Music: “Bonnie and Clyde” by Georgie Fame
“Bonnie and Clyde were pretty looking people. But I can tell you, people, they were the devil’s children.”
“Do I look suspicious to you?” I asked my roommate when I got back from work last night.
“Um… no.”
“Well, I got stopped by a cop on the way home and I was curious if I was doing something different. Thanks.”
Over the years I’ve often told my sister that, as an older brother, I’ve tried to set the bar low for her to follow. I was the only one brought the only report card D and Cs that appeared in our home (and for a brief, infamous period, a noteworthy F I’d slaved all summer to earn). I had the easily avoidable accident that I joked led to a “free ambulance ride” until my parents tersely informed how not free it was and discouraged that line of jesting.
Note: This is not to say I never set a low goal for myself. I am still proud of the first time I took the ACT exam. While other friends were aiming for a 25 or 30 out of 35, my stated intention was to score simply “double digits.” I made my goal that time.
I was the one who too often “accidentally” let the cat of the basement, I was the one who lost my glasses out of the window of a moving car, I was the one who broke various windows for reasons ranging from a practical joke that went too far to getting keys locked in the car on a stormy night.
The list -- and the often resulting scar tissue -- goes on ad nauseam. Most recently I graduated college with no visible job prospects (talents and skills, yes, but network connections, no).
I thought this would make life easier for my sister who is about to finish her final semester at college (well, this wasn’t my driving rationale for doing this, but I’ve often told her it would later make her better in comparison).
She’s dealing with the stress of concluding her undergraduate degree along with the responsibilities of job searching, seeming working on half a dozen plays, hanging out with friends, and trying to make sure her long-planned after-graduation trip to the British Isles stays on track. With all these concerns, it’s easy for her to lose track of how much she as accomplished and what her probable prospects will be upon her graduation.
I typically call my sister on Monday nights after I get done with work (well, it’s still Monday for me, though it’s Tuesday for her). Even with the time zone difference, I can solidly bet that she’ll be up.
Anyway, in was in the midst of a general pep talk about our differences and how she looked to be much better set up than I was when fate interceded to underline my point.
I found myself making the following statement: “Can I call you back? Apparently a cop wants to talk to me.”
A patrol car had pulled up and an officer was getting out. I had an inkling this might happen because he drove past me twice before coming around a final time. When you’re out walking on an abandoned street and a police car passes you multiple times in under a minute, you should be able to guess you’re becoming a person of interest.
I figure he had just barely seen me the first time he cruised past, turned around to catch back up with me, and did one more pivot to find a parking space. I calmly hung up my phone and waited for the officer to approach me.
The officer asked me what I was up to and where I was going. I told him I had just finished work and was heading home.
He asked me where home was. I hesitated a moment (which happens when you have multiple mailing address and haven’t used either for a long period of time). Somewhat mechanically, I spelled out the number of the address, rather than rattling off like 1270 Eagle (as one would with an address they’ve known for years).
The officer then asked me where I worked at. I told him I worked at the local newspaper. Doing what, he asked. Well, I told him, I most recently finished making a mess of the front page (where in my second to last draft, I had tried to spell Governor on a jumpline with extra letters [Governort], and I had a filler secondary headline that was twice the acceptable length).
The fact that I worked as an editor seemed to make the officer pause. He made a statement about always looking into all the people who are out walking after a certain hour to cut down on burglaries. I politely kept my mouth shut about this being the route I’ve taken for nearly two months now and never having seen a police cruiser before.
He said he needed to look at my license so his dispatcher would know what he was up to. I gladly gave him my Missouri driver’s license. I looked like he’d rather have let me keep on walking then and there, but once one starts a process it’s hard to break it off mid way. As he read off my name and information, I wondered if anyone was still around the newsroom and would hear my name over the police scanner.
The officer and I made brief small talk as my Missouri information slowly made its way out west. Eventually it confirmed who I said I was and the officer bid me a good night.
As he started to climb back in the cruiser, I called out, “Just one question!”
He paused.
“Just to be curious, can I know your name?”
He hesitated, but told me his name. He then joked that he hoped he wouldn’t see it in the paper any time soon. I told him not to worry; I just wanted to know his name so I could be listening for it on the police scanner. Smiling, I wished him a good evening and walked away.
Calling my sister back, and filling her in and the unexpected stop, I said, “Now where was I? I believe I telling you how much better off you would be compared to me and I think the fact that I look suspicious enough to be pulled over a cop only further validates what I’ve been saying.”
I love my sister and I know she’s going to do well in the job place (once she gets back from London, Dublin, and beyond. I’ve long joked that I purposely set the bar low, but I recognize that her achievements have been sterling on their own and would shine regardless of my previous actions.
Still, she has to admit, if she was put in a similar situation as I was, she would be less likely to be considered a potential burglary suspect than I.
You’re welcome, sis.
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
11:39 AM - I Fought the Law… and it was No Contest
or Making My Sister Look Good Since 1984
Monday, February 27, 2006
12:01 PM - The Weekly Recap,
Getting Warmer Edition February 21 to 27
Music: “Kerosene” by Miranda Lambert
“Life ain’t hard, but it's too long to live it like some country song.”
- Sometimes you like a driving, upbeat song to walk to as you make your way through the slush, even if you feel as negative as the lyrics imply.
If it’s Monday, and it’s not a flippin’ federal holiday, it’s recap day.
I made it through another seven days (and didn’t come as close to catching frostbite as I did in previous weeks). Let’s hear it for wool socks and the actual application of common sense.
Anyway, here we’ll proceed with the previous week revue:
Last Monday, February 21, from a hunkered down position, I relayed what life was life coming out of a severely snowy week (where we got as close to blizzards conditions can get with the weather service actually declaring it a legitimate blizzard).
Tuesday I showcase my physical prowess and mental ineptitude by relating my previous adventure when I ran a mile at high altitude when the weather was 11 degrees below zero Fahrenheit (I also do the math for you Celsius watchers, or for you three die-hards out there, and you Kelvin fanatics).
Wednesday, in the latest housecleaning/protocol post, the Management (emphasis on the Man) introduces the comment of highlighting posts that have had extra content added to them. The Extra, Extra! may not be as neat as the Bat signal of something, but it does do the job of piercing the darkness… we hope.
Thursday I roll out the standard quote log from work, which strangely sparks the most lively collection of comments in recent memory.
To come: Words, punctuation.
“Life ain’t hard, but it's too long to live it like some country song.”
- Sometimes you like a driving, upbeat song to walk to as you make your way through the slush, even if you feel as negative as the lyrics imply.
If it’s Monday, and it’s not a flippin’ federal holiday, it’s recap day.
I made it through another seven days (and didn’t come as close to catching frostbite as I did in previous weeks). Let’s hear it for wool socks and the actual application of common sense.
Anyway, here we’ll proceed with the previous week revue:
Last Monday, February 21, from a hunkered down position, I relayed what life was life coming out of a severely snowy week (where we got as close to blizzards conditions can get with the weather service actually declaring it a legitimate blizzard).
Tuesday I showcase my physical prowess and mental ineptitude by relating my previous adventure when I ran a mile at high altitude when the weather was 11 degrees below zero Fahrenheit (I also do the math for you Celsius watchers, or for you three die-hards out there, and you Kelvin fanatics).
Wednesday, in the latest housecleaning/protocol post, the Management (emphasis on the Man) introduces the comment of highlighting posts that have had extra content added to them. The Extra, Extra! may not be as neat as the Bat signal of something, but it does do the job of piercing the darkness… we hope.
Thursday I roll out the standard quote log from work, which strangely sparks the most lively collection of comments in recent memory.
To come: Words, punctuation.
Thursday, February 23, 2006
11:28 AM - From the Notebook: We're Not Crazy,
We Just Sound that Way
Music: “Pick a Little, Talk a Little” from The Music Man
Here’s the weekly quote log. You know the drill… no one specifically named unless identified in the quote… yadda, yadda, yadda… Enjoy.
After the City Council declares a hefty portion of the city blighted or slummed, and expresses its displeasure with our coverage, we wait to see what the Urban Renewal Board meeting will do with the powers of eminent domain:
“Today, if they’re going to go after anyone, it’s going to be the Rocket [Daily-Miner].”
Headlines we’d write if we really wanted to incite the public:
“‘City Council to kill kittens!’ ‘Police Department telling kids there is no Santa Claus!’”
“What’s wrong with goat cheese?”
“It’s made from goats.”
As part of his beat, a reporter gets a poster that warns of common materials people purchase to make meth:
“Looking for something?”
“I’m looking at Justin’s poster.”
“Seeing what you need to pick up on the way home?”
“Shut up!”
“All I need is coffee filters. Yes!”
Miscellaneous curse:
“Crap in a monkey’s hat!”
Repeating a quote in a zoning dispute:
“‘We’d rather see cattle on the land than subdivisions.’”
“Heh, heh. I was just imagining cattle in subdivisions.”
Commonly repeated question:
“Is Garry talking about Zorro, again?”
On low budget “riverboat” gambling:
“It’s not like you can buy a rowboat.”
