Stephanie Land

Books I Read in 2010

2011-01-08T12:00:00.004-06:00

In no particular order...

Random Family by Adrian Nicole LeBlanc
The Birth of Venus by Sarah Dunant
Divisadero by Michael Ondaatje
The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo by Stieg Larsson
The Girl Who Played With Fire by Stieg Larsson
The Big Short by Michael Lewis

I'm currently enjoying Waking the Dead by Scott Spencer.

Thanks for asking, Ciaran. It made me get my act together.

Books I Read in 2009: A Resurrection and a Partial List

2011-01-08T11:46:00.002-06:00

Ahem ... let's do the civilized thing and ignore the great gaping gap between blog posts, shall we? Moving on, I believe we have some business to attend to.

One Perfect Day: The Selling of the American Wedding by Rebecca Mead
The Emperor's Children by Claire Messud
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows by J.K. Rowling
Sharp Objects by Gillian Flynn
Dark Places by Gillian Flynn
East of Eden by John Steinbeck

Books I Read in 2008

2009-01-08T20:43:00.010-06:00

It's been a while, but I can't forgo the annual reading list.

Books I Finished:
1. The English Patient by Michael Ondaatje
2. Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides
3. East of Eden by John Steinbeck
4. Brief Encounters with Che Guevara by Ben Fountain
5. The Looming Tower: Al Qaeda and the Road to 9/11 by Lawrence Wright

It's a shamefully paltry list, to be sure. I hadn't realized it would be so short. What it lacks in quantity, though, it makes up for in quality. Fabulous books all! If you read no other book this year, you should read The Looming Tower. It's a masterpiece.

Books I Started:
1. Friday Night Lights by Buzz Bissinger
2. A Fine Balance by Rohinton Mistry
3. Tortilla Curtain by T. Coraghessan Boyle

I liked the first two of these. I just couldn't make it through all the football in the first and all the pages in the second.

McCain Gets What He Deserves on The View

2008-09-12T23:39:00.006-05:00

Perhaps McCain and Palin have brought out the best in women after all. The ladies of The View gave the straight-talking "maverick" a little more straight talk than he could handle today. I sensed genuine outrage at being underestimated as a gender. McCain's hosts seemed insulted that he would even offer Alaska Gov. Sarah Palin as a legitimate alternative to Hillary Clinton. Not even the famously conservative Elisabeth Hasselbeck seemed willing to come to the senator's aid.

One thing they failed to mention: You are where you are because of the "Old Boy Network," John McCain. You'd do well to remember that.

The State of Journalism

2008-08-22T07:52:00.002-05:00

HOT JOB!

The Institute of Scrap Recycling Industries needs an associate editor for their association magazine. The position pays $45K to $50K. See journalismjobs.com for more info. It's one of the few jobs posted.

On the Rebound

2008-07-30T19:33:00.004-05:00

It's a rare and wondrous thing to remember the moment you fell in love. I knew Buffy the Vampire Slayer creator Joss Whedon would forever hold my heart mere seconds into Season 6, Episode 7 of his cult hit, otherwise known as Buffy, the musical episode. It was the beginning of a torrid affair that ended in a long, not-so-final goodbye and, of course, the purchase of the seven-season DVD box set by as true and generous a friend as any Scooby, who bequeathed said treasure to me.

And now, behold Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog, from who else but the master of fun himself and starring Neil Patrick Harris, Felicia Day, and Nathan Fillion. "All this talent got together in the midst of last year's Hollywood writer's strike specifically to produce something for the Web," according to an NPR All Things Considered story. "They had no idea whether the project would be a success."

I watched it today. I've fallen in love all over again.

Wonderful World of Maryland

2008-06-06T09:24:00.004-05:00

Dude. I'm in a coffee shop in Annapolis, Md., and just saw a guy in full Revolutionary War dress (complete with brass buttons, gold tassels, and ribbon securing a gray ponytail) zoom past on a Segway. Bizarro.

Correction 10:40 a.m.: Actually, in the interest of honest reporting, he's not zooming at all. I thought he might at any moment, but instead he continues to loiter outside, flirting with women and talking on his cell phone. OH! There he goes zooming at last.

Things I Kind of Love

2008-01-31T21:39:00.000-06:00

I was perusing Good magazine today, theoretically doing "research" for a story on steak (hard-hitting, I know), when I stumbled upon a service piece about T-shirts, which I tell myself I read because Steve has a T-shirt collection, not because I dig front-of-the-book fluff. They featured eight "T-shirts that make a difference."

The shirt from a company called Rosa Loves caught my eye because it was both affordable ($25) and cute. When I went to the Web site, I fell in love with Rosa myself. The company offers limited edition shirts that support different causes (and by causes, I mean people, like the Sharkar family in rural Bangladesh who live in extreme poverty. "Mr. Girendro Sharkar lived with a growing tumor on his throat," the site says. "He fought this illness until he could no longer eat, drink or speak. Mr. Sharkar passed away leaving behind his wife and five young children in their thatch house with walls patched with newspaper and magazine pages." Rosa Loves stops selling the shirt once enough money is raised for each "cause." Find out more here.

And I read about kiva.org, a microlending site, in Domino. You can buy a gift card for a friend and simultaneously help someone in a third-world country start a business. Once the loan is repaid, the friend can lend the money to help someone else or cash out. I love that idea too.

Here's another, and then I'll stop (I'm getting on my own nerves): Heifer International. Give the gift of a beast of burden. I mean, who doesn't want a water buffalo? And at $250, it sounds like a steal.

2007 Book List

2008-01-06T19:26:00.000-06:00

This is the yearly roundup to the best of my recollection. I clearly started more books than I finished. I went through a non-commital phase, but I will find my way back to many of the lovely novels I started but failed to finish. Others (like Don Delillo's The Names) I gave up on two-thirds of the way through and have washed my hands of entirely. Despite the paltry list, this was fun. Shout out to Ciaran who lit a fire under my ass. Happy reading!

Books I read in 2007:

1. Arlington Park by Rachel Cusk
2. The Brief History of the Dead by Kevin Brockmeier
3. The Yacoubian Building by Alaa Al Aswany
4. The Devil in the White City by Erik Larson
5. Tex & Sugar: A Big City Kitty Ditty by Barbara Johansen Newman
6. Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince by JK Rowling
7. Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert

Books I started but didn't finish:

1. The Namesake by Jhumpa Lahiri
2. God is Not Great by Christopher Hitchens
3. A Wedding in December by Anita Shreve
4. The Best American Travel Writing 2006 edited by Tim Cahill
5. The Names by Don Delillo
6. Paris to the Moon by Adam Gopnik
7. In the Eye of the Sun by Ahdaf Soueif
8. Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides
9. Snow by Orhan Pamuk
10. The History of Love by Nicole Krauss

Books I listened to on CD:
1. The City of Fallen Angels by John Berendt
2. A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini

Lunch

2007-09-18T22:08:00.000-05:00

I've started eating my lunch on the concrete banks of the Ohio River in downtown Evansville. Every day it makes me sad and every day I come back. I don't know why this particular kind of solitude makes me lonely. Maybe it's the ripples on the whole surface of the water reminding me that change is inevitable, that everything is in flux always and that the only thing you can hope to know for certain is yourself - and only if you're very lucky.

Call me Shakespeare

2007-07-10T20:16:00.000-05:00

Or not. The hits keep coming, though. Here's something else to read, if you are interested. It goes without saying that the FULL article is not available online, right? Check this one out too.

Cover Story

2007-06-23T09:11:00.001-05:00

Check it out if you're interested. Also, Mr. McBride (not you Trent, your dad), now you know two professional writers.

Get that pencil out of your ear!

2007-06-03T22:30:00.000-05:00

Who is Elizabeth Weil, and why didn't I write this story, "When should a kid start kindergarten?," which appeared in today's New York Times Magazine? It's a nuanced look at the effects of starting kindergarten late (being oldest kid in class) vs. early (being the youngest), education reform which is turning kindergarten into the new first grade and the gap created by socioeconomic status even at this early age...and how that gap could be about to get a lot worse.

Here's the cutline:

States want children to be a year older when they enter school. This could lead to better test scores — and more inequality.

Read it and weep.

On Writing

2007-05-22T21:38:00.000-05:00

This sums it up quite nicely, I think.

"There's nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and open a vein." - Red Smith

Transcontinental call from Cairo to Cairo

2007-04-30T21:31:00.000-05:00

I spoke to Steve on the phone today. He is in Cairo, Egypt, not to be confused with Cairo (pronounced like the syrup), the hamlet in which I am presently residing. It was one of our first telephone conversations using an international calling card to the Middle East, otherwise known as the bain of my existence. The conversation went something like this:

Him: mumble, mumble, mmm, hmmmm?
Me: What?
Him: MUMBLE, MUMBLE, mmmmmmm, hmmmmmm?
Me: WHAT? I can't hear you. Are you talking into the phone mic? You have to talk into the mic!
Him: What. Else. Is. Going. On. Anything?
Me: Oh. Nothing, really.

It was mostly a series of exchanges like this one. Excellent.

Truth Be Told

2007-04-26T23:57:00.000-05:00

I'm still working on my CSI-Effect story. I watched yet another episode today, and I will watch another before I go to bed. Truth be told, I kind of hate the show - the no-nonsense attitudes of the science nerd characters, the not-so-subtle theme that "Science is God" (when really we all know that the one true God is "the WORD." I believe the ancient philosophers and the early Christians called it LOGOS, hello?), the outrageous scenarios (although the CSIs did solve a murder in the last episode by matching a type of honey, which they referred to as the "purest of all honeys" to some honey at a crime scene. I thought it was great because I used to know the Arabic word for that honey). All that said, though, the show is strangely addictive. Can anyone explain this to me?

And in other news, after a traumatizing hiatus, our Bitch is back. For real this time.

What's your useless talent?

2007-04-14T12:18:00.000-05:00

In D.C. last summer I was bored and bitter (hey! you would be too if you had to live in a perpetual state of bad hair horror. step off.), but really did enjoy living with the girls. In our post-newsroom evening conversations we managed to cover a lot - the stinkiness of our living room, the filth of our landlady's basement abode, the conspiracy of the downward-creeping thermostat. During one of our chats I posed this question: What's your useless talent? I bring this up now because I just realized what my TRUE useless talent is:

I can identify by name (common not scientific) the names of many plants and flowers and trees that I have no business knowing the names of, being a person with a decidedly brown thumb.

My roommate K. says she has a talent for being an exceptional party guest, and N. extolls her ability to catch random objects when thrown in her general direction.

LD did not live with us, but I asked her anyway.... she is a fashion afficionado, apparently. She does the same thing that I do with plants with fashion designers and clothing.

I didn't ask Allison, but I'm going to speak for her. She can hear a rap song once and know all the words thereafter. Inexplicable. She does the same with numbers - phone numbers, social security numbers, house numbers, you name it.

As for my other two D.C. roommates, well, they never did commit. Our stoic M-dawg momentarily considered this frivolous inquiry, and then, matter-of-fact and without a hint of humor said, "I don't have one. All my talents are useful."

I thought her response lacked creativity.

She is now living in Tokyo with a great job reporting for a well-known American media outlet.

Sigh...it's just not a world for the creative or the uselessly talented.

A Deaf Ear

2007-03-15T21:37:00.000-05:00

And...this today in the American Journalism Review:

Which leads to a wrenching dilemma: News organizations clearly need to build up their online offerings, big-time. But if they bleed the old-school core product in the process, that can cause problems both editorial and economic.

Robert Allbritton, who launched the much-ballyhooed Politico, made an interesting point when explaining why he was starting up a newspaper as well as a Web operation. The Internet, he told Kathy Kiely for her piece in AJR, is "the future." He added, "It's not here yet."

The key issue is not, as they say, the platform. It's the journalism. There's no reason why the Walter Reed exposé had to run on paper. True confession: I read most of it online.

What matters is that however the field evolves, however the news is delivered, there are the resources and the will to do the kind of journalism that makes a difference.

It's what some of us (both students and faculty) have been telling administrators since this new 2020 rhetoric was first rolled out. If you have no idea what I'm talking about and want to know more (or are yourself a trouble-maker and need a new crusade), there's this, this and this. Oh and this, in case you missed it yesterday.

At a March 2 meeting with students (and at least one alumna) in the D.C. newsroom, Lavine promised to have the new curriculum available sometime in April. An inquisitive reporter (guess who) asked where it would be posted, and he said, "We'll get it to you." So we shall see...but I'm not going to hold my breath. And while we're on the point, it seems shocking to me that there is finally a new curriculum when incoming students have been required to spend hundreds of dollars on computers and iPods and video cameras for the last two quarters at least!

Loka Ashwood's article (which I have linked to above) touches on some of the larger issues that alumni, students and, yes, many faculty have with the new Medill, but she doesn't address many of the scary particulars. The irony here is that no one (including myself) has written the whole story.

To sum it all up, though, I'll use the words a RECRUITER said to a classmate of mine: "It looks like you're getting out at the right time." Amen brother.

Ramsey the Great

2007-03-14T23:13:00.000-05:00

Ladies. Meet Ramsey and his roommate Ed. Apparently they visited Wadi Rum recently. As I am very busy missing Jordan these days, I've decided that this is my favorite short film of the year.

Ramsey and I worked together at the Jordan Times. Ed and I shared one conversation about teaching school.

