recap

This week started out looking like it would bore me to tears (on top of getting me up at 4:30 most mornings to go proof pages in the newsroom) but then it exploded everywhere.

A sample, taken from Wednesday/Thursday:

Wednesday began at 4:30 a.m. I proofed and wrote all morning and afternoon and probably ran around to a few interviews, but I honestly don't remember. I had a few hours off between 3 and 5. At 5 I went to a meeting, got out of that around 7. Back the newsroom to write up a story about the meeting and to answer e-mails, listen to voice messages. Probably left around 8 or 9.

Thursday I didn't have to go in early (Thank you, night meeting). Instead I came in around 9, rewrote the radio story and recorded it, answered emails, made phone calls. 10, walked over to meet with historical society people, interviewed, toured the county jail, back to the newsroom around 11 to start writing the story and make more phone calls regarding a story about an addiction treatment agency that's leaving the area unexpectedly after 10 years of service. I got the tip on that story yesterday afternoon and a message from the woman later that night while I was in the meeting. Anyway. 11, I'm back in the newsroom, making phone calls about that, working on the history story.

12:30, I head out to another series of interviews across town, these dealing with local rehab centers. 1:40, back in the office, have a message from the district attorney's office about a case. 2, I head over to the courthouse to look over records about the case and make phone calls to corrections.

So at this point I have three stories I'm working. Because of our new schedule they all have midnight deadlines.

In the end, court story is dropped and I progress with the remaining two. Go to bed at 10:30 (but that's my fault. I'm reading "Persuasion" for about the billionth time and I always get so caught up in it and anxious about Anne Elliot's welfare). Didn't sleep well all night. I probably woke up at least five times convinced that I'd forgotten to set my alarm, or (if I remembered I'd set my alarm) that I'd forgotten to turn my ringer off of silent.

Wake up call was 4:30 this morning. Back to proofing. For God only knows what reason my computer monitor was a violent magenta color when I turned it on. It almost gave my editor a heart attack. These early morning proofings are just fraught with perils unknown. A few days back, I think it was Wednesday, the door alarms went blaring off just as we were wrapping up the paper. There were only five of us in the whole building and the alarm was just SCREAMING. Ummm, and, oh yes, the alarm's main loud speaker is located right above my desk. I couldn't focus for about twenty minutes after the thing had been shut off.

But I digress. Today I got to come home after the paper was sent. Took a shower (you know you want to know ever detail of my life) and then slept from about 7:30 until 10:30 at which point I dragged myself back out of bed and drove to an interview. From that interview I went to the newsroom to write and from there, at 12:50 I sallied forth to a law meeting/conference/panel type thing I'd been invited to attend. We got to learn about Stalking and how people can Stalk you through anything you've ever allowed into your life from your potholders to the dead cell phone you forgot to recycle, throw out or give away when you got your new phone.

So that's what I've been up to. Here are some of the fruits of my laboring. Don't laugh.

Things like this make me happy about the justice system

ADDICTION

And last, and least (in terms of how it will interest and affect you guys who live nowhere near here...not because it's not important. I don't mean that. And if I did, I probably shouldn't say it online...which is something I've been thinking about. It's frustrating to have this blog and always worry about who's reading it. I rely on my very common name. There's millions of us out there. I dare people to find me in that sea of Wilsons. However, as a journalist and some sort of professional, I have to think about this. Hmmmmm. Perhaps in another post)

Anyway: GRANT MONEY!!!!

---

The scariest thing about this week--in addition to my almost complete dropping of normal life, human interaction, and regular meal consumption--is how great the possibility for errors grew with each passing day. As more information piled on quickly and constantly with less time to sift it and dump it as I went along, I quickly became a post-it-note addict. If it wasn't written down, I'd forget and my stories (by Thursday night) were taking a long time to get through. I was writing convoluted sentences that were backing into their subjects like cement mixers. Awful.

But it's the weekend! So yay! I'm going to make myself a very good dinner tonight. I'm even going to open the bottle of Trader Joe's wine because, hooray, I don't have to save it because, hooray, I'm going to Portland tomorrow for the day and I can get more. Also, I'm going to go to Target. Gosh, I miss Target.

---

Meanwhile, I'm going to finish "Persuasion." No matter how many times I read it, I always forget about The Letter. Jane Austen can be a snob, but I will love her forever.

this part of the year in review

Wrote this earlier. Now it's posting.

