Doublethink

Check In

2009-06-15T08:39:00.000-07:00

Ok, ok, I know. I haven’t written in my blog in F-O-R-E-V-E-R. Some of you have reminded me gently, others have demanded to know if I was still alive (Thanks, I think).

It’s nothing bad. Just life taking a lot of my time, which is good, right? Plus I’ve made some great plans for the coming months, including a business trip to Vancouver B.C., a motorcycle riding class, a new tattoo and a four-day vacation in New York City. Plus Summer.

In true busy-person fashion, I don’t have a well planned, funny entry for today. But here are two things on my mind this morning.

Iranian elections: The response to Ahmadinejad’s “victory” has been overwhelming, both from the streets of Tehran and the international community. Of course, this wasn’t the outcome the West was hoping for. And to say there is doubt of the validity of the election results is an understatement. Keep a close eye on Iran in the following days. The youth were engaged in this election like never before, and that often is the precursor to a significant political or social change, especially when the other guy wins.

The Road: In what may be one of my stranger quirks, I have an unadulterated fetish for post-apocalyptic settings in story telling. For me, it blends perfectly a setting familiar but free of any logistical or societal restraint. I mean, I liked I am Legend and Waterworld, quite possibly only for their vision of the world after humanity is more or less wiped out (it sure as hell wasn’t Costner drinking his own piss).

Anyways, heard about The Road. A post-apocalyptic novel by Cormac McCarthy? Sounded like it was right up my alley, and it hasn’t disappointed. I read the first 150 pages in a 2-hour Book Nerd orgy last night. And, for the time first time in a long time, I am unhappy to be at work for the sole reason that it is keeping me from reading a book.

Seasonal Stock Market (Spring Edition)

2009-04-21T15:05:00.000-07:00

I wasn’t expecting to do another stock market entry sooner than Memorial Day, but Portland’s 80 degrees this past Sunday helped me change my mind. Spring has sprung (at least until Thursday, when the unimpeded onslaught of rain that is my life from October through June resumes). So it’s time once again to check the NYSE of life and see what’s getting hot and what spells R-E-C-E-S-S-I-O-N.

Up (+)

Beer

Shade

Windows (double points for sun roofs)

Motorcycles

Waterproof

Down time

High school anecdotes

Projects

Ice products sold from vehicles

Women in dresses

Grilled

Alternate routes

Get togethers (outdoor preferred)

Down (-)

Wool

Chili

Holiday

Strong winds out of the Northeast

Connecting flights

Work parties

Boots

Plumbing

Politics

GPS

Push (=)

5-day forecasts

Kleenex (what a racket they’ve got going….)

Working with lumber

Diaries

Cell phones

Blockbuster

2009-03-31T11:26:00.000-07:00

I forget how well I know hospitals until I’m back in one.

As time passes between visits, often spanning years, I become pretty good at telling myself I’ve forgotten the time I spent there as a child. Yeah, I had some medical stuff going on as a kid and it wasn’t fun, but it’s over now. In fact, it really wasn’t that bad at all. Then I go back, like I did last Saturday night, and I realize just how vividly I remember. And how wrong I am.

Despite being an adult and showing up for a much less serious problem last weekend, I couldn’t help but marvel at how the same bleary cocktail of emotions takes hold of me. A good dose of anxiety, a little fear, shot of adrenaline and a hint of reckless excitement.

Hospitals are just a movie that changes its plot. The setting and the cast remain the same. There is the brightly lit, pathetic waiting area, where families huddle around their sick or wait nervously while they’re gone. The receptionist who just needs you to fill out this paperwork, please, and have a seat over there and NO, I can’t answer that question yet, that’s something you’ll have to talk about with the nurse. Thank you.

Waiting to be seen is nearly the worst part. Getting behind those grey swing doors is when all the work gets done, but it’s waiting to be seen, with nothing but time and your imagination to dream up all the awful things going wrong in your body that can really get you. The people waiting see it in your eyes. You see it in theirs. It is a rare moment where strangers acknowledge their simultaneous vulnerability. I hate waiting rooms.

The smell of chlorine and stale air juxtapose immediately after you finally walk back into the ER. Much darker than the waiting room and even busier. There’s the first, scattered nurse who comes to get you set up in the bed and ask you some peripheral questions. A late 20-something with a dark Columbia vest over his scrubs.

“Hey man, how’s it going? Name’s Jeff. Hop up on the bed there for m-, oh my bad, man, you’re there. Nice. Well, listen, I’m going to get Mary – she’s another nurse – and we’ll get you set up with something about your pain here in a sec. Also, I ne-(he rips out a burp). God, sorry man. I just ate two Big Macs and a piece of chocolate. Anyways, I need you to get a urine sample in when you can. Cup’s to your right.”

And a flick of the curtain and he’s gone again. Mary is the next recurring role, the second, much more compassionate nurse. She asks what she can do to help. Morphine, water, another pillow. You just rest. Want me to flip on ESPN while you wait? I know you college kids love that basketball playoff that’s going on. “Thank you, Mary.”

Next up comes the mandatory series of tests that officially take too long. The fourth character, the somewhere-in-the-middle doctor who is actually calling the shots, has ordered them for you. Because he doesn’t know what it is, but he wants to make sure it’s not A, B and, God forbid, C. Not a bad plan of action, if you think about it.

You get wheeled down the hallway by the next character, the mute, emotionless aide who seemingly pushes people around in beds for the entirety of his or her career. You pass other rooms and can’t help but look in to see how your waiting room friends are doing. Some are smiling, relaxing. They look at you with big eyes as you wheel pass. Others are on their sides, the doctor and a relative standing nearby, not speaking. They do not look at you at all.

Last up is the lab tech. This guy is a laid back, gregarious nerd who you have to believe would be happier at another profession. He cracks a timid joke to loosen you up. You play along. The tests, depending on the movie, could range from ticklish to severe. Hope it’s a comedy.

Then it’s a long road of all the characters and settings in reverse. You get wheeled back to your room, the main doc comes in to officially declare that he doesn’t officially know what’s wrong. More tests are ordered with the instruction for you to keep a “close eye on things.” As if you would ignore it.

The compassionate nurse comes to say goodbye just because she fucking cares that much. “Thank you, Mary.” Finally your bro nurse comes to wheel you back to the wasteland of a lobby, your ride home waiting near the door. The receptionists offers you a sympathetic snort as she reaches for the Kleenex.

A movie, really.

March Madness Anonymous

2009-03-18T22:02:00.000-07:00

This is the year. This year, I do it. I stop denying it and I fully embrace the fact that I love, not enjoy or tolerate, but love March Madness. Enough, as they say, is enough.

My name is Tom and I love March Madness.

Raised a shy boy with a knack for fine arts, a weight problem and a rough rivalry with anyone who played sports, I should be rolling my eyes with the onslaught of three weeks crammed full of basketball games. I should be talking about how these ridiculous ends to sport seasons give every jock in the world a reason to retell the story about throwing the winning touchdown at State 4,000 years ago. I should be dreading the inevitable social underscoring of the fact I did not play sports (save a brief affair with discus) and was, in fact, King Band.

But I’m not. On the contrary. I’m excited, I’m eager, I’m ready. Because as I’ve grown, I’ve realized that the 65 collegiate basketball teams vying for a national championship this month is bigger than a couple basketball games and drunks in the crowd. Here, on the eve of the 2009 NCAA Tournament, I’d like to tell you exactly why I’m a convert.

1. Get together. Right now. – Perhaps the most obvious and wonderful part of March Madness is how it puts an overwhelming portion of the population on the same page for a month.

You can walk into a sports bar without knowing anyone. You take a seat, order a beer and watch any of the seven games on the screens lining the walls. But at some point, one game will start to get good. The upset looms or the high-seed clinches the next round, and everyone will turn to look and cheer (or shout). You haven’t noticed, but you’re now sitting with four other people, all of whom are rooting for different teams, but for this one moment all of you are connected in your passion for a game between two teams you barely followed during the year, if at all.

All of the sudden, everyone has something to talk about with each other. The lady next to you in line at the grocery store, the bartender, the barber, the bus driver, even the guy pumping your gas (I live in Oregon, after all) all have something to ask you, a stranger: “Who do you have winning it all?”

2. My dog ate my bracket - Whether it’s that 7 a.m. phone call explaining you have the flu, or the boss button on your online bracket that pulls up a bogus spreadsheet when Big Bad Boom walks by, or the “family time” you need by leaving an hour early, March Madness brings a certain ebb of responsibility that lets you feel like you’re in college for a week. Now don’t go railing against me about how college is no easy task; it’s not. In many instances, it’s just as intensive as work. It’s just more fun, so that’s why I get to whine about it.

The tournament gives people a common secret. Your colleague, your friends, maybe even your boss all have that wink and nod when you need to take a 5-minute break to “catch up on some information.” Dude, that is awesome.

3. My place. Be there. – Let’s not forget that a ton of quality basketball games in the span of a month just begs for get-togethers. You can get lost in the bracketology and stats and “expert” analysis, but at the end of the day March Madness is a great excuse to get a bunch of friends together to eat, drink and shout loudly at the television for a couple hours.

The added bonus? Fortunes change so quickly in the first couple rounds that any trash talking during the aforementioned shouting will be null in about 5 minutes. Better study up on your comebacks.

4. Just do it – Parties and strangers and excuses aside, March Madness teaches us something else: Those who are willing to bust their ass, train relentlessly and give a historic effort to the cause can succeed. In 2006, the 11-seeded George Mason Patriots poured the nation a large cup of shut the hell up by making it all the way to Final Four, eventually losing to Florida. In 1985, the Villanova Wildcats, an 8-seed, figured their patient offense and well-researched zone defense might get them as far as the Final Four. Instead, they met Georgetown for the championship, winning the national title in what is still referred to as “The Perfect Game.”

Even though I feel a bit like that quarterback talking about past glories, there’s an actual point here. March Madness shows us that hard work counts. If you put in the effort, you have a shot. Period. In a world where people who burnt our economy to the ground are getting million dollar bonuses, it helps the nation’s collective sanity to remember trying hard just might do some good.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go make of a list of what I’m going to buy after I win my pool when Pitt goes all the way, VCU fails to upset UCLA and Memphis shows Connecticut what real offense looks like.

And, of course, band is still cooler than sports. What are you, a jock?

Gaahhh!

2009-02-24T14:46:00.000-08:00

I need summer!

If I Were a Republican in Congress

2009-02-19T16:40:00.000-08:00

First off, I’m not a Republican. I’m pretty sure I’m not a member of Congress either. But I recognize the benefit of walking in the other person’s shoes for a while, if not for the edge at least for the perspective. And what better time than now, when the GOP finds itself rebuilding its image after November’s fire bombing, to take a look at their options at the national level.

Though there were many dominant themes during the presidential campaign trail – Hope, Maverick, Yes We Can, Russia from My House – they have started to fade like a bad Greatest Hits album (think Palin singing “Rainbow Connection” with AutoTune).

Yet one buzz-generating, game-changing concept has remained well into the ineffectual first 100 days of Obama’s administration: Bipartisanship. It sounded nice during the debates. McCain was going to reach across the isle, denoted by that shoulder twitch he would do as he said it. Obama was going rid Washington of the old way of doing politics, as evidenced by inviting some GOP “friends” over for a cocktail party during his first couple weeks.

But now it’s crunch time. The economy has been so thoroughly flushed down the toilet even Joe the Plumber is laughing. Shit’s pretty bad. And the American people, through what can now safely be called a decisive act, have handed Obama the steering wheel and a Post-It Note with “GET US THE F*** OUT OF HERE!” written in red ink.

Which finds Rep. Tom Hubka (R-OR) sitting in his modest DC office, wondering what to do. Come out hard against Obama’s agenda? Reach across the aisle and risk weakening the party? Stay in my office drawing devil horns on photos of Biden?

For any GOP congressperson, it’s a difficult time to know what to do. I must find hope in our new party chairman, however. After getting the door slammed on our party in November by everyone who wasn’t white, over 55 and terrified, it’s nice to hear Republican National Committee Chairman Michael Steele say the GOP’s new public relations blitz will be "off the hook.”

Steele also said it will help sell the Republican value set in “urban-suburban hip-hop settings.” Phew, what a relief! All those dancers in the iPod commercials will get why I want to cut their taxes! And maybe I can use the phrase “fo sheezy” on the House floor without getting laughed at again.

A guy down the hall, Rep. Steny Hoyer (D-MD), has some ideas on this whole working together thing too:

“To begin with, bipartisanship does not mean members of Congress going to the same parties or going out for drinks. It doesn't even mean that we have to like each other, although most of us do. None of that really matters to the people who sent us to Washington.”

