Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Why Journalists Matter
In the absence of a vigorous press, complacency breeds. And not far behind complacency is corruption.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Good Fortune
Leave it to a fortune cookie to sum it up: "Very little is needed to make a happy life." My happiness is rooted to no thing, no job, no place. It stems from the people I love and the experiences we've shared. For that, I am truly grateful.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
The End of Fun
The other day, I was packing up yet another box of books from my children’s room when my 7-year-old appeared in the doorway. He stood there for a moment, sizing up the situation, and then proclaimed, in a sad combination of drama and resignation: “So I guess this is the end of fun until we get to the hotel on our move.”
My first instinct was to shoo him away so that I could finish the task undisturbed. But that phrase stuck in my mind: “The end of fun.”
Is that how my children see this? I hope not. We have Thanksgiving, Christmas, birthday parties to attend, plenty of fun to be had before we make this move.
Then it hit me: Reassuring our kids that everything is going to be OK is at least as big a job as packing up our belongings and searching for new employment – and ultimately more important.
More Than Meets the Eye
Someday soon, I’m going to figure out how to post visuals here. Until then, thank you for tolerating my bare-bones operation.
Monday, November 9, 2009
Baggage Handling
I grew up in a place where you knew where the city dump was, there was always a friend or neighbor with a truck they were willing to lend, and holding a garage sale was as simple as placing a classified ad on the back of the 12- to 20-page local newspaper. I grew up in a time when VHS was the wave of the future and people listened to music albums whole, as artists intended.
As my husband and I prepare for our 1,500-mile trek back home, the good old days taunt us.
Where did all these CDs, videotapes, DVDs and books come from? And, more important, what the heck are we going to do with them all? Certainly not move them.
We toyed with the idea of a yard sale, the only problem being that we don't have a yard -- or a garage. As apartment dwellers in a metropolitan area containing more than 17 million residents, our options seem limited.
A couple of kind homeowner friends offered the use of their real estate, but that would involve yet another moving truck and a lot more organizing than we care to do on top of the load we're already coping with.
Over the weekend, I started poking around on the Internet for other options. Craigslist and eBay seemed like too much hassle. We wanted a simple exchange of cash for goods, and we wanted to deal with it all in one fell swoop.
I should mention here that under normal circumstances we might just donate anything we didn't want. But with unemployment on the near horizon, we can't pass up the opportunity to make a quick buck. And the less we have to truck through Colorado, Wyoming and Nebraska in the dead of winter, the better.
We Googled "Disc Go Round," the name of a secondhand music store we once knew about in a neighboring suburb. It was no more, but that's when we stumbled upon a site called SecondSpin. Bingo!
We spent much of Saturday entering UPC codes and boxing up our CDs: one collection of keepers, one collection of sellers, and one collection to give away (or burn, so that no one may ever question our taste).
When all was said and done, we'd racked up $71.15 for the 99 items in our "sell" cart. Not bad for an afternoon's work. Most items sold for either a dime or a dollar, but there were exceptions. Here are a few examples (judge not the titles, lest ye be judged):
Various Artists ~ Dr. Demento 30th Anniversary Collection: Dementia 2000
CD Credit - Price: ($8.75)
Original Soundtrack ~ Leap of Faith
CD Credit - Price: ($4.00)
Creedence Clearwater Revival ~ Chronicle, Vol. 1
CD Credit - Price: ($3.00)
Simon & Garfunkel ~ Greatest Hits
CD Credit - Price: ($2.00)
Marilyn Manson ~ Antichrist Superstar
CD Credit - Price: ($2.00)
Original Soundtrack ~ Forrest Gump [Original Soundtrack]
CD Credit - Price: ($2.00)
Barney: Let's Go To the Farm
DVD Credit - Price: ($2.00)
Steven Halpern ~ Effortless Relaxation
CD Credit - Price: ($2.00)
Joshua Kadison ~ Painted Desert Serenade
CD Credit - Price: ($0.05)
What can we say? We stopped buying CDs after the '90s. I ultimately couldn't part with "The Beatles: Live at the BBC" -- even for $5.
Next weekend, we'll hock our excess books. And we know exactly where we're taking them. It's not Amazon.
As my husband and I prepare for our 1,500-mile trek back home, the good old days taunt us.
Where did all these CDs, videotapes, DVDs and books come from? And, more important, what the heck are we going to do with them all? Certainly not move them.
We toyed with the idea of a yard sale, the only problem being that we don't have a yard -- or a garage. As apartment dwellers in a metropolitan area containing more than 17 million residents, our options seem limited.
A couple of kind homeowner friends offered the use of their real estate, but that would involve yet another moving truck and a lot more organizing than we care to do on top of the load we're already coping with.
Over the weekend, I started poking around on the Internet for other options. Craigslist and eBay seemed like too much hassle. We wanted a simple exchange of cash for goods, and we wanted to deal with it all in one fell swoop.
I should mention here that under normal circumstances we might just donate anything we didn't want. But with unemployment on the near horizon, we can't pass up the opportunity to make a quick buck. And the less we have to truck through Colorado, Wyoming and Nebraska in the dead of winter, the better.
We Googled "Disc Go Round," the name of a secondhand music store we once knew about in a neighboring suburb. It was no more, but that's when we stumbled upon a site called SecondSpin. Bingo!
We spent much of Saturday entering UPC codes and boxing up our CDs: one collection of keepers, one collection of sellers, and one collection to give away (or burn, so that no one may ever question our taste).
