Dan is going to Cleveland this summer, so I'll also be taking over the night cop reporting shifts.
And spring is in Texas. The sky is big and beautiful, the weather is still a little unpredictable, but spring is a good thing. It's my favorite season in Texas. It's (usually) not too hot, not too cold. It's blustery and green. It's good for driving around and listening to music and staying out late at night with a beer or margarita on a patio. Topper loves the breeze and warmth and his winter coat is starting to shed out, revealing his slick red again.
Noel died on Monday. He was a good fish. I had him for 3.5 years, which I guess is pretty good for a beta. He lived on my desk in my dorm my junior year, and then on my desk in the newsroom my senior year. While I was at school he was with Dan, living on top of the TV-tank that all Dan's fish are in. I don't feel too bad about his death . . . he was well-traveled, and had lived in Virginia and Texas and in many different locations. I don't know how many fish have traveled in airplanes in the cabin, but he did so a couple of times.
I had promised him a few years ago that if he died I'd put him in the Trinity river, so that's what we did Monday. I dropped him off a bridge over by the country club at night, and he made a tiny splash as he hit the water.
Like I said, he was a good fish.
Spillman and I have been going out on Thursday nights to the Ginger Man, a new bar that opened up halfway between Dan's apartment and downtown. Thursday night is pint night, so when you buy a glass of the featured beer you get to keep the glass. I have a big Warsteiner beerstein, two tall and slender Heineken glasses, and now a St. Arnold's pint glass.
We got dinner and then went to get ice cream before heading back to Dan's to watch the Tour of California and drink some more beer. Spillman was going to drive to campus quickly, and I was going to head to Dan's, so we pulled out of the parking lot of the ice cream place and onto University.
Then, some guy rammed into my car and drove off. A hit and run, the bastard. I wasn't hurt, and I thought he would pull over because he put his blinker on, but then he sped off. Spillman called to make sure I was ok, and we gave up trying to find the guy, so I pulled over in front of the Modern and called my parents, the insurance company, and the cops. It was stupid.
The car isn't really bad--the left fron panel is jacked, and my door doesn't open much, but it's still driveable. It just ticks me off because the guy left. Accidents happen, that's fine; but not pulling over is a jackass move. This is the second time this has happened to my car, too. Last time some guy gashed up my left back panel and broke all my lights when it was parked, and didn't leave a note or anything.
Grr.
But I got a new fish today. His name is Jens Voight and he's a crown beta, I think. He's kinda spiky looking, and he's blue. It's hard to believe Noel was ever that small.
Tonight and tomorrow morning I have stories to cover. I hope it's not raining. We're supposed to have thunderstorms and hail late tonight/wee hours of the morning.
I'm ready for this week to be over.
And spring is in Texas. The sky is big and beautiful, the weather is still a little unpredictable, but spring is a good thing. It's my favorite season in Texas. It's (usually) not too hot, not too cold. It's blustery and green. It's good for driving around and listening to music and staying out late at night with a beer or margarita on a patio. Topper loves the breeze and warmth and his winter coat is starting to shed out, revealing his slick red again.
Noel died on Monday. He was a good fish. I had him for 3.5 years, which I guess is pretty good for a beta. He lived on my desk in my dorm my junior year, and then on my desk in the newsroom my senior year. While I was at school he was with Dan, living on top of the TV-tank that all Dan's fish are in. I don't feel too bad about his death . . . he was well-traveled, and had lived in Virginia and Texas and in many different locations. I don't know how many fish have traveled in airplanes in the cabin, but he did so a couple of times.
I had promised him a few years ago that if he died I'd put him in the Trinity river, so that's what we did Monday. I dropped him off a bridge over by the country club at night, and he made a tiny splash as he hit the water.
Like I said, he was a good fish.
Spillman and I have been going out on Thursday nights to the Ginger Man, a new bar that opened up halfway between Dan's apartment and downtown. Thursday night is pint night, so when you buy a glass of the featured beer you get to keep the glass. I have a big Warsteiner beerstein, two tall and slender Heineken glasses, and now a St. Arnold's pint glass.
We got dinner and then went to get ice cream before heading back to Dan's to watch the Tour of California and drink some more beer. Spillman was going to drive to campus quickly, and I was going to head to Dan's, so we pulled out of the parking lot of the ice cream place and onto University.