“It’s Zac’s turn to row now. My turn to roll dice.”
I didn’t catch the context, but this is good advice regardless of your situation:
“I don’t think you want pets that have developed a taste for human flesh.”
“I’m going to start a rock band named Laptop Death Match.”
“Nice…”
“That’s actually a good band name.”
Adopting a stilted, quasi-British accent: “We are… Laptop Death Match!
(Stunned silence)
“This is not rebel music! This is… Laptop Death Match!”
“Okay…”
“Wow! You made that even creepier.”
On establishing a local social life:
“It all depends on if you’re looking for women… or men.”
“Well then… I’m going to have to go with ‘looking for women.’ No offense.”
“Me too.”
“Not that you aren’t a fine specimen of a man, if I do say so myself.”
Proportional memories:
“By the time I got to high school, I don’t think I could still fit into a locker.”
“I could still fit into a locker.”
“I wish I had a midget I could pay to do things. I think I could have a lot more fun with a midget as my employee.”
Overheard on the police scanner:
Dispatcher: “The women’s bathroom needs paper towels and there aren’t any in the janitor’s closet.”
After a brief historical discussion about Spanish Inquisitors discovering that goats licking people’s feet was the most effective method of torture, because the body can turn off pain receptors, but not pleasure centers:
“Hey, Justin. How do you spell ‘cannot’?”
“With one word.”
“And what’s going to happen the next time I see you spell it incorrectly?”
Whispered: “Don’t tell her about the goat thing.”
About a deer hunter who left his kill hanging in the basement for a week:
“It certainly sounds fishy.”
“Or gamey.”
“Ha! I counter your passion with my apathy!”
“Did everybody huff paint this weekend but me?”
On unnecessary guilt derived when you can’t explain why convoluted educational guidelines are being implemented because the school board is even more clueless than you are:
“If the captain of the ship doesn’t know where the boat is going, why should you be concerned that you don’t know? Whatever you want, Captain Ahab! I’ll keep an eye out for the white whale.”
“Call me Ishmael.”
Paradox of the press:
“It’s not like we try to make people look like morons…”
“It just comes out that way, sometimes.”
Here’s the weekly quote log. You know the drill… no one specifically named unless identified in the quote… yadda, yadda, yadda… Enjoy.
After the City Council declares a hefty portion of the city blighted or slummed, and expresses its displeasure with our coverage, we wait to see what the Urban Renewal Board meeting will do with the powers of eminent domain:
“Today, if they’re going to go after anyone, it’s going to be the Rocket [Daily-Miner].”
Headlines we’d write if we really wanted to incite the public:
“‘City Council to kill kittens!’ ‘Police Department telling kids there is no Santa Claus!’”
“What’s wrong with goat cheese?”
“It’s made from goats.”
As part of his beat, a reporter gets a poster that warns of common materials people purchase to make meth:
“Looking for something?”
“I’m looking at Justin’s poster.”
“Seeing what you need to pick up on the way home?”
“Shut up!”
“All I need is coffee filters. Yes!”
Miscellaneous curse:
“Crap in a monkey’s hat!”
Repeating a quote in a zoning dispute:
“‘We’d rather see cattle on the land than subdivisions.’”
“Heh, heh. I was just imagining cattle in subdivisions.”
Commonly repeated question:
“Is Garry talking about Zorro, again?”
On low budget “riverboat” gambling:
“It’s not like you can buy a rowboat.”
“It’s Zac’s turn to row now. My turn to roll dice.”
I didn’t catch the context, but this is good advice regardless of your situation:
“I don’t think you want pets that have developed a taste for human flesh.”
“I’m going to start a rock band named Laptop Death Match.”
“Nice…”
“That’s actually a good band name.”
Adopting a stilted, quasi-British accent: “We are… Laptop Death Match!
(Stunned silence)
“This is not rebel music! This is… Laptop Death Match!”
“Okay…”
“Wow! You made that even creepier.”
On establishing a local social life:
“It all depends on if you’re looking for women… or men.”
“Well then… I’m going to have to go with ‘looking for women.’ No offense.”
“Me too.”
“Not that you aren’t a fine specimen of a man, if I do say so myself.”
Proportional memories:
“By the time I got to high school, I don’t think I could still fit into a locker.”
“I could still fit into a locker.”
“I wish I had a midget I could pay to do things. I think I could have a lot more fun with a midget as my employee.”
Overheard on the police scanner:
Dispatcher: “The women’s bathroom needs paper towels and there aren’t any in the janitor’s closet.”
After a brief historical discussion about Spanish Inquisitors discovering that goats licking people’s feet was the most effective method of torture, because the body can turn off pain receptors, but not pleasure centers:
“Hey, Justin. How do you spell ‘cannot’?”
“With one word.”
“And what’s going to happen the next time I see you spell it incorrectly?”
Whispered: “Don’t tell her about the goat thing.”
About a deer hunter who left his kill hanging in the basement for a week:
“It certainly sounds fishy.”
“Or gamey.”
“Ha! I counter your passion with my apathy!”
“Did everybody huff paint this weekend but me?”
On unnecessary guilt derived when you can’t explain why convoluted educational guidelines are being implemented because the school board is even more clueless than you are:
“If the captain of the ship doesn’t know where the boat is going, why should you be concerned that you don’t know? Whatever you want, Captain Ahab! I’ll keep an eye out for the white whale.”
“Call me Ishmael.”
Paradox of the press:
“It’s not like we try to make people look like morons…”
“It just comes out that way, sometimes.”
Wednesday, February 22, 2006
12:14 PM - Extra, Extra! Supplementary Narrative! No Additional Cost!
Music: “Doubleback” instrumental version by ZZ Top
The Management would like to introduce a new concept to the site. Yes, those behind the Musical: “Song Cues” by (Your Name Here) and the Weekly Recap have a new improvement.
Recently I’ve adopted the tact of starting some of my longer posts, getting to the end of my allotted internet hour at the library, and putting “more to come” at the bottom of my story. Most days I’m able to go back and finish the story before starting the next post, but people have to scroll down to the end of the entry to know this has been done.
I know other friends who have introduced a cue to let people know they’ve edited their entries, so I’m borrowing a page from their blogs in presenting the following premise.
Look for the Extra, Extra! to find a newly updated, and hopefully completed entry.
Like say... the previous entry.
We now return you to our Web site, already in progress.
The Management would like to introduce a new concept to the site. Yes, those behind the Musical: “Song Cues” by (Your Name Here) and the Weekly Recap have a new improvement.
Recently I’ve adopted the tact of starting some of my longer posts, getting to the end of my allotted internet hour at the library, and putting “more to come” at the bottom of my story. Most days I’m able to go back and finish the story before starting the next post, but people have to scroll down to the end of the entry to know this has been done.
I know other friends who have introduced a cue to let people know they’ve edited their entries, so I’m borrowing a page from their blogs in presenting the following premise.
Look for the Extra, Extra! to find a newly updated, and hopefully completed entry.
Like say... the previous entry.
We now return you to our Web site, already in progress.
Tuesday, February 21, 2006
12:46 PM - Running at 249.27 degrees Kelvin
Extra, Extra!
Music: “Running on Empty” by Jackson Browne
“Caleb, tell them about the stupid thing you did on Friday.”
“Zac, tell them about the stupid thing I did on Friday.”
Sometimes people have stories that they don’t care to recount themselves. There are certain instances where I prefer to let someone else who knows my tale take center stage as I call out clarifications from the wings.
I had gone through most of the work day without the story popping up and still hoped to avoid the storytelling spotlight.
RING!
I scrambled for the phone.
“News desk how can I… aww, crap!”
My friend Zac had apparently picked up the phone just before I did and was on the line with the unknown speaker.
“Looks like you’re going to have tell the story yourself.”
Again, I scrambled for the phone.
“News desk. How can I help you?” I asked the silent line. I wasn’t fooling anybody, but the action bought me enough time to center myself slightly.
“Okay, you know how Zac gave me a ride last Friday because it was so cold…?”
Earlier in the week, with all the horrible weather we’d been having, I was warned by several people (including the publisher) that I was to be sure to accept a ride home should the weather turn bad. I promised to do so and on Friday night, when around supper time it was 9 degrees below zero (on the Fahrenheit scale), I start making arrangements for a ride.
I finished the front page a touch earlier than usual and was allowed to go home even before the jump was finished (largely for the sake of my ride who stayed a touch later than usual).
We walked out to the vehicle, let it warm up, and got to my neighborhood without a hitch. Parked in the middle of the street (for the driveway looked too treacherous to park on, however briefly), me and my friend made plans to catch up on Saturday to rent movies, play games, whatever. I warned him my phone had been acting a bit funky, but otherwise I had no other concerns as I entered the house.
I’d had just enough time to take off my boots and put a movie in the DVD player when I realized I’d left my cell phone in my desk.
The next few decisions were made quickly so as to bypass actual cognitive functions.