Now that I’ve unfriended him on Myspace, I feel a little better. But this “atmosphere of respect and fair input” he mentions later sounds about right. I remember lots of my constituents talking about that while I was kissing their infants in coffee shops.

But I can’t let this Obama guy have his way, can I? If I start playing nice with the Democrats, the GOP doesn’t stand a change at rebuilding its image. I mean, Cheney not shooting people in the face with buckshot was a good start, but helping the other side? Too much.

“Obama's popularity remains high. Democrats, including the president, are using their loud megaphone to paint the GOP as insensitive and cranky. And if the economy begins to rebound even slightly, Democrats will get the credit.”

Well, shit. So maybe I’m in a lose-lose, cranky situation. If I play ball with Obama’s stimulus package, environmental conservation efforts and the rest of his Godless agenda, I risk alienating my constituents, softening the party and, a concern that knows no affiliation, not getting reelected. But if I vote “nay” on anything blue, America will think the GOP still doesn’t get it. And we most certainly get it. We’re off the hook.

The solution? Get behind Louisiana Gov. Bobby Jindal. He’s everything the GOP is looking for right now: someone who is a) not an old white guy and b) will publicly call himself a Republican. He’s young, a great public speaker, a deserved hero after pulling his state out of the terror of Hurricane Katrina (all while cutting taxes!) and has a better political vision than most people in either party. The GOP’s already tapped him to deliver their rebuttal to Obama’s address next week.

Now, he’s said he’s not interested in the 2012 race, but he’s no dummy. He’s been booking Republican C-level speaking engagements left and right (get it?), the rebuttal being only the most recent. He’s coming for the Democrats. If not tomorrow, then soon.

But it’s important to remember, whether you are Republican, Democrat, Green, Independent or Batshit Crazy, that bipartisanship really does exist. Sometimes there are issues so fundamental, so far-reaching that a political affiliation could not deter humanity from uniting and delivering a clear, unambiguous declaration to society; nay, the universe: Let us get drunk on Sundays.

Maybe it’s time to work together.

25 more things about me

2009-02-13T11:50:00.001-08:00

26. I often deride the movies Waterworld and Remember the Titans, adding I would never willingly watch either. This is a lie.

27. I don’t like overly ornate and decorative silverware. If it’s a piece of art, view it. If it’s a fork, eat with it. I was obviously not royalty in a past life.

28. I am a statistic, albeit outside the mean.

29. I have been in two fist fights. One was a tie (stopped by others), the other was a victory (the other guy was pretty drunk).

30. I have ridiculously pronounced hitch-hiker thumbs. When I give a thumbs-up, it appears I’m directing you to something on the other side of the room.

31. My right kidney is defunct and I have a large scar on my right side as a result of the related surgery. I constantly create new stories to fool people about why I have it. I have stopped this practice after convincing someone too easily that I was knifed by a lover.

32. I had less than a 20% chance of living before the surgery mentioned in #31. By surviving, I must have used all my allotted luck, as I’m an extremely unlucky person in games of chance.

33. I had such intense test anxiety in grade school that my teachers thought I had a learning disability due to my test scores. I was placed in the “Bridge Program,” which was designed for “special students.” I graduated the one-year course in two days, after demonstrating I knew addition and subtraction.

34. One of these statements is not true.

35. I have been to four continents and have lived on three of them. I have never been to Canada or Mexico.

36. Making people laugh is consistently one of my greatest sources of joy. Telling jokes also consistently offends people I am not trying to piss off.

37. I got put in time-out in the third grade after a girl heard me say the word “shit” and told a nearby teacher. More than a decade later, I would end a speech on journalism ethics with the phrase, “Well, shit.” I received an A in the course.

38. My time in Brookings taught me how to overcome situations. But not before watching me fail.

39. I am a dichotomy in my free time. On Friday night, I’ll go out drinking with friends, stay up way too late and do other young-person activities. Saturday night, I’ll make green tea, watch an episode of the West Wing and fall asleep reading Faulkner. When my colleagues ask what I did that weekend, I’ll say “Not much.”

40. Becoming a member of the Santa Clara Vanguard was the first dream I ever attained. It has set the tone on limitations for the rest of my life, namely that I can do pretty much anything.

41. I grew up with radio and can recite just about any comedy routine I find funny. My friends are reminded of this too often.

42. My ego finally arrived at age 18. I’ve had to pull it back at times, but I’m grateful for the confidence it provides.

43. Music – listening to it, playing it, recording it – reminds me why I get up in the morning.

44. My favorite childhood memory is spending time with my cousins in Sunriver.

45. My birthday is leap year, which means I’ve had 6 birthdays in 25 years. I was born in St. Vincent’s Hospital in Portland, and could see the window of that room from my 12th grade history class.

46. Oregon is wet and cold with all too-short summers. And I love every inch of it.

47. I smile when people from high school see me and say, “Tom, you look great!” I change the topic when they follow up with, “You must have lost like 1,000 pounds!”

48. My greatest fear is to leave things undone and unsaid. The worst emotion is guilt.

49. I have had the following pets during the course of my life: hamsters, guinea pigs, geckos, dogs, cats, parakeets, mice, rats and a snake (until the parents found out why I was always looking at something in the garage).

50. I love the people in my life. Yes, you.

The best $5 I ever spent

2009-02-12T13:20:00.001-08:00

I'm at the grocery store today. A woman waiting for a self-serve checkout kiosk is talking sternly into her phone, holding a bag of groceris. I am holding a $5 bottle of cooking oil in a glass bottle. I am also waiting for a kiosk.

As we wait, her conversation is obviously getting worse. She starts semi-yelling at the person on the other end, whose voice is clearly that of a man. She begins making accusations. He didn't do that. No, he fucking didn't. Don't tell her he did because he didn't. She can't believe him!

And then, hoping to spear him with a verbal harpoon before emotionally closing her phone, she yells, "You're an idiotic, smug asshat!"

I laugh so hard the bottle falls and crashes onto the floor. The woman doens't wait to pay for her food and walks out the door, ignorning the wimpy beeping of the secuirty device encasing the entrance way.

A few seconds later, a high school kid with a name tag and a mop approaches me. "Don't worry about this, Sir. We'll clean it up."

"Thanks, man. Sorry about dropping it."

"No problem. Did it just slip out?"

"No. The lady in front of me called someone an asshat." The kid starts mopping.

"I hate my job."

On the way: A sketch of Tokyo and the bandwagon-jumping 25 random things!

Items my Japanese Customs Declaration wants to know if I have onboard

2009-02-02T19:58:00.000-08:00

Narcotic Drugs
Marijuana
Psychotropic substances
MDMA, etc.
Pistols
Revolvers
Machine Guns
Bullets or parts thereof
Explosives (dynamite, etc.)
Materials for chemical weapons
Counterfeit bank notes
Forged credit cards
Obscene or immoral materials
Child pornography (listed separately)
Hunting guns
Swords, etc.
Internationally protected endangered animals, including but not limited to: Crocodiles, Cobras, Turtles, Ivory, Musk, Cactus, etc.
Live animals
Meat products (including sausage, etc.)

However, I am free to bring in up to:

- 3 bottles of alcohol

- 400 cigarettes

- 2 ounces perfume

Resolution #4: Find more free drink tastings

2009-01-24T20:29:00.000-08:00

It just seemed to follow me for those two weeks. Made some white Russians with the brother, had a Scotch with Dad, unwrapped a bottle of Jameson on Christmas morning, played a few rounds of Beer Die on New Year’s Eve with the guys. Drunk and fantastic.

But as much I enjoyed college, I wasn’t ready to reignite that lifestyle again. Thus, the semiformal decision to scale back alcohol for a while was made. “Need to bring it down a bit,” I remember phrasing it to myself. So when I found an e-mail in my inbox the next morning inviting me to a free bourbon tasting downtown plus face time with the Master Distiller of Buffalo Trace Distillery, all I could do was accept the clear denouncement of my plans. Resolutions in January are like that.

The next Monday evening found me dressed like a hipster at a job interview, walking up the stairs to the loft of Ten 01. The event was put on by a local group, Lucky Tiger. It’s comprised of bartenders, cooks and people with enough friends from five of Portland’s top restaurants and bars. The connection? The industry and a mutual affection for bourbon. Lucky Tiger got into talks with Buffalo Trace earlier in the year. These discussions led to a trip to Kentucky to select a barrel of their own, which they shipped back to Portland to be served in their bars, a local liquor store and this tasting. So why not hold an inclusive event to celebrate exclusive bourbon?

Upstairs was a compact series of right-angle aisleways and pinkish grey leather booths. I was only 10 minutes late, but it was already crowded. There was slow, drawling conversation humming amid the clicking of glasses. Cute waitresses pushed by with food. Fifty-somethings in blazers and slacks, savoring their bourbon, leaning on the railings. The few people my age seemed more interested in their Blackberries than the bourbon. Maybe that’s just how aging goes.

“Hi, here you go,” a well dressed man said as he pushed a small cylinder of the golden spirit into my hand. “This is the original Buffalo Trace bourbon. We have the Lucky Tiger Single Barrel over there,” jerking his hand to the left, “and later on their master distiller – Buffalo Trace, I mean – their master distiller Harlen Wheatley, he’s here, will be giving several seminars in the back room,” flipping the hand behind him, “on the creation and ingredients of some of their more popular bourbons. You’ll also be tasting several of the bourbons off their portfolio. If you have any questions you can ask me and I hope you enjoy!”

“Thanks,” I coughed out, but he was already on to the next performance: a middle-aged couple who were hoping they got the short version having heard mine. Instead, they listened politely.

My friend Ashley came out for the event, and we spent some time nibbling at the food and drinking our thimbles of bourbon, contemplating the order of an adult-sized drink. But before long, it was our turn to attend the “information seminar.” Ashley hadn’t heard much about this night and when she asked me what this session was all about, I said we would get to drink lots of bourbon. Front of the line.

Harlen was a 40-something with a charming Southern Louisiana accent (the kind I secretly wish for) and a knack for using his doctorate in chemistry to make sense of why bourbon tastes good. Instead of dropping redox reaction equations, he talked about what good bourbon is made of, but more importantly, what it can do.

“We’ll be kicking things off with a glass of W.L. Weller, one of our first bourbons,” he said. “Now, when I have some friends over – you know, guy friends, buddies of mine – I pour a few glasses of Weller. That’ll be some good conversation right there.”

We were treated to four bourbons in all: the surprising Sazerac Rye, the house favorite Blanton’s and the solid, but overhyped (for me) Eagle Rare. While all were good, I had really taken a liking to Lucky Tiger’s Single Barrel. A strong start with lots of spice and caramel, a moment of alcohol followed by a tangy, almost cinnamon finish. The group drank in silence as Harlen took us through the spirits, noting which was his favorite (Eagle Rare, further overhype proof) and which he used for gifts, forget-me-nots and make-ups (Blanton’s).

Of course, the next day saw me at Uptown Liquors, getting my hands on a bottle of the single barrel. The guy behind the counter literally sent me to the backroom with the instructions to ask for Steve and tell him I wanted a bottle of “the special.” No wonder prohibition was a hassle.

Thankfully, the single barrel is just as good as remembered. Give me a holler if you’d like to schedule a conversation.

A Good Reminder

2009-01-23T11:51:00.000-08:00

In a time when few things seem to go right, some do.

Songs that keep getting stuck in my head

2009-01-09T13:45:00.000-08:00

Roll Plymouth Rock – Brian Wilson

Whatever You Like – T.I.

Another Travelin’ Song – Bright Eyes

Theme Song to Cheers

It’s not too late to sleep like a baby – Mattress World

I Wish – Skee Lo (don’t hate)

Known remedies: Beach House, bourbon.

No Time for Strangers

2009-01-07T09:06:00.000-08:00

It wasn’t raining that night, but she held her book bag over the child’s head anyways as they climbed the steps of the bus. The bald driver was kind, waving them in after she had trouble find their passes stashed somewhere deep in the bag. The No. 6 was crowded on winter nights. With fresh snow on the ground, this one was no different. Bodies seated neatly two to a side all the way back, with a few left standing in the aisle, leaning away from the frosty air darting in between the opening doors.

“Come on, baby, let’s find a seat, OK?” holding the boy’s hand, prodding him down the walkway. A man stood up and gestured his seat away in what must have been an often-used motion. The man next to him glanced away, looking at the lights whip by. After a moment, she took the seat.

The boy was no older than seven. Probably tall for his age, with a wool hat pulled tightly onto his head, tufts of blonde hair streaking out and curling. A rain slicker over another coat. Despite the crowded situation full of strangers, he seemed content, hanging over the seated man and gripping the handrail tightly.