I'll just tell you that I'm very jealous Ramsey can put something like this together. It's interesting to note that he's headed to j-school after his jaunt abroad and has decided not to be a lab rat in the Dean Lavine experiment. Smart boy.

SHOUTING INTO THE VOID!

2007-03-13T18:01:00.000-05:00

Freak out! The Company Bitch (my favorite anonymous blogger) is gone! To whom shall I turn henceforward for hilarious stories of workplace hijinx and domestic dysfunction? Tell me that, will you? How shall I proceed with my online procrastinatory regimen without Re-Boyfriend and the Company Bitch? Vae mihi, my friends, vae mihi!

The worst part of the whole shocking turn of events is that she is not entirely gone...some people can still read her blog. C. has made it viewable by invitation only, which is really, actually worse than disappearing altogether, I think.

Except, unless, I can get myself invited...and this little scheme has been the recipient of far too much brain power even at this early date.

Any ideas, though?

Seriously.

Why I'm a FEMINIST in 200 words or less

2007-02-02T01:53:00.000-06:00

I'm busy tonight with the posts, I know, but I can't sleep. My friend Cheryl at the Jordan Times posted this poorly written story on her blog, and it's just infuriating (the story, not the post). My favorite part is this:

Police found the girl almost two weeks ago and handed her over to her parents after undergoing a virginity examination by government physicians, the source said. The examination showed the victim was not involved in any sexual activity, the source added.
A virginity test by government physicians?!? It's bad enough that we live in a world where a father kills his daughter to protect family honor, but that's only compounded by the "virginity examination" administered by the GOVERNMENT!!! The crime itself is almost legitimized by the exam, not to mention the reporter's decision to include the results in her story, as if to say the 17-year-old victim didn't deserve to be shot in the head four times ONLY because her hymen was still intact.

Women's lib Middle East style? Sorry. I think we can ALL do better.

LOL Funny

2007-02-02T01:37:00.000-06:00

Hey! I'm funny too! Not this funny, though. Check it out.

I. Love. It. You might too.

N.B. (LD, skip letter numero deux. You'll think it's mean, which it is. But funny.)

As Time Goes By

2007-01-30T22:48:00.000-06:00

The Cuckoo's Nest has this to say about the difficulties of going out in the world and coming home again. I love it, and not JUST because my charming friend leads with a story about me, rather because she perfectly captures what I've been feeling these last weeks, and does so with humor and grace.

It's true. I do hate clichés. It's also true that I won't watch Casablanca because of this (peculiar?) aversion. I tried to watch once, but I just couldn't take it seriously. I mean, "Here's looking at you, kid." Honestly, who says that?!?

I felt a similar incredulity when I returned from Jordan. The top news stories in the U.S. were whether Donald Trump would fire Miss USA and whether rescuers would find three missing climbers on Mt. Hood. Meanwhile in the Middle East (where I had been less than 24 hours before), Gaza seemed on the brink of civil war in a bloody clash that still continues. Really? I thought. Seriously?

It's ironic that all the things we love about home - the safety, the security, the familiarity - seem offensive after a long trip abroad. The sameness is jarring, as if all of it - the traveling, the learning, the growing - had never happened at all, as if you'd never left home.

But, I did, and I've tried to incorporate part of my journey into my life here. I tried smoking both of the arigilleh I brought home (one for my dad and one for me), I bought a Turkish coffee pot and tried to brew three tiny cups of the sludgy beverage, I spoke Arabic to an Indian clerk at an international grocery store...That all of my efforts have failed miserably feels poetic. As LD said, "It's hard to hold on to your journey."

So. How DO you hold on to what you know matters and not get swept away in the vast selection of soaps at the supermarket, for instance?

I haven't figured that out yet.

Recognizing the ways that home is the same is, of course, only possible by the act of going away and coming back again. They stand out in relief only because you have seen something else, just as I am only annoyed by the clichés in Casablanca because I've heard them all before. I know I should just appreciate the movie for what it was in it's own time, but it's easier said than done.

A famous Italian novelist disagrees with me (as do hundreds of thousands - I refuse to acknowledge there might be millions - of Casablanca fans, no doubt) . He says:

Two clichés make us laugh but a hundred clichés move us. For we sense dimly that the clichés are talking among themselves, celebrating a reunion. Just as the extreme of pain meets sensual pleasure, and the extreme of perversion borders on mystical energy, so too the extreme of banality allows us to catch a glimpse of the Sublime.

There's something to that, I'm sure of it. Anyway, who am I to argue with Umberto Eco?

2006 Reading List

2007-01-11T22:15:00.000-06:00

Here's my annual list of books read this year. I'm a little late with this, but I've been out of town. Also, I moved three times in 2006, and I just found the list I started in Chicago last January. I may have left some off, but it's as accurate as possible. Like I said, it's been a hectic year.

Books I read in 2006:
1. All the Shah's Men by Stephen Kinzer
2. Brown's Chicken Massacre by Maurice Possley
3. Horseplayers by Ted McClelland
4. In Cold Blood by Truman Capote
5. Feast of Love by Charles Baxter
6. When I Lived in Modern Times by Linda Grant
7. The End of the Affair by Graham Greene
8. The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini
9. The Zahir by Paulo Coehlo
10. The Red Tent by Anita Diamont

Books I started but didn't finish:
1. A Kiss from Maddalena by Christopher Castellani
2. Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov
3. The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls
4. The Washingtonienne by Jessica Cutler
5. Thebes at War by Naguib Mahfouz

I won't be making predictions this year, because you can see how well that went last year. I didn't read any of the books I thought I would. Who knows where this year will take me - on the literary front and otherwise? Anything is possible.

"Two out of three ain't bad"

2006-12-22T15:55:00.000-06:00

There are three things I love: NPR's This American Life, iTunes, Shalom Auslander and Muslims. Okay, four. I just listened to episode #322 Shouting Across the Divide of This American Life, courtesy of iTunes (download it there immediately for free!), and I cannot recommend it enough. Part I talks about a sculpture of Mohammad in the U.S. Supreme Court building. Part II will make you want to scream and gnarl and shake your fists in anger. But, Part III is a hilarious, insightful, intelligent discourse on racism by Shalom Auslander, whom you may remember from this post. I love his deadpan humor. Seriously. Download it.

Salam

2006-12-14T10:31:00.000-06:00

It's my last day at the Jordan Times. I'm oh-so sad. I've met a lot of great people here, and I'll miss them all. Will be home Saturday. The whole thing is bittersweet. That's all I can write now. I'm on my way out the door.

Peace.

Taxi Cab Diaries

2006-12-07T10:17:00.000-06:00

Yes, it’s true. President Bush was in town last week. I did not write a story about him. I did not see him. I did not worry about a terrorist attack. Per Bush’s visit, an American colleague of mine said, “If I could ask Bush one question, I’d ask him why he’s meeting the Iraqi Prime Minister in Amman.” Moral of the story: If it were a dangerous place to be, Bush wouldn’t come here.

The President’s arrival did give my cab driver (and me) fits Wednesday night. The first problem, though, was that my driver didn’t know where Hashmi Janoubi (the hill I live on) is. “Wain Hashmi Janoubi?,” Where is Hashmi Janoubi?, he said after I was already in and we were on our way.
I don’t know; you’re the cab driver!

I have been living here for ten weeks and this was only the second time I’ve had a taxi driver who didn’t know how to find Hashmi Janoubi. It was an infuriating question, as I learned only the night before - the first time in ten weeks that a cab driver didn’t know how to find Hashmi Janoubi. Tuesday night, I simply repeated Hashmi Janoubi over and over with increasing irritation while the cowed driver drove through an area I’ve never visited. When he found the highway, I was able to direct us from there.

Wednesday night, the night Bush arrived, the police had partially blocked the street we wanted to turn down. So we circled and circled the traffic circle, trying to cram into the bottle neck with about a bizzilion other cars. Then we tried a different route. It soon became clear that the driver didn’t really know where he was going. We were at an intersection where he wanted to turn right and I wanted to turn left when I lost my temper. He spoke not a lick of English. Which is fine. But, as I know a little Arabic AND I know where I live, I GET TO BE IN CHARGE!

So, ahem, we were at the intersection, and I told him to turn left. He started firing Arabic at me, and all I understood was "Hashmi Shimali.” A Lesson: Shimali means north, Janoubi means south. Hashmi is just the name of the hills (It's related to Hashemite, as in the "Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan," and it refers to Hashem, great-grandfather of Mohammad.) We were in the general vicinity, and, because part of my host family lives in Shimali and I was there every day during Ramadan, I know how to get home from there. The driver was trying to tell me that left was Shimali, not Janoubi, which I already knew. He clearly didn’t know where Janoubi was, though, and I wasn’t going to ride around all night.

He turned left at the intersection, but he wasn’t happy about it. We came to the next light where I told him yemeen, right, and he couldn’t just turn and be quiet. He started his whole “This is Hashmi-Shimali routine again. I cut him off and repeated myself: yemeen. He turned. He started again with the non-stop Arabic, everything unintelligible except the extraordinarily annoying: “Hashmi Shimali mish Hashmi Janoubi” - Hashmi Shimali, not Hashmi Janoubi - every few words. I ignored him and said dogradi, dogradi, dogradi - straight, straight, straight. He tried to turn right at the end of the road, and I said: STRAIGHT! He started in again with his barrage, which I understood to mean: “Straight takes you downtown, not to Hashmi Janoubi.” I said, “DOGRADI! This is the way I know how to get there!” This was me losing it. Up to that point I had managed to stick to the few Arabic words that I know.

We went straight and within 30 seconds we were on Hashmi Janoubi, and I could barely conceal my disgust. When I paid him THREE dinar for what is usually a two dinar cab ride, I could tell he was embarrassed. He gave me half a dinar back.

Well. That’s never happened before either.

Indecent Proposal

2006-12-07T10:06:00.000-06:00

Taxi driver: Are you German?

Me: No, American.

Taxi driver: Are you married?

Me: No.

Taxi driver: How old are you?

Me: 28.

Taxi driver: I am 46.

(Long pause)

So far this is pretty typical Jordanian taxi driver fare. Come to think of it, I get the marriage bit at home in KY too.

Taxi driver: You know, I have two wives.

Me: (feigning acceptance) Hmmm…

I’m a bright girl, and I can already see where this is going.

(Pause)

Taxi driver: I can have four, did you know? I can marry four.

Me: In Islam? Yes, I know.

(Pause)

Taxi driver: You can be Number Four!

He flashes his most winning smile, which is missing no less than three teeth.

Great. Thanks. I’m probably too old to be Number Three.

Hot Legs

2006-11-28T05:41:00.000-06:00

Here's a link to Steve's photos from Jordan. Here's one of my favorites. Check out my new boots:

Photo by Steve Stanek.

Gobble Gobble

2006-11-22T09:05:00.000-06:00

Tomorrow's Thanksgiving. It's my favorite holiday. Turkey, mashed potatoes, green peas and buttery rolls...yum! What's not to love?

Don't worry about me. I'll be here, living it up with a kebab.

Happy Turkey Day, all.

The Fourth Estate

2006-11-20T05:38:00.000-06:00

Here's the best story I've read in the Jordan Times to date. Not written by me unfortunately, but by Hugh Naylor, an American colleague who's freelancing at the paper. It's about the freedom of press situation in Jordan, which leaves a lot to be desired. I was shocked and amazed and full of admiration that Hugh and Paul (one of our really great editors) managed to get it past the censor - you heard me! - and into the paper.

And while we're talking about stories...I wasn't happy about the edit of my Walking Man story, but that's the name of the game, I guess. Jacq is the epitome of the naive Westerner. He wanted to meet the king to discuss the good and bad things he saw in Jordan (good: friendliness of the people, bad: pollution along roadways). I included it in the story, even though there was no way he was going to meet King Abdullah. An editor cut it, because "the king reads the paper." Also, I wanted the story to walk off with "and so, the walking man will walk on," my own personal homage to James Taylor. No such luck.

Crossing the Jordan, Part 2

2006-11-14T04:28:00.000-06:00

The Western Wall viewed through fence. (Photo by Steven Stanek)

Enough people mentioned the last blog post about my trip to Israel that I felt obliged to finish the story as promised.

As soon as we crossed into Israel, it was like a different world. The desert gave way to a border station surrounded by a carpet of lush GRASS! plants and palm trees. Not only that, the building and the road up to the building looked like it was constructed with some sort of plan.

The bus dropped us at the front of the building, we handed our bags and our passports to two Israeli security officials. They put stickers on our bags and sent them into the building on a conveyer belt, just like at any airport. In fact, I’m embarrassed to admit it, but I had a brief moment of near panic when I thought “What if I’ve somehow accidentally been transported to an airport?” I clearly didn’t have a plane ticket, and I was worried I’d never see my bag again. Really stupid, I admit, but I couldn’t read any of the signs and you never know, right?

One thing was the same here as in Jordan: no one gives any instructions. I followed the Dutch woman through a metal detector and into the building. She and the guy from Seattle started filling out a form that asked for basic personal information, so I filled out the form. I took it to a very young Israeli woman, who looked at my passport and asked me where I was going, why I was going there, who I was visiting, when I would leave and where I would go when I left.