There were no land phone line in the house (that's why I'd bought a cell phone in the first place). My roommate was expected to work late at the paper to at least 2 a.m. so I couldn’t trouble him. I knew my boss always worked a little bit late. I knew I was home earlier than usual and only a mile from the paper. Other factors like elevation, wind conditions, and most importantly weather were considered only after I was out the door and jogging down the icy sidewalks.
Subconsciously I was employing an old cross country trick. If one can keep from contemplating the distance until you are at least half way, or an equal distance from the starting point and the finish line, you might as well finish the race as turn back around. Also, if the course finishes downhill, well, that's all the more incentive to keep running.
This running repression is foolish, but effective. It kept me from thinking about my physical condition until I’d traveled over half the distance to the newspaper; I didn’t consider the mile-plus altitude until I was three fourths of the way there; and the temperature of the cold air I was consistently pulling into my lungs didn’t bother me until the final 300 meters.
As I approached work, I got a look at the electronic time and temperature sign we have posted above the entrance. The facts didn’t really hit me until I got through the doors and into the (heated!!!!) entryway: it was 11 degrees below zero (Fahrenheit – or negative 23.8 degree Celsius) and it had only taken 12 minutes from the moment I realized my phone wasn’t in my pocket to the time I was huffing and puffing in the indoor stairwell.
I waited about a minute to pull myself together before heading up to the newsroom. My boss and my roommate/landlord/staff photographer were there and their shocked looks were not unexpected.
“Forgot my phone,” I explained with a voice that was fainter than I would have preferred.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes… maybe… no…” I said before I started guzzling the bottle of Tang I’d left at my desk. The lukewarm liquid was well welcomed by my frosted throat.
My boss offered me another ride home, which was even more quickly accepted than the previous offer.
I was told the weather wasn’t as big a factor as the temperature of the air. When one is running, one inhales oxygen more rapidly than normal. In this cooler weather, ice crystals can start to form in your lungs when air is pulled in so quickly that the body doesn’t have time to warm it.
“That would explain certain sensations I was feeling toward the end of my run,” I said in a slightly stronger voice.
On the ride back, I thanked my boss for saving me from my stupidity. She told me not to worry about it. She told me how she’d pulled a similar stunt when she first moved to the area. On a day when she was feeling sick, she still stubbornly went out to cover an event. I wasn’t told specifically how long it took her to recover from this act, but it made me feel better about my foolish actions.
So I’ve now set a new personal record for endurance and stupidity. Here’s hoping I don’t test these limits again anytime soon.
Music: “Running on Empty” by Jackson Browne
“Caleb, tell them about the stupid thing you did on Friday.”
“Zac, tell them about the stupid thing I did on Friday.”
Sometimes people have stories that they don’t care to recount themselves. There are certain instances where I prefer to let someone else who knows my tale take center stage as I call out clarifications from the wings.
I had gone through most of the work day without the story popping up and still hoped to avoid the storytelling spotlight.
RING!
I scrambled for the phone.
“News desk how can I… aww, crap!”
My friend Zac had apparently picked up the phone just before I did and was on the line with the unknown speaker.
“Looks like you’re going to have tell the story yourself.”
Again, I scrambled for the phone.
“News desk. How can I help you?” I asked the silent line. I wasn’t fooling anybody, but the action bought me enough time to center myself slightly.
“Okay, you know how Zac gave me a ride last Friday because it was so cold…?”
Earlier in the week, with all the horrible weather we’d been having, I was warned by several people (including the publisher) that I was to be sure to accept a ride home should the weather turn bad. I promised to do so and on Friday night, when around supper time it was 9 degrees below zero (on the Fahrenheit scale), I start making arrangements for a ride.
I finished the front page a touch earlier than usual and was allowed to go home even before the jump was finished (largely for the sake of my ride who stayed a touch later than usual).
We walked out to the vehicle, let it warm up, and got to my neighborhood without a hitch. Parked in the middle of the street (for the driveway looked too treacherous to park on, however briefly), me and my friend made plans to catch up on Saturday to rent movies, play games, whatever. I warned him my phone had been acting a bit funky, but otherwise I had no other concerns as I entered the house.
I’d had just enough time to take off my boots and put a movie in the DVD player when I realized I’d left my cell phone in my desk.
The next few decisions were made quickly so as to bypass actual cognitive functions.
There were no land phone line in the house (that's why I'd bought a cell phone in the first place). My roommate was expected to work late at the paper to at least 2 a.m. so I couldn’t trouble him. I knew my boss always worked a little bit late. I knew I was home earlier than usual and only a mile from the paper. Other factors like elevation, wind conditions, and most importantly weather were considered only after I was out the door and jogging down the icy sidewalks.
Subconsciously I was employing an old cross country trick. If one can keep from contemplating the distance until you are at least half way, or an equal distance from the starting point and the finish line, you might as well finish the race as turn back around. Also, if the course finishes downhill, well, that's all the more incentive to keep running.
This running repression is foolish, but effective. It kept me from thinking about my physical condition until I’d traveled over half the distance to the newspaper; I didn’t consider the mile-plus altitude until I was three fourths of the way there; and the temperature of the cold air I was consistently pulling into my lungs didn’t bother me until the final 300 meters.
As I approached work, I got a look at the electronic time and temperature sign we have posted above the entrance. The facts didn’t really hit me until I got through the doors and into the (heated!!!!) entryway: it was 11 degrees below zero (Fahrenheit – or negative 23.8 degree Celsius) and it had only taken 12 minutes from the moment I realized my phone wasn’t in my pocket to the time I was huffing and puffing in the indoor stairwell.
I waited about a minute to pull myself together before heading up to the newsroom. My boss and my roommate/landlord/staff photographer were there and their shocked looks were not unexpected.
“Forgot my phone,” I explained with a voice that was fainter than I would have preferred.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes… maybe… no…” I said before I started guzzling the bottle of Tang I’d left at my desk. The lukewarm liquid was well welcomed by my frosted throat.
My boss offered me another ride home, which was even more quickly accepted than the previous offer.
I was told the weather wasn’t as big a factor as the temperature of the air. When one is running, one inhales oxygen more rapidly than normal. In this cooler weather, ice crystals can start to form in your lungs when air is pulled in so quickly that the body doesn’t have time to warm it.
“That would explain certain sensations I was feeling toward the end of my run,” I said in a slightly stronger voice.
On the ride back, I thanked my boss for saving me from my stupidity. She told me not to worry about it. She told me how she’d pulled a similar stunt when she first moved to the area. On a day when she was feeling sick, she still stubbornly went out to cover an event. I wasn’t told specifically how long it took her to recover from this act, but it made me feel better about my foolish actions.
So I’ve now set a new personal record for endurance and stupidity. Here’s hoping I don’t test these limits again anytime soon.
Monday, February 20, 2006
12:10 PM - The Weekly Recap, Back on the Snowy Track Edition
February 13 to 21
Music: “Walking in the Air” from “The Snowman”
If it’s Monday, and I’m flashback posting after a federal holiday closed the library, it’s recap day.
I experienced my first major snowstorm in Wyoming. It would have been a blizzard by Missouri standards, but around here it was merely a severe snow storm. This is know for a fact; when the paper did the paper did the standard “weather story” I made sure the reporter asked the weather service what it took to be a blizzard. Apparently, to meteorologists, it’s a technical term that has specific requirements that must be met before it is used (like hurricane or tornado). We didn’t reach the sustained standards, so no blizzard… just a severe snowstorm.
Last Monday, February 13, I address a recent sporadic posting and catch up on unsummarized entries.
On Valentine’s Day I beginning posting what is a be a multi-part entry on the exploits and misadventures I experienced at my church’s Valentine’s Dinner.
Wednesday, when I start having trouble reaching out and touching people, I warn readers that my cell phone is on the fritz. If it is due to the mounting snowstorm (which dumps about three inches just during the time I am in the library) or the tumble I took on the ice the night before, I can’t say… Well I can say, but apparently people can’t hear me.
Thursday I continue the narrative of the Valentine’s dinner and introduce a musical conundrum: what do you do when an elderly couple steals the song you were planning to perform?
Friday I lament the approaching string of federal holidays that will interrupt my posting, but then what can you do… besides break into the library, which is largely frowned upon.
To come: Snow, quote logs, and other miscellanea.
If it’s Monday, and I’m flashback posting after a federal holiday closed the library, it’s recap day.
I experienced my first major snowstorm in Wyoming. It would have been a blizzard by Missouri standards, but around here it was merely a severe snow storm. This is know for a fact; when the paper did the paper did the standard “weather story” I made sure the reporter asked the weather service what it took to be a blizzard. Apparently, to meteorologists, it’s a technical term that has specific requirements that must be met before it is used (like hurricane or tornado). We didn’t reach the sustained standards, so no blizzard… just a severe snowstorm.
Last Monday, February 13, I address a recent sporadic posting and catch up on unsummarized entries.
On Valentine’s Day I beginning posting what is a be a multi-part entry on the exploits and misadventures I experienced at my church’s Valentine’s Dinner.