“Mom, mom you got the … the last seat on the bus,” the boy exclaimed, scanning wide-eyed the rows of people. He was excited.

“Mhmm, baby.” She was busy shooting hot glances to the man still seated, visibly willing him to rise. The bus creaked as it swung in the S-shaped curve near Tillamook Avenue, sending the boy swinging into the aisle then onto the lap of the seated man. The man who had stood chuckled, scratching his chin with his hand.

“Oh, watch out honey,” the mom said, springing into action, holding the boy’s shoulder. “We don’t want you falling down.”

The seated man abruptly rose, deciding this stop was as good as any, and shuffled out the back door. Another stream of winter air. The boy and the mother looked at one another before smiling at the same time.

“Yes!” the boy squealed as he bounded into his new seat.

The bus hissed as it began rolling down the wide street. The mother watched the boy as he stared straight ahead. She was a late twentysomething, but knew she looked older. Tall and thin, she had wrapped herself in a slender black shawl and coat, with a matching pitch fur cap. Radiated maternity, but an adolescent unawareness betrayed her. A 17-year-old trapped in a mother’s body.

“Ohh, I’ve missed you so much,” she cooed, raising the boy’s mitten and pressing her lips against it. “I really have. Have you missed me?”

The boy wasn’t paying attention in the face of his mother’s affection. He sat comfortably, gazing dreamily at the shoes of the standing man, nodding his response.

“It’s really awesome we get to see each other this weekend,” she said, continuing the pursuit of his attention. She reached out with her own gloved hand and pinched his nostrils, wiping away the snot that had accumulated throughout the cold ride. He didn’t notice.

“When we get home, you can open your Christmas presents that Santa left you.”

As she knew it would, this seized the boy’s notice. His green eyes beamed and he quickly clung to his mother’s arm.

“I do? What did he bring me??” he drawled in mock child desperation.

“He brought you lots of fun stuff. He brought you a movie you’re going to like a lot. It’s awesome.”

“What movie?”

“If I tell you, will yo-“

“Next stop, Broadway. Transfer to line seven,” creaked from the PA above.

“If I tell you, will you watch it with me tonight?”

“Yes, yes yes.”

“It’s called The Fox and the Hound. I’m not going to tell you what it’s about, but I know you’re going to like it.” The boy did a little twist in his seat, eyes shut, smiling. His nose had started to run again.

“Mom, mom I know part of that movie!”

“Yes, honey, I kno-“

“I saw part of it on TV at Daddy’s house. Have you watched it?”

“Yes, I did a long time ago and I really liked it. You’ll like it too,” wrapping both of her arms around the boy, as if he was floating away. He wriggled happily in his captivity.

“Can we watch it in Aunt Stephanie’s room?” With this, the mother relinquished control, lowering her voice.

“No. You know we can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because Mommy and Aunt Stephanie use that room for our burlesque shows.” Her voice was cut, monotone. The boy thought for a moment.

“Can I watch your show, mommy?” The mother turned away as the bus hissed to another stop.

“Hey, you know what?” the standing man asked, bending over to the boy. “The Fox and the Hound was my favorite movie when I was your age.”

“Yes, thank you,” the mother said with a painfully artificial smile, wrapping her arm around the boy once again. There was no time for strangers. The man nodded to the mother, then smiled to the boy as he got off the bus. The boy waved goodbye. The mother leaned back in her seat, her shoulders falling, but still holding the child buried under his coats.

“I’ve missed you very much,” she said without turning. The boy gave a heavy sigh and fell sideways into his mother’s lap.

“When can we get off the bus, mom?” It was the mother’s turn to stare at shoes.

“Not for a while, baby.”

NYC the place to be

2008-12-31T20:54:00.000-08:00

I feel a fundamental obligation to reaffirm my undying love for the Boston Red Sox before the following is mentioned.

But DAMN have you heard of all the New Year's Eve shows going on in the Big Apple tonight?

My Morning Jacket - Madison Square Garden
Crystal Castles (two shows) - Music Hall of Williamsburg
Deerhoof, Dirty Projectors, Akron/Family, Deer Tick, Megafaun, Greg Davis - Knitting Factory
Patti Smith - Bowery Ballroom (early show)
Amanda Palmer - Bowery Ballroom (late show)
Blonde Redhead, Islands, Elvis Perkins - Terminal 5
Matthew Dear, Drop the Lime, Michna - (Le) Poisson Rouge
A Place to Bury Strangers, Dirty on Purpose (early show) - Mercury Lounge
Mr. Brownstone (Guns N' Roses cover band) plays Appetite for Destruction (late show) - Mercury Lounge
Titus Andronicus, Semi Precious Weapons - Public Assembly
Andrew WK, Gang Gang Dance, Lemonade, Invisible Conga People - Santos Party House
Prince Paul - The Delancey
Chuck Berry - B.B. King Blues Club and Grill
The Damned - Blender Theater at Gramercy
The Dickies - The Room at Bowery Electric
Grandmaster Mele Mel of the Furious Five, Mickey Factz, Sinden, Jokers of the Scene-Studio B
Heartsrevolution, Nick Catchdubs - Glasslands
The Rub, Certified Bananas - Southpaw
Joan as Police Woman - The Stone

Just sayin' that's an amazing place to be tonight.

Happy New Year, fair readers! :)

Excerpt

2008-12-22T08:53:00.000-08:00

His office was a lot different than the chapel. It was dark with a little window that led up to the street. One side of the wall was book shelves stocked with religious books and dozens of large binders with titles like "PR CON 2002" and "VIGILANT." He motioned me to the chair in front of his worn desk, stepping between the piles of papers that stood on the floor.

"To tell you the truth, Jeremiah," he said, pulling his chair close to mine, "I was somewhat surprised to see you here this morning. It's been a while since you have come here to worship."

I took a cookie off the plate he extended to me and bit in immediately. "Fhanks," I mumbled.

"You're quite welcome, my son. Did you enjoy the sermon?"

"Mm…yes, Father. It was very nice." He chuckled as I munched on the treat.

"I'm happy, Jeremiah, but you would rather be playing outside, wouldn't you?" I could feel my cheeks redden as I ate. I nodded my head. It was a pretty obvious question, after all.

"I hope you'll forgive an invasive question, but I've been wondering how your father is doing. I see him on the TV at the city hall meetings and he looks … well, tired, perhaps."

"He's all right, Father," I said as I polished off the rest of the cookie. "He works a lot and he stays home."

"I'm glad to hear that, Jeremiah. Very glad." He sank back in his chair and looked to the ground, thinking.

"Do you talk to angels?" I asked. His eyes flickered up at me instantly, his large hand hiding a smile. "Billy – he's my friend – Billy says his momma says you can talk to angels."

"People communicate with God in many different ways, my son. Mrs. Hangden, Billy's mother, has a strong faith and it leads her to many of the answers she seeks. I don't know if I talk to the angels, but I do feel their love and grace in my life, as I feel the Lord's grace every day. Do you feel that, Billy?"

"I dunno. I guess I do. I don't come to church anymore cause Daddy says we're not gonna go anymore." Momma's face flashed in my mind and I quickly added, "But I pray every night 'fore I go to bed, Father." His grin grew behind his hand. His wedding band glinted under the billiard lamp gently swinging above his desk.

"And what of your father? Does he pray in between his service to our city?"

"Um … he doesn't pray much anymore. I have to pray quiet so he won't hear me." Pastor Collins gave a slow nod and was still.

"And does he speak about me? Or the church?" I stared straight ahead.

"No, sir."

"I see," he said. After a moment of quiet, he sat up in his creaking chair and took my hands in his.

"Jeremiah," his voice graveled, "sometimes things happen to a man that change him. These things they- … they take hold and don't let go. Not for a long time. They conceal God's love in the world, the love your mother felt. The love you and I feel in our lives. Your father loved your mother very much."

I felt his hands squeeze mine tighter, his fingers coiling around my hands. Then he let go, slouching again and looking at the floor. His eyes glistened.

"Jeremiah, I'm going to tell you something not many folks around here know about. It's a secret. Do you know what a secret is?" I nodded, enthralled. "And you know you're not supposed to tell people others' secrets?" I nodded quicker. Pastor Collins sighed.

"Before I came to Logan, many years ago, I was married to a beautiful woman. We lived in Portland, up north. Janey, that was her name, and I met in church of all places. It wasn't long before we were inseparable. We got married in a garden on her birthday. One day years later, she was out getting groceries. When she left, all I had said to her was 'Please pick up some bread.' She got in an accident on the way back, Jeremiah, and she passed away. I never forgot the last thing I said to her. Never. Once I got myself back together and saw to her affairs, I moved to Logan. For the quiet. And I've been here ever since, helping bring the word of God to the wonderful people of this community."

I sat in silence as Pastor Collins rubbed his hand over his bald head, not sure what to do. A feeling in my stomach burned white hot.

"I tell you this, Jeremiah," he said still looking at his shoes, "because I want you and your father to know that there are those who understand loss." He jerked his head up to meet my trembling gaze. "We understand what it is to lose someone. And we know what it takes to move on. If your father ever needs help or just someone to talk to, you send him my way, you hear?" I nodded, nearly paralyzed. He looked up and pointed to the door.

"You run along now. It's getting dark out and I'm sure he's wondering where you are."

I picked up my hat and bag and made for the door. His elbows rested on his knees, his hands were intertwined and shone under the moving light. He didn't say anything as I left.

Jackpot

2008-12-11T08:52:00.000-08:00

It was at the bottom of the pile, under US Bank statements and colorful holiday shopping ads selling sweaters. A green and white letter addressed to "Thomas" so I knew it was something administrative. Sighing, I ripped it open, ready to fend off another plea for money from an alumni not even 5 years out of school. Those jackals.

But there was no glossy flier telling me about the joys of supporting the university. There was only a small slip of paper. A check. To me! Let's see....eight dollars and forty-three cents. Not bad, I thought. Must be some left over balance from my senior year.

Wait a minute. I squint closer to the check. EIGHT HUNDRED AND FORTY-THREE DOLLARS. I can't believe it. I look for an invoice or a letter, but there is nothing. Just money.

Now accepting ridiculously great ways to spend (most of) it.

From my records: Budapest

2008-12-06T08:51:00.000-08:00

September 17, 2005

Real classes have started and most are good. My economics teacher, Tomas, is absolutely hilarious in a cynical, sarcastic way. Most classes have about 3 million required presentations, which I'm not looking forward to at all. It seems that the dream of an easy semester might be lost.

Wednesday night: AC Sparta Praha vs. Ajax. We all got in our jerseys, hats and scarves, and trammed it to Leton (stadium). Had a few beers there (by this time nearly everyone is drunk as fish) and found the fan section.

The game was amazing. The stadium wasn't that big (max capacity 20,000), but it was nearly filled and could get as loud as anywhere. We learned the chants and hymns without much difficulty, thanks to this guy in the front with a megaphone. We were scoreless at halftime, but Sparta (28 I think) scored around the 60-minute mark. That place, myself included, went nuts. Sadly, Ajax tied it with about three minutes of stoppage time left, and two minutes later almost won it.

Either way, we tied and it left me wishing the Arsenal game in October was here. We stopped by a local pub on the way home. I met two guys who were passing a joint and singing Bob Dylan in Czech. "The times they are a-changing" doesn't quite roll off the tongue in Czech. Probably the need for the joint. The bartender was from Denver and was the first face to the elusive "American expats in Prague."

Now we come to Budapest. We arrived at the train station Thursday night and everyone was very excited. (Written in the margins: Pee in second train compartment. Fucking gross.) Made a short film with Abby and Rafael on the way there; no sleep. Finally found our hostel and grabbed some lunch and a metro pass. Lunch was eaten in a nice park by this huge indoor produce and food market. This was the first place I tried largos, a fried dough sandwich, complete with cheese and sour cream. Absolutely delicious.

We met up with everyone else and headed to Gellert, a Turkish bathe house. With huge painted ceilings and real Turkish massages, this place was nothing short of standard setting. We rented some shorts, changed in these small, wooden-paneled rooms, and went to our respective areas (by gender).

The swimming pool area was beautiful, but basically any pool I've ever been to besides that. There were tall, white columns surrounding the water, and it felt like I was swimming in the palace of some ancient Greek nobility. The thermal baths were by far the best part. There was a 36˚ C bath, an 8˚C bath, showers and the hottest steam room I have ever been in. The minerals felt wonderful after walking around Pest all day, and after a while I was so relaxed I could barely move. No indication if the four, motionless Americans were a disturbance to the middle-aged men doing business at the other end of the pool.