Then she stamped my passport. I listened to the CHACHUNK of the stamp, and I kissed any trip I might have wanted to take to Lebanon or Syria or the Sudan ;) goodbye. As my colleague Peter pointed out in his comment on my earlier post, if your passport has an Israeli stamp, Muslim countries that don’t have a treaty with Israel will not allow you to enter. For this reason, the American Embassy issues temporary passports, but I didn’t want to deal with the hassle. My passport expires in March anyway, and I don’t have plans to visit Lebanon or Syria on this trip. It would have been nice to leave the option open, but I also figured it might take longer to get through immigration with a temporary passport. And, I heard you can’t go to the King Hussein Bridge border station, but haveto go to another one. I’m not sure if that’s true, though.
I went through another security point where the young woman soldier looked at my passport and asked my reason for visiting and when I would be leaving. There’s nothing like feeling welcome.

I found my bag without a problem and wandered outside where I asked the shared-van-taxi-people how much to go to Jerusalem. They said 28 shekels. I exchanged 50 JD (Jordanian Dinar) for something like a million shekels (okay, not really, but a lot). I went to get in the van. The guy from Seattle was already there, and he asked me where the other woman was. I told him I didn’t know. He went to find her. I thought this was odd, but then I just thought he was trying to look out for her because she’s young and foreign and a woman. He found her and came back to tell me that we would all haveto pay a little more money, otherwise the van wouldn’t leave until 5 p.m. (over an hour) or when it was full (it held ten people and we were six). I agreed. I paid 20 shekels extra, so the whole thing cost me about $25.

On the drive to Jerusalem I saw more desert, but it was different from what I was used to seeing. There was a lot of agriculture in parts of it. It seems clear that they have some kind of sophisticated irrigation system. As we got closer to the city the landscape became more mountainous. On the side of the road I saw bulldozers busily cutting into the side of a mountain, building a road or expanding a road, but no doubt making some general improvement. I noticed this seemingly mundane detail and note it here because it’s indicative of a level of organization and efficiency and governmental responsibility that I find lacking in Jordan.

I also saw some things that were more familiar – people living in what looked like barely held together tents, brown children in dirty clothes running around (playing or maybe working) amongst a flock of sheep.

When we finally arrived in Jerusalem about 40 minutes after we left the border, I knew I was going to love it. I remember thinking how many trees there were here. Some of the bland, concrete buildings with satellites on the roofs were familiar, but they were much less densely stacked than what I am used to. And Look! There’s a church! The sun was about 30 minutes from setting and it glinted off of the gold cupola of the Dome of the Rock. Ahhhhh! Let the love affair begin.

As we drove toward our departure point - the Damascus Gate in the Old City - I saw homes that were constructed from stone and buildings that looked historic (check out these photos of the Jerusalem). One was surrounded by an old stone fence, and as we passed I looked inside the open gate and saw a verdant garden and a huge angel trumpet in bloom.

It was then that I started to feel like I was in Europe, and I haveto admit, as much as I’ve loved Jordan, I was feeling like I REALLY loved Israel.

The Arabic driver, who was being overly friendly to me (not in any inappropriate way, but in an annoying, cloying way) offered to let me use his cell phone. I told him I had my own. It turned out that I should have used his. Mine would only send text messages and receive calls. Later it stopped working altogether. The driver dropped us across the street from the Damascus Gate, and the whole area was full of Arabic vendors selling everything from cell phones to fresh, hot bread. I was ready to be finished with this journey which was now well into its fourth hour, and I forgot to grab my bag out of the back of the van. The ever-helpful driver ran it over to me just as I was crossing the street, and then I felt bad that I thought him annoying.

I paused at the Damascus Gate and saw tourists of all nationalities sitting on the steps. I stood there for a minute and enjoyed my break from the Middle East. While I was technically in the heart of it, here, in Jerusalem at least, I felt like I had been transported to another world. One in which I was less of a foreigner and more myself.

I took a cab (the guy wanted 40 shekels but I told him it was too much. He said the meter would be more and I said that was fine. Using the meter I paid 28. HA! Take that, guy! I’m not as stupid as I look) and made it, finally, to my destination.

So that’s the very long and involved story of how I got to Israel. I didn’t stop loving it, btw, and while I know I only saw a very small part of a very diverse city (and country), I am now fond of saying that Israel is like Europe with ugly shoes.

Women praying at the Western Wall.
We visited the Western Wall where the men’s section is separated from the women’s section by a chest-high, wooden barrier. Guess which side is small and crowded and scrunched up against some kind of construction project? Uh huh. Raise your hand if you’re surprised.

We also spent a lot of time in the Arab market, walking around crowded, narrow passageways, people watching and taking photos, including the one of an incense shop at left (taken by Steven Stanek).

I got myself drunk on two glasses of wine, thank you very much, and ate mashed potatoes and sushi (not at the same time), hamduallah, katir, katir, katir!

The weather took a turn for the worse while I was there, becoming cold and rainy, and I was forced to buy a fabulous brown peacoat coat that brings out all the subtle highlights in my ever-lengthening locks, I was assured by the salesman. I relished shopping by myself at night, and I’ve never enjoyed walking around in the rain more. I’ve missed the luxury of independence. I’ve missed being able to get to know a city by walking its streets. I’ve missed the opportunity for serendipity. I felt like I’d broken free of something.

It wasn’t all warm fuzzies and roses, though. It is, after all, one of the most troubled regions in the world. There was security everywhere. A guard sat at the entrance to every bar, restaurant and café.

Also, I’m sure that I was ramming into some kind of irritating cultural difference that I can’t identify, but I found people on the streets and waiting in lines to be so rude. Out for themselves, walking four-wide across a sidewalk without moving an inch for me to pass. Scooting in front of me in lines (violating the queue, if you will) because they knew they could, even though they also knew I’d been waiting very patiently longer than they had.

The journey home was much the same as the trip to Israel, except the King Hussein Bridge is called the Allenby Bridge on the Israeli side and the exit tax was $35.

Legitimate points abound!

2006-11-09T11:27:00.000-06:00

I love this guy. Steve Stanek (photo credit) took this picture at the Western Wall. He tried to take it on the sly but the guy looked right at us. Steve said, "Did you see how pissed that guy was that I took his picture." I have a hard heart. I said: "Yeah, well, he shouldn't wear his hair like that if he doesn't want his picture taken." ;)

Crossing the Jordan

2006-11-09T10:34:00.000-06:00

This is a two-part series, I guess. I've been working on this for several days and have only gotten as far as the border. Sorry. Not only that, I feel like it's long-winded and boring. Sorry again. Inshallah, someone will think it's moderately interesting.

Last Thursday I traveled the roughly 50 miles from Amman to Jerusalem. The embargo on this blog entry was self-imposed, because I didn’t want friends and family to worry about me unnecessarily while I was gone. Now that it’s over, though, let the storytelling begin.

I tried calling Ahmad all morning Thursday to tell him my plans for the weekend. I finally talked to him at 11 a.m. I asked him how to tell the taxi driver to get to the Abdali bus station. Instead of telling me, he and his brother Mahmoud picked me up and took me there. I sat in the car while they negotiated a 20 dinar (down from 35) cab ride to King Hussein Bridge (one of the border crossings between Jordan and Israel). I looked at my watch. It said 4:05, which is apparently when it stopped the night before. I looked at my cell phone. 12 p.m. I was on my way.

My driver made a call on his cell phone shortly after we started out. It used to make me nervous when taxi drivers talked on the phone while I was in the cab. I imagined them calling their friends who moonlight as kidnappers of mute American women. I'm over that now. Anyway, I heard him say something in Arabic - I don't remember what – that told me he was talking to his wife. We hadn’t gone a mile before he started to slow down. I saw a woman dressed in black from head to toe, with black material covering her entire face. It was not her ultra conservative attire, though, that surprised me. It was the fact that she was wearing eyeglasses on the only visible part of her face. Not a lot of people wear glasses here. My taxi driver said, “This is my wife,” and I thought he was joking. The next minute I saw a little girl tugging at the door next to me. A friendly looking young woman with a toddler on her hip - not the woman in black - slipped in the front passenger seat. The curious 6-year-old at the door slid in beside me.

Marhaba – Hi - I said to my little neighbor, who was wide-eyed and staring. She looked away. Her mother, who was, in all likelihood, younger than I, said, Salam Alekum, and I returned the greeting. NOW we were off.

Taxi driver's daughter reached into a sack and pulled out two falafel sandwiches. She handed one to her mother and her baby sister in the front seat. Taxi driver's wife offered part of hers to me, which didn't really surprise me as I've grown accustomed to the amazing hospitality of Jordanians. Every time something like this happens, though, I am touched by the generosity. They had only the two sandwiches. It goes without saying that I declined.

On our way out of town, I saw my first Corvette in Jordan. Red. 2000-something, new-ish anyway. It made me think of my dad and of Jaber, who always, always, always beats me at my own Corvette game (think Slug-Bug but insert Corvettes). I also instinctively wanted to punch someone on the arm. Something told me that was ill-advised. I refrained.

The youngest girl child sat on her mother's lap in the front seat (no child seats, no seat belts, sooooo 1980) and played with a green balloon, half-inflated. When Allison was here she saw her niece playing with a balloon and talked about how unsafe it was: "She could bite into that, inhale a piece of it into her lungs and..." a whole slew of horrible things followed. I can't remember exactly what they were, but she was very specific and I trust her expertise. So I was relieved when the green balloon was retired to the dash, wedged ever so snugly between the windshield and the requisite box of tissues. You don't understand why it's requisite? Neither do I. Let's just say if I were going to own a company in Jordan, it would be a "Fine Tissue" factory.

The trip to the border was beautiful. I wish I had photos. We drove on a mountain road and I could see the valley below. We also drove around Salt, which I was told by one guy used to be the capital of Jordan. It's old and crowded and neat with ancient steps leading up to many of the homes, which are nestled close together on the hillside (just like in Amman). Anyway, my driver pulled onto a gravel road on top of this mountain and dropped his family outside their home. As we drove away, he said, "That's my home." I told him it was beautiful, and it was. The location was gorgeous, anyway, very isolated with olive trees for neighbors.

The photo, btw, is borrowed from bastchild on flickr.com. Check out his other Jordan photos; they're fabulous! I'm not sure how to format a caption on Blogger. So this is the best I can do for now.

He dropped me at a gate and told one of the guys loitering there with a couple of soldiers to direct me inside. The loiterer walked me halfway but lost interst when he discovered I was too stupid to understand the word he kept saying in Arabic. Possibly bus? Not sure. Anyway, he motioned to the "Public Relations and Tourism – Arrivals/Departures" building. I remember it as little more than a rundown warehouse with a few offices. Inside, there was little activity, and I don't even know if someone was manning the X-ray machine until I put my backpack down on it. I walked through the metal detector, it sounded, but no one came to inspect me further, so I walked in. I paid the exit tax of approximately $7, had my passport stamped and was on my way in less than 10 minutes.

I was thirsty, and I saw that the "café" (which amounted to a few tables and some refrigerators with drinks in them) had Coke. I was surprised, because Pepsi is the beverage of choice in Jordan. There is a perception that Coke is "owned by Jews." I'm not sure if this is the only reason, but I have heard this from more than one person. Anyway, I didn't have change, and I tried to pay the young man for a can of Coke with a 5 dinar bill. He didn't have change either, so after a few minutes of neither of us understanding the other, I went to put the Coke back. He smiled and gave me the Coke (and a straw) for free. God bless my Scandinavian ancestors. That's what I say.

Only one bus company is allowed to shuttle passengers across the King Hussein Bridge. The next bus was supposed to leave at 2:00 p.m., inshallah. I looked at my watch. 4:05. Hmm. I looked at my cell phone. It was after 2. No one was surprised. And by no one I mean me, the blondish Dutch woman who spoke Arabic (I secretly hated her) and the Jordanian-American guy who was visiting from Seattle.

The bus finally left at 4:05, or 2:43 in the p.m., depending on who you ask. We were asked to exit the bus once on our way across the desert. I say desert and not bridge, because if I'm being accurate, that's really what it was. There may have been a short little bridge (over the mostly dried up Jordan River?), but there sure as hell wasn't any water. We showed one soldier our passports while another soldier with a scary gun on his shoulder, even scarier because he was just a boy, got on the bus to make sure we three didn't have a bomb.

We reboarded the bus and entered Palestine, or Israel, again, depends on who you ask. The whole bus trip took less than fifteen minutes, including the whole disembarking episode. My cell phone buzzed twice just as we were in the middle of the "bridge." It was a text message from FastLink, my cell phone provider, saying, "Fastlink wishes you an enjoyable stay in Palestine…" Nothing gets by these people.

I give and I give and I give

2006-11-09T05:48:00.000-06:00

Nobody likes me very much (except Goodan, Goodan loves me). That's what I've decided. I've only checked my two e-mail accounts 150 times in the last hour. Nothing (except from Goodan, he's the only one who really cares). Yesterday it was the same thing. Oh wait, I take that back, the 95th time I pushed refresh on my Gmail account today I had one message in my Inbox. I was really excited...for about five seconds. I opened my Inbox and my new message was a Borders Rewards coupon. Now I HATE Borders. Where's the love?

Weekend Trip

2006-11-07T12:14:00.000-06:00

Here's a not so fabulous picture of me in front of the Western Wall and the Dome of the Rock in Jerusalem's Old City. I will post my embargoed blog entry about the journey and the trip tomorrow, inshallah.

Wain Hobez?