Wednesday, when I start having trouble reaching out and touching people, I warn readers that my cell phone is on the fritz. If it is due to the mounting snowstorm (which dumps about three inches just during the time I am in the library) or the tumble I took on the ice the night before, I can’t say… Well I can say, but apparently people can’t hear me.
Thursday I continue the narrative of the Valentine’s dinner and introduce a musical conundrum: what do you do when an elderly couple steals the song you were planning to perform?
Friday I lament the approaching string of federal holidays that will interrupt my posting, but then what can you do… besides break into the library, which is largely frowned upon.
To come: Snow, quote logs, and other miscellanea.
Friday, February 17, 2006
7:52 PM - A note on timing
The local public library will be closed Saturday, Sunday, and Monday. The Sunday was expected, but the other federal holidays will sharply cut into my posting time.
I might cojole some type of internet connection this weekend, but I wouldn't put any money on that. For now, realize all e-mail and blogging communication will be stalled until early next week... and maybe phone stuff too (it's still acting tricky).
Time... and most likely Tuesday... will tell.
I might cojole some type of internet connection this weekend, but I wouldn't put any money on that. For now, realize all e-mail and blogging communication will be stalled until early next week... and maybe phone stuff too (it's still acting tricky).
Time... and most likely Tuesday... will tell.
Thursday, February 16, 2006
11:42 AM -
Previously on Live Paradox: Caleb, who is speaking in the third person for summary’s sake, accepted an invitation to a church-sponsored Valentine’s Day sectional dinner. As expected, shortly after he and his friend staked out territory with their coats, they were asked to perform some automotive assistance. After much wiggling of wires, prodding fuses, and “Gee, I don’t know”s, nothing noticeable had changed. Deciding a zero sum game was better than ending up with a negatively impacted car, the failed mechanics cashed it in and returned indoors.
We now return you to our Valentine’s Day dinner narrative that may actually feature the previously mentioned Valentine's theme.Fire, Ice, and Hearts – A Valentine’s Banquet
So after informing the car owner her vehicle remained unfixed, but that we were fairly sure we hadn’t made it any worse in our unproductive efforts, we returned to claim our long-vacant seats.
A number of people had filled up the spots around our abandoned coats. I’m still getting a feel for the congregation, so I wasn’t sure if they were from our church or not. A quick look at my friend told me these were strangers and it might be best to shift seats.
We had few qualms about moving. Our initial selection of the location had largely been based on a decent view of the speaker’s podium, and more importantly, the observation that, “There’s a lot of chocolate here. This’ll do.” There were plenty of Hershey’s kisses spread around tables and the chance to move on to a fresh, untapped supply was an easy temptation to give in to.
We took refuge with a bunch of young kids from our church. To be precise, it was a set of three brothers. I’d talked with some of them before and knew one had been tapped to play a trumpet solo that evening. He wasn’t excited about the idea, but the pastor’s wife/church music director had been determined.
Note: If you’ve never had a driven church musical director go after you to put you down for a solo, it’s hard to explain how difficult it is to resist such overtures. It can be done, I know from experience, but only after a long-fought, ugly battle (and one of you may have to leave the town before the other gives up). In looking at the inexperience of the young trumpeter and the energy of the pastor’s wife, I have to conclude the kid never had a chance.
The trumpet was stored beneath the table ready to be pulled out at any moment, since he hadn’t been told when he would be perforuming. Other churches had offered to provide little interludes throughout the evening and he wasn’t sure where he fit in the program.
In the meantime, chocolates were dug into and glasses were filled. My automotive friend had two glasses because he’d kept the glass he’d filled from his first seat and used the glass present at his newer seat. He joked how he liked having a cup for tea and water… until he sampled the tea. Grimacing, but suddenly glad that he had a spare, he would only drink from the water glass for the rest of the evening and the abandoned tea cup would later become a target for the candy wrappers.
Food was served and conversations briefly paused for consumption. After enough time had passed, my pastor, who was the master of ceremonies for the dinner, introduced the first two singers. I forget what church they were from, but it was an elderly couple who had brought their own electronic synthesizer.
After some slow, joking opening remarks, they started singing “Love Lifted Me.”
Partway through the song I realized the young trumpeter in front of me was staring dumbstruck.
“They’re playing my song!” he said. “Love Lifted Me” was the song he’d prepared for the dinner and now these senior citizens were leading the group in a sing-along.
Imagine being a middle schooler who, very reluctantly, agreed to play a song. He was already getting nervous about playing in front of 100-odd people, but now find that someone else is performing the song you’ve been practicing for weeks.
What am I supposed to do now, he asked.
His brothers, my friend, and I were all eager to offer suggestions:
-- Blast a single note, take a flamboyant bow, and sit down.
-- Just play the song extremely fast, like “Flight of the Bumblebee!”
-- Play another song with “love” in the title. I would suggest “Addicted to Love,” but I would guess you don’t know it and it probably wouldn’t be appropriate anyway.
And my personal favorite option:
“You play the song and we’ll do an interpretive dance in the background.”
The trumpeter was trying to laugh about the whole deal, but in between jokes you could tell he was a bit apprehensive. Other performers came on, with our pastor making bad jokes in between.
Things were going just fine when the banquet took a sharp, albeit expected twist, and the spotlight settled on our end of the banquet hall.
stay tuned…
We now return you to our Valentine’s Day dinner narrative that may actually feature the previously mentioned Valentine's theme.
Fire, Ice, and Hearts – A Valentine’s Banquet
Part Two: For the Love… That Lady Lifted My Act!
So after informing the car owner her vehicle remained unfixed, but that we were fairly sure we hadn’t made it any worse in our unproductive efforts, we returned to claim our long-vacant seats.A number of people had filled up the spots around our abandoned coats. I’m still getting a feel for the congregation, so I wasn’t sure if they were from our church or not. A quick look at my friend told me these were strangers and it might be best to shift seats.
We had few qualms about moving. Our initial selection of the location had largely been based on a decent view of the speaker’s podium, and more importantly, the observation that, “There’s a lot of chocolate here. This’ll do.” There were plenty of Hershey’s kisses spread around tables and the chance to move on to a fresh, untapped supply was an easy temptation to give in to.
We took refuge with a bunch of young kids from our church. To be precise, it was a set of three brothers. I’d talked with some of them before and knew one had been tapped to play a trumpet solo that evening. He wasn’t excited about the idea, but the pastor’s wife/church music director had been determined.
Note: If you’ve never had a driven church musical director go after you to put you down for a solo, it’s hard to explain how difficult it is to resist such overtures. It can be done, I know from experience, but only after a long-fought, ugly battle (and one of you may have to leave the town before the other gives up). In looking at the inexperience of the young trumpeter and the energy of the pastor’s wife, I have to conclude the kid never had a chance.
The trumpet was stored beneath the table ready to be pulled out at any moment, since he hadn’t been told when he would be perforuming. Other churches had offered to provide little interludes throughout the evening and he wasn’t sure where he fit in the program.
In the meantime, chocolates were dug into and glasses were filled. My automotive friend had two glasses because he’d kept the glass he’d filled from his first seat and used the glass present at his newer seat. He joked how he liked having a cup for tea and water… until he sampled the tea. Grimacing, but suddenly glad that he had a spare, he would only drink from the water glass for the rest of the evening and the abandoned tea cup would later become a target for the candy wrappers.
Food was served and conversations briefly paused for consumption. After enough time had passed, my pastor, who was the master of ceremonies for the dinner, introduced the first two singers. I forget what church they were from, but it was an elderly couple who had brought their own electronic synthesizer.
After some slow, joking opening remarks, they started singing “Love Lifted Me.”
Partway through the song I realized the young trumpeter in front of me was staring dumbstruck.
“They’re playing my song!” he said. “Love Lifted Me” was the song he’d prepared for the dinner and now these senior citizens were leading the group in a sing-along.
Imagine being a middle schooler who, very reluctantly, agreed to play a song. He was already getting nervous about playing in front of 100-odd people, but now find that someone else is performing the song you’ve been practicing for weeks.
What am I supposed to do now, he asked.
His brothers, my friend, and I were all eager to offer suggestions:
-- Blast a single note, take a flamboyant bow, and sit down.
-- Just play the song extremely fast, like “Flight of the Bumblebee!”
-- Play another song with “love” in the title. I would suggest “Addicted to Love,” but I would guess you don’t know it and it probably wouldn’t be appropriate anyway.
And my personal favorite option:
“You play the song and we’ll do an interpretive dance in the background.”
The trumpeter was trying to laugh about the whole deal, but in between jokes you could tell he was a bit apprehensive. Other performers came on, with our pastor making bad jokes in between.
Things were going just fine when the banquet took a sharp, albeit expected twist, and the spotlight settled on our end of the banquet hall.
stay tuned…
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
11:44 AM - Phone Note: Fuzzy Whiteout
in the Wires and on the Ground
Music: “Call Me” by Blondie
It’s snowing hard out there.
I’m not ready to call it a blizzard yet, but it is the heaviest and most prolonged snow I’ve seen since I got here (and the forecast doesn’t look to be changing any time soon).
