The body is one big warped mass of needs. Needs to be fed. Needs to be watered. Needs to feel love. Needs to move. Needs to rest. Needs to be cleaned. Needs to be clothed. Needs new clothes when the old ones wear out because neither Oregon society nor Oregon weather allow it to run around naked. Alas.
I think I've whittled my body down to the barest of outward needs beyond the obvious food, water, shelter. I don't require many products or an abundance of coverings. I keep hygiene simple and efficient and don't wear makeup. I've figured out methods of staying warm: the layering of key pieces of clothing, strategic hot showers, abundance of tea. I make it walk. I make it sleep. I put it through yoga. No athletic centers or, goodness, workouts (gross). Eye drops=life and are also only about $2 and not difficult to administer. So, yes, I'm very sinfully proud of all of this. And yet, the body needs and never stops. Thanks, body.
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Ummmm. I made this last night:
It's part of an art project a friend and I are doing. The prompt is ____scapes. We're in the experiment and sketch stages right now, but we have been so mature and diligent and have given ourselves a deadline. At the end of the month we are to present at least one finished piece to each other. Fun fun.
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In the newspaper world, I had a cover story today.
You can READ IT HERE. There's even a slideshow of Alex's photos accompanying it. You know, multimedia. Look down in the "A mixed history" section of the story. There's a slideshow box to the left.
This was a massive story. 32 some inches, I think, when it was done. I doubt it needed to be. Actually I know it didn't need to be that long because this afternoon I had to do the radio version of it and I cut it down to about a third of its original length. Of course, though, the radio version couldn't include those racy details like how a former owner ruined the plumbing when he set up a special irrigation system for his pot farm.
One thing I learned, or rather, was reminded of, was that I fail at radio.
You have to be even more direct than in news writing and you have to be peppy with your verbs and have an interesting voice. I read like a tomb. It would be better if I could go full out snark, but it's still a traditional newspaper (not a crazy liberal weekly) and I can't do that.
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Whilst typing up notes from an interview I did yesterday, I remembered I wanted to write about my reportly experiences from yesterday. Mostly The two big meetings/interviews of the day where, completely unprovoked by my (undeniable) ignorance, the two separate people I talked with went out of their way to draw diagrams and maps and color-coded pictures while they explained things. Maybe they could sense that afternoon is not my time and I needed all the help available, or maybe they are both overly visual. It was so exciting. Among my notes I now possess a color-coded flow chart of the justice system in someone else's lovely cursivey handwriting. Such is the happy world I live in.
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The apartment is horrifying, but the bathroom is clean. I'm breaking even. But, no, I really need to tidy things up and wash the dishes. Even though I don't generate many dirty dishes in a day, one dirty plate and cup and pan tie up all the available counter and sink space and make any meal preparation difficult and dangerous.
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I've been here a month. Crazy.
Oregon might be the one place that sometimes you can get away with no clothes.
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