With some trial and error, Seth and I finally figured out the process that would result in the most serious temperature high. As follows:

4 mins. 36C bath
10 mins, 38C (until you're too hot)
1-2 mins, 8C bath
3-4 mins, steam room

And back to the 36C to claim your prize. After 3.5 hours, hunger finally drove us out, but instead of eating, we climbed to the top of the statue by the Danube. The view was incredible, as were the sculptures, and I realized just what a large city Budapest was. Dinner was spent at a swank restaurant that played home to several academic circles of the past. Pasta with mushroom sauce and a dry, red wine made for an extremely good meal. No academics shedding free knowledge, though.

We found this dive sports bar and I proceeded to get drunk on good Hungarian beer (Skol). Scott and I played pool with two Hungarian guys our age, who were friendly, but entirely too good at pool. Scott got distracted with a girl and I was getting too drunk to play (or pay) so we walked over to Pest and stumbled into a jazz club.

1000 Huf later we were listening to a jazz fusion group from France called Wise. I have to say, I considered myself more of a purist when it came to jazz, but their samples, intensity and sheer, unadulterated talent made me one step closer to a believer. (This paragraph was subsequently crossed out with a note in different colored ink, which read: Drunk. Wrong.)

The train ride home has been uneventful, expect the fact that there is a noticeable difference in the beauty of the countryside between the Czech Republic and Slovakia. And good God, there is a Czech woman across the way with the cutest damn grey cat ever. Takes me back to hanging with Mitch in Eugene and Sparrow and Gary. Home seems pretty far away right now, but this trip helped solidify the sense of Prague being my new home instead of a prolonged visit.

I'm not looking forward to diving into real classes, but I am excited to meet Marketa (I tutored her in English) and figuring out this radio show gig. I know I'll be a small part of a big machine, but maybe I can make something happen over there. We'll see. I declare the Budapest chapter closed.

Thanks

2008-11-28T08:44:00.000-08:00

When I was a kid, "being grateful" just wasn't for me. That's not to say I took everything for granted. I knew I had a good family in a good home and went to a good school with good friends. But every time Thanksgiving rolled around and older kids and adults started listing off all the things they were grateful for, my soul rolled its eyes.

I may have thought listing what you were grateful for seemed disingenuous; a form of unwittingly admitting you weren't appreciative during the rest of the year. Or maybe I was uncomfortable acknowledging the universe didn't revolve around me. Whatever the reason, I left expressing serious gratitude to Eagle Scouts and churchgoers.

But as I grew into an adult, that cheap feeling and the uneasiness I'd always had with gratitude lessened year by year. At first, it was simply telling my folks thanks for dinner. In high school, I thought about how I was lucky to have a family that supported me. College saw a surge of appreciation: my education, family, friendships, opportunities. This all continued until I find myself today, looking forward to putting down in writing exactly what I'm thankful for.

Like the annual dinner speech in Joyce's The Dead, a detailed expression of humility that requires a high level of accuracy, eloquence and significance can be daunting. But if I don't stop and take the time to list all the blessings in my life today, Thanksgiving, I'm going to look like a complete jerk when I get hit by that bus tomorrow, having passed up the opportunity, or obligation, to give thanks to the many positive aspects that comprise my life. The following is a good account of what I am thankful for (ending sentences in prepositions excluded).

Family
Má čeleď. I have two loving parents who provided me a safe environment to grow and learn. Mom busted her ass every day to make sure I had a lunch in my hand and a smile on my face while Dad took countless trips to Boston and San Jose in the name of brining the family money to pay the bills and even take us on vacations, now and then. Their generosity continues by housing my cat, though I worry I may not be able to get her back as Dad and Boots have established a mutually pleasurable routine that involves the news, the couch and a couple well-spent hours.

Truth be told, my brother, Sam, and I didn't start off on such great terms (those of you who know the story about him kicking me in the rocks on a snow day can attest to this). But as we've aged, we have begun to see each other in a more understanding light. A constant source of comedy (his wit is much sharper than he knows) and inspiration (dude can play one hell of a guitar, much to his female friends' delight), Sam is becoming a man and seeing the world. He sets off to Australia for four or five months in January for his first taste of independent travel.

Friends
Life is best shared. While I wasn't crazy about the movie the quote's from, that phrase did stick with me, especially when my thoughts drift back to my exile in Brookings (I've become much more sympathetic to Napoleon).

My friends are the people I share my life with, tell my secrets, buy drinks, accept drinks, love, fight, laugh, mourn, share, learn. Some I've known for far too long and some not nearly long enough. Some disagree with my point of view, some share it. But whatever our differences, friendship triumphs. And without them, I'm simply lost.

Change
I am grateful for the (merciful) change in Washington as Barack Obama prepares to begin his presidency. For so long I thought the political process, seat of power and decisions making belonged to others. I was wrong. While I try not to drink the Kool-Aid too heavily, I truly believe things in this country, and around the world, will change. For the better.

I've also been through some significant changes from a year ago. I got the hell out of Dodge, moved back to Portland, landed a "grown up" job that takes me around the world, held things down at the Sumner house with wonderful roommates and moved into an amazing house with equally great folks. In the meantime, I've gotten my health under control, started writing again and simultaneously got my affairs in order while keeping a healthy appreciation of having a really good time.

Thanksgiving
Yeah, why not be thankful for the actual holiday? Not only does it supply me with a large amount of Bourbon, 5,000 calories of food that is entirely too tasty and college football (I'm a band nerd who plays a jock on TV), it also brings me endless variations on the family setting.

My mom, running around and lifting every lid on every pot, ensuring the food is up to her expectations (it never is). My brother giving himself a generous draw of rum in his Coke and sneaking texts under the tablecloth to his aforementioned lady friends. My grandma on my mother's side, struggling to remember the faces at the table, and listening politely while I reintroduce myself as her grandson. My grandma on my father's side, grilling me on the food I eat and delighting that I drink my coffee as strong as she did back when she was in the service. "The first time the boys poured me my coffee, I thought 'Boy that is strong!' But the second sip, I didn't even mind." My Dad and I, engaging in our annual debate of whether Bourbon or that horse trough branch water known as Scotch is the better drink. (I'm proud of my new zinger this year of Scotch being "a glass of good bourbon, mixed with 7-11 tonic water and spit.") The same old stories followed by political discussions, usually ending in Mom heading back to the kitchen to check on something, muttering "Oh you boys."

Happy Thanksgiving everyone.

Society at a German Tradeshow in Two Acts

2008-11-19T08:43:00.000-08:00

Tradeshows allow their exhibitors the opportunity to sample an untold number of peoples, cultures, dialects and perspectives. The view from the booth is that of a seat on a train, letting the landscape pass you by. But here the city buildings are people; the rolling country hills their language and experiences. The Medica show, the one I'm attending this week in Dusseldorf, boasts quite consistently to be the biggest medical tradeshow in the world.

While I'm unable to verify, or care, if they are the biggest event, they can easily claim to have an incredibly varied audience. Old and young, doctors and patients, black, white, red, brown professionals, models and hags, toothy optimists and quiet pragmatists. I met such different people that I felt I couldn't be in a single country, as no one location could house this number of cultures at one time.

I met a lanky engineer from Holland who didn't wear a tie because he didn't "really know" how to tie one "proper." But he did say he could crack open my iPhone and explain what nearly every piece of hardware did and what purpose it served. After a quick mental pow-wow, I declined.

I met a striking, raven-haired woman from Dubai. She told me about her condo, which overlooked the water from the 29th floor. She sold pulse oximeters internationally and listened politely while I explained what my healthcare group did. Seeing her interest begin to wane, I asked her if it was a tough flight from Dubai to Dusseldorf. "Sir, any flight leaving Dubai is difficult."

I met three Finnish doctors, none of who were more than 27 years old or could stop giggling. They had an endearing, if not grating, habit of responding to my answers with the word "yes."
"Do your members do wy-eer-lees equipment as well?"
"Yes, many of our members make wireless products."
"Yes."
"Excuse me?"
"So your members do wy-eer-lees?"
"Yes, as I said."
"Yes."
"What?"
*giggle*

I met a Nigerian who called Lagos home. He wasn't interested in what I sold because he was a "consultant of hospitals," but said my charisma was "like gold, like gold."

While I loved this feeling of having no location, no place because I was all around the world minute to minute, the greased smell of burnt brat and delicious, but pungent mustard on the breaths of people who stood too close quietly reminded me I was in Germany. That and all the women were beautiful, wore dress boots and had short hair. Deutschland ist sehr gut!

But this cornucopia of the world's citizens, while fascinating, did nothing to comfort the hands-down worst part of tradeshows: boredom. Hours of sitting in the booth, waiting for a question or even a glance. These periods of solitude left me analyzing S Bahn schedules, drawing pictures of the LCD screen on the countertop playing our promotional video, and writing long, somewhat aimless blog entries (see: this one). But one oasis of interest proved that no matter a person's standing or salary, people will try to rip you off for free shit.

One of the "giveaways' we hand out at tradeshows are water bottles, complete with our insignia and fluid ounce scale. They're not Nalgene, but they're close. And they're yours free … if you talk shop with me and listen to the elevator pitch about my company. What you don't do is try to grab a bottle without speaking with me (these rules were established somewhere between the train schedules and the doodling).

Enter our antagonist stage left: a heavy-set man dressed in a silk suit that suggested he makes 4 times more than I will ever make. He took one look at me and my little video and actually sped up, trying to get away from this pathetic display. That is, until he saw it. Resting on the top shelf at the end of the booth, shining in all its glory, its overpriced tri-color logo glowing with pride and possibility. My very last water bottle.

Seeing a sale, or at least a break from the monotony, I rose to my feet heading his way as he picked up the water bottle, gazing at it like Gollum to The Ring.

"Help answer any questions, Sir?" I said in my most kiss-ass professional voice. He looked at me, marveling that he was talking to a mere mortal.

"I take this?" Oh God this was going to be so good. I had him right where I wanted him (and not John McCain-style "I have them right where I want them" then immediately loses an election).

"Perhaps you'd like to talk about what our organization does. Our mission is interoperability between-"

"No, no," he said, hastily returning the bottle. Before I could say another word, he was pacing down the hall, evidently horrified at the thought of hearing about our mission statement. I thought I had seen the last of my hurried millionaire, but, as I would find out, we were just getting started.

Several hours later, I was giving the company 411 to another group of people. As we talked, I could see someone hovering near the edge of the booth. You guessed it: Frank Stallone. The man was back, this time with a bag of free booty, taken from other poor exhibitors no doubt. But once being spotted, he fled yet again, turning to look at the grail, his Precious, the water bottle, as he left.

This happened, if you can believe it, two more times. No words were spoken, but the stakes rose each time. The man had most likely extended his stay by 4 hours just to stalk my booth. Perhaps what happened next was inevitable.

There's a small closet in my booth, and I briefly rummaged through it, looking for a power cord; 30 seconds max. Having found neither the cord or R. Kelly, I stood up, only to realize the water bottle was gone. I jumped into the hallway and sure enough, my millionaire was shuffling away, bottle in hand. This guy had literally watched my booth, waiting for the right time to strike. I felt bold and pissed. He wasn't supposed to win. And now he was disappearing into the crowd, and I had to do something, anything, to regain my tradeshow honor. As a result, the most ridiculous-sounding sentence ever came screaming out of my mouth.

"I await your questions regarding our services, Sir!"

Every conversation in the crowded hall stopped as people turned to look at the jackass in the suit yelling. Instinctively, the crowd parted, making a human hallway to the millionaire, who now had no choice but to address my verbal bitch slap. The look he gave me said, "Well done, but I still have the water bottle." Instead, he said:

"Thank you. I have none."

With that, he and his bag of free stuff wandered away. Like the closing scene of a drama, I stood in the aisle way, silently watching my opponent go. From behind, a man who had watched the battle came to my side.

"What was it he had in his hand?" he asked.
"A water bottle."
"Really? Do you have any more?" I smiled.
"Perhaps you'd like to talk about what our organization does."

Q & A

2008-11-11T08:36:00.000-08:00

Four questions I currently face.

How do you say, "I voted for Obama, so please lower your weapon," in German?

Next week I'm back on the road, or strasse, I guess, at a tradeshow in Dusseldorf, Germany. I'm really excited about this particular trip because it will be just weeks after Barack was elected. I have the distinct opportunity to gauge how the world, or at least some of the European Union, has altered its view of the U.S.