To let people know how serious it is, I should tell you that I actually put on my red scarf for the first time since I arrived in Wyoming … and it looked white by the time I made it indoors.
Before I started my nightly trek after work, I told my boss – I hoped jokingly – to keep an eye out for a Caleb-shaped snowman when she left.
In additional to donning a scarf, I experienced one other landmark event last night. I took my first tumble in Wyoming. For all the ice, slush, and snow I’ve slipped and slided through, I never fully succumbed to gravity until last night.
I was talking on the phone at the time, and shortly after that my phone started acting batty. I can hear people clearly on it, but others can’t seem to hear me. Curious.
I’m not sure if a transmission tower has gotten jacked up in the storm of if the fall caused something to get jiggered in the phone or if I accidentally turned on some previously undiscovered muting option.
This will probably take some frustrating experimentation to settle.
Those seeking to call me (or those who receive calls from me) in the short term should please be patient as I attempt to wrangle this out. Thanks.
It’s snowing hard out there.
I’m not ready to call it a blizzard yet, but it is the heaviest and most prolonged snow I’ve seen since I got here (and the forecast doesn’t look to be changing any time soon).
To let people know how serious it is, I should tell you that I actually put on my red scarf for the first time since I arrived in Wyoming … and it looked white by the time I made it indoors.
Before I started my nightly trek after work, I told my boss – I hoped jokingly – to keep an eye out for a Caleb-shaped snowman when she left.
In additional to donning a scarf, I experienced one other landmark event last night. I took my first tumble in Wyoming. For all the ice, slush, and snow I’ve slipped and slided through, I never fully succumbed to gravity until last night.
I was talking on the phone at the time, and shortly after that my phone started acting batty. I can hear people clearly on it, but others can’t seem to hear me. Curious.
I’m not sure if a transmission tower has gotten jacked up in the storm of if the fall caused something to get jiggered in the phone or if I accidentally turned on some previously undiscovered muting option.
This will probably take some frustrating experimentation to settle.
Those seeking to call me (or those who receive calls from me) in the short term should please be patient as I attempt to wrangle this out. Thanks.
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
12:34 PM -
Note: It’s Valentine’s Day; or Singles Awareness Day depending on your predisposition (and if you need a hint of which one it is for you, check out the ACRONYM of the second).
In a spirit of being festive, I made sure the paper’s masthead was pink for today (well, it’s technically magenta, but people look at it and think pink, so it’s pink).
To extend this effort, I also have a specially themed Valentine’s post (largely based on occurrences from this weekend). Looking at the ever-present counter at the top of the library’s computer screen, I have 9 minutes and 35 seconds before I’m supposed to log off (e-mailing, blog reading, online zombie fighting, and finishing the hypertext on the previous post having taken up so much time).
Nevertheless, it is my stated goal to transcribe as much as I can now and come back to the library during my dinner break to conclude the tale… or worst case scenario, tomorrow morning (well, I figure the worst case scenario would be posting on Oct. 27, 2083, so I guess I’m aiming for best-case worst case scenario).
Anyway, please enjoyFire, Ice, and Hearts – A Valentine’s Banquet
Music: “Expressway to Your Heart” covered by the Blues Brothers
So I decided to attend my first big church event on Sunday. I’ve been going to Sunday services at the Assembly of God church in town for a month now (Wednesday services being out since I’m at the paper). However, the church was sponsoring a big sectional Valentine’s Day dinner for the area churches. It was to be conducted in a restaurant owned by some of the members of the church and fully catered. In lieu of other plans, and my own cooking, I thought it’d make for an interesting evening.
As to my expectations, it was par for the course.
I caught a ride from one of the members of the youth group I’ve been getting to know. He often works odd jobs around the church, being a utility player however is needed. As I’ve seen occur before, within a few minutes of arriving and picking out some seats, he was asked to look into a car problem.
If showing that you care for your fellow man by tinkering with another parishioner’s vehicle isn’t a great way to start a Christian Valentine’s banquet, then… well… I guess I’ll have to come up with another example for next year. As it was, we still had 20 minutes before the food would be served, so we had time to kill anyway.
We were told a turn signal “wasn’t working,” and if we figured out that we could look into fixing a neon tracking light.
While I am told my friend is a car fiend has driven nearly every church member’s vehicle (all but treating the church parking lot as his own personal car lot), tackling this case was a bit more personal than the average fix-it job. We had worked on the same car a week before – and on the same tail light, no less – so we were curious to know if we had bungled something in the previous job.
Heading outside, to a windy but not too dreary dusk, we found the suspect car. A short investigation showed us all the turn signals were working; we checked the front and the back because a miscommunication the previous week had cost us several minutes and made us look like fools for not checking both ends of the vehicle). A further review showed the other lights were working: emergency blinkers, low beams, and high beams – the last to my temporary blindness.
Slightly confused, seeing as the turn signal was already fixed, we pressed on with our charge.
We had no idea where the neon running light was hooked into the car. We began a search for excess wires or mysterious gizmos that looked out of place. We hadn’t looked long when we found a makeshift wire creatively tucked into a panel of a fuses in a side panel. It was a MacGyver-rig if I ever saw one.
Of course, while it stood out in the “one of these things is not like the other” contest, we weren’t sure what it did. My friend decided to start pulling out some of the fuses to get a better feel for the situation. I didn’t think this was the best idea, but since my assistance largely consisted of blocking the wind, nodding thoughtfully, and saying common sense things like “Are you sure it’s plugged in?”, my opinion wasn’t given as much weight.
For all the tweaking and rearranging, nothing discernable changed – other than the time on the clock. Even more confused, and having exhausted the options he had in a cramped parking lot devoid of tools, we decided to pack it in. We put everything back the way it was – we hoped – if only to follow the old maxim, if you can’t fix it, leave it no worse off than you found it (a particularly difficult adage to follow).
We did a double check of the major systems to make sure we hadn’t disconnected anything important:
“Radio?”
“Check.”
“Headlights work?”
“Good,” I reply from the side, instead of standing face on like before. “She would have missed that. How about the breaks?”
“They’re good.”
“Great. She would have missed that too; maybe not as quickly, but just as surely.”
We went back in to report our findings. When we told the woman her turn signal was working, she said she knew that, it just “wasn’t working well.”
Ah… not working well. That was an important adjective that was left out. We could have used that.
We’d spent 25 minutes, and for all our efforts all we had done was “fixed” a light that wasn’t broken and found a mystery wire. My friend told the woman if she brought the car by later this week, he might have better luck with it.
With that out of the way, we were ready for some food.
This post seems to be getting long enough (coinciding with my time running out at the library). There will be more to come, but it will be in the form of a Part II post.
stay tuned…
In a spirit of being festive, I made sure the paper’s masthead was pink for today (well, it’s technically magenta, but people look at it and think pink, so it’s pink).
To extend this effort, I also have a specially themed Valentine’s post (largely based on occurrences from this weekend). Looking at the ever-present counter at the top of the library’s computer screen, I have 9 minutes and 35 seconds before I’m supposed to log off (e-mailing, blog reading, online zombie fighting, and finishing the hypertext on the previous post having taken up so much time).
Nevertheless, it is my stated goal to transcribe as much as I can now and come back to the library during my dinner break to conclude the tale… or worst case scenario, tomorrow morning (well, I figure the worst case scenario would be posting on Oct. 27, 2083, so I guess I’m aiming for best-case worst case scenario).
Anyway, please enjoy
Fire, Ice, and Hearts – A Valentine’s Banquet
Part One: Tricky Connections
Music: “Expressway to Your Heart” covered by the Blues BrothersSo I decided to attend my first big church event on Sunday. I’ve been going to Sunday services at the Assembly of God church in town for a month now (Wednesday services being out since I’m at the paper). However, the church was sponsoring a big sectional Valentine’s Day dinner for the area churches. It was to be conducted in a restaurant owned by some of the members of the church and fully catered. In lieu of other plans, and my own cooking, I thought it’d make for an interesting evening.
As to my expectations, it was par for the course.
I caught a ride from one of the members of the youth group I’ve been getting to know. He often works odd jobs around the church, being a utility player however is needed. As I’ve seen occur before, within a few minutes of arriving and picking out some seats, he was asked to look into a car problem.
If showing that you care for your fellow man by tinkering with another parishioner’s vehicle isn’t a great way to start a Christian Valentine’s banquet, then… well… I guess I’ll have to come up with another example for next year. As it was, we still had 20 minutes before the food would be served, so we had time to kill anyway.
We were told a turn signal “wasn’t working,” and if we figured out that we could look into fixing a neon tracking light.
While I am told my friend is a car fiend has driven nearly every church member’s vehicle (all but treating the church parking lot as his own personal car lot), tackling this case was a bit more personal than the average fix-it job. We had worked on the same car a week before – and on the same tail light, no less – so we were curious to know if we had bungled something in the previous job.
Heading outside, to a windy but not too dreary dusk, we found the suspect car. A short investigation showed us all the turn signals were working; we checked the front and the back because a miscommunication the previous week had cost us several minutes and made us look like fools for not checking both ends of the vehicle). A further review showed the other lights were working: emergency blinkers, low beams, and high beams – the last to my temporary blindness.