2006-11-03T14:16:00.000-06:00

We are sitting, drinking Turkish coffee out of the most precious, little cups - the word demitasse comes to mind - and my host brother Sufian is telling me a story. He is cigarette thin, and he is at this moment killing himself - and me if you believe everything you read about second-hand smoke - one puff at a time. When he was young, he says, he was wild. I watch him ash his cigarette in the nearest ash tray and I wonder if he still isn't.

He is the youngest of ten children and was also the last one out of the house. He tells me when he was 17 or maybe 18, he left for work one day and his mother asked him to buy some bread on the way home. He said okay and that was his plan. At some point during the day, a friend invited him to the Dead Sea. He went, and he stayed for three days and two nights. He didn't call, he didn't write, no one knew where he was or what he was doing.

He returned on the third day, and his mother was waiting. Do you know what she said? He asks me, his piercing eyes catching me like a fly between glass. No, I really don't. I am worried about the young Sufian in the story and I can feel my eyebrows scrunching down in a way that encourages premature wrinkles. I am imagining his mother standing in the doorway in her black robes and furious scowl. Sufian pauses. He takes another drag of his cigarette, his face softens, and he smiles. "She looked at me hard, and she said, 'Where's the bread?'"

Missing In Action

2006-10-31T07:54:00.000-06:00

Oooh! How cute are the camels at Petra?!? (photo by Grace Peacock)

Sorry I've been M.I.A. I was off work nearly all of last week: took Monday off to spend with Allison (who was visiting here but is now back in the U.S.), had three days off for the Eid-al-Fitr holiday, and Friday and Saturday were the weekend.

I feel a little daunted by the amount of information I want to share. I've been to Petra and back. To Aqaba (again) and back. To Ramtha and Irbid, oh my! I'll do what I can, since the alternative (and what I'm tempted to do) is not write at all.

Last Sunday morning I had an interview with a Jordanian that took me to downtown Amman. After I found a taxi in Hashmi Janoubi (this is where I live), I called Ghazal, my friend and translator at the paper, gave the phone to the taxi driver, and Ghazal told the chauffeur where to go. I hate being stupid and mute, I think I've already mentioned, but c'est la vie. The driver deposited me on a traffic island, across from a mosque in busy, bustling downtown Amman. Ghazal sent a text to let me know he was on his way, and I held that traffic island like Leonidas at Thermopylae. I stood there like a champ, ignoring the stares and playing Snake Xenzia on my cell phone.

He arrived and we met our interview subject (who shall remain nameless) in a second-floor apartment called the Duke's Diwan, where the duke (not a real duke, but someone nicknamed the duke by King Hussein) exhibits art and photos and handicrafts made by Jordanian women. It is a gathering place, an altogether pleasant place to have free mint tea and knaffe (a dessert with a "white cheese" bottom and crunchy orange top) from the sweets shop downstairs (except during Ramadan).

This is the balcony of the diwan. The lovely turquoise paint on the window trim continues on the bottom of the walls inside. My camera is broken, otherwise I would have my own photos to share. Instead, I borrowed this from Humeid on Flickr.com.

Our interview subject was gracious and erudite and spoke perfect English. I forgot it was Ramadan and accepted the tea he offered. He had a cup too, but Ghazal declined because he was fasting.

Interviewee told me it was an honor for me to meet him. I was taken aback, but Ghazal didn't seem to be. He then told us that the diwan was for everyone to enjoy. He said people could come and look at the art and experience the old part of the city from this refuge. I was a little seduced by this, I have to admit. He spoke mostly in English, breaking off into Arabic to Ghazal only every now and then. His grey eyes seemed grandfatherly and sincere. The diwan is lovely (think shabby chic) with plenty of sunlight and fresh(ish) air flowing in through french doors that open onto three separate balconies.

Later, I was informed that the grandfather, in his Arabic asides, was making nasty comments of a sexual nature, even suggested that the diwan would be a nice place for a young man to bring his girlfriend. Hint, hint, nudge, nudge.

Several lessons learned here: People are usually not what they seem. And, learning Arabic is a must. I have another story that drills this last lesson home, but unfortunately it will haveto wait. I've exhausted all the time I set aside for blogging today. Tomorrow inshallah.

In the meantime, check out Grace's other photos from Petra. I didn't go with her, but she also went over the holidays.

Stranger in a Not-So-Strange Land

2006-10-18T05:03:00.000-05:00

Early this morning (or late last night, depending on how you look at it) Abir, my friend and host, and I drove to the airport to pick up her brother and his family who were flying in from Belgium. We were sitting at a stoplight and I turned to look at the car beside us. The man turned and looked at me, turned back to the road, and then looked back at me, as if he had woken up. The light changed and we both moved. A few seconds later, I looked back and he was literally driving with his head turned fully sideways, staring at me, not the road. Abir and I both laughed. I told Abir that he probably thought he had fallen asleep and awoken in a different place.

The whole thing reminded me of something that happened my second week here. Abir and I were standing at the window of her sister Sousan's home, watching people on the street below. It was just before iftar, the evening meal that breaks the Ramadan fast, and everyone was hurrying home. A crescent moon and a star decoration, like Christmas lights, was illuninated in our window and in many of the other windows on the street. The man who lives across the street pulled up to his driveway, but there was a car parked in front of it. He honked and talked to pedestrians and waited. It's not an uncommon occurrence here to wait for someone to move his car so you can get where you need to be, so he was still in a good mood. He looked up and saw Abir and I watching the scene unfold. He smiled and motioned and said something jovial in Arabic. Abir laughed and then translated. He was talking to me. He said: "What's going on? You are dressed for another place, not this one." I was wearing a t-shirt and jeans and had my hair pulled into a low ponytail. Abir stood next to me in a hijab and a long robe-dress, her beautiful, almond-shaped eyes rimmed in kohl. We all looked at one another again and laughed.

p.s. The speed limit for cars on the highway to the airport is posted as 100. In my sleep-deprived delirium I forgot that that is in kilometers per hour, not miles. I just realized it this very moment. Ah! The beauty of the metric system.

Ancient Land

2006-10-17T04:22:00.000-05:00

People call the Middle East an ancient land, but it seems a little ridiculous - it’s no older than the land anywhere else. Of course, it’s the history of the place that they are referring to. These mountains and deserts are, after all, the birthplace of the world’s three major religions. I’m convinced, though, that people also call it ancient because it looks and feels old. It is dry and rocky and majestic, giving the impression that it has always BEEN and will always BE.

I have settled in here. This week I’ve felt almost entirely at ease (there is still the language barrier) in my new country. I’ve been out several times and forgotten for hours that I am in the Middle East. Yesterday I tried to plug my hair straightener directly into the outlet without an adapter. This can only mean one thing: I have arrived.

I feel safe. Everyone still stares, but I just ignore it. Most people are really friendly, and if they aren’t, I don’t know what they’re saying anyway. I have friends too. Yay! I find it easier to make friends here than in the U.S., although I’m not sure why.

Over the weekend I traveled four hours south to Aqaba to cover the Goodwill Campaign story. Aqaba is a resort town, for the most part, and the sea is gorgeous. I stayed in the numerous-starred Movinpick Hotel, and I loved it – a huge bathtub, a comfortable bed, a fantastic view… What more does a girl need?

I did not, however, love anything about the ride back to Amman. The original plan was to leave at 1 p.m. I set my alarm for 9 a.m. so I could work on my resume for a - get ready for this - j-o-b. My phone rang at 10 and the voice on the other end was one of the journalists with whom I was traveling. He said: Can you check out now. I wanted to wring his neck. I am not a huge planner. We all know this. I do not like schedules. It’s true. But I cannot handle this lackadaisical attitude about timetables and agendas. Don’t make a plan if you’re just going to change it at the last minute anyway. That’s what I say.

So I did the only thing I could do - I packed my things and went down to the lobby, where I sat not speaking to anyone, as I had ceased to be the pleasant American. Mostly I just wanted everyone to shut up. A four-hour ride in a van with seven Arabic speaking dudes (fellow journalists) followed. One of them smoked a cigarette every 80 kilometers. Love it. Cigarette smoke in a CLOSED van with no ventilation. I found myself becoming very self-righteous. I am, most of you know, an equal opportunity organized religion rejecter (for myself). I am not fasting for Ramadan, not on purpose anyway, but by the second cigarette, I wanted to yell at the guy. What about Ramadan?! WHAT ABOUT RAMADAN?!? Huh?!

All’s well that ends well, though. I made it back in once piece, hamduallah, finished my resume and ended the night with a lovely meal and argilleh (water bong with flavored tobacco, also known as a hookah). Mmmm…Arabian nights.

Geez-o-pete!

2006-10-17T04:20:00.000-05:00

Of course I don't really think Republicans want to destroy the world.

Things I'm Thinking About Today

2006-10-15T09:40:00.000-05:00

I appreciated Tom Raum's AP story, which ran on Page 1 of the Jordan Times today. His lede:

President George W. Bush keeps revising his explanation for why the US is in Iraq, moving from narrow military objectives at first to history-of-civilisation stakes now.

Raum's disgust is barely disguised. He mentions Bush's references to Islamo-fascism, which caused an uproar that I missed in my preparations for leaving D.C. and traveling to the Middle East. If you missed it too, here's the part of Bush's August speech in which he refers to the new fascists.

And it takes a lot of work. This is the beginning of a long struggle against an ideology that is real and profound. It's Islamo-fascism. It comes in different forms. They share the same tactics, which is to destroy people and things in order to create chaos in the hopes that their vision of the world become predominant in the Middle East.

I think I was watching this speech but then turned it off, because I couldn't bear to hear Bush say, "It's hard work," one more time. I mention all of this, because I have had several Jordanians bring up Bush's remark in conversations with me. As much as I don't care for him, I don't think he was refering to all Muslims when he used the term Islamo-fascists. That said, I do think he's an idiot (surprise, surprise) to use such a loaded term in what seems to me more and more everyday like a global environment of Muslim persecution.

European countries are focused on the "immigration problem," which seems primarily to be a problem with Muslim immigrants, not foreigners in general. Here's this from the LA Times as well.

Fawaz A. Gerges' column in the International Herald Tribune today mentions Bush's reference to Islamo-fascism. He argues that Bush and his administration seem to have no concept of how they are radicalizing mainstream Muslim opinion.

Along the same lines, but on a more personal note, I was smoking argilleh and chatting with a friend recently, and he asked me to characterize the different priorities of the Democrats and the Republicans. I said, very generally of course, that Democrats are more interested in social issues domestically and abroad. "And Republicans want to..." I paused, trying to think of something as unbiased as possible to say. I was having trouble when he inserted, "...to destroy the world?" We laughed and laughed. I said, "Yes, of course."

Persistance

2006-10-09T08:08:00.000-05:00

I managed to walk into the building yesterday morning without incident. I received nothing more than an innocuous kefhalic (how are you?) from my admirer downstairs. Today, though, he loves me too much. How do I know? He told me. I started my day with a bahebek kathir from the Arabic version of Gomer Pile. I say that only because a few of you have asked what he looks like. Please note, fair reader, that it is said with the greatest amount of affection an English-speaking girl can have for an Arabic-speaking guy she's encountered at the threshold of her workplace every day for all of two weeks. Of course, he doesn't know that I know what the hell he is saying. So there's that.

More tomorrow, I hope. I haveto catch a cab and get myself to Hashmi Janoubi. Salaam.

Link It Up

2006-10-08T07:56:00.000-05:00

I hope you're enjoying the new Links section as much as I am. A few words...

Byeline.com is the website of my friend and classmate Steve Stanek, who is working at the AP in Jerusalem this quarter. Check out his great clips, but don't miss his photographs.

Many of you are already familiar with Catallarchy, the Libertarian blog that trentingham contributes to. I've linked to it in the past.

The Company Bitch is one of my favorites. It's written anonymously by a witty, blonde, twenty-something living in NYC. She hates her job; she ridicules her Re-boyfriend. She's hilarious. We have much in common.

Dangerous Articles is my friend Barrett's blog. It's sooo dangerous, in fact, that I've been blocked from it on my computer at work. When I try to go there, I receive the following message: "This page will not be displayed because it contains prohibited words or it has exceeded its tolerance of questionable words." If that doesn't make you want to read it, I don't know what will.

Another classmate is posting on his blog Hits from the CPT in Cape Town, South Africa. Check out his post about driving in Cape Town. He has made a similar observation about car safety in his city. My favorite, though, is The Homeless World Cup.

Finally, go to Grace Peacock's blog, Tales of a Peacock, to find out what I did last night. It's good. And convenient. Now I don't haveto write it. Grace is one of the Canadian interns I'm working with at the Jordan Times.

A Love Note

2006-10-05T07:49:00.000-05:00

I'm so tired today, and I'm not really sure why. I was going to wake up at 9 but slept until 10:30 instead, with the exception of the time that I spent cursing the muezzin this morning at dawn when he did his call to prayer over a loud speaker. He sounded so clear, he could have been right outside our window. I usually wear earplugs, but I'm a mejloon (crazy person) and I removed them - I know not why - at some point during the night.

When I arrived at work today, the guy who sits checking people's bags at the metal detector at the front door gave me a love note and little, yellow flower that he clearly picked in the yard or in some ditch somewhere. He always talks to me in Arabic when I come into the building. He says keefik (how are you?) and I respond with my stock statement, mopsuta (excellent), and then he speaks a bunch of Arabic that I can't understand. Yet. Today, though, he gave me the little missive and the flower.