Over the course of my travels, I've run into some pretty serious emotions concerning my nationality, which I defended, and our elected leader at the time, which I did not. This includes one that got me into a "fight" in an Austrian pub that I subsequently won by the virtue of not being completely shitfaced. My opponent, who took exception to me being an American, had trouble with this part i.e. he took a swing, missed, fell down, took a nap. While the humorous moments are fun to remember, being an American abroad always took its toll in the mature, civic-minded (not shitfaced) friends I would meet. People I would come to admire and respect, people with open minds and a vision to shape their own country and continent. These are the people I remember having to defend America to. And it wasn't easy. Hopefully now, my optimism about the U.S. will be based on "What is" rather than "What could be."

Ready for a fun fact? If you look up the phrase "a complete shot in the dark" you get the following message: Does anybody know of anything cool to do in Dusseldorf in November? As the pedophiliac Grandpa says in Family Guy, "Call me!"

What's my next move now that I'm in Portland for the foreseeable future?

Yes, that's right. After two months of debating, thinking, discussing and stressing, I've made the decision to remain in Portland. Not everyone knew, but I had an opportunity to relocate to Austin, TX sometime early next year. To those of you who lent me your ears while I tried to verbally figure out my decision, I sincerely thank you.

For a time, I was squarely in the camp of moving to Texas. The sum of all the little things in my life seemed to add up to the need to start again somewhere else. I had some admittedly romantic visions of forging a new life in Austin, far from rainy Oregon winters that make me want to jump off a cliff.

But, in the end, I realized that Portland is home. My home. In yearning for something different, I might have been taking clean water, close family and a culture I know for granted. SCV taught me to love the thrill of the road and the feeling of carrying everything you own in a bag. But I've come to realize that nomadic high is best fleeting, not permanent.

And so my great Texan adventure (this charming periodical not included) will have to wait for another day. I would still like to make my home somewhere else in the country at some point before I'm 35. In related news, Boston's stock is at an all-time high after a pretty awesome week and a half with Joel (and in the fall/winter, no less).

Am I ever going to finish this story?

My new story continues to be an exciting, challenging tale that explores innocence, power, corruption, loyalty and the finding of one's true self. Or at least that's the way it sounds in my head, where 99.8% of it currently resides.

As the rains set in and frolicking outside more often results in pneumonia rather than euphoria, I really need to set my mind to the task of writing this story which, after seven months of hibernation, is truly wearing out its welcome in my head. Though I have been busy with lots of other worthy topics on my mind, I am continually impressed with the things I will do to seemingly avoid writing the damned thing (up to and including a sudden renewed interest in the blog).

I hope to post at least the beginning of it here soon. That is, as soon as I finish reading every article in this week's Economist, watching all 7 seasons of the West Wing and becoming proficient in the cello. So close I can taste it!

What am I going to do with no election coverage?

Quite possibly the most important question I face is how to deal with the fact that I can no longer get my civic-minded smack daily from McClatchy. I've tried to treat it as a gateway drug. I read all about Rahm Emanuel (ha ha, he likes to say "fuck" a lot). I tried to get really excited that Robert Gibbs was most likely the new press secretary, not to mention the man that gets to repeat my favorite new phrase "President Obama." Hell, I even gave the "You Call the Race" maps another shot, finding an additional 23 ways Obama could have realistically won (And yet somehow, I'm still a bachelor).

No luck. Still craving polls, analysis and buzzwords. But just as hope seemed lost, the sun setting, the door closing, the game ending, the _____ ____ing (Madlibs!), there was a blissful day of consumerism. Behold the iPhone and Ron Powers' sprawling biography of Mark Twain. And with my Casanova, social butterfly reputation on the line, which one should I utterly geek out over first?

Now that's a real question.

A Political Excercise

2008-11-07T08:33:00.000-08:00

My fellow Americans,

Tonight, we mark the end of an arduous, but significant process for this country. There has been much skepticism in this historic campaign. Voters have questioned one candidate's economic acumen, and the background of the other. Accusations of inappropriate associations and out-of-touch sentiment have plagued both the air waves and public addresses, while unsolicited messages from external political groups have struck an even harsher tone.

But no matter the side of the isle you sit on or the part of the country you hail from, all can attest to that point which has been made clear in these past several years: America has fallen on hard times.

Our economy has stalled and is on the verge of a recession, the likes of which we have not seen in nearly a century. Jobs are being slashed as savings evaporate. Homes are being foreclosed as our children's education suffers. Meanwhile, America continues to send thousands of her children to fight two wars, followed by billions of dollars a month. Allies around the world no longer see the United States as a beacon of hope, but rather a risky relationship.

Tonight, ladies and gentlemen, tonight we, as Americans, celebrate not just Senator Barack Obama's historic victory, but a new direction for this country. In this, the greatest nation on Earth, where those who rule do so only with the blessing of the people, we must find a common voice amidst the sea of our troubles. Our differences - party, race, gender, class- remain, as they always will. But tonight, let us reject this diversity as a barrier and instead embrace it as strength.

Whether you are rejoicing in the confirmation of your presidential choice or lamenting a political reality that could have been, I say to you now we cannot stop here. The work to be done is too great, the stakes too high, to allow a lapse in focus and energy toward the nation's needs.

No matter the party in power, our nation rightly rejects a government that ties its own hands in partisanship. We must call on our leadership, new and existing, to work together in pursuit of the solutions the American people need today. As citizens, we must take strides towards compromise and open-minded debate with our fellow man.

Jefferson once said "That government is the strongest of which every man feels himself a part." Now is not the time for victory laps or political gridlock, but rather the time to move this country forward in ways that have never been done before, to address problems that have never been experienced before. So join me, ladies and gentlemen, in helping create a truly United States of America. Thank you, and may God bless America.

Boston

2008-10-31T08:25:00.000-07:00

As the first sign I saw stepping off the plane so simply put it: "Welcome to Boston. You've made a good decision."

OK, so it was assuming I would take its advice and buy an expensive watch at a shop on the other side of the terminal, but I chose to see it as a validation of the trip. Boston, in just 48 hours, has been wonderful. Below are several things, differences and events that have already made this town a favorite.

Accents, staring contests and umbrellas

For all Boston shares with Portland, including its political lean, sub culture and most weather, there are several stark differences an outsider can comprehend in a day.

The first I noticed was people looking at me. And I don't mean, "Yeah, I'm going to glance at you as we pass because I don't want to seem rude," looking. I mean, "Somebody is paying me to look at you," looking. Bostonians tend to stare. And it's not malicious or intimidating (mostly), but people are really comfortable checking you out in this town.

I braved the bus system my first night here. As I got on the bus (which looks like that Star Wars ride at Disneyland – you know, the ship that looks like a dust buster?), riders looked at each passenger climbing aboard, silently giving their approval after a lengthy stare. But, unlike Portland, once the bus started up again, people continued to just look around at each other. After about 20 seconds of staring, they finally struck up conversations. I guess they just have to get a good look at you before asking you about the weather. I told a woman it was a little cooler than where I was from. "Well, Bastan's a lot colder than you folks down South." I couldn't help myself and talked about growing up in Savannah for five solid minutes.

The Boston accent is also a huge difference. It's not exactly like a scene from The Departed every time you turn a corner, but it's noticeable. A guy at Kinkos, in between rave reviews of the Fenway area for my alcoholic adventures, was surprised I was familiar with the "Mark parked the car" reference regarding the NE accent. I told him I thought his was pretty good and he ended up undercharging me by $20. What can I say? I'm a heartbreaker.

And finally umbrellas. They, uh, have them here, and I suddenly look silly wearing a rain coat. I think that's funny enough on its own.

This old house

The architecture here was worth the trip alone. Beautiful, compact buildings dating back to, you know, before the 1980s. As a local friend put it, "We just don't have any earthquakes here. Ever. Buildings stay up." And seriously, when this is your library, you know your city has some serious design chops.

However, my first impressions were largely negative. I guess I was expecting more colonial houses out of New Hampshire catalogs. Instead, I found narrow little alleys filled with usually dirty brick buildings. Everything was made brick. Don't trees grow in this state?

But the more I looked, the more I enjoyed. Every brick building, though similar in style, height and material to its neighbors, is unique. Each house, apartment building, business tower, appear related, but no two are the same, even within the same structure. And the neighborhoods flowed seamlessly with business areas with the turn of a corner. That and having authentic stoops in front of houses had me sold in one day.

North End

I had dinner at "the best Italian restaurant on the best Italian street" last night: Giacomo's Ristorante Italiano. People line up in the cold for HOURS to get in this place, which is only about three times as big as my former abode (The Chastity Closet of Shame). The waiter, Tony, kicked off the night with "Ok, everybody stop talking. This is how you read the menu, OK? You see that lobster on the wall? Yeah, of course you do. That column there, that's seafood. You pick a dish, you pick a sauce." One of my colleagues raised her hand classroom style with a question. Tony was having none of it. "Ask one of these guys who was listening." Boom, next table. I instantly loved this guy.

The line was short, the food was terrific, Tony was a riot (at one point vetoing my order of a Sam Adams Light for Sam Adams) and we left full and happy.

From here: Three non-stop work days (with a goddamned 6am run on Thursday morning), Joel and Raechel's friend Michelle on the weekend, flight home on Tuesday night for election celeb-, er, results, champagne (or grain alcohol, depending on outcome), hung-over Wednesday morning in the office. Ready, break.

Seasonal Stock Market

2008-10-17T10:51:00.001-07:00

With one of the more pronounced seasonal changes occurring simultaneously with the nation's economy being flushed down the crapper, I thought it might be a good time to check up on the stock market of life, and see how summer's end and fall's beginning affects the worth of some of life's ingredients.

Up (+)

Piano jazz music
Hot beverages
Baseball
Shopping lists
Pumpkin-based products
Charities
Cigars
Movies
Sound effects related to how cold it is right now

Down (-)

Rolling the windows down
Fountains
Gin
The beach
Spending time on rooftops
Radio
Lawn care

Push (=)

Kleenex
Dogs
Forests
Corn on the cob
Texting

September 2008

2008-10-03T10:40:00.000-07:00

Things have been looking pretty bleak across the land these days. There's some kind of economic problem that keeps making the price of my gas rise. The two guys that want to replace Bush keep yelling something about each other. And pirates have dusted off their colonial tricorns and made a resurgence in the global scene.

But just how crazy are the current affairs of our planet? A quick tour of September 2008 will show that its chapter in future history books will be aptly titled, "Shit's Real Fucked Up, Y'all: Let's Explore Investment Banking Together."

And Then There Were Two:

Six months ago, there were five independent investment banks. By the end of September, there will be two (unless Goldman Sachs pulls a "Go straight to Jail card"). Point after for Larry Tabb of the Tabb Group for the best We Knew That quote: "Without doubt, the investment-banking industry will never be the same."

The $700 Billion Question (We May Not Need):

I know we're all freaked out about the economy. We should be. Banks are failing like Kanye West in college. But people who actually study the economy (known in several outlying social circles as "economists") are trying to slam on the breaks before the country chops its arm off to fix the broken finger.

VP Candidate Who Won't Talk to Strangers:

Serves them right, those nasty mainstream media types. Does Sarah Palin know you? Do you know her parents? Do her parents know you're trying to talk to her? She's just doing what her kindergarten teacher told her.

It's not like she's running for the second most powerful job in the country/world. And besides, the Bush administration has found the solution to the press problem. Tell them something that helps you out. If they find out you're lying, just don't talk to them anymore. Breakups are hard, but they'll get the hint.

Everyone at the Interior Department is High and Having Sex:

And oil drilling is in trouble? A prime example that lots of coked-up, provocative, sexually adulterated wrongs sometimes make a sort of right. Kind of.

Nobody Trusts the President:

As for the 31% that thinks Bush is hitting balls out of the park? I'm pretty sure the pollsters took the response "Fuck you, liberal," as "Yes, President Bush still has my support as an American citizen. Thank you for researching this important national opinion. And fuck you, liberal."

Candidates Who Can't Even Agree on When to Disagree:

McCain finally decided not to skip prom just because his date didn't know anyone. Point after for NBC news chronicling the back and forth phone conversations of McCain/Obama that nobody, including them, cared about.

Russia is Fighting Pirates (Not Pittsburgh):

Not much to say here. Russia, one of the world's superowers, home 142 million people, a key policy setter for the last century is fighting pirates. On boats. I'm guessing Moscow doesn't appreciate America's obsession with "Talk Like a Pirate Day."

The Mets Win? Like, an actual game?:

Further proof that everything is upside down. Black is white, north is south, fire and brimstone, dogs and cats living together, mass hysteria.

But all is not lost. They just released this gem. Because if there's one thing I know, it's that dick and fart jokes counter global economic misery.

What a simple pleasure it is...