Slightly confused, seeing as the turn signal was already fixed, we pressed on with our charge.
We had no idea where the neon running light was hooked into the car. We began a search for excess wires or mysterious gizmos that looked out of place. We hadn’t looked long when we found a makeshift wire creatively tucked into a panel of a fuses in a side panel. It was a MacGyver-rig if I ever saw one.
Of course, while it stood out in the “one of these things is not like the other” contest, we weren’t sure what it did. My friend decided to start pulling out some of the fuses to get a better feel for the situation. I didn’t think this was the best idea, but since my assistance largely consisted of blocking the wind, nodding thoughtfully, and saying common sense things like “Are you sure it’s plugged in?”, my opinion wasn’t given as much weight.
For all the tweaking and rearranging, nothing discernable changed – other than the time on the clock. Even more confused, and having exhausted the options he had in a cramped parking lot devoid of tools, we decided to pack it in. We put everything back the way it was – we hoped – if only to follow the old maxim, if you can’t fix it, leave it no worse off than you found it (a particularly difficult adage to follow).
We did a double check of the major systems to make sure we hadn’t disconnected anything important:
“Radio?”
“Check.”
“Headlights work?”
“Good,” I reply from the side, instead of standing face on like before. “She would have missed that. How about the breaks?”
“They’re good.”
“Great. She would have missed that too; maybe not as quickly, but just as surely.”
We went back in to report our findings. When we told the woman her turn signal was working, she said she knew that, it just “wasn’t working well.”
Ah… not working well. That was an important adjective that was left out. We could have used that.
We’d spent 25 minutes, and for all our efforts all we had done was “fixed” a light that wasn’t broken and found a mystery wire. My friend told the woman if she brought the car by later this week, he might have better luck with it.
With that out of the way, we were ready for some food.
This post seems to be getting long enough (coinciding with my time running out at the library). There will be more to come, but it will be in the form of a Part II post.
stay tuned…
Monday, February 13, 2006
12:04 PM - The Weekly Recap, Yeah, So I Skipped a Week Edition
January 30 to February 13
Music: “Running Just to Catch Myself” by Mark Schultz
If it’s Monday, and I still have some time after posting comments and e-mail, it’s recap day. And boy do I have some catching up to do.
Many stories to tell, not enough free internet time to tell them all – a good problem as compared to the alternative.
Posts may remain sporadic, especially as the public library begins to hit a number of February federal holiday, but I’m going to try not to let that bug me too much.
Last Monday update, January 31, I kvetch about memory loss and interrupted communication before having a briefer than usual rundown.
Tuesday, January 31, I make new resolutions to have less interrupted posts. Despite optimistically quoting Tennessee Ernie Ford, life will still get in the way. C’est la vie.
Wednesday I try to convey my work environment, I share my first quote log. Co-workers will later find this and tell me how strangely accurate and representative it is. Consider that a warning.
Ground Hog’s Day brings out some quirky reactions on what, apparently, is an extra shadowy day.
Tuesday, February 7, I keep running and wondering if I’m getting anywhere for my efforts, blogging-wise at least.
Wednesday the city council tries to pull a fast one and get upset when the paper calls them on it. First Amendment defenses and observations on working in a slum follow.
Saturday I pledge to cut myself some slack when it comes to posting and share another quote log from work.
To come: Robots, zombies, mice, and other musings.
If it’s Monday, and I still have some time after posting comments and e-mail, it’s recap day. And boy do I have some catching up to do.
Many stories to tell, not enough free internet time to tell them all – a good problem as compared to the alternative.
Posts may remain sporadic, especially as the public library begins to hit a number of February federal holiday, but I’m going to try not to let that bug me too much.
Last Monday update, January 31, I kvetch about memory loss and interrupted communication before having a briefer than usual rundown.
Tuesday, January 31, I make new resolutions to have less interrupted posts. Despite optimistically quoting Tennessee Ernie Ford, life will still get in the way. C’est la vie.
Wednesday I try to convey my work environment, I share my first quote log. Co-workers will later find this and tell me how strangely accurate and representative it is. Consider that a warning.
Ground Hog’s Day brings out some quirky reactions on what, apparently, is an extra shadowy day.
Tuesday, February 7, I keep running and wondering if I’m getting anywhere for my efforts, blogging-wise at least.
Wednesday the city council tries to pull a fast one and get upset when the paper calls them on it. First Amendment defenses and observations on working in a slum follow.
Saturday I pledge to cut myself some slack when it comes to posting and share another quote log from work.
To come: Robots, zombies, mice, and other musings.
Saturday, February 11, 2006
4:38 PM - Old-fashioned (and Unnecessary) Contrition, contrition!
Music: “Tradition” from Fiddler on the Roof
Okay. The week got away from me. I’ve had many people tell me not to get discouraged about not posting as regularly as I had become used to. Individuals ranging from the newspaper publisher to my parents to other blogging friends have told me to cut myself some slack.
The conversations often conclude the same way --
Me: “I just feel bad because I had a two-and-a-half month streak going.”
FILL_IN_BLANK: “But did you have a job?”
Me: “Well… technically… no.”
FILL_IN_BLANK: “Well there you go.”
Anyway, I type all this to say I’m going to try to stop feeling guilty about something that a majority of people say isn’t actually a crime. I’m still going to push myself to post more, but other than that there’s only so much I can do without a personal computer.
As an act of apparently unnecessary restitution, let me share another batch from my personal quote logs. I seem to be collecting so many I believe this may become a weekly feature of this website, though only time will tell.
As always, no one is specifically identified by name, though context clues may finger some speakers more easily than others. Let me get out of the way so the others voices can be heard now.
Correcting a page proof gets sticky:
“I didn’t realize White Out was so hard to get off your fingers.”
“Why are you putting it on your fingers.”
Half of a phone conversation after one sickly reporter coughed on a phone receiver of a mocking, healthy reporter to infect it before cleaning it off with a moist towelette:
“My phone smells like vodka … No, I like it.”
“It’s not a gas station you monkey potato.”
“For the record, a monkey potato would be a very frightening thing.”
“It’d be a mo-pho!”
Name Game Curses:
“Chuck, Chuck, Bo, Buck… I’m going to name my kid Chuck.”
“You’re purposely premeditating to mess your kid up in the Name Game?”
- A little while later someone else joins the conversation in progress:
“Why would you name your kid Fitch?”
“To screw them over in the Name Game.”
“If you can’t have fun at work, then you shouldn’t go to work.”
“I’m sure brain surgeons say the same thing.”
“I’m so glad it’s Friday, because if it was Monday I wouldn’t be coming back the next day.”
“Yeah right. You’re the person who felt so guilty when you were out [sick].”
“I’m not guilty anymore.”
Trouble with the Associated Press wire leads to several tech calls:
“When I’ve annoyed people on both sea fronts, I consider that a good day.”
On men changing their last names when they get married:
“I think it would depend on the amount of money.”
“You know, I could be a Kennedy.”
“I would have no problem being Justin Kennedy. … Everyone has a price; I’m just more realistic about mine.”
Imagining a dismal life without internet or TV:
“My cat doesn’t play card games well.”
“Yeah, she’s always hitting on 20.”
“No, you fool!”
“You’d think that because we’re all journalism majors, we’d be able to communicate better. Am I wrong in thinking that?”
Overheard on the police scanner:
“I’m on the phone with a claustrophobic person who wants to know how long the [Green River] tunnels are.”
“There’s a loaded question.”
On the innate evilness of horses:
“Who wears metal shoes – only those up to no good.”
“Back to back – council workshop and chamber meeting.”
“Double your fun!”
“If you’re a sadist.”
“If you’re a journalist, isn’t that the same thing?”
“Well… it’s a fine line.”
On my co-workers discovering my site and putting my name through a search engine:
“Didn’t you know we Googled you? We Googled everyone before they came here.”
A final note on bookmarking:
“Would you like to be ‘Work Profile 1’ or ‘Hardcore pornography’?”
“Well, since you gave me a choice…”
In conclusion, I wish you all many happy returns to “Work Profile 1.” Have a nice weekend.
Okay. The week got away from me. I’ve had many people tell me not to get discouraged about not posting as regularly as I had become used to. Individuals ranging from the newspaper publisher to my parents to other blogging friends have told me to cut myself some slack.
The conversations often conclude the same way --
Me: “I just feel bad because I had a two-and-a-half month streak going.”
FILL_IN_BLANK: “But did you have a job?”
Me: “Well… technically… no.”
FILL_IN_BLANK: “Well there you go.”
Anyway, I type all this to say I’m going to try to stop feeling guilty about something that a majority of people say isn’t actually a crime. I’m still going to push myself to post more, but other than that there’s only so much I can do without a personal computer.
As an act of apparently unnecessary restitution, let me share another batch from my personal quote logs. I seem to be collecting so many I believe this may become a weekly feature of this website, though only time will tell.