Taking a wee break from mental health treatment. That's the story going in tomorrow--of a theory--and I've been trying to rope it in all morning. It was a huge 41-inch sprawling mess yesterday and became a somewhat more organized, yet still sprawling, mess at 7 am, when I tackled it after some early morning page proofing. One of my kind and wonderful colleagues read it over and gave me some good suggestions. I went home and slept for half an hour at 10, came back, made phone calls and then took myself to a coffee shop to kill the beast. Which is what I think I've just accomplished. I'm going to let it brew for a bit and then take another peek. My absolute deadline is 3 p.m. So, really, I have years and years. Funny how my perspective on time has become completely mad. It really is years. Two hours: an untold luxury of time.

But enough brooding.

Let's go on to something really happy: Sentencing.

Actually. This is not happy at all. This is always always depressing and gives me a stomach ache. But here it is: Seaside brothers get 20 months for random beating.

We've received letters. Who said if you're not making someone angry by something you write you're probably not doing your job? I can't remember. I wish it wasn't like that. I wish people didn't do foolish, violent things.

---

I finished reading some Jack London. It might be a while before I eat a hamburger and when I do, I'm going to fall upon it and shake it so that its neck will break and it won't be able to run away. Then there will be a conflict between my doggish and wolfish natures when another person asks if they can have a wee bite. Maybe I'll growl and show my fangs. Who knows.

the backyard 35 minutes away

looks like this...



Because of the installation of the new printing press, the normal reporting schedule has been thrown off. So this morning, I dragged myself out of bed after a late night involving a 6 1/2 hour long progressive Italian dinner (amazing), and trotted down to the newsroom to plug my stories for Monday into the system. Then I went to church and in the middle of "Shine Jesus Shine! (lalalalala)" (the woman behind me amen-ing in an emotional vibrato like she was about to throw up a rib bone) I decided I would head down the coast and climb the cliffs. There was some sun out and I convinced myself that the ominous dark clouds hanging out at the fringe of the world were blowing inland and wouldn't make an appearance at the beach.



It was perfect. No wind. Warmish water. SUN. Empty beach except for a few old couples and their dogs and some girl with long hair who was sitting in a sort of despairing Celtic slouch on a low rockside with her iPod, gazing out to sea. I hate how people get about the ocean sometimes. They start calling it the "sea" and posing.



I climbed up and around the familiar area I've been climbing for the last...12 or so?...years. Then I went in search of a deer trail Liz and I once found and followed up over the cliffs and onto difficult-to-access beaches. It was pretty easy to find again and I hiked it for a bit until the mud killed me.

So, I do all of this barefoot which is a good thing, I think, since I don't technically know what I'm doing. Being barefoot gives me a better grip on and understanding of what I'm moving over. The problem with barefoot and February is that there's mud and you can't get a grip and gravity takes over in an undesirable, scientifically-correct way. It was especially bad on the deer trail so I was prudent and gave up after a while. On the way back down, I discovered a rope someone had fixed to a very high-up branch. You could swing on it out over a minor crevasse. So that was fun.



After my hike, I wandered around in the water, soaking my pants completely as per usual. The water was clear and clean and the foam was white. It felt like a new ocean and it was warmer than summer water (there's a scientific explanation behind that apparently, I just don't know it).



As I meandered back towards where I had come onto the beach, I tried to run into dogs. I just really wanted a gleeful, sloppy, ka-crazy dog to come running up to me so I could pet it. Some fluffy black monstrosity went bounding into the surf next to me, but ignored my entire existence. Stupid dog.

But then!

But then...as I measured my mournful steps through the pounding waves, noting the play of light beneath the water surface, spirals and ripples and the occasional spaceship-like collection of bubbles, out of absolute nowhere this mad, ocean-wet golden retriever raced up to me all a-bound and a-springy. It was SO HAPPY to see me. I got one pat in on its head before it just COULDN'T TAKE the excitement anymore and went racing back up the beach toward its owner. Oh smile my face.

But it gets better.