2008-09-28T18:47:00.000-07:00

…to drive in the Fall. It's nice to drive around other times of the year, too. The coast in late July comes to mind. But I've recently renewed my excitement, borderline passion, of simply driving around as the leaves change.

I've been doing it ever since I've been able to drive. In high school, it never seemed like I had much time to myself. Class, practice, home, repeat. At home, I had two loving but, unfortunately, retired parents. This in addition to a younger brother who hadn't really decided how he felt about being related to me.

So there wasn't much me time. Which was fine, in hindsight. High school is all about staying busy enough to make it seem as short as possible. But I discovered one of the few ways to remove yourself from society (temporarily, of course. No Kool Aid jokes here) was to switch off the cell, leave NPR for another day and drive.

Down the high way or through the neighborhood. One time it took me back to my elementary school. Another time it took me to Seaside and the need to explain why I would be home late. "Were you with a girl, Tom?" my Mom demanded when I finally got in. "No, Mom, geez." Mom was relieved. Dad was "relieved."

But even though most of my friends didn't understand why I would burn a tank of gas without even buying beer, I came to cherish these times alone. This past weekend, a 10-minute trip to the store turned into a 2-hour ride up river, jazz playing, thoughts flowing. A time to consider the questions I face. What do I want my life to be? What impact am I making on the world? Oregon or Texas? What the hell is going on with my personal life? Is Joel going to make me sleep on the couch in Boston next week? Does he still have that ratty old couch from the DIX house? Gross.

Anyways, driving in the fall. A simple pleasure not to be forgotten. Try it today, when you can afford to pay for the gas. You won't regret it, unless you get stuck in traffic, in which case your life is an ironic joke.

Strange Times

2008-09-11T18:36:00.000-07:00

There's nothing quite like the sound of the political, social and downright ridiculous wheels of humanity turning. As usual, there's no shortage of problems going on in the world. But nothing fixes societal woes like downright mockery. Trust me. I'm a doctor (and I just collected $56.72 from Doctor Pepper).

McCain prepares to slam Obama; shifts nervously in chair instead
John McCain entered the third and final debate as a self-proclaimed "underdog." He apparently had such affinity for the position that he chose to say there. McCain landed some big punches ("You should have run against George W. Bush four years ago."), but ultimately sent across the same message: he is sitting in an uncomfortable chair, which is causing him difficulties in controlling his facial expressions. Dio sia con voi.

Joe the Plumber? Not so much.
Turns out the nation's favorite Joe Six Pack doesn't have a plumbing license AND owes back taxes. Now he "feels like Britney Spears?" He's already bald, so it's just a matter of time before he gives an incredibly lackluster performance at the 2009 Plumbing Music & Visual Arts Award Show.

Show up, light up
A pro-pot group at the University of Colorado gave away "pot pipes" (gotta love journalists who have no clue about drugs) as a door prize for people coming to listen to stoners talk about being stoners. The nation remains in shock after finding out our children are in fact having normal college experiences. No word on what Colorado's pro-gun group provides as door prizes.

Cheney discovers true identity; heart gives way
Apparently, he just found out that he's Vice President Dick Cheney, the man who just might have the credentials to be more unpopular than President Bush. Hell, I'd have heart problems finding out I was Republican. Of course, we all wish him a speedy recovery, followed by getting abandoned in Antarctica. Don't worry though, global warming's not real! There will be plenty of glaciers to build a neocon, waterboarding ice village of freedom 9/11 liberty.

Two blokes snog; sent to pokey
Two British people are going to spend the next three months in the clink after screwing on a beach in Dubai. Their relationship reportedly started with a "champagne brunch in July." I'll never look at casual summertime meals the same way. Point after for their defense lawyers, who I'm sure are not happy the two look vaguely related.

Nebraska lawmaker gives economy the finger; sues God
Economy, ecshonomy. Nebraska State Sen. Ernie Chambers has bigger things to attend to, like suing God, seeking "a permanent injunction ordering God to cease certain harmful activities." Just another reason why Omaha judges sport "Kill Me Now" bumper stickers.

Bail Out 2.0
You know things are bad financially when Switzerland is getting a bail out package together. "Swiss bank account" has nearly become a synonym for wealthy (and guilty) in our vernacular. Reports indicate slow progress as lawmakers had difficulty reaching the bank staff due to the stacks upon stacks of cash filling the lobby. Ha.

Good luck getting ready for Halloween and needlessly stressing about a costume that will not matter to anyone after Beer 4. Unless you're this kid, in which case you really need to stay in for the Hogan's Heroes marathon.

Three months and I win

2007-06-23T10:49:00.000-07:00

Among the handful of friends who read this blog, I believe three months of not posting has won me the prize of being the laziest writer. So it is with shame and regret that I give up that distinction today by finally posting here on June 23.
As it was with last year, this time (graduation/June) has again given most the people I know, myself included, a jolt; an internal message to get moving. Friends are graduating, looking for their first job in the real world. Others are heading off to grad school and, more commonly for me, law school. My good friend is signing up for the Peace Corps, something I'm still tossing around, which gives you an idea of the far-offness of that plan currently. And even though I'm not planning on leaving Brookings for a while yet, it is still a hard feeling to stomach. So if you are one of those who feel like I do and can actually move around, don't wait. I used to fight changing too much about my life, but too many expriences have taught me otherwise. I look forward to doing it again when the time is right.

Press on the big screen

2007-03-14T20:24:00.001-07:00

The more I see journalism portrayed in movies, the more I seem dislike movies. Now, that may be a little harsh in light of the fact that I’m a relatively large film buff. But the way journalism and especially journalists are being presented to the audience is making me mad. And worried.

Watching “Glory” a while back, Matthew Broderick’s character is returning from a battle and meets up with a seemingly friendly newspaper man who’s looking for a story to send back on the wire. When Broderick says he has won the battle with a black regiment, the journalist instantly loses interest: not because the regiment wasn’t white, but because, as he says, it won’t make the front page.

In the movie “Thank You For Smoking,” Katie Holmes’ character takes nasty, greedy journalists to a new height, sleeping with a man to get a story. The audience is meant to feel satisfied when the main character turns the tables on the now-villain journalist as she stands shocked in her newsroom, watching the man on the television.

We all know movies aren’t the pinnacle of truth (not to say that any particular news medium is either), but we also know people base a lot of their beliefs on people and professions they don’t know about from what they see in them. Therefore, if someone has never been interviewed by a journalist or doesn’t know one, they might have only film’s portrayal of the job and people to go on.

From time to time, I will contact a person for an interview regarding nothing controversial, but I will be met with an instant reaction: anger, caution, hesitation. It may just be their shy nature or possibly a bad day, but part of me believes it is a conditioned reaction. I can just hear the person thinking, “A journalist? And he wants an interview? He must have some agenda he’s not telling me about. I hope he doesn’t try to trick me and ruin my family’s credibility.”

Over the top? Probably. But I feel that something needs to be said in defense of my occupation.

Surf's up

2007-02-05T21:35:00.001-08:00

When you live in a certain place, you learn of small, interesting things from being in that specific location. And I am pleased to share my gem of knowledge, gleaned from living at the beach, with you: Sea lions like to surf. I’m not kidding. They hang out 50 feet off the shore and honk at each other for a while. Then one of them decides to catch a wave and swims in at least 30 feet. The others follow suit. It may be a long time before I comfortable with calmly gazing out at the waves, pondering life’s questions, and seeing a large, brown blob catch a pretty decent wave. But the best part is how people who have lived here for decades aren’t even slightly fazed by this. “Oh yeah,” one guy told me, “they love swimmin’ and surfin’ and eatin’ I bet. Damned things are always in the channel, but they like to come out here and surf.” No, not weird at all.

Also found out a local park’s basketball court has overhead lights that stay on after dark. I think I know where I’ll be every night off from now on. I tried it out tonight and I definitely got some interesting looks from people driving by at the sight of a guy in a dress shirt, dress shoes and slacks shooting hoops. I miss the Rec center.

Show me the money

2007-01-28T20:59:00.000-08:00

President Bush’s language in past weeks has been just clear enough to alert Americans to what he perceives to be an Iranian issue, namely that they are supplying Shiite militias with weapons and materials needed for the IEDs that are shredding through U.S. vehicles and troops. Yet he has not spoken as directly as he did with Iraq in 2002. Perhaps that day is coming.

The Washington Post published articles last week making public the administration’s policy of engaging Iranian agents thought to be aiding insurgents. I cannot argue with fighting those who aid the people you are fighting against, but I am concerned that this is a dangerous time to begin talking about U.S.-Iranian policies and situations. If the administration and the American people should take one lesson from the 2003 invasion, it is the necessity for elected leaders to present clear, substantiated evidence up front. If Bush has ambitions in Iran, the American public should demand his reasons, judge them appropriately and withhold any consent for movement before these two things have been done.

Out of the political world, I started on my new year’s resolutions today by spending three hours at Whaleshead beach. I found a plateau that overlooks Whaleshead and the better part of the beach. On that plateau was a rock that wasn’t all that dissimilar from a lawn chair. So I made myself comfortable and watched the waves for a while, listened to my two biggest digs right now: Iron & Wine and Nina Simone, and read a little Dubliners for good measure. It’s amazing how spending a portion of your day solo out in nature can really clear your head. Plus it’s a good chance to catch up on reading.

State of the union

2007-01-23T23:36:00.001-08:00

Political analysts had been reiterating how President Bush’s state of the union speech Tuesday night would essentially be useless. The Democrats in Congress would listen (after they were told to appear attentive by Democratic leaders, probably worried a snoring Ted Kennedy would appear brash), but they would ultimately consider Bush’s statements as suggestions. Bush had never faced a Congress this distant from him, and, according to NBC’s Brian Williams, has repeatedly relied on staff to stock public speeches with an extremely positive audience. So this was a challenge that a nation had been waiting to see: Bush playing ball against the team with the Vegas odds advantage. The fact that his approval rating was near the lowest of his administration’s history didn’t help those odds.

Though I knew it was coming, hearing “Madam speaker” from the door leading into the aisle had a very foreign ring to it. But that unfamiliarity is one I hope this country does not hold on to very long. I thought Pelosi performed well, seeming a fidgety at times. An antsy Pelosi coupled with a customary bored/slightly upset Cheney made for true comic gold. Bush gave due recognition by starting the speech with a focus on Pelosi. Bush did this very well, as it could have easily been mishandled.

Also interesting were an NBC correspondent’s comments about how presidential hopefuls sitting in the audience knew they had to monitor the reactions and facial expressions because they would be “forever reviewed on Youtube.” Maybe my thoughts on Youtube’s alarmingly powerful and growing influence in a later post.

Bush left the Iraq war for last, but I’ll put it in the front. Probably the most two important comments were expanding the armed services and marines by 92,000 in the coming years, which includes the creation of a “volunteer civilian reserve corps,” and his plea to “give (the war) a chance to work.” First, Bush’s expansion of the armed services can hardly come as a surprise to a President who has set so many armed service men and women in motion. But I have to wonder how he proposes to create a reserve corps of volunteers, who are not in the army but want to serve their county, when the army and National Guard have been struggling to keep recruitment up. If American troops are going to be seriously augmented with a volunteer corps, a lot of progress will have to occur in Iraq because those civilian volunteers would most likely be pressured into the armed services today.

Bush’s comment about giving the war a chance came as a surprise to me. I’m not sure how he and his staff came to the conclusion that this was the best statement, but I do know that many Americans will simply reply, “We have.” Then again, he had to say something after the troop surge, so maybe it was the lesser of two evils. Either way, Congress and much of the American public are not going to be willing to wait very long, if at all. If the November elections said anything, it said what this country wants is change. That may not mean the country has turned on the Republican Party or that the war should end tomorrow, but it does mean that the state of the union is unacceptable to many Americans. “Our success in this war is often measured by things that have not happened.” I agree, but the Bush administration needs to realize continued military involvement on a large scale may be another thing that will not happen.

I applaud Bush’s statement of increasing flexibility of schools whose students are failing the No Child Left Behind standards. In past years, low test scores were forcing curriculum to be entirely test prep. Also refreshing was Bush’s desire to create an “orderly and legal” way for immigrants to work temporarily in America. I know some Republican senators and congressmen were clenching their fists, but I think it was the first step in the right direction of putting both parties on the line for creating a better way to introduce people from other nations into this country.

And yes, Darfur needs help. Thank you Mr. President for taking the national stage and saying something. Let’s hope both sides of the aisle will act on it.