As always, no one is specifically identified by name, though context clues may finger some speakers more easily than others. Let me get out of the way so the others voices can be heard now.
Correcting a page proof gets sticky:
“I didn’t realize White Out was so hard to get off your fingers.”
“Why are you putting it on your fingers.”
Half of a phone conversation after one sickly reporter coughed on a phone receiver of a mocking, healthy reporter to infect it before cleaning it off with a moist towelette:
“My phone smells like vodka … No, I like it.”
“It’s not a gas station you monkey potato.”
“For the record, a monkey potato would be a very frightening thing.”
“It’d be a mo-pho!”
Name Game Curses:
“Chuck, Chuck, Bo, Buck… I’m going to name my kid Chuck.”
“You’re purposely premeditating to mess your kid up in the Name Game?”
- A little while later someone else joins the conversation in progress:
“Why would you name your kid Fitch?”
“To screw them over in the Name Game.”
“If you can’t have fun at work, then you shouldn’t go to work.”
“I’m sure brain surgeons say the same thing.”
“I’m so glad it’s Friday, because if it was Monday I wouldn’t be coming back the next day.”
“Yeah right. You’re the person who felt so guilty when you were out [sick].”
“I’m not guilty anymore.”
Trouble with the Associated Press wire leads to several tech calls:
“When I’ve annoyed people on both sea fronts, I consider that a good day.”
On men changing their last names when they get married:
“I think it would depend on the amount of money.”
“You know, I could be a Kennedy.”
“I would have no problem being Justin Kennedy. … Everyone has a price; I’m just more realistic about mine.”
Imagining a dismal life without internet or TV:
“My cat doesn’t play card games well.”
“Yeah, she’s always hitting on 20.”
“No, you fool!”
“You’d think that because we’re all journalism majors, we’d be able to communicate better. Am I wrong in thinking that?”
Overheard on the police scanner:
“I’m on the phone with a claustrophobic person who wants to know how long the [Green River] tunnels are.”
“There’s a loaded question.”
On the innate evilness of horses:
“Who wears metal shoes – only those up to no good.”
“Back to back – council workshop and chamber meeting.”
“Double your fun!”
“If you’re a sadist.”
“If you’re a journalist, isn’t that the same thing?”
“Well… it’s a fine line.”
On my co-workers discovering my site and putting my name through a search engine:
“Didn’t you know we Googled you? We Googled everyone before they came here.”
A final note on bookmarking:
“Would you like to be ‘Work Profile 1’ or ‘Hardcore pornography’?”
“Well, since you gave me a choice…”
In conclusion, I wish you all many happy returns to “Work Profile 1.” Have a nice weekend.
Wednesday, February 08, 2006
12:22 PM - Waking up to a Blight, Blissful Day
Music: “Down in the Boondocks” by Billy Joe Royal
Okay, so the mayor and most of the city government is upset with the paper, again.
The reason for their outrage? We accurately reported the city council’s plans to designate a portion of the town a slum or blighted area all in the hopes of getting access to more urban renewal money.
The actions aren’t bad, but the scale makes one pause. The map of the targeted area covers most of downtown and most of the older residential areas (but curiously stops short before the strip where the richer people in town live).
People have repeated called to state their displeasure that we spotlighted this proposed plan with a 60 point font headline and a big old map delineating the future area. At the council meeting, numerous disparaging comments were made about the recent coverage of the issue. Of course, I believe our coverage was vindicated by the large number of people who showed up at the meeting to further voice their displeasure at the prospects.
In the West, the words “eminent domain” can be fighting words – almost literally. The thought that the government may have the power to pull the land out from beneath you does not sit well with some people (and if this concept doesn’t make one briefly pause, I would ask them to reconsider the premise. One need not be paranoid, but I wouldn’t want to be blasé and blind to the possibilities).
The paper’s stories outlined the process that was proposed, detailing the multiple steps that one would need to take before any steps were taken and how this is the opening step to be eligible for Urban Renewal money. Of course, if some people don’t make it past the headline and the three and a half column graphic, I don’t believe the paper should be held responsible (though the mayor must disagree).
I myself did my best to educate the public. I took my turn fielding phone calls who wanted the paper to know that, “I don’t live in a slum!” Actually, I quite enjoyed those calls and used the opportunity to encourage people to share their opinions through a letter to the editor, or better yet, show up to the council meeting itself. I detailed the time and place for some people and later learned that one particularly impassioned person did show up to the meeting.
Of course, public feedback only works to the point. As is the case in some circumstances, a person may ask for outside input, smile and nod while the opinions are shared, and then do what they were planning to do anyway.
At the board meeting last night, the city council unanimously voted to declare the previously mentioned large portion of the city to be a slummed or blighted area.
I’m sure there will be another round of phone calls today from people who wake up to that message:
Good morning, resident! You just woke up in a slum! May you and your property value have a nice day.
If the city council wants to have less headaches, they may want to consider moving more slowly and methodically in the future. And if you decide to rush things and make a ruckus, don’t get upset with the press when we truthfully and accurately state what you did. We’re just holding the flashlight. You’re the one who stepped in it.
Have a nice day, city council. The city hall you all meet in now resides in a newly designated slum area. May you and your co-workers suffer the obvious jokes with a smile.
I know I’ll be smiling. After all, the newspaper is across the street and in the same blighted boat. Only time will tell if the crew mutinies.
Okay, so the mayor and most of the city government is upset with the paper, again.
The reason for their outrage? We accurately reported the city council’s plans to designate a portion of the town a slum or blighted area all in the hopes of getting access to more urban renewal money.
The actions aren’t bad, but the scale makes one pause. The map of the targeted area covers most of downtown and most of the older residential areas (but curiously stops short before the strip where the richer people in town live).
People have repeated called to state their displeasure that we spotlighted this proposed plan with a 60 point font headline and a big old map delineating the future area. At the council meeting, numerous disparaging comments were made about the recent coverage of the issue. Of course, I believe our coverage was vindicated by the large number of people who showed up at the meeting to further voice their displeasure at the prospects.
In the West, the words “eminent domain” can be fighting words – almost literally. The thought that the government may have the power to pull the land out from beneath you does not sit well with some people (and if this concept doesn’t make one briefly pause, I would ask them to reconsider the premise. One need not be paranoid, but I wouldn’t want to be blasé and blind to the possibilities).
The paper’s stories outlined the process that was proposed, detailing the multiple steps that one would need to take before any steps were taken and how this is the opening step to be eligible for Urban Renewal money. Of course, if some people don’t make it past the headline and the three and a half column graphic, I don’t believe the paper should be held responsible (though the mayor must disagree).
I myself did my best to educate the public. I took my turn fielding phone calls who wanted the paper to know that, “I don’t live in a slum!” Actually, I quite enjoyed those calls and used the opportunity to encourage people to share their opinions through a letter to the editor, or better yet, show up to the council meeting itself. I detailed the time and place for some people and later learned that one particularly impassioned person did show up to the meeting.
Of course, public feedback only works to the point. As is the case in some circumstances, a person may ask for outside input, smile and nod while the opinions are shared, and then do what they were planning to do anyway.
At the board meeting last night, the city council unanimously voted to declare the previously mentioned large portion of the city to be a slummed or blighted area.
I’m sure there will be another round of phone calls today from people who wake up to that message:
Good morning, resident! You just woke up in a slum! May you and your property value have a nice day.
If the city council wants to have less headaches, they may want to consider moving more slowly and methodically in the future. And if you decide to rush things and make a ruckus, don’t get upset with the press when we truthfully and accurately state what you did. We’re just holding the flashlight. You’re the one who stepped in it.
Have a nice day, city council. The city hall you all meet in now resides in a newly designated slum area. May you and your co-workers suffer the obvious jokes with a smile.
I know I’ll be smiling. After all, the newspaper is across the street and in the same blighted boat. Only time will tell if the crew mutinies.
Tuesday, February 07, 2006
12:08 PM -
Music: “Nonny, Nonny” by Chris Rice
“Run the Earth and watch the sky.”
I do have stories.
Really I do. They just keep happening late at night and/or I keep misplacing the notebook on which I scribbled down my notes.
Between attempting to compensate for the sleep deprivation and not wanting to try to recollect the arrangement of words that I was already pleased with, I haven’t had much time to put much on the screen.
I still have a lot planned. As different people know to varying extents, I have several projects being simultaneously worked on. Hopefully the results will soon be ready to be shown.
Anyway I’m just going to keep running and racing… for what else could I do.
“Run the Earth and watch the sky.”
I do have stories.
Really I do. They just keep happening late at night and/or I keep misplacing the notebook on which I scribbled down my notes.
Between attempting to compensate for the sleep deprivation and not wanting to try to recollect the arrangement of words that I was already pleased with, I haven’t had much time to put much on the screen.
I still have a lot planned. As different people know to varying extents, I have several projects being simultaneously worked on. Hopefully the results will soon be ready to be shown.
Anyway I’m just going to keep running and racing… for what else could I do.