When all was said and done, we'd racked up $71.15 for the 99 items in our "sell" cart. Not bad for an afternoon's work. Most items sold for either a dime or a dollar, but there were exceptions. Here are a few examples (judge not the titles, lest ye be judged):
Various Artists ~ Dr. Demento 30th Anniversary Collection: Dementia 2000
CD Credit - Price: ($8.75)
Original Soundtrack ~ Leap of Faith
CD Credit - Price: ($4.00)
Creedence Clearwater Revival ~ Chronicle, Vol. 1
CD Credit - Price: ($3.00)
Simon & Garfunkel ~ Greatest Hits
CD Credit - Price: ($2.00)
Marilyn Manson ~ Antichrist Superstar
CD Credit - Price: ($2.00)
Original Soundtrack ~ Forrest Gump [Original Soundtrack]
CD Credit - Price: ($2.00)
Barney: Let's Go To the Farm
DVD Credit - Price: ($2.00)
Steven Halpern ~ Effortless Relaxation
CD Credit - Price: ($2.00)
Joshua Kadison ~ Painted Desert Serenade
CD Credit - Price: ($0.05)
What can we say? We stopped buying CDs after the '90s. I ultimately couldn't part with "The Beatles: Live at the BBC" -- even for $5.
Next weekend, we'll hock our excess books. And we know exactly where we're taking them. It's not Amazon.
Friday, November 6, 2009
Playing the Game
This was my first Friday helping out as a P.E. aide at my son's elementary school. The kids were playing kickball, and an ambitious few immediately snatched up the prime positions. My son and about a half-dozen of his second-grade classmates were sent to the outfield (the rules were loose). Upon reaching his spot on the far edge of left field, my son promptly plopped down in a sulking heap -- defeated before he'd begun.
It wasn't the best sportsmanship, but I could relate.
I'm back in the job-hunt game after 10 years of getting up every morning and knowing exactly what my role would be that day and feeling confident in my ability to succeed at it.
In the outfield, there was a lot of smack talk and clashing bodies. Some kids love that kind of rough-and-tumble competition. My son isn't one of them.
When it was his team's turn to kick, my son gave the ball a fine wallop, but the pitcher and first baseman were too quick. He was out. Defeated again.
I cringed inside as he stomped off, slunk down behind the bench and blinked back the burn of tears. "Come on. Get up. You can do this," I telegraphed mentally from across the field. But I bit my tongue. This wasn't my game.
When it was his team's turn back on the field, he picked himself up, brushed off the dirt, rubbed his eyes and immediately stepped forward to claim the pitcher's mound.
The first few rolls didn't go smoothly, but he soon found his groove. With each pitch that went well, he stood a little taller. He knew what his job was, and he felt confident in his ability to do it. It wasn't about being center-stage. It was about being given the chance to show what he could do without having to claw his way past his peers to do it. It was about feeling that what he did mattered.
A lot of newspaper journalists have been tossed to the outfield lately, replaced on the diamond by their more tech-savvy peers. I've felt myself slumped in a heap of self-pity on more than a few occasions of late. The game has changed on me, and I don't know the rules.
I've lobbed a few applications out there, but the response has been less than inspiring.
Still, I want back in the game. I'm going to find my place, even if I have to take a few ego-crushing hits to get there.
Come on. Get up. You can do this.
It wasn't the best sportsmanship, but I could relate.
I'm back in the job-hunt game after 10 years of getting up every morning and knowing exactly what my role would be that day and feeling confident in my ability to succeed at it.
In the outfield, there was a lot of smack talk and clashing bodies. Some kids love that kind of rough-and-tumble competition. My son isn't one of them.
When it was his team's turn to kick, my son gave the ball a fine wallop, but the pitcher and first baseman were too quick. He was out. Defeated again.
I cringed inside as he stomped off, slunk down behind the bench and blinked back the burn of tears. "Come on. Get up. You can do this," I telegraphed mentally from across the field. But I bit my tongue. This wasn't my game.
When it was his team's turn back on the field, he picked himself up, brushed off the dirt, rubbed his eyes and immediately stepped forward to claim the pitcher's mound.
The first few rolls didn't go smoothly, but he soon found his groove. With each pitch that went well, he stood a little taller. He knew what his job was, and he felt confident in his ability to do it. It wasn't about being center-stage. It was about being given the chance to show what he could do without having to claw his way past his peers to do it. It was about feeling that what he did mattered.
A lot of newspaper journalists have been tossed to the outfield lately, replaced on the diamond by their more tech-savvy peers. I've felt myself slumped in a heap of self-pity on more than a few occasions of late. The game has changed on me, and I don't know the rules.
I've lobbed a few applications out there, but the response has been less than inspiring.
Still, I want back in the game. I'm going to find my place, even if I have to take a few ego-crushing hits to get there.
Come on. Get up. You can do this.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Speaking of dead trees...
A hulking box of boxes is parked in the middle of our living room. A label on it says it weighs 75 pounds. The UPS guy didn't even unload it from his truck before knocking on our door yesterday. He was afraid we might not be home and he would have to lug the beast back down the stairs.
Alas, here it sits. The undeniable.
We're moving back to the Heartland. City living is just too pricey for an out-of-work journalist, a struggling screenwriter and their three young children. So we're packing up, and we'll greet the New Year in another place.
The crazy thing is, the Internet is partly responsible for the demise of the life we've known, yet it also provides our best hope for keeping the dream alive.
Strange times, these.
Alas, here it sits. The undeniable.
We're moving back to the Heartland. City living is just too pricey for an out-of-work journalist, a struggling screenwriter and their three young children. So we're packing up, and we'll greet the New Year in another place.
The crazy thing is, the Internet is partly responsible for the demise of the life we've known, yet it also provides our best hope for keeping the dream alive.
Strange times, these.
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