The note says: I love you (underlined)
kol mee. (followed by something unintelligible and his number)
Pliec. (followed by something else unintelligible)

Seems a little quick to me, but it's a nice change of pace. I'm usually the one throwing around the unreciprocated I love yous. Cheryl, one of the Canadian interns I work with, said, "what's his name? K..o..l..mee? OH! CALL ME!"

I was going to try to fast today, but two hours into the work day, I broke down. I've been stuffing my face with "sandwich biscuits with cocoa cream" (aka cookies) and "be natual orange drink" (aka orange soda) for the last, oh, two hours. I'm going home now. Long day at the office.

p.s. Check out the new links section. It's under the Archive. A shout out to Geoff who helped me figure out how to do it...And I am good at computers, for your information.

Adventures in Reporting in Amman

2006-10-04T04:23:00.000-05:00

Okay. So. I was riding to Irbid with Mahamoud (one of my hosts) and his family yesterday when I got a call from the office. The night secretary at the Jordan Times said she needed me to cover an event today. She received a press release, but it didn't say what time the event started. She tried calling to find out, but it was 5 p.m. and people don't work past 2 during Ramadan. I would need to come in early and make some calls.

This morning I woke up early so that I could report on something, that was somewhere, at some time. This sums up my experience in Jordan thus far quite nicely, I think. I arrived at work at 9 a.m. and started my search for the time of this event. I should have been able to find out with one call, but nothing is that easy in Amman. So I looked for the organization's number on the website. Nothing. I asked a colleague, who said I should press 9 and ask the operator. Oh, you mean the operator who only speaks Arabic? I tried anyway and then handed the phone off to aforementioned colleague. He was able to get a number of the Ministry of Environment (one of the numbers I needed) for me, which I called and heard a recorded message. In Arabic. The ministry doesn't open until 10 a.m, colleague said. He then found the number of the original organization I was trying to call. I dialed. No answer.

At 10 a.m. I made my third call to the Swiss Embassy. Where, lo and behold!, a woman answered the phone, she spoke English and she knew what time the event started - at 10 a.m., of course. Already late, I went to the secretary (who was not yet in) to find out how to tell the taxi driver in Arabic that I wanted to go to the Ministry of Environment. Another office worker was there, and he made some calls and wrote me a little note to hand to the driver. I hate communicating with taxi drivers via notes written by others, people who are clearly smarter and more competent than I. Nevertheless, this is what I did, and I arrived at the event twenty minutes late. They seemed happy to have me there and said the coverage was important, despite all the evidence to the contrary.

The batteries on my camera died before I could take any photos, and the woman taking pictures for the organization said she would e-mail me some tomorrow. I explained that I needed them today if they were going to run in tomorrow's paper, and she said she would said them tomorrow. I explained again, and she promised to send them today. I expect them tomorrow.

Fingers crossed that I have all the information I need, because I think it will be next to impossible to get anyone on the phone for follow-up questions.

Driving Stats

2006-10-03T05:21:00.000-05:00

My post about the dangers of driving in Amman was more timely than I knew. A brief in yesterday's Jordan Times says officials met Saturday to discuss the traffic situation in Jordan. It cites Traffic Department figures, saying there are 710,000 cars on the kingdom's roads (one for every seven Jordanians) and more than 83,000 traffic accidents annually. More than 18,000 people are injured in car accidents and 800 are killed. I thought this sounded like a lot, but then I compared the number of fatalities to the number in Indiana, which, according to the CIA Factbook is only slighlty larger than Jordan. The midwestern state had 938 fatalities in 2005, or so says the National Center for Statistics and Analysis. I'm not sure how many cars are on the road in Indiana. I looked but can't find it. It might not be a very good comparison anyway, because it's Indiana, after all.

I Saw a Camel

2006-10-02T07:58:00.000-05:00

Check it out. This guy greeted the guests (the press corps. and board members) at the Iftar following the King's Academy press conference and tour. He bent forward, pouring tamarind juice from the spout and into the glass. Then he stood up, emptying the liquid back into his cumbersome contraption.

About 30 or 40 reporters (myself included) met yesterday at the Grand Hyatt Hotel in Amman to catch a bus to Madaba for the press conference about King Abdullah's new boarding school. The hotel was one of the three damaged last year by suicide bomb attacks. Yesterday was the grand opening of the renovated bar and deck of the Grand Hyatt. It's beautiful. The back wall of the lobby is now one huge glass window that looks out on the deck and the whitewashed buildings that rise up beyond. Outside there are couches arranged under wooden shade rooms and lots of comfy chairs. I remember the sound of water so I want to say there is a fountain too, but don't quote me on this.

We were almost an hour late by the time we left the Hyatt, but I wasn't really surprised. On the way to Madaba (a 30 or 40 minute drive) I watched the country fly by outside my window. On the side of the road, I saw a donkey lumbering along with his wares and goats grazing just off the highway. I saw trash, trash and more trash. It is carelessly thrown out of car windows and litters the roadside and blows into fields. I saw a luxury resort and patched-together tents, I took them to be bedouin, but I might be wrong. I didn't know what to make of a dusty man in a gray suit and blue tie, who sat on the shoulder of the road. He either had his legs tucked under him or had no legs at all. As odd as it seems, I think it was no legs at all. Finally, once we turned onto the gravelly road that led to the school, I saw a camel!

Rules of the Road

2006-10-01T04:34:00.000-05:00

When I said I was going to the Middle East, there was a bit of an outcry from friends and family. Understandable, I guess, but now that I'm here, I can tell you that the greatest threat I face is not terrorism, but basic car safety. I'm not driving - I wouldn't dare - but I'm doing a lot of riding. Here's a primer:

The first rule for driving in Amman is there are no rules. If you need more guidance than that, gentle reader, please continue.

RULE 2: Lanes are marked on some streets and not on others, but mashalhal (It's nothing). Either way, completely disregard any attempt for order. Pick a lane or don’t. Drive three-wide or six; it matters not.

RULE 3: There seems to be no Arabic translation for the term “Right of Way.” Just as in geopolitics, whoever can hold the road owns it.

RULE 4: Pedestrians beware, and while I have your attention, Get the hell out of the road!!! Which leads me to hemse, or number 5.

RULE 5: Should you be driving and come upon a grandmother and her eight grandchildren (ages 3-25) walking in the middle of the road, kindly slow down a modicum, honk your horn and hope that you don’t take out half of them as they nonchalantly shuffle to the side.

RULE 6: Don’t wear your seat belt. You will not crash into that cab that just slammed on its breaks three inches in front of your car, and you won’t break your skull open like a coocunt when you fly through the windshield and onto the pavement…inshallah (God willing).

Breaking My Own Rules

2006-09-28T09:23:00.000-05:00

It's not my policy to post pictures of people (especially myself) on this blog, but scrolling through posts, I find that I haven't exactly been consistent. I can think of one lapse - Kristina and Julia.

In this case, I couldn't resist. This photo goes perfectly with my last post. It's all the gang from Paris, including our "eighth roommate" and our waiter at Chez Omar, a Moraccan restaurant which was delicious and fun. So, here's to Paris: to romance and lights, to good friends and good wine and endless bowls of couscous!

Anyway, it's my hot blog; I'll do what I want.

Speaking of hot, I am in the Middle East. More on this later (tired of hearing this yet?), as well as more nostalgia from Paris, I'm sure. Salam Aleekum.

P.S. Someone just sent me a text message. If your name is Tasalee and/or you just sent me a text, know that I can't get your message because my phone used to belong to Zack Morris. He upgraded, and I'm still stuck in 1989.

We'll Always Have Paris

2006-09-22T17:38:00.000-05:00

It's our last night together and I can't write much now because everyone is headed to bed. Maki is laying on the air mattress in our apartment on 7 Ave. de Franklin Roosevelt (off the Champs Elyssees) in Paris reading A Continent for the Taking. About Africa, of course, and for some reason, I don't want to forget this. We had a wonderfully low key evening tonight full of ravioli, roast chicken, fresh tomates, eclairs and vanilla ice cream, and bottles and bottles of wine. I'll miss these guys. We've had a lot of adventures in Paris and otherwise. Sorry I was MIA for the last two weeks. Hopefully I'll include photos and memories in the next few days, but I can't make any promises. It was great though. Peace, as Nanci would say.

Gay Paris

2006-09-10T16:17:00.000-05:00

Mes amis! Je suis a Paris, France et j'adore cet pays! My plane landed at about 8:20 Saturday morning, and I realized immediately that the original plan - to meet Lauren at her gate - was unrealistic and, well, stupid. The Charles de Gualle airport is separated into what I thought was two buildings, but turned out to be three. Buses shuttle travelers between them and I had no idea, of course, which terminal her Dutch airline was flying into.

The second plan, cleverly devised by Gerry last week, was to take a shuttle - he thinks "it's the number 2 bus, or it used to be" - to the terminal where the metro/bus/train station is and meet at the sandwich shop on the lower level - "not the upper level, there's a sandwich shop there too," he warned. When I landed I realized that this plan too was not going to go as smoothly as anticipated. I loaded my two heavy bags onto a luggage cart and roamed around for thirty minutes, not really knowing where to go or what to do next. Everyone was speaking French. Pas anglais? Qu'est qui se passe? I saw that there were shops on the lower level of the terminal I was in, #1, so I pushed my cart to an elevator and found a sandwich shop. No Gerry.

I had to regroup. I schlepped my cart back upstairs and decided to find a bus. I pushed my cart out to a curb and waited for the #1 bus to take me to Terminal 2, but it just didn't feel right. Gerry said the # 2 bus, not the # 2 terminal. I saw the bus. I let it pass and dragged my bag across the street and back into Terminal 1, cursing Gerry all the while. I looked at the airport map for the tenth time and discovered a Terminal 3, to which bus #2 shuttled passengers. It was also the metro/train/bus terminal. Eureka! That must be it. I went back to the curb.

Terminal 3 had a sandwich shop. It had several sandwich shops, in fact. What it did not have was a lower level. And, of course, Gerry and Co. were nowhere to be seen. At this point it was close to 11 p.m. and I was pissed. "I hate Gerry," was my mantra, and it was running on a continual loop inside my head, interrupted only briefly by hopeful thoughts when I would see a new sandwich shop (or revisit an old one, just in case).

I think it was here that I had a brief moment of panic. I saw someone who looked like a friend from home (I'll never tell who). My heart leapt involuntarily, a fleeting feeling followed immediately by a wave of sadness and panic. I'M NOT, N-O-T, NOT FLUENT IN FRENCH AND I DON'T KNOW ANYONE HERE. OMG! I SPEAK EVEN LESS ARABIC, WHAT WAS I THINKING?! I called the apartment to find out from Nanci if Gerry and our other roommates had left the airport and made it to the apartment already. A woman answered but she couldn't hear me. I hung up, and my credit card was charged 1.50 Euros (about $2.75) for a whole lot of nothin.

By noon I was exhausted. I hadn't been able to sleep on the plane and it was now 6 in the morn in the U.S. I checked one final sandwich shop and then hailed a cab - a sleek, black Mercedes with leather seats and GPS.

Nanci greeted me at the apartment, and I've never been more happy to see her. Gerry and Kathleen arrived about fifteen minutes after me, and I was still moderately pissed, even though I knew it was irrational. They had flown into Terminal 2 and easily found the sandwich shop in question - which has to be the only one in the whole freaking airport that I haven't visited - on the lower level of that terminal. What happened to bus #2, huh, Gerry? What's this business about the terminal where the metro/bus/train station is? These are the questions I wanted answered. At any rate, Lauren didn't find them either and had an experience similar to mine. She made it to the apt. about five minutes after Gerry and Kathleen.

But, we made it. We're all here. We went out last night to celebrate this extraordinary feat. I was hoodwinked and molested by a French man for the second time in my young life. The bartender was pouring shots for two guys on the other side of the bar. Then said barkeep started to light them (the shots, not the guys). I was mesmerized by this show - the flames licking the length of a long row of caramel-colored shots - and they (the guys, not the shots) started to wave Lauren and I over. She went and I followed. They handed us the tiny beverages and, to make a long story short, one guy proceeded to stick his unwelcome tongue down my very virtuous and unwilling throat. Bienvenu a Paris.

We went back to our side of the bar where my roommates laughed and laughed. L. and I had one last encounter with the perpetrators outside the bathroom, but she scared them away with a barrage of Spanish. She doesn't speak francais, and she and Kathleen think it perfectly acceptable to speak to the Frenchies en espanol. It's not exactly right, but it's close, non?

We ended up at a much more fun hookah bar where the onslaught continued with another aggressive French man, who called me "tres, tres belle," which was altogether endearing, and who asked us if we did coke, which was not.

Not at all sure why they call this "gay Paris."

So, it's been an adventure. That's all I have for now. Today I slept til 3 p.m. and went to a gathering at our instructor's house at 4 p.m. Tonight we walked the narrow streets of an area called Le Marais. It was amazing, absolutely beautiful and altogether different from the U.S. More on this later maybe, now I haveto go to bed. It's late, and I think I'm still jet lagged. Bonsoir. xoxo.

p.s. I have posted some photos on snapfish. If you'd like to see them, I can send you an invite via e-mail. Just let me know.