Thursday, February 02, 2006
12:24 PM - Worship the Rodent
Music: “(I’m Your) Weatherman” by Delbert McClinton
Note: The title is a riff on a slogan a friend coined and unsuccessfully tried to propagate – “Worship the chicken.” Time has not been kind to his logic and to repeat his rationale now would cause him more harm today than it did back in high school (and you can imagine how well it went back down then).
Apparently it’s Groundhog’s Day. I realized it was coming up, but it was late in the morning before I realized today was the day people gather to consult a burrowing mammal about the long-term weather forecast.
How do traditions like this get started?
I am reminded of a Bill Murray line from the movie “Groundhog Day” – “This is pitiful. A thousand people freezing their butts off waiting to worship a rat. What a hype. Well, it used to mean something in this town. They used to pull the hog out, and they used to *eat* it. You're hypocrites, all of you!”
Was there an eccentric farmer who always swore by the groundhog that lived behind his shed? Was a child saved by a benevolent groundhog which rescued him from a freak blizzard? Or was it simply an economically created “holiday” to boost tourism numbers?
All hail the mighty groundhog and the mighty dollar. In them we trust.
The people who try to sell us on the predicting power are the same people who claim to speak in “Groundhogese.”
Even though the illustrious Punxsutawney Phil saw his shadow, I don’t think the end of my winter is six weeks away. I’ve been told the winter lasts longer here in the Rockies. One person told me I can expect spring to start in June. I’m still not sure if they’re joking.
I actually have more respect and confidence in a forecast made by a furry mammal than an average professional weatherman. One has a naturally-derived instinct and the other one has a simple degree – guess which one I value more. Nevertheless, I’m probably going to ignore both and simply move on.
After all, that’s what the groundhog is going to do. After being woken up early, stuffed in a fake log, being forcibly yanked out again, and finally paraded around for everyone to see, he’s going to back to his unnatural environment of a cage and sleep off a crazy day.
“They did it to me, again this year,” he must think as he drifts off to groundhog dreams.
We’ll see you in a year, Phil. Sleep well until then.
Note: The title is a riff on a slogan a friend coined and unsuccessfully tried to propagate – “Worship the chicken.” Time has not been kind to his logic and to repeat his rationale now would cause him more harm today than it did back in high school (and you can imagine how well it went back down then).
Apparently it’s Groundhog’s Day. I realized it was coming up, but it was late in the morning before I realized today was the day people gather to consult a burrowing mammal about the long-term weather forecast.
How do traditions like this get started?
I am reminded of a Bill Murray line from the movie “Groundhog Day” – “This is pitiful. A thousand people freezing their butts off waiting to worship a rat. What a hype. Well, it used to mean something in this town. They used to pull the hog out, and they used to *eat* it. You're hypocrites, all of you!”
Was there an eccentric farmer who always swore by the groundhog that lived behind his shed? Was a child saved by a benevolent groundhog which rescued him from a freak blizzard? Or was it simply an economically created “holiday” to boost tourism numbers?
All hail the mighty groundhog and the mighty dollar. In them we trust.
The people who try to sell us on the predicting power are the same people who claim to speak in “Groundhogese.”
Even though the illustrious Punxsutawney Phil saw his shadow, I don’t think the end of my winter is six weeks away. I’ve been told the winter lasts longer here in the Rockies. One person told me I can expect spring to start in June. I’m still not sure if they’re joking.
I actually have more respect and confidence in a forecast made by a furry mammal than an average professional weatherman. One has a naturally-derived instinct and the other one has a simple degree – guess which one I value more. Nevertheless, I’m probably going to ignore both and simply move on.
After all, that’s what the groundhog is going to do. After being woken up early, stuffed in a fake log, being forcibly yanked out again, and finally paraded around for everyone to see, he’s going to back to his unnatural environment of a cage and sleep off a crazy day.
“They did it to me, again this year,” he must think as he drifts off to groundhog dreams.
We’ll see you in a year, Phil. Sleep well until then.
Wednesday, February 01, 2006
11:44 AM - Say Again?
Music: “Funky Town” by Lipps, Inc
"Well, I talk about it, talk about it,
talk about it, talk about it."
I’ve tried to explain the work dynamic at the newspaper, and I think the best way to do that is to share some direct quotes.
Note: Since it’s been some time since I put out a quote log, I believe I should reestablish the ground rules. I don’t specifically identify who said what. I’ll leave names in comment if someone said them, but I prefer to leave some things up to the imagination. This also provides the important safety net of deniability later.
I also add context to clarify some out-there comments, though it only helps so much.
Without further ado,
The publisher on contempt charges –
“If you get arrested, I will not bail you out. I will do many things for my reporters, but not that.”
“What if you had a good reason?”
“I don’t like my haircut.”
“Take it back!”
On Lindsay Lohan –
“Can you be that skinny and not die?”
The new reporter tries to carve out a niche for himself -
“I don’t have a beat.”
“We should give him a beat.”
“I’ll give you a beat.” (Clap, clap, clap, clap).
“I have an IQ of 7,000!”
“If you have an IQ of 7,000, then why are you working here, smart guy?”
“You’re going to retire here. Nyah, nyah, nyah, nyah, nyah!”
“We should write a story about Arby’s running out of roast beef.”
“Arby’s ran out of roast beef?!”
“That was my reaction, too!”
“I hate fantasies… Magic and unicorns and elves… I hate elves!”
“I’m a fantasy person, and I hate elves.”
On freezing your body cryogenically to come back in the future –
“I don’t like the kids now, and I’m only 10 years older than them.”
Looking at desk calendar altered by co-workers –
“Apparently I missed my ‘Dinner with Satan’ yesterday.”
“Oh yeah. I was supposed to remind you of that.”
“He’s going to be pissed. It’s one thing to stand up the mayor…”
On the approaching Legislative session:
“They’re making a bill that makes it illegal to leave a sheep herd or to aid and assist someone in leaving a herd.”
“So we’re cracking down on deadbeat shepherds?”
After an interesting interview –
“Okay, I’m now confused about the differences in the parties, because he’s a Democrat, but everything that came out of his mouth was something I would have expected a Republican to say.”
“Okay, he’s a Democrat, trying to get elected in Wyoming. Does that help?”
After a bad night technology wise, a change in leadership is pondered -
“Justin, I’m running away. I might come back… Caleb knows what to do.”
“If I’m in charge, I’m reinstating the drinking on the premises policy.”
Mock group cheer: “We vote for Dictator Caleb!”
“He didn’t say he was going to share. Four years from now, you’ll be slaving over a stove making his booze.”
Slightly sadder group cheer: “We made a bad decision!”
"Well, I talk about it, talk about it,
talk about it, talk about it."
I’ve tried to explain the work dynamic at the newspaper, and I think the best way to do that is to share some direct quotes.
Note: Since it’s been some time since I put out a quote log, I believe I should reestablish the ground rules. I don’t specifically identify who said what. I’ll leave names in comment if someone said them, but I prefer to leave some things up to the imagination. This also provides the important safety net of deniability later.
I also add context to clarify some out-there comments, though it only helps so much.
Without further ado,
The publisher on contempt charges –
“If you get arrested, I will not bail you out. I will do many things for my reporters, but not that.”
“What if you had a good reason?”
“I don’t like my haircut.”
“Take it back!”
On Lindsay Lohan –
“Can you be that skinny and not die?”
The new reporter tries to carve out a niche for himself -
“I don’t have a beat.”
“We should give him a beat.”
“I’ll give you a beat.” (Clap, clap, clap, clap).
“I have an IQ of 7,000!”
“If you have an IQ of 7,000, then why are you working here, smart guy?”
“You’re going to retire here. Nyah, nyah, nyah, nyah, nyah!”
“We should write a story about Arby’s running out of roast beef.”
“Arby’s ran out of roast beef?!”
“That was my reaction, too!”
“I hate fantasies… Magic and unicorns and elves… I hate elves!”
“I’m a fantasy person, and I hate elves.”
On freezing your body cryogenically to come back in the future –
“I don’t like the kids now, and I’m only 10 years older than them.”
Looking at desk calendar altered by co-workers –
“Apparently I missed my ‘Dinner with Satan’ yesterday.”
“Oh yeah. I was supposed to remind you of that.”
“He’s going to be pissed. It’s one thing to stand up the mayor…”
On the approaching Legislative session:
“They’re making a bill that makes it illegal to leave a sheep herd or to aid and assist someone in leaving a herd.”
“So we’re cracking down on deadbeat shepherds?”
After an interesting interview –
“Okay, I’m now confused about the differences in the parties, because he’s a Democrat, but everything that came out of his mouth was something I would have expected a Republican to say.”
“Okay, he’s a Democrat, trying to get elected in Wyoming. Does that help?”
After a bad night technology wise, a change in leadership is pondered -
“Justin, I’m running away. I might come back… Caleb knows what to do.”
“If I’m in charge, I’m reinstating the drinking on the premises policy.”
Mock group cheer: “We vote for Dictator Caleb!”
“He didn’t say he was going to share. Four years from now, you’ll be slaving over a stove making his booze.”
Slightly sadder group cheer: “We made a bad decision!”
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