Welcome back

2007-01-23T23:34:00.000-08:00

It has been about half a year since I last wrote in my blog, probably because college was finished and I was off to Ghana. But now that I’m back in America with my feet on the ground in a new job, I think it’s time to get back to writing things down. I’ve been coming up with new years resolutions lately, proving once again you don’t have to come up with new goals for yourself just because it’s the beginning of January. But I have spent some time thinking about ways to get my life in a better place, albeit a month late. Here are some of the ways I’d like to change between now and the next time I feel like examining my situation.

1. Get outside more. I’m patiently waiting for the sun to set later and later as the days go by, and I plan on hiking, walking on the beach, working out and playing basketball as soon as it’s light out when I get home from the office.
2. Spend more time at the beach. Living on the coast, you’d think I would have become pretty familiar with the beach by now. But somehow I haven’t really devoted the time to exploring other beaches up north like Whaleshead and Lone Ranch. A perfect excuse to get out of the house on a nice weekend, light a fire and watch the stars.
3. Stay up with world events, particularly African, Czech and American happenings. I monitored these three places I have called home very closely at one time or another. I think getting used to being out of college, on my own and in a new job put my mind into defensive mode, restricting my energy to job-related activities or readings. Now that I’m settled in, it’s time to stay informed both as a journalist and former resident.
4. Keep up the blog. Unlike the emotion-soaked livejournals of high school and college, I know I can consistently write in a productive way and keep it personal and important to me. I also need to do a comprehensive search of which friends have blogs they keep up and read them on a regular basis. Plus writing on a regular basis can’t hurt the fact that I put food on the table by writing anyways.
5. Love more. Heard it from a friend, and realized he’s absolutely right.

Am I a blogger and other questions that distract me during my day

2006-06-11T18:04:00.000-07:00

It has been three months and I’m wondering what happens now. Do I get a, “You are now a blogger” card in the mail? Does someone find me on the street and hand me a certificate? When do you know if you are, in fact, a blogger? I’m sure there are people who would read this modest package of posts and declare that I am a full-fledged blogger. I’m equally as sure there are those who would read this and say I’m nowhere near to being a blogger simply because I’m asking if I am.

Regardless of what side you are mentally subscribing to as you read this, I’d like to think that I have become a blogger. Does my blog break news or impact the nation? Not a chance. But I think one of the best ways to “become” something is to make like Nike and just do it. I can’t say if it weren’t for this journalism class I would have made a blog this early or at all. The lessons I’ve learned, however, have shown me blogging’s immediate applications and potential for the future.

One thing I have learned is that everyone can read your blog. I understand I take up about a nano-whatever of the Internet, but I’ve had people from Belgium weigh in on what I had to say. Of course, they are far and few between for a blog my size, but it still makes me step back for a moment when I think about how someone 10,000 miles away is thinking about my writing two minutes after I wrote it. Even in this era of instant communication, I still wonder how my grandparent’s generation feels about all this. That, in turn, makes me wonder what kind of communication we’ll have when I’m a grandparent.

That point brings up a question I have to bloggers everywhere. Are blogs going to last? If you’ve been reading for a while, you know I think they have bright future, but will they really be around in, say, 25 years? 50 years? The question is somewhat unfair because nobody can predict the future, especially when it comes to technology advancement. So maybe my question is more of an “essence” kind of inquiry. Are blogs the beginning of an online revolution for journalism? Maybe they’re just a passing fad that will be forgotten in a decade or two? What if it’s a combination and is a kind of transitory medium? I look forward to answering all these questions in days to come.

Journalists, blogs and vice versa

2006-06-04T17:45:00.000-07:00

Is it really easier to teach a blogger to become a journalist than teach a journalist to become a blogger? I can’t say I was happy the first time I heard that assertion, but as I give it more thought, I begin to see where Ken Sands, online publisher for The Spokesman-Review and author of the statement, is coming from.

He writes newspapers around the country are diving head first into the realm of blogging, but may not have looked to the waters to make sure they knew where they were jumping. For whatever reason, journalists seem to be having a hard time getting blogs right, he says. I completely agree because of what I read and as I sit here (again) struggling with how blogs work.

Luckily for us, Sands has some advice for all of us. One of the suggestions I knew to be true simply because it was, well, simple: Blogs should be specific. Sands says a sports desk shouldn’t have a sprawling and/or rambling blog about play-by-play of the night’s game. Fans are already watching the games. Instead, assign certain writers to cover specific aspects of the game, field or beat. As Sands says, there will be an audience for that niche as well as an opportunity to maximize advertising efficiency.

I have always thought of blogs being limitless in the content it could cover. But after looking at more blogs, I found the ones who wrote on a specific topic were much more focused, clear and digestible. Perhaps I should pull in the fence surrounding Doublethink and nail down a topic.

However, one extremely open-ended blog that breaks this rule comes to mind: The Spokesman-Review’s Ask the Editors. This blog allows any reader to personally ask any editor any question. How’s that for a wide scope? But this blog is, in my opinion, one of the best aspects of blogging incarnate: the ability to move journalism towards that seemingly elusive goal of becoming a conversation between media and the public. Regardless of whether a news outlet has embraced the online side of the profession, they should all consider having at least one blog or forum devoted to answering questions. It not only enhances the quality of the journalism being produced, but also allows the community to feel like one.

This I believe

2006-05-31T22:04:00.000-07:00

This I Believe

2006-05-29T23:11:00.000-07:00

I was in ninth grade, unpopular and shy. Sure, I had friends, but not that many. I would rarely speak up in social settings, instead preferring others to talk while I silently agreed or disagreed with their statements. Class was no different. While other kids wanted their acne to go away or that special someone to ask them to prom, speaking was at the top of my teen wish list.
One October night, after a band practice (trumpet, not electric guitar) a group of some older students approached me. Did I want to get some coffee? They'd drive. Using everything I had at the moment, I squeaked out, "Sure."
During the car ride, I tried to make conversation, but it was turning out much like my other attempts. Panicked, I looked out the window wondering how I would ever make it through a night with older, cooler kids when I could barely talk.
But something happened when we reached the cafe. Something I did not and could not see coming. I made them laugh. You name it, I said it: a long story about how I had once dropped a jar of tadpoles onto my elementary school bus driver, a few well-timed impressions of some of our less-than-loved teachers and even friendly teasing about one of the older boy's new haircuts.
As I sat there in shock of what was coming out of my own mouth, something dawned on me. I felt what it was like to truly communicate with people. I was reaching them on a level far beyond small talk or even simple discussion. I was discovering the power of comedy.
From then on, I wanted to make people laugh. Turns out, I was pretty good at it. The trick, it seemed, was making the comedy personal, that is, tying in specific aspects of people's lives into the fun. It worked like a charm.
Over the next couple years, my demeanor completely shifted. I became outspoken, confident and, most importantly, proud of who I was.
I believe in making people laugh and the connection people have during talks of the past, present or future with comedy interlaced through their sentences. I believe in comedy's healing power, it's ability to lift the spirit that thought it could not be lower. The ability to tell your life story by telling a joke and having people understand; the ability to see everyone, infant to elder, smile, if only for a moment.
Like all things, comedy has its time. There's nothing funny about losing a loved one, for instance. But at my funeral, I want to see a lot of smiles as my loved ones recount the times I made them laugh. After all, comedy single handedly saved me from the fear of speaking. My only hope is it finds another person like me, ready to begin making people laugh.

The Payne Awards

2006-05-25T19:42:00.000-07:00

If there is one thing about the Payne Awards that I love, it’s that they feel like they have been around forever. Just taking a look around from Dean Gleason, to the winners, to the Payne family, to the audience, you see how important and seriously everyone takes this ceremony, and rightly so. The interesting part is that the awards were only started in 1999, back when Ancil Payne was still with us.

Today’s award ceremony was no different. This year’s winners included The Spokesman-Review, who won the News Organization Award, and the New York Times’ Kurt Eichenwald, who won the Individual Journalist Award. Both winners were awarded for stories that dealt with the Internet and its ethical issues, most of which have not been properly analyzed and discussed yet.

As Steve Smith, editor of The Spokesman-Review, put it, merely having a discussion of journalistic ethics presupposes the possibility of many different answers to the same questions. Eichenwald also stressed this point. In his 20 years at the Times, he said he had never seen circumstances like his.

His story, in a nutshell, focused on Justin Berry, who was then 18 years old, addicted to drugs and involved in child pornography starring himself. Eichenwald made the decision to become an active part of Justin’s story not only be telling it, but by assisting him in getting clean and becoming a witness to federal prosecutors. These actions later led to more than a dozen similar Web sites being shut down.

He said that ethics were not a set list of rules. If they were, then awards like his Payne award would not be in existence because all journalists would be operating out of the same book of rules. But the “gray area,” which includes all those dilemmas for which there is no easy answer, must be dealt with in some way. He urged newspapers not to shy away from those tough calls, but rather to discuss the issues at length with many people and make the methods of reporting transparent to the public.

Judges cited The Spokesman-Review for both of those points. A recent winner of a prestigious online journalism award, The Spokesman-Review published all of its information, documents and transcripts during and after the stories of then-Mayor Jim West. I highly respect the staff of that paper for putting as much information as they could online. In the coming years, I think the Internet’s influence and accessibility will only continue to grow, and it may serve as a perfect place for newspapers to provide its readers with the raw information to back up their assertions and to let the readership decide for themselves.

My congratulations to both Payne winners this year and I look forward to next year’s examples of just how ethical journalism can be.

My blog is your blog, your paper is my paper

2006-05-18T20:10:00.000-07:00

What a sad, sad sight: people who care about journalism, accuracy, truth, libert, honesty and the freedom of speech viciously attacking…. each other. I’m referring to the debate of whether bloggers should receive the same constitutional protections regarding disclosing their confidential sources. On one side, we have LA Times columnist David Shaw, on the other we have Jack Shafer of slate.com, a kind of blogging haven filled with opinion and some damn good writing.

Shaw says bloggers, due to their lack of training and low requirements for publishing, should not be protected and should more readily be forced to reveal their sources. Shafer says the exact opposite. He slams Shaw for the existing errors of traditional media and accuses him of holding “corporate media” above blogging.

Now that the dust has settled (for the time being) I’d like to look at both sides and tell you what I think both of these highly educated, well-spoken men are saying (smart people can get nasty in fights too, you know). Let’s start with Shaw.

Shaw shares some of my most fundamental concerns about blogging: the absolute lack of training needed to publish. As he puts it, “All they need is a computer access and the desire to blog.” I know this upsets all the well trained, conscientious bloggers out there. Numerous professional journalists either have their own blog or contribute to one, and the previous statement should in no way detract from the fine work they have done and will continue to do.

But let’s face it: Shaw is right. A 13-year-old boy could sit down at the computer, register with blogger.com, start a blog and write whatever he wants. In part, that’s the beauty of blogs, but is also the cold reality when it comes to journalistic issues. Shafer tries to argue that every journalist starts out with no experience before they write that first story, but I think that’s a pretty simplified view. We have schools of journalism for a reason. People dedicate year after year of their life listening, learning, honing the craft of journalism so they may go on to positively contribute in the field, whether it be on a blog or any other medium. But yes, person + computer + will = blog. Period.

But on Shafer’s side, I agree that the same laws that protect mainstream journalists should extend to bloggers. It doesn’t make sense on a fundamental level to say that one group of citizens should receive more protection from the same law than the other. If officials at the federal level are pressing bloggers to disclose their sources, it sounds to me like those bloggers are doing their job.

Shafer also has a persuasive case in the fact that mainstream journalism has its fair share of errors. I know first hand how embarrassing and enraging it is to walk into the office when your first order of business is to personally call every affected source and tell them that you screwed up and that they’ll have to wait until tomorrow before everyone else knows about it.

So both of these guys have some good arguments going for them, but I think we are missing the point of this debate. We need to be concerned about the people who spread slander, consistently report facts wrong and ignore journalistic ethics and integrity instead of what medium they choose to put it in. I don’t care if your preferred method is smoke signals, just be fair and accurate. Let’s not make this a corporate v. anti-corporate argument; let’s make this a sound journalism v. unsound journalism argument. Mainstream journalists feel that people who have an opinion and a keyboard are mocking all the training, courses and internships they personally went through. Bloggers are feeling like the high-and-mighty corporate journalists are mad because bloggers are sometimes seen as people with no sense of journalism.

Everyone, on both sides of the argument, needs to get off whatever horse they were on and come to the middle ground. Media should not be fighting with one another especially when both sides want the same thing: fair, accurate, balanced and human journalism.

Read up: LA Times
Slate
USA Today

Blog on Blog

2006-05-17T23:53:00.000-07:00

No two blogs are alike. Some, like Postsecret, go for a comedic or emotional result. Others serve a purpose of review. For instance, About Last Night, a blog that focuses on the "arts, culture and ideas" of New York City. And, of course, there are the blogs that take on the ever-difficult art/process/technique/vision of the news.

