Random acts of weather
This transition from spring to summer has been schizophrenic, seesawing between “no jacket required”-stifling humidity to bitter, Hemingway-depression. Count me in that latter camp: I’m no sunny flower and I love hot drinks too much. 60 degrees and a fine mist is the very definition of a happy Adam.
But who wants to read about the weather? Not this guy. I write about it enough, along with murders, mangled cars and burning houses most mornings at the Journal Star. I’ve come up with a new slogan for my news brief expertise:
Just give me the facts
and I’ll shit out 4 graphs.
I can no longer write casually. This is the literary equivalent of blowing your nose and hoping something becomes dislodged.
6/7/11 – notes from a walk through my neighborhood (written in sloppy pencil)
The veiled moon overhead, neighbors blasting Ben Harper in their backyard, majestic Moss Ave porches ablaze with Django Reinhart drifting from interior safety, runners breathless, bicyclists with lone headlamps mingling dangerously, cherries in my hand, a strange smell of burning house makes me nervous. The first timid fireflies trying their on/off switches for the first time, the stillness of air does nothing for my damp shirt, and yet few mosquitoes exist.
June 23, 2011 Leave a comment
Self-explanatory
A young guy is out on a Saturday night in his best shoes, talking to a girl he’s met in a bar. She’s nice, he likes her. But he’s got this sort of confession, see. There’s something she ought to know about him. And he’s never told this to anybody. You see, on the inside, deep on the inside, he isn’t really a guy at all. He’s an Olivetti electric self-correcting typewriter. And he can’t even type!
–”A Singular Kinda Guy” by David Ives
June 4, 2011 Leave a comment
Out of context quote no. 5
“It’s like this — your family, your wife, won’t let you go out and pick up girls. But you went out and did it anyway,” Mr. Guan said. “Secret flying is like secret love. You do it, you don’t tell people about it.”
China’s Rich Try to Fly Around Red Tape – New York Times, May 19, 2011
May 20, 2011 Leave a comment
Consider me espressoed.
EAAAAAGH. I’m sipping on something resembling the unholy union of motor oil and maple syrup.
This is espresso. Or that’s what I ordered. I’ve given up on coffee; too acidic and just too… caffeinated. Yes, espresso has less caffeine in an average serving than a small cup of drip coffee.
Due to the convenient walk from my apartment, Starbucks is where I intake this concoction. I don’t usually mess with the burnt roasts of their classic coffees, but I’ve found no fault with their espresso. Until now.
My mind is being pulled like taffy, Gumby tortured on a rack, then left rotting in a Dali painting. I’m at Copper River Coffee & Tea in Peoria and this espresso is decidedly different. Thick crema and surprisingly little water pours from a La Marzocco beast, with an aftertaste that mows through nerves on the back of my tongue. What the hell have I been mucking around with until now? Watered-down Bud Light?
This is shocking and will require adjustments. I’m not alone. Have you had a similar experience?
May 14, 2011 2 Comments
The cat came back, we thought he was a goner
It’s official: I’m not laid off.
The Journal Star is a rare newsroom governed by seniority when cuts are made, as stipulated in our Newspaper Guild contract. I’ve been there almost 6 years – an eternity in print time – but have been left at the bottom of the heap by the departures of younger coworkers.
I was saved on Good Friday in 2010. Today, I was saved on Friday the 13th. Each time, numerous senior colleagues stepped forward to voluntarily face the guillotine. These rolling heads have saved my own.
We’re all acutely aware of reality, that the blood runs freely at every newspaper. Mine is not unique. Each time the ax swings through our newsroom, I duck; I’m a tall man, after all. That swift execution can come on any day of any week of any year. I no longer know the meaning of future plans.
And yet I stay! I persist, much like this infamous cat. I’m not masochistic, but could I convince you otherwise? I will admit that there’s less celebration this second time around. I don’t want to become “good” at this. While my love for newspapers is eternal, we need to hug this out before someone gets hurt.
– No 30 –
May 13, 2011 2 Comments