Leaving the District

2006-08-25T21:19:00.000-05:00

Things I will not miss about Washington D.C.:
1. Our crappy house and everything that goes along with it (i.e. the room-sharing; the shower that now issues nothing but a trickle; the rug that smells like urine; the couch that smells like urine; the unused toilet (in the bathroom off our shared room) that smells like urine; the sunroom stacked with worthless junk that someone crazy feels the need to keep; and last but most certainly not least, the sociopath landlady that lives in the basement with her two mangy dogs, who turns of the air conditioner just whenever it suits her, who has to unplug her refrigerator to plug in her microwave, who lets her mail stack up on the steps outside her door for a month before picking it up, who insists we contact her via text message, whose voicemail - if you should call - is FULL, who is married to a husband we have never seen and has several "handymen" in and out on a regular basis.

2. The metro. It is not easy; it is confusing. It is not clean; it is disgusting and hot. It is not cheap; it is expensive. It is not convenient; it doesn't go half the places you need or want to go.

3. The ghetto Safeway. You saw the escalator to nowhere. Need I say more?

4. The ghetto CVS. See above.

5. The spin. How hard can it be to answer a question one way or another? Impossible, apparently. Also difficult to speak in plain English and say how you really feel.

6. Free taco Friday at the National Press Club. Stale tacos, cheap beer and a smokey bar - not my cup o' tea.

7. Writing for a newspaper in NW Missouri.

8. The heat. Oh my god the heat.

9. The JFHQ-NCR. Don't ask.

10. Things falling apart.

11. Living in a house with four women.

I could go on, but I'll stop there. I will miss a few things. They follow.

Things I will miss about Washington, D.C.:
1. The fab-u-lous deli around the corner from the newsroom. I know it only as Phillips. The meat is carved in front of your very eyes, and all the toppings are fresh. I've never had a better roast beef sandwich. Mmmmmmmmmmmm, yum.

2. Free breakfast at the press club with Shayna.

3. The sherbert-colored cat that lives on my street. I met him when I ventured boldly onto his porch whilst he was reclining. We parted rather poignantly night before last after he padded over to me and I gave him a farewell rub.

4. Living in a house with four women.

That's it, I think. I can't wait to leave. Will be back in the glorious Bluegrass tomorrow. Can't wait.

Along for the ride

2006-08-19T23:46:00.000-05:00

Love this. My friend Barrett takes an unexpected trip. Who hasn't done something stupid like this? Here's a snippet from his blog post:

I'm walking along the platform, trains on both sides. The only people I see are the ones on the train, but as I check through the windows I don't see my friends. I decide to hop on for some quiet. Right away, just inside the open door it's amazingly calm. I can hear a voice from my phone.

-Where are you?
-I got on the train on track 7. Are you on it?
-Is that the train to Ravinia?
-I don't know. Uh, the doors are closing.
-The doors are closing?
-Yeah, they are closed and I can't open them. The buttons aren't working. The train is moving.
- THE TRAIN IS MOVING? BARRETT, GET OFF THE TRAIN!
-I don't think I can.
-Where are you going?
-I don't know.

The Sweet Spot

2006-08-18T21:03:00.000-05:00

My teacher on Fridays this quarter was Lynn Sweet, the Washington bureau chief for the Chicago Sun-Times. She is traveling to Africa with Barrack Obama and just left this week. Not!, however, before filming the following stand-up in her D.C. backyard. It's called convergence, baby! To check out my teacher's broadcast debut click here and then click on the Aug. 18, 2006: Durbin Discusses Obama's Trip to Africa link.

Christian Science Monitor plug

2006-08-16T10:08:00.000-05:00

If you're not reading the Jill Carroll story, you should be. Tres, tres bizarre!

Crazy World

2006-08-10T15:50:00.000-05:00

Here's a disturbing L.A. Times story, written by Claire Hoffman, their Hollywood and adult entertainment reporter. The story ran earlier this week. The lede follows:

Joe Francis, the founder of the "Girls Gone Wild" empire, is humiliating me. He has my face pressed against the hood of a car, my arms twisted hard behind my back. He's pushing himself against me, shouting: "This is what they did to me in Panama City!"
It's after 3 a.m. and we're in a parking lot on the outskirts of Chicago. Electronic music is buzzing from the nightclub across the street, mixing easily with the laughter of the guys who are watching this, this me-pinned-and-helpless thing.
Francis isn't laughing.

Cursed City

2006-07-31T13:38:00.000-05:00

It all started... As I was leaving for the airport, there was the contact lens incident. I'm convinced now that it was the Fates trying to intervene.
Just call me Short Straw. My four housemates and I drew lots (very ancient Greece, wouldn't you agree?) to decide who would share a room. I knew the result before we even began. And so I share the hottest, brightest room with K. who now sleeps, as she likes to say, "Six inches from Stephanie's face."
Kick her when she's down. I was trying to minimize future debt (too late) by consolidating my loans, when I discovered that my financial aid was totally screwed up. Two weeks, fifty phone calls and innumerable hours listening to muzak later, I was able to consolidate with ten hours to spare. Fingers crossed.
Really? Never going to the doctor again. The bill for my annual exam: $500 I don't have.
"I think it's just poor craftsmanship." This is the barbed insult I flung at the Apple Genius who told me it would cost $70 to fix Rococo, my less-than-one-year-old iPod Mini. My little pink friend, who had accompanied me everywhere in Chi, finally and unceremoniously died in this city where talk is cheap and yet nobody shuts up.
If I were a bettin' woman... Whilst excitedly updating aforementioned iPod, my computer's hard drive crashed. 50/50 chance I'll be able to retrieve all my documents, photos and music. Guess where my money is?
"World's Greatest Sunglasses." Mere hours after deciding on this epithet, which I frankly ranked right up there with "wine-dark sea" and "rosy-fingered dawn," the glasses, of course, broke. That's hubris for you.

Other highlights of our time here include: K. being escorted home by cop who said, "It's not safe to run here at night;" two housemates contracting pink eye; K.'s computer screen breaking (which led to a conversation with Dell tech support rep. Von Harper, who told her to "get a torch," to which she responded, "like a blowtorch?"); basement-dwelling dogs that howl in the wee hours and engender fantasies of double canine homicide (think I could stage a murder- suicide?); crazy landlady; no video stores; no laundromats; no nothing that would make this a convenient place to live.

I'm not even surprised anymore. It's this horrible, awful, horrendous dump-of-a-place, otherwise known as our nation's capital. It's only been six weeks, and I'm holding my breath for the next four.

Consider yourself warned.

Today's a 129, just so you know

2006-07-19T19:55:00.000-05:00

Here's an interesting thought from Daniel Gross at Slate:

What if someone could develop a single number that shows just how freaked out the world is at any given time of day?

Of course, they already have. Gross's story "The Hell-in-a-Handbasket Index: How screwed is the world today?"

Ode to a Crabcake Sandwich

2006-07-15T16:24:00.000-05:00

The ever-delicious crabcake sandwich at Eastern Market. The bun is homemade and the crabcake is all crab! I have mine with cole slaw and tartar sauce and preferably with a sweet tea to drink. The last two weeks, though, they have been out of sweet tea. The first time, I had a bit of a stand-off with the oversized preteen who took my drink order. He told me that they were out of sweet tea and were brewing more. I told him I would wait. He told me no. I asked him how long it would be. He just stared at me. I stared back. He stared some more. I ordered a freaking lemonade.

Today they weren't brewing any, they were just out. I ordered unsweetened tea and lemonade instead. No theatrics. I was put out, but what can you do? The crabcake is my favorite thing about this city, and I'm not about to get myself banned from the Market Lunch counter over a little tea and sugar water.

A Conservative Man's World

2006-07-13T15:22:00.000-05:00

This just in from my Congressional Quarterly midday update:

The House Republican leadership plans to continue promoting its election-year “American values agenda” next week with floor votes on two more hot-button social issues — gay marriage and the “Under God” phrase in the Pledge of Allegiance.
The Senate last month killed a proposed constitutional amendment to ban same-sex marriages. And the House Judiciary Committee deadlocked on the bill to strip federal courts, including the Supreme Court, of power to review constitutional challenges to the pledge.

Nonetheless, House Speaker J. Dennis Hastert, R-Ill., has vowed to bring the GOP “values” legislation to the floor for votes. This week, the House passed a measure to ban Internet gambling. Still to come, in addition to the gay marriages and pledge measures, are a bill requiring that women seeking late-term abortions be told that the fetus feels pain, a ban on human cloning and more votes on tax-cut extensions.

Hastert has said these items are aimed at protecting the “faith of our people, the sanctity of life and the value system on which America was built.”

I bet you can guess what my favorite part is.

Total. Bullshit.

Life in the District

2006-07-10T20:02:00.000-05:00

How do you know that you live in the ghetto (or one block shy)?

When the nearest drug store is located in the hollow carcass of a dead mall (the nearest grocery store just on the other side).

When you encounter one security guard upon entering said carcass and another as you exit.

When the doors to the grocery store are protected by metal detectors and alas! more security personnel.

When you notice, on the way to aforementioned grocery store, that said carcass has not one, but two inactive escalators that lead to nothing but a single, solitary door.

It seems like a pretty accurate metaphor for our time here.

It's not just me. Everyone agrees.

P.S. Not to mention when you are scared to take a picture of the creepy escalator for your blog because you are frightened someone will see you with a digital camera and mug you on the way home.

Culture Shock

2006-07-04T13:16:00.000-05:00

Overheard in the house today:

Roommate 1: Does anyone want a hushpuppy?

Roommate 2: I don't really know what that is.

Roommate 1: I don't really either. Something Southern.

Roommate 2: I know they're shoes.

Don't Let Me Be Lonely

2006-06-27T10:55:00.000-05:00

I thought parts of this article in the Washington Post today was interesting. Certainly the study is. Here's the hed and then a paragraph that I thought made a salient point.

The question about loneliness is: Why do people do this to themselves? Why do Americans, who reported an average of nearly three close friends in 1985, now report an average of just over two? And why does one in four have nobody with whom to discuss personal issues? This is the age of Oprah and MySpace, of public emoting on television and the Web. Apparently people watch "Friends" but don't actually have many....

...And then there's the subtle effect of the culture. "Family time" is endlessly extolled, and lovers emit poetry and song about every facet of their relationships. But when was the last time a rock singer or a new man waxed lyrical about friendship?

Things Fall Apart

2006-06-25T19:53:00.000-05:00

I'm here in D.C. Not as smooth a start as I would have hoped. The morning of my flight from Louisville, my contact lens fell out of my eye and onto Jaber's floor, never to be seen again. Ever since it's been one thing after another, and I've barely had a moment to stop. I did file a story last week, though (I'm writing for the St. Joseph News-Press in Missouri), and we did go to the Eastern Market yesterday, which was really fun. I had a delicious crab cake sandwich, sweet tea, a brownie and plenty of samples of fresh fruits and vegetables at the farmers' booths.

The residents of this fair city are friendly and helpful, which I noticed immediately. The first thing I told my housemates when I walked in the door from the airport is how nice it is to be back in the South, where people offer to help a lone traveler with her unmanageable luggage, where Fed Ex men stop not once, but twice!, to drop off boxes so the recipient doesn't haveto go to the headquarters-or-whatever and somehow get them home herself, where people actually look you in the eye and say hello.

Also, I'm expecting mail this week, so there's that. Something to look forward to.

There's thunder and rain just outside my window. My roommate is out with a friend. Alone with nothing but my thoughts and Graham Greene. I love it. I'm off to read a few before bed.

Goodbye Chi

2006-06-14T22:30:00.000-05:00

The title says it all. Sad! I'm out. Moved yesterday. Left my beloved studio on Oakdale in the trustworthy hands of a friend, but still, I'm a sentimental fool and the whole thing makes me sad. I'll miss having the Apple Bite on the corner and the Bobtail icecream shop/soda fountain a block away. I'll miss the rumble of the El and the breeze off the lake and the idea that I'm going to go get samosas at Tahoora on Devon Ave. I never made it to the House of Hookah, land o pillows, argillah and beautiful brown men, but I had the best intentions. I also never made it back to the Angel Food Bakery for Chicago's best hot chocolate. I did go to the Berghoff, though. You thought it closed? So did I. The bar and cafe opened about a month after the restaurant and bar closed. The menu may be a little condensed, but they still offer Weiner Schneitzel, if that tells you anything. Someone said that the "Berghoff is closing" story was the best scam ever. I'm not bitter, though. I was happy to see the sign lit up every day on my way home from the newsroom.

I'm off to D.C. from here. I hope it's as good to me as Chicago has been.

I'll have my trashy novel with a side of sacrilege

2006-05-16T14:22:00.000-05:00

The following is a quote from a New Yorker story about Sony's marketing of the film "The Da Vinci Code":

Brown’s puzzler plot proceeded from a thesis that Christianity as we know it is history’s greatest scam, perpetrated by a malignant, misogynist, and, when necessary, murderous Catholic Church.

Hyperbole? Yes. Grain (or maybe an entire grain elevator, depending on whom you ask and when you ask her) of truth? Certainly.

Which is not to say that I buy into the plot of The Da Vinci Code. It's fluff. Candy, to be consumed quickly and enjoyed. Which I did.

You should too.

Staring contest

2006-05-11T23:27:00.000-05:00

There was a boy, eight years-old or thereabout, on the train today. He leaned into his grandmother, who wrapped her arm around him, and he stared at me in the seat across the aisle, struggling with my coffee, my newspapers, my backpack, my umbrella. He was serious, direct, world-weary even. I looked right at him, and still he stared. And I stared. And he stared. I looked away and thought: how strange.

I read my paper: American Idol rocker kicked off last night, abortion pill may not be cause of killer bacteria, U.S. on the outs with Russia, it seems. I looked up again. He stared. I stared. He stared. I read my paper. United flying out of town? Woman falls seven floors hours after released by Chi police, commissioner investigating claims of parents who say they asked police to hold her until someone could meet the emotionally unstable woman.

The grandmother got up, tugging the boy with her. I looked at him. He looked at me. I smiled. He smiled. One small gray glove emblazoned with the word "basketball" clutched the grandmother's hand. The other he half-raised and he waved.

Love of my life

2006-05-11T21:16:00.000-05:00

I went to hear David Remnick, editor of the New Yorker, speak today on campus, and I was reinvigorated. The New Yorker is why I'm here, why I'm in J-school. I let my subscription lapse because of the hassle of changing my address. I'm in Chicago now, then in D.C., then I'll be overseas...also, I have more than enough to read - WSJ and Tribune every day. I love the WSJ, I have to say, but I do get tired of newspapers and the daily news mill. It was so nice to get back in touch with this magazine that has meant so much to me...which is cheesy, but true. Needless to say, I'm renewing my subscription...after I move to D.C.

Veni, vidi, non vici

2006-05-09T20:32:00.000-05:00

Went to Arlington Park Saturday to watch live racing and the Derby on simulcast. Seven of my comrades joined me.

The words to "My Old Kentucky Home" were printed on the bottom of the screen like some kind of freakish karaoke selection and my friends decided to mock me by singing along. I asked them nicely to be quiet. When that didn't work, I moved far enough away so that I couldn't hear them. It's a special song and a poignant moment for a Kentuckian, particularly one who has the misfortune of being away from the Bluegrass on Derby Day.

I didn't win any money, but a good time was had by all.

Here are my photos from our day-o-fun. Here are the photos of another girl in our entourage. And here is what Barrett had to say about the day.

Derby Fun

2006-05-06T09:37:00.000-05:00

I've been looking for a Derby hat to wear to Arlington Park today. Yesterday I found it at T.J. Maxx. $144 on clearance. I was standing in front of a mirror admiring the creme creation - the feathers and all the gobbledy-goop - when a woman in the aisle behind me said, "Girl, that hat looks good on you."

Needless to say, I didn't buy it. Now I don't even want to wear a hat.

I found some pretty funny ones online, though. Check 'em out above.

To Do List

2006-04-29T09:38:00.000-05:00

Entrepreneurs need not be grammarians; this stall was doing a booming business in the New Maxwell Street Market in Chicago, Illinois. (courtesy of Atelier Teee, Flickr.com)

The New Maxwell Street Market (now on Canal Street) is near the top of my things to do before I leave the city.

How the Other Half Lives

2006-04-26T14:59:00.000-05:00

The NYT did a story about MTV's show, My Super Sweet Sixteen. If you've ever seen it, you know that the show is like a freaking train wreck. You don't want to watch, but... Here's my favorite quote from the story.

[Her] graduation gift package included a Bentley, diamonds and two homes in India. "I was really surprised," Divya said, "because I was only expecting a Bentley and one house."

Peace in the Mideast, Otherwise Known as a Pipe Dream

2006-04-17T19:12:00.000-05:00

This is wrong.

But, this is wrong too.

And, this is how our government feels about it. From the same article, "Asked by reporters to confirm that Washington alone had opposed issuing the statement, [U.S. Ambassador John] Bolton responded, 'If I were the only holdout, I'd be proud of that fact.'"

Also, "the Jewish state says it is not intentionally targeting civilians and has warned residents to leave parts of northern Gaza from where militants often launch makeshift rockets." Easier said than done? I don't know. You tell me. The whole of the Gaza Strip is only 139 square miles and has a population of more than 1.4 million. It is an area roughly twice the size of Washington, D.C., with a population of nearly three times that of our nation's capital.

If I sound like I am taking sides, it is not my intention. I am concerned, however, that both sides in this soul-rotting cycle of violence aren't being condemned by the world for their respective roles in the perpetuation of this nightmare.

This is what was accomplished at today's meeting.

In short: Nothing.

Reporting Lesson 2: Ask All The Right Questions

2006-04-13T22:24:00.000-05:00

In stark contrast to my last post, here is some more reading material. It's Vince's latest story - impeccably reported and written - from the State-Journal. The headline's a little sensationalist (okay, a lot), but my tow-headed friend regrets that as much as you do. More. Editors can be so thoughtless in their zeal to sell papers.

Reporting Lesson 1: Writing About Dead Guys

2006-04-13T14:42:00.000-05:00

Here's an unspeakably bad story (it's not mine), but don't let that deter you. It's been making the rounds here at the J-school. Read it. It's riveting, like a train wreck. Also, check out the comments. There are just some things inquiring minds don't want to know.

Trent Update

2006-04-08T15:35:00.000-05:00

A few of you have asked, so here is the update on Trent. Here's my previous post about his "project."

Extra, extra

2006-04-06T18:38:00.000-05:00

The amount of information I consume on a daily basis these days is ridiculous. I thought I'd cull the most interesting or thought-provoking news stories and list them here. Enjoy.

1. "'Gospel of Judas' Surfaces After 1,700 Years" - New York Times.
Guess what it says. "He told me to do it!" -Judas.

2. "In Court Filings, Cheney Aide Says Bush Approved Leak" - New York Times. Duh.

3. "2 profs spark political firestorm" - Chicago Tribune.
Duo from U. of C. and Harvard write that a powerful lobby has been able to force U.S. foreign policy to serve the interests of Israel.

4. "It's Not The Pits" - Forbes.com.
I spent the morning at the Merc and the Board of Trade, so this fits right in with the theme of the day. Also, the article opens with trader Yra Harris, who feels like an old friend. When I worked at VMS, he updated me on the markets twice everyday, first on CNNfn and then on Bloomberg.

He's no Jack Sparrow

2006-04-03T21:39:00.000-05:00

Along the same cheery lines, here's something I came across in the L.A. Times. They can't catch Bin Laden, but I sure feel safer knowing that the feds have nabbed this hardened criminal. It's always heartwarming to see our tax dollars at work, n'est-ce pas? I bet he was the lone rogue at the University of North Carolina who had any stolen music on his PC. It's a little hard to feel sorry for him, though, after this "if you give me probation, I'll preach at my peers" letter. I don't think this pirate is entirely convinced that it's the artists who pay the biggest price either. He's mostly sorry he's in trouble.

Everybody wants something for nothing, and I've come to learn that "free" music is anything but. The hidden cost is enormous. Although I am unqualified to opine on the price of piracy for the artists whose work is stolen, I can describe the price I've paid.

Stealing, no matter how little, or how easy, is never right. There is no justification for downloading music without paying. I'm not just saying this to reduce my sentence; I want to get the message out to young people who might not otherwise understand — copyright infringement, whether it is buying a bootleg album from a street vendor or downloading a song from the Internet, has very serious consequences.

I may be a little dense (especially after the fall), but I fail to see how music file sharing is very different from libraries. It's a good thing, I guess, that I'm not in a position of having to ask a judge for leniency.

P.S. There was a really neat photo series about soldiers in Iraq and medicine on the front lines at the L.A. Times earlier today, but it seems to have disappeared. I'll check again tomorrow. If it reappears, I'll let you know.

Update:
Oh. Here it is. Two things about this slideshow: 1. It has sound with it, so try to watch it on a computer that has speakers so you can hear the interviews that go along with the photos. 2. It's not for the faint of heart.

Alone and Alive

2006-04-03T20:32:00.000-05:00

I was up late working on my beat (pharmaceuticals) report for today. I had had three hours of sleep, when I stepped out of my apartment this morning to find the carpet in the hall being shampooed. Despite a conscious effort to be careful, I fell down a set of slippery, concrete stairs for the second time in two weeks (the first time was at the airport upon my return from spring break). This time really hurt, and I had to sit there on the floor for a minute to make sure everything was okay. And then I wanted some sympathy. I wanted someone to ask if I was okay (which I wasn't), but there was no one. The cats don't care, as long as I make it back before they can see the bottom of their food bowl. I had a fleeting impulse to call my mom, but I remembered that I'm twenty-eight, not eight. Instead, I peeled myself from the floor and dragged my ass to the train, in the rain.

The Elephant in the Room

2006-04-01T11:13:00.000-06:00

In yesterday's Chicago Tribune there was a story about Tom Skilling (if you'd like to view it without signing up with the Tribune, go to the website Trent recommends in the comment for a temporary password. If not, here's a much shorter AP version of the story), the brother of ex-Enron CEO Jeffrey Skilling. In it he talks about how difficult the criminal fraud and conspiracy trial has been for the Skilling family. Tom Skilling, it turns out, is the chief meteorologist at WGN-Ch. 9 news, which is owned by the Tribune Co., and he edits the Tribune's daily weather page. The article is entirely transparent with these facts, and I suspect this is the entire reason for the story in the first place (i.e. Other people in Chicago already knew that Tom Skilling is Jeffrey Skilling's brother. I think the paper was trying to get this out in the open, in the interest of transparency).

My problem with the story is that it never answers the one question I really want the answer to: Did any of the Skilling family make (or lose) money just before the Enron collapse? I was disappointed because I'm curious and I want to know, but also because otherwise the story is a puff piece with Tom Skilling saying little more than that he blames the indictment and trial for the failing health of his octogenarian parents and that he loves and supports his brother. Nothing I didn't expect there. It also does the opposite of what I suspect it was supposed to do. Because this reporter soft-balled Tom Skilling and didn't ask the tough question (and an editor apparently ran the piece on the front page without insisting the question be asked), I now wonder about the objectivity of the paper in its coverage of the trial. Needless to say, I sent my first letter to the editor. I'm a paying subscriber, and it's irritating that I read the entirety of a somewhat lengthy story and didn't get the answer to the obvious question.

In the interest of transparency (for all six of my readers), I'll tell you that I have a bias, and that last night I watched the documentary Enron: The Smartest Guys in the Room, which I highly recommend. One of the striking anecdotes in the film occurs in a conference call between Skilling and analysts. One financial analyst asks why Enron can't release a balance sheet or cash flow statement with their earnings like all other companies. It's amazing to hear Skilling sputter for a few seconds and then just call the guy an asshole before ending the call.

The Ballet

2006-03-30T21:10:00.000-06:00

I went to the ballet last night with Barrett and his beau. Call me a third wheel, but I couldn't pass up the chance to see American Ballet Theatre's All Star Opening Night Gala. It was amazing! The dancers were the best I've ever seen. The choreography, too, was thrilling and beautiful and superlative in every way. They performed several pas de deux, including two Tchaikovsky pieces. These elegant performances were my favorite, I think. Barrett preferred the finale: scenes from Rodeo. Read his thoughts here.

The Writing on the Wall

2006-03-28T18:27:00.000-06:00

The walls of the Harold Washington Library in downtown Chicago are adorned with quotes for book lovers. Here's one of my favorites:

The very existence of libraries affords the best evidence that we may yet have hope for the future of man.

-T.S. Eliot

Self-portrait or A Train with a View

2006-03-27T20:37:00.000-06:00

A Case for Mass Destruction

2006-03-27T13:04:00.000-06:00

Something's been bothering me. I don't understand how anyone could have thought that the war in Iraq would be quick and the transition in government "manageable." I can't decide if our trusty leader and his advisers REALLY thought this or if it's just another ruse. It also makes me think I'm a lot smarter, even, than I thought I was. The following is from an article at the NYT:

The memo indicates the two leaders [Bush and Blair] envisioned a quick victory and a transition to a new Iraqi government that would be complicated, but manageable. Mr. Bush predicted that it was "unlikely there would be internecine warfare between the different religious and ethnic groups." Mr. Blair agreed with that assessment.

Ah, the difficulties of coming up with reasons for attack. Pesky Americans who feel like there should be a reason for war. From the same article:

The memo also shows that the president and the prime minister acknowledged that no unconventional weapons had been found inside Iraq. Faced with the possibility of not finding any before the planned invasion, Mr. Bush talked about several ways to provoke a confrontation, including a proposal to paint a United States surveillance plane in the colors of the United Nations in hopes of drawing fire, or assassinating Mr. Hussein.

While I Was Sleeping

2006-03-24T20:54:00.000-06:00

Well, loyal readers, it seems that while I was living it up (i.e. nursing a head cold, cajoling letters of recommendation for a scholarship, watching Bonanza with my grandparents) in KY this spring break, the newshounds were hard at work. I was scooped. Our friend Trent posted this on his blog, Catallarchy. He has dedicated himself to gaining 15 lbs of muscle mass in 100 days, but what he didn't expect is the attention he would attract. He said he's had comments from people who saw his post on a blog roundup on ESPN's Cold Pizza. He also had a mention in the Evansville Courier-Journal (I have a PDF scan of this clip on my e-mail, but obviously can't link to that), the Lexington Herald-Leader and the L.A. Times.

I may be a little slower on the uptake, but I'm one step ahead. As it turns out, I have before pictures. I won't publish them here...unless the price is right. Any takers?

Check Trent's progress here, here and here.

Also, from the looks of this, this and this, it seems like somebody has enough time on his hands to write me a letter.

By hand.

With an honest-to-God envelope and a stamp.