The dog and its owner passed me. She'd put him on a leash because he kept trying to chase a remote control airplane an old guy was flying. I was walking up over the dry sand now, towards the sea grass and the beach entrance when I hear this scrabbling sound behind me and suddenly the dog is right there. He must have run well over 200 yards straight to me. He whined a little PLEASE PET ME OH GOSH!!!!!!! So I did and then I said, "Hey, go back" and pointed back toward his owner who was just a speck against the ocean and the rocks and off that dog went, full speed.

Then I sat against a log with my backpack beside me and myself all dirty and ocean-soaked, hands and feet scraped and cut up from climbing, face in the sun, looking all scruffy and adventurous.

It's kind of been the best day ever.

experiments in substance abuse

...That was just for shock value, but I do blame coffee for the current twitch in my left eye. I should probably drink more water. My hairs are all dry and my skin is unhappy. While I enjoy being so AWARE of what my body needs, it can be annoying. It's like dealing with a small child: Be quiet, body, go away and entertain yourself for a while. I'm busy.

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.

---

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.

---

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.

---

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.

---

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.

---

I've been here a month. Crazy.

rosalind russell

Rosalind Russell is in three movies I love: Auntie Mame, The Trouble With Angels, and His Girl Friday, in which last movie she says,

"Now, get this, you double-crossing chimpanzee: There ain't going to be any interview and there ain't going to be any story. And that certified check of yours is leaving with me in twenty minutes. I wouldn't cover the burning of Rome for you if they were just lighting it up. If I ever lay my two eyes on you again, I'm gonna walk right up to you and hammer on that monkeyed skull of yours 'til it rings like a Chinese gong!"

I love Rosalind Russell.

Unfortunately, like many things and people I love--beginning with Hector Berlioz and ending with the dog we had before Sophie, the sweet and servile Jake--she is dead.

---

3 a.m. - I woke up with a crippling sense of failure. Failure! The day hadn't even begun also there was no decent reason to be awake yet let alone feel like a failure. Then that steady drip from rain overflow began outside the window--like a drill, drilling into the brain, through tender tissues and nerves, one of those noises you can't ignore. So I spent the next hour feeling pathetic quietly under my blankets, my face smooshed in by the surrounding pillows.

So thank God for the rest of the day that rose up to greet me like a deer among the cabbages. I was busy straight through until 4:30 pm with interviews and meetings and beat-covering. I got a few story leads to take up my future. I stepped forth and Made Contact. Again, I say, thank God. I still feel a bit like the end of my graduation term, all ragged and emotional and more like a train wreck victim, but I have not made it to 22 years for nothing. Swagger on, my soul, swagger on. Drink tea and be merry. Think of the exercise ball you bought on sale at Fred Meyers today and how it's going to strengthen your core and make you like Amelia Earhart except alive and not lost at sea in a plane forever while the salt pickles your kidneys.

remember all the fun of the aquatics center?

Upon bracing and pushing so hard that I made my sternum pop in a truly disturbing way, I must conclude that only one of my windows is open-able.

On a more positive note, a list of good things about today:

1. I'm getting a new fridge. The old one turns off and refuses to come back on. My landlord was over yesterday to look at it and called this afternoon to tell me that he'd bring me a new one. Huzzah. Negative note to temper the joy: the old fridge was off all weekend when I was out of town and my milk curdled. I was gleefully preparing coffee and decided to check the milk and almost died. So I had to walk down the hill while the coffee was brewing to purchase more milk. I picked up some broccoli, lettuce and crackers too, got to the counter and realized that I'd forgotten my debit card. Which leads me to positive item # two.

2. Upon forgetting my debit card, I prepared to leave in wrath without my purchases. The clerk asked me if I would be able to come back later...he could, so to speak, put everything on a tab because I only owed $5. "Just come back sometime this evening with the $5 and we'll call it good." Lovely.

3. I went back home and discovered I'd made the BEST COFFEE. I don't know how it happened. Magic or Providence or Intervention or something. Usually my coffee is terrible because I still haven't figured out how to use the darn machine. But this coffee: the best.

4. It was beautiful outside today. In my many walks up and down the hill to and from the grocery store, I got to appreciate how Spring-like it was. Stupid February, what's your problem? Raising my hopes with your warm weather, inducing the camellias to bloom, all with the sun and the clouds and the river being blue. I hate you, temperate February.