From day one, my biggest concern with bloggers trying to tackle the news as the professional media do has been objectivity. Put frankly, can a person, whether untrained or already employed at a media outlet if they are trained, be objective on their blogs? Perhaps more important is the question of should they?

Julie M. Moos, managing editor of the Poynter Institute, wrote on exactly that more than a year ago. Her concern was traditional media outlets leaving out certain groups of people i.e. religions, races, socio-economic classes, etc. What if, Moos wrote, a blog was created and dedicated solely for one of these groups? They would write on them and inform not only the media, but also the community about stories, perspectives and anecdotes that the media might never have come across.

This could lead to an unheard of number of sources, especially if the outlet chose the community members who could access the blog. But, as Moos' husband reminds us, what if the KKK wanted a blog? Where would we draw the line as to who gets a blog or would we draw one at all?

Wired.com spoke more directly to the objectivity issue in a recent article. While most media outlets have some form of restrictions on whether their employees can blog or be involved in objective activities (that's not to say there is an activity out there that is non-objective), the Wired guys argued that maybe we should all lighten up on the subject. Everyone has bias of some form and maybe journalists who express theirs on personal blogs will be seen as more credible rather than less. Definitely a proposition I'll be thinking about.

One blog that I feel makes a positive contribution to the world of journalism is, not surprisingly, Kevin Sites' blog. I met Sites during the 2005 Payne award ceremony, held in Allen Hall. I hadn't read his blog, but I had heard of his infamous video of a U.S. solider shooting an unarmed Iraqi. Although Sites focused on the process of shooting the video and the accompanying criticism and praise he received, he also described how the use of his personal blog helped him explain his actions away from the official media.

I feel that this is one of the best uses for a blog: To explain to your audience about decisions you as journalists have made. The Spokesman Review also utilizes their blogs for this reason. After their incendiary report on ex-mayor Jim West, they used their blogs to respond to concerns from individual readers. It worked so well, they kept the system in place and regularly respond to reader's questions and comments. In fact, The Spokesman Review has several blogs dedicated to as many topics, discussions and ideas.

Of blogs I wasn't so fond of, I think USA Today's Pop Candy would top the list. Don't get me wrong, it contains accurate information and seems well written, but I have a hard time getting into it because I'm not much of a television-watcher. Still, if TV programming is an important aspect of your life, Pop Candy certainly seems to be the place to be.

Some links: Hot Zone
The Spokesman-Review
Post Secret
Pop Candy

Troops to the border

2006-05-15T18:29:00.000-07:00

When I first heard that President Bush was considering moving 6,000 troops to "reinforce" the borders, I wasn’t sure what to think. On one hand, I rank immigration as a relatively low problem on America’s to-do list. I am supportive of immigrant’s rights and believe that a country founded mainly by immigrants should adapt their policies concerning people wanting to live in the country accordingly.

On the other hand, I believe there must a system where people go through our customs and law to be awarded citizenship. The criteria should not be so intense that nobody makes it in, but I agree that not just anyone should be able to wander into our country in a time of heightened tensions abroad.

But even though I recognize both sides of the argument, something didn’t sit right with me. The more I thought about it, the more I realized the issue, for me, was not about immigration, but about the troops. As a superpower at war, can we really afford to send even a couple thousand troops to our immigration “crisis?”

While I have not supported the war, it is very obvious that we are now completely submerged in Iraq and its dealings. The Bush administration has lobbied year after year for more funds, more support and, essentially, more troops. Army and navy commercials are flooding the youth channels, e.g. ESPN, MTV, Comedy Central, etc. Could this be coincidence? Absolutely. But it could also be related and I think occurrences at that level seem to be the case of the latter.

How much of this move might be political? I recently read an article in the Times about how some of Bush’s staunchest religious supporters were beginning to doubt his dedication to pursuing conservative goals and its agenda. Is this move a simple attempt at getting some waning supporters from the right side of the fence back on the bandwagon? Or is it a legitimate attempt to improve a border some feel is too insecure?

Whatever the case may be, I think people need to be discussing the impact this potential move will have on the war effort. Regardless of what you believe about the war, you should still realize that this will affect our presence in Iraq because, in my opinion, the chance of America removing its troops within the next six months is slim to nil.

Truck Rant

2006-05-14T00:00:00.000-07:00

2006-05-12T15:05:00.000-07:00

Apparently, I've had my comment settings set so I need to approve them personally. That's bull and I have since fixed the problem. I don't think it's my place to censor what other people think about my work. Keep the comments coming.

2006-05-11T22:44:00.000-07:00

I was skeptical. As young journalist, who has only called himself one for 22 months, I was skeptical of a series of stories that took two years of research by several extremely qualified journalists at a nationally renowned newspaper.

I'm referring to Steve Suo’s series published in The Oregonian entitled “Unnecessary Epidemic." The series boldly stated the government had “dropped the ball" in fighting the meth problem by not regulating the sale of ephedrine then pseudoephedrine. The conclusions were based on reviewing "millions of reports on arrests, treatment, and the price and potency of meth seized by drug agents."

The story seemed solid with plenty of information-dense graphics to accompany the findings. But something seemed wrong. It just seemed too perfect for me to believe. So it’s safe to say listening to Suo personally explain his thoughts and the path he took was just what the doctor ordered.

Suo spoke in one of my journalism classes this afternoon and he took the class from beginning to end, or at least as far he could with our two-hour class. One of the most surprising things I learned from Suo’s discussion was how he had initially thought the story was going to turn out. At first, he thought the story was going to be a good-news piece about Oregon's health care plan. But after finding related meth results in surrounding states, he realized something beyond Oregon was going on.

He took us through the statistics he looked at during his research. He began with cases of meth rehab, but he correctly realized that these might not be indicative of the whole problem. So he turned to crime reports: ID theft, stolen cars, property crime. Amazingly, all of these figures had the same curves in their numbers during the 1990s. Something was happening between 1995-96 and 1998-99, but what? He told us after looking around, he obtained meth purity statistics from the DEA. Sure enough, the purity matched the curves of the crimes, meth arrests and rehab admissions.

It was a relief to see the “power journalism" techniques we have been taught in class out in the real world getting results for journalists. At the same time, I noticed that getting the records seemed to be most of the work, while interpreting them took up the rest of the effort. We have tackled some very complicated processes in Excel this term, but it seems like the "sort" function might be all we really need.

One thing I wish The Oregonian had done (and perhaps they have and I just haven’t found it online) was post the records, if lawful, on their website for the public. The Spokesman Review, in its investigation of ex-Mayor Jim West, posted nearly every public record and document online, within the bounds of state and federal law. This gave them an amazing level of credibility, and I believe this technique would have saved Suo a lot of criticism about where he got his numbers and how he used them.

2006-05-07T23:25:00.000-07:00

As adults, our problems seem to be more concrete: preparing for the job interview, fixing the tire that just blew out on the highway, paying the rent on time. But in high school, our problems, though different, were just as serious to us at the time: treating that zit before prom, sitting with the cool kids at lunch, going to all the right parties.

But in the digital age, kids’ insecurities might be exploited on the Internet, according to Benoit Denizet-Lewis, the youngest contributing author to the New York Times Magazine and a prolific writer on the topic of modern sexuality.

Speaking at the University of Oregon’s annual Johnston Lecture, Denizet-Lewis told the story of how he hung out with several New Hampshire teens for research on an upcoming story. He was shocked to find out that many posted videos and pictures of themselves on Web sites where anyone could rank them in terms of their “hotness.”

“It’s not enough now to be loved by your school,” Denizet-Lewis said. “You need the whole country to love you.”

Sadly, he’s absolutely right. I think the Internet is a place where young people try to fix their insecurities, but usually get no results with sites like these “hot or not” sites. A friend’s younger sister admitted to me recently that she had tried them out. I asked her why she felt the need to do it and she said it was a way to see what other people thought of her without asking them.

I think that desire to know where one stands with one’s peers is completely natural, but the Internet is making too many options available to young people who might not be ready to face them.

Take Denizet-Lewis’ second point for example. Some children he interviewed had either looked at a substantial amount of online pornography or had learned about “the birds and the bees” from Web sites.

“Internet pornography is going to have a significant effect on this generation,” he said. “There’s a real damage there.”

Man, I wish he’d stop being right. I believe this is a bigger problem than most people realize. Of course you’re interested in sex at that age: it’s unknown, it’s secret, and hey, it’s cool. But as Denizet-Lewis said, the days of finding your uncle’s old Playboys are over.

Now children have an unbelievable volume of porn available to them through the Internet, and what’s worse is the range of content. I’m not saying porn of any kind is good for young people, but I think there are some very extreme, disturbing things on the Internet. For an Internet-savvy kid, it won’t take much to figure out how to access that material.

I think there need to be more journalists with Denizet-Lewis’ mindset. Sexuality is a huge issue in our country today, but I feel young people get left out of the equation and out of the media coverage. We need to get over our uneasiness of either sex or young people’s sexuality and discuss these issues. As Denizet-Lewis said, the Internet should start serving our needs instead of creating our problems.

“The Internet was supposed to bring us closer together and I think it has hurt us a lot,” he said.

Don’t take my word for it, check out some of his work for yourself: Benoit Lewis

2006-05-04T12:59:00.000-07:00

"Newspaper people (especially) still have the mindset of putting out the edition and then they're done with it," complains Glenn Reynolds, a law professor best known as the blogger behind Instapundit, one of the most popular blogs on the Internet today.

This quote is taken from "What Journalists Can Learn from Bloggers" by Steve Outing. As a newspaper-oriented writer, I have to say I felt that twinge when you know something to be true although you wish it wasn't upon reading this line. Blogs may be just what the doctor ordered for us newspaper(wo)men in an age where information is no longer scarce, but rather is too abundant.

In the article, Reynolds goes on to speculate about how a major media milestone like Watergate would have been changed had blogs been available. Would Bernstein and Woodward have been able to get more insider tips or government sources? He predicts that the main difference would have been the time it took to reach the conclusion that Richard Nixon did not have the country's best interest in mind.

A concern I have about journalists and blogs is the issue of perceived and actual bias. A reporter works his or her way up the journalistic ranks: small town weeklies, mid-sized dailies and finally that sought-after flagship job (NYTimes, WPost, etc, etc). But one day he or she gets inspired/provoked/motivated to write something from their personal view. Perhaps it's a criticism of the government or maybe it's siding with the other side of a conflict recently discussed in the paper.

And just like that, the editors inform them that the matter of bias has been raised and they have until Monday to clean out their desk. Although this has probably happened a small number of times (if at all), I feel it could be a new problem for journalists trying to incorporate blogs, information and viewpoints in the coming years. I think we all need to be more open-minded than ever to what individual news-gatherers have to say about the issues.

Outing shares another concern I have about blogs and journalism. For instance, the lack of an editor is an issue. I hardly think having your roommate read over a post is equivalent to the constructive criticism a fully trained editor could deliver. In personal experience, my editors have elevated my writing to new heights. That's not to say I think I'm severely lacking in my work, but having editors edit, review and contribute to my work has always produced better results than I could have done alone.

But overall, I feel blogs are the next logical step to delivering information to the public. "Time will tell," is a cliqued phrase for a reason: it's true.

2006-05-02T23:10:00.000-07:00

It seems that after a year or so of admiring blogs and their purpose from afar, I have finally dove in head first with the creation of my own, Doublethink. The term, as I hope many know, is from George Orwell's classic "1984". I chose this name for two reasons: I'm a bit of a literature addict, but more importantly this blog will be dealing with journalistic stories, principles, muses, etc.

In the novel, doublethink was the authorities' attempt at controlling the memories of their citizens. While I pray the situation between the public and its government will never reach such an extreme level in this country, I believe it is important to remember the absolutely fundamental role information, the press and the truth play in the world. I say world because it transcends government types and social customs. This, more than most else, I believe.

I think blogs hold great promise for the practice of journalism. People are beginning to see the key that blogs have delivered to the world of news; the key that unlocks the door that has been overshadowed by the Internet as a whole. For the first time in history, journalism has become an instantly interactive machine.

Reporters and correspondents can write articles in all the traditional forms and readers can take in the information then immediately post their responses. But unlike letters to the editor, the reader becomes part of that news cycle by contributing to the blog. In an age where journalists want their audience to read the column, watch the broadcast or download the slideshow, the blog has finally allowed the journalist to make a much simpler request, "Let's talk."

And so I say to everyone with a vested interested in journalism, let's talk. My name's Tom and it's a pleasure to meet you.