What's In a Name?

2006-03-10T17:19:00.000-06:00

Here's something I thought was interesting. I went to an Oscar Party last weekend (and won a game to pick the winners with a whopping 12 correct!) with friends from school. One of them received a text message just after the winner of the Best Foreign Film category was announced. The text was from another friend who is Palestinian, and she was commenting on the Academy's decision to refer to the film "Paradise Now" as a movie from the Palestinian Territories, rather than Palestine. It's not something I would have noticed otherwise. People do, though, and, once again, I am surprised and enthralled by the power of language! Here's an excerpt from a Los Angeles Times article (via Boston.com):

Some Israelis were incensed that the organizers of the Golden Globes listed the film as coming from ''Palestine," because there is no state by that name.

''The Hollywood Foreign Press Association was not appointed by the international community to give out franchises for establishing sovereign nation states," columnist Sever Plotzker wrote in Yediot Aharonot, an Israeli daily newspaper. ''The organizers of the Golden Globe contest were not, therefore, given a permit to establish 'Palestine.' "

Israel quietly lobbied Oscar organizers in favor of ''Palestinian Authority," the term that applies to the formal Palestinian government structure in the occupied West Bank and Gaza Strip. The official Oscar website lists the movie as from Palestine, though organizers may opt for a different designation on awards night.

How about that quote from Plotzker? GEEZ. It's no wonder there's no peace in the Middle East.

Along the same lines, I was reading a book by an Arab-American guy I'm profiling and he says that when his mother would write letters to her family in Jerusalem in the 1950s and '60s, she would have to write "Israel" on the envelope. If she wrote "Palestine," the letter would be returned with a stamp saying, "No Such Address." He said his mother would always write "Jerusalem, via Israel" as a quiet, but stubborn protest. I asked him about this in an interview and he said, "and it’s both sides the Arabs and the Jews do that to each other all the time." He also wrote that when his parents traveled backhome they didn't allow Israeli customs to stamp their passports, because if they did, they wouldn't be allowed to enter other Arab countries with those passports.

The Last Supper

2006-03-05T01:50:00.000-06:00

The Berghoff, a Chicago landmark, closed on Tuesday after 107 years in business. I've been to the bar - the bar that was the first in Chicago to get a liquor license after Prohibition, the bar that didn't serve women until 1969, the bar that, therefore, has an easily accessible men's restroom but requires women to go through the restaurant, down a winding staircase and into a wood-paneled basement where alas! there is a women's loo and another men's as well - but I intended to eat at the restaurant before they closed the doors for good. I didn't make it. The lines and the cold, the school work and the abject poverty kept me away. Sad! I've just thought of the name of the post (above) I would have written about the experience, and now I'm kicking myself (again!) for not going.

Also, I'm not sure how I feel about the new edition to the blog. ..the advertisement. That's not entirely true. I don't like it, but I've attached it in part to remind myself to listen to Kate Havnevik's album. Mayhaps if I had done something similar with the Berghoff visit, I wouldn't be where I am now. Where is that, praytell?

Without any Weiner Schnitzle, that's for sure.

Pandora's Box Set

2006-03-03T17:13:00.000-06:00

So here's something. The last couple of weeks I've been really tired of all the music on Rococo -my dainty, pink ipod mini. It's frustrating. The days of stealing music with any kind of ease are over. This website has a program called Pandora that uses your favorite artist or song to figure out other music you'll like. It plays songs, and you can vote on the program's picks to make the process more precise. You can't rewind or replay favorite tracks, but there are direct links to Amazon and iTunes Music Store. Ahhh, the beauty of capitalism.

Good News!

2006-03-01T23:58:00.000-06:00

The Chicago River will be turned green on my birthday! I'm going home on the 15th, and I thought I was going to miss it. There's even a parade.

Swan Lake Lite

2006-03-01T19:09:00.000-06:00

Last Friday I went to see Matthew Bourne's interpretation of "Swan Lake" with my ballet buddy Barrett (two weeks ago we went to see "Romeo and Juliet") and my friend Lauren. I've been waiting for Barrett to post his review of the show on his blog, so I could link to it rather than write my own. I think his review is right on. That said, I much prefer the original ballet. I was skeptical going in about the male swans, but they turned out to be the show's salvation. Call me a purist, but I love, love, love traditional ballet - the tip-toe steps, the spins, the jumps - and that is why this rendition just didn't thrill me. I enjoyed it, though. Check out Barrett's review here.

Trashy Gossip

2006-02-28T16:43:00.000-06:00

VS.

Okay, I have gossip. Don't feign disbelief. It's unbecoming. Anyway, Meg Ryan is to be on Oprah tomorrow. Word on the street is that she (Ryan) was a complete bitch, and Oprah really disliked her. Oprah allegedly gets sassy with her at least once during the interview, subtley insulting the consummate girl next door's intelligence. You gotta love Oprah. Also, Ryan's lips look unnaturally large in the previews. This is entirely unrelated...just a catty observation.

Disclaimer: I heard this from a friend who has a friend who works on the show. Admittedly, it's not something I'd wager my life, love (oh wait, there's not one) or career on, but it could be interesting. Watch if you're able.

Update: Last night I spoke with the woman who works for Oprah. She reiterated that O didn't like Ryan. She said Ryan seemed really insincere and that her publicist was kind of pushing her back into the spotlight since she has been out of it for so long. She also suggested that Ryan's work for CARE (the organization that thinks women are the world's greatest untapped resource) is basically a publicity stunt.

Sorry South Dakota

2006-02-23T00:02:00.000-06:00

I was in a bit of a tizzy about this little piece of legislation. Rage against the world, shake your fists and scream! But, when all else fails (which it has) do what I did. Taunt your mother. We have a deal, see. If the Supreme Court overturns Roe v. Wade, she'll vote for the Democrat in the next presidential election (It's on the blog, Mom. It's for real). A small consolation. I forwarded her the article about South Dakota's abortion ban. Her response made me laugh.

"Nobody lives in South Dakota but ranchers and drunks. Don't go to South Dakota."

Uphill Both Ways

2006-02-21T23:37:00.001-06:00

I didn't write the following. In a former life, it was an e-mail forward sent to me by a dear friend, who is in the old-timer crowd with me at school. I thought it was cute.

When I was a kid, adults bored me to tears with tedious diatribes about how hard things were when they were growing up - walking twenty-five miles to school every day…barefoot...in the snow...uphill BOTH ways!

I swore I’d never lay a bunch of crap like that on kids, but now that I'm over the proverbial hill, I can’t help myself. I hate to say it, but you kids today don't know how good you've got it!

When I was a kid, we didn't have The Internet. If we wanted to know something, we had to go to the library and look it up ourselves. In the CARD CATALOG!!

There was no email, either. We had to actually write letters. With a PEN! Then we had to walk all the way across the street and put it in a mailbox. And it would take like a week to get there.

There were no MP3s. No Napster. You wanted to steal music, you had to hitchhike to the damn record store and shoplift it yourself! Or, you had to wait around all day to tape a song off the radio...and the DJ'd usually talk over the beginning and screw it all up.

Talk about hardship - You couldn't just download porn. You had to steal it from your brother, or bribe some homeless dude to buy you a copy of "Hustler" at the 7-11. Those were your options.

We didn't have fancy crap like Call Waiting. If you were on the phone and somebody else called, they got a busy signal. That's it. No Caller ID Boxes either. When the phone rang, you had no idea who it was. It could be your school, your mom, your boss, your bookie, your drug dealer, a collections agent... You just had to pick it up and take your chances.

We didn't have any Sony Playstation video games with high-resolution 3-D & nbsp graphics. We had the Atari 2600, with games like "Space Invaders" and "Asteroids". The graphics sucked ass. Your guy was a little square, and there were no multiple levels or screens. It was just one screen forever and you could never win. The game just kept getting HARDER and HARDER and FASTER and FASTER until you died...Just like LIFE.

When you went to the movie theater there was no such thing as stadium seating. All the seats were actually the same height. If a tall guy or some old broad with a hat sat in front of you and you couldn't see, you were just screwed.

Sure, we had cable television, but back then that was only like 15 channels and there was no onscreen menu. To find out what was on, you had to use a little book called a TV Guide.

There was no channel surfing, because you had to get off your ass and walk over to the TV to change the channel on the cable box. There was no Cartoon Network. You could only get cartoons on Saturday Morning.
Do you hear what I'm saying?! We had to wait ALL WEEK for cartoons, you spoiled little rat-bastards!

We didn't have microwaves, if we wanted to heat something up, we had to use the stove or go build a friggin’ fire! If we wanted popcorn, we had to use that stupid JiffyPop thing and shake it over the stove forever like an idiot.

You kids wouldn't have lasted five minutes back in 1980.

A Man in a Suit

2006-02-17T23:31:00.000-06:00

I have a new crush on this 45-year-old workaholic. He is Patrick Fitzgerald, special prosecutor responsible for the indictment of Lewis "Scooter" (how a man known by a nickname like this was allowed to rise so high, I'll never understand) Libby. I'm not happy about this crush, I'll just be frank. I don't even know how it happened. One minute I was reading this article, and the next I was scheming: How I could accidentally bump into this guy in Chi-town? You may think I'm arbitrarily assigning guilt to someone I'm already pissed at, but I don't care. I blame Trey.

Beautiful Baby

2006-02-15T22:51:00.000-06:00

Congratulations Jamie, Kristina and Collin. I love you, miss you, and wish I could be there.

Julia Marie

February 13, 2006

The New Big Brother, Mom, and baby.

A Whole New Meaning for the Word 'Embed'

2006-02-15T21:42:00.000-06:00

I have an instructor who was talking last week about double entendres. As an example, he used a comment by New York Times executive editor Bill Keller about Judith Miller. My instructor once worked for the Times and said that Judy had a reputation of being very "friendly" (the exact word he used) with sources and politicians before she was married. He said Miller was furious about the following statement from Keller:"If I had known the details of Judy's entanglement with Libby, I'd have been more careful in how the paper articulated its defense..." The italics are mine. It is an interesting choice of words, and I don't know quite what to think about it. I thought this was great insider gossip, but I'm not sure how insider it actually is.

Last night I was reading an article in the January 2006 Vanity Fair about the Miller imbroglio. Writer Seth Mnookin also mentions Miller's history of mixing business with pleasure. He writes, "She had a reputation for sleeping with her sources (in the 1980s, she both lived with then congressman Les Aspin and quoted him in her dispatches)..."

So what are they saying? Reporters shouldn't sleep with sources? Shit.

Home Sweet Home

2006-02-11T17:04:00.000-06:00

I watched Elizabethtown last night, despite all the bad reviews, mostly because I'm stressed out and a smidge homesick. It was really pretty terrible - script, acting, plot, everything. I have to admit that I enjoyed Orlando Bloom's disorienting drive from the Louisville airport (that isn't the Louisville airport) to Elizabethtown. As he is leaving the airport he is acutally driving on I64 toward the airport into downtown. He passes several Louisville landmarks, goes through the tunnel between Louisville and Lexington, gets lost in Versailles and then miraculously finds that he is just outside of Elizabethtown. Eureka, indeed!

Prior to this excursion, Kirsten Dunst's character made a huge deal about her directions to E-town, warning Bloom repeatedly not to miss 60B. I'm still not sure what this is about. The only thing I can come up with is that the movie is trying to suggest that Kentucky connects its towns by gravel roads rather than interstates. This is also the first of several times Dunst tells Bloom an exit number. Who knows exit numbers?! Okay. I can think of one person. English is not his native language, though, and I suspect it was initially easier to learn the numbers rather than the street names. I have long considered this an eccentric talent. A parlor trick. "Hey, what exit number is Bardstown Road?"

I don't know the answer, but no doubt my friend and Kirsten Dunst would.

Also, Bloom stays at the Brown Hotel in downtown Louisville, even though the bulk of the action takes place in E-town. This is more than a little ridiculous. Not, however, as ridiculous as being told that Nashville is only 45 minutes from Louisville. What were these people thinking?

All of that said. I liked seeing Kentucky in its summertime green. The horse farms and beautiful stone fences in Versailles, the view of treetops and mist above the Kentucky River, the Ale81 shirt Orlando sports at the end of the film, it was all so familiar and so beloved, and I wonder if the bluegrass will always be the only place I truly call home.

War on Terror

2006-02-04T12:28:00.000-06:00

From Bush's State of the Union address Tuesday night:

BUSH: Democracies in the Middle East will not look like our own, because they will reflect the traditions of their own citizens. Yet liberty is the future of every nation in the Middle East, because liberty is the right and hope of all humanity.
(APPLAUSE)
The same is true of Iran, a nation now held hostage by a small clerical elite that is isolating and repressing its people. The regime in that country sponsors terrorists in the Palestinian territories and in Lebanon, and that must come to an end.
(APPLAUSE)
The Iranian government is defying the world with its nuclear ambitions, and the nations of the world must not permit the Iranian regime to gain nuclear weapons.
(APPLAUSE)
BUSH: America will continue to rally the world to confront these threats. And, tonight, let me speak directly to the citizens of Iran: America respects you and we respect your country. We respect your right to choose your own future and win your own freedom. And our nation hopes one day to be the closest of friends with a free and democratic Iran.

Today My Yahoo page says, "Iran is world's top sponsor of terrorism: Rumsfeld." Three guesses where this is headed.

Read Stephen Kinzer's All the Shah's Men to