5. But anyway. I got to bask a bit in the sun. I really am not a gloomy day, stay long into the nights person. I think my basic makeup is already too depressed, I need kind weather and mornings to balance myself out. If I were a night person on top of it all...what an awful thought. The night is for sleeping in. That's all. There is nothing else useful to be done with it. I do like taking walks at night, but only if it's the kind of night that's more like day. Those don't happen very often and I'm not sure how to describe them anyway.

6. If I find a cheap and chaste swimsuit for under $20, I'm going to start swimming at the Aquatic Center. This has the potential to be both a terrible and wonderful idea. Wonderful because I love being in the water and I want to brush up on my swimming so that I can be awesome. Terrible because, you know, aquatic centers.

Oh horrors of my youth: third class kids (the ones who could breast and back stroke) peeing in the deep water near the diving boards where, in the extra darkness and deepness of the waters, the yellow cloud could mushroom out unnoticed; ancient army sergeant lifeguards (Jaimie and Laura, if you're reading this, remember Jennifer and how she'd sneak up behind you and pull your head down while she pushed your back up, "NOW KICK! KICK! KICK!"?), or young, slangy lifeguards all blond and towel-swaddled ready to sneer down their adorably freckled noses at you as you slumped and stroked for dear life, inhaling water and wanting to die; the cool older kids who could jackknife off the obscenely tall and scary high dive and we were all in awe of them, but they ignored us and probably said mean things about us while they swam laps; the old (emphasis: OLD) women who took the showers in a vast naked siege of sagging, shameless flesh each morning after they finished with water aerobics and just as we second swim class little girls filed in in our bright swimsuits, skin turning blue in the morning cold, horrified by what we could not tear our eyes away from.

How it all comes back: the smell of chlorine and wet concrete, the embarrassing ways of swimsuits, how swim caps would make your forehead have creases in it like a Star Trek Klingon, the thrill of being in deep water (16 or 18 ft, if I remember right). Oh it was great.

The Astoria Aquatics Center...we'll see.

dreams

Sad as I am to be away from my other home, I'm really very glad to be home here, bad dreams and all. Because I've been having dreams, rather bad ones. I'm not sure why. I'm not feeling especially demon-possessed these days. So let's see: Saturday night was about a murder and resulting terror and last night, as far as I can figure it out, was about pain. Then, I slept through my alarm and had another dream. This one was that I left my house and drove to the office.

Upon entering the dream newsroom, I told my editor about the county brief I was going to write up for the day's edition and to ask about an obit that had come in over the weekend. Then I sat down to my desk. It was all so like what the reality would be. Now, when I got into town last night, I stopped at the office first to check messages and email so as to be prepared for Monday. In my dream, in the time between last night and the morning, someone had been at my desk. (Someone ate from my bowl, sat in my chair, slept in my bed, etc.) They had moved my chair, pulled down the jail studies and misfiled them, and (horrors) had taken away my large and convenient computer monitor and replaced it with a small 3 inch by 3 inch TV balanced on top of a two foot stack of outdated equipment, the kind with dubious buttons and ominous flashing lights...actually, what it really looked like was a pile of old car tape decks.

For a few minutes, I thought my computer had always been that way, then, being run over by the inconveniences of the system, I realized NO! Someone had tampered with my desk area.

That's when I woke up and realized I had no idea what time it was. I had 15 minutes to get ready, which wasn't that difficult since it's about how long it takes me to get ready anyway. I had the weirdest feeling though when I basically re-enacted my entire dream over the next twenty minutes. I almost apologized to my editor for repeating myself when I went to tell him about the brief and the obit. There was a moment of blank silence as I reorganized my understanding of reality.

---

No news stories today. I wrote a brief about a county board retreat that happened on Friday. I wrote a brief about who won the Miss America pageant...I mean, scholarship program. CC Barber (whom you may remember, from the summer internship time, as being AMAZING) didn't win. Some female from Virginia did. Some...BROADCAST major...some enemy, in other words, of truth and beauty: by which we mean, paper and the horrible chemicals in printing ink.

---

And speaking of printing, The Daily A is installing a new printing press. This will mean that next week our normal schedule will be thrown off while the old press is taken out and the new erected in its place. I'm going to have several 5:30 mornings to help with proofing, but you all know how much I love ungodly morning hours. Mostly it means I get to put myself to bed at 7 each night. Another thing I desire above all other things. I mean it.