Then, some guy rammed into my car and drove off. A hit and run, the bastard. I wasn't hurt, and I thought he would pull over because he put his blinker on, but then he sped off. Spillman called to make sure I was ok, and we gave up trying to find the guy, so I pulled over in front of the Modern and called my parents, the insurance company, and the cops. It was stupid.
The car isn't really bad--the left fron panel is jacked, and my door doesn't open much, but it's still driveable. It just ticks me off because the guy left. Accidents happen, that's fine; but not pulling over is a jackass move. This is the second time this has happened to my car, too. Last time some guy gashed up my left back panel and broke all my lights when it was parked, and didn't leave a note or anything.
Grr.
But I got a new fish today. His name is Jens Voight and he's a crown beta, I think. He's kinda spiky looking, and he's blue. It's hard to believe Noel was ever that small.
Tonight and tomorrow morning I have stories to cover. I hope it's not raining. We're supposed to have thunderstorms and hail late tonight/wee hours of the morning.
I'm ready for this week to be over.
Sunday, February 04, 2007
You Mean I Can Have My Nights Back?
I thought that my night life was getting quashed last semester at school, working at the Globe, but little did I know that the Stock Show would do the same thing. In addition to being out there for seven days and working on other news stories from Lee, I offered to do all the agate for Erik, who's serving as the Stock Show editor. I figured hey, it's extra money, it pays per hour, I can do it at home on my sofa watching Six Feet Under reruns, why not?
And then I remembered why I got annoyed at the Globe. I've been spending about three hours a day just typing for the past three weeks. It's painful. I don't know how transcriptionists do it, or other people who just type type type what's already been done or written. But I got to see results of Longhorns from Tokyo and horses from Belgium and sheep from Louisiana.
Today was the last day of the Stock Show. Dan had off yesterday, as did I (the only day where usually neither of us are working), so we drove to Dallas to see Body World. I adored it. Then I went and typed agate for 3 hours. But then Dan and I spent the evening at his parents' and at Erik's place, griping about newspapers and hearing his and Lori's ghost stories. It put me in a good mood to go to work today, out in all the animal crap for one last time.
The weather turned nice again, just in time for the last day. The poor vendors and whatnot--attendance was so low this year because of the two bad winter storms we had, and while I enjoyed being out there, I didn't enjoy trying to take notes with frozen fingers. It was sunny out and the English classes were taking place, so I spent my day wandering and talking to people with pretty jumpers and hack horses. Then I went home and typed the last of the agate--such a relief!
I was going to watch the Super Bowl, but I fell asleep.
Tomorrow, since I don't have agate and will hence have an extra three hours in my day, I'm going to ride Topper and maybe my bike too. On the way to blanket the horses tonight the moon was full and buttery-colored, and the weather is supposed to be mild for the rest of the week. But it's Texas, so I'm not holding my breath for any consistency.
And then I remembered why I got annoyed at the Globe. I've been spending about three hours a day just typing for the past three weeks. It's painful. I don't know how transcriptionists do it, or other people who just type type type what's already been done or written. But I got to see results of Longhorns from Tokyo and horses from Belgium and sheep from Louisiana.
Today was the last day of the Stock Show. Dan had off yesterday, as did I (the only day where usually neither of us are working), so we drove to Dallas to see Body World. I adored it. Then I went and typed agate for 3 hours. But then Dan and I spent the evening at his parents' and at Erik's place, griping about newspapers and hearing his and Lori's ghost stories. It put me in a good mood to go to work today, out in all the animal crap for one last time.
The weather turned nice again, just in time for the last day. The poor vendors and whatnot--attendance was so low this year because of the two bad winter storms we had, and while I enjoyed being out there, I didn't enjoy trying to take notes with frozen fingers. It was sunny out and the English classes were taking place, so I spent my day wandering and talking to people with pretty jumpers and hack horses. Then I went home and typed the last of the agate--such a relief!
I was going to watch the Super Bowl, but I fell asleep.
Tomorrow, since I don't have agate and will hence have an extra three hours in my day, I'm going to ride Topper and maybe my bike too. On the way to blanket the horses tonight the moon was full and buttery-colored, and the weather is supposed to be mild for the rest of the week. But it's Texas, so I'm not holding my breath for any consistency.
Sunday, January 14, 2007
Free-Lancing Worries
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?
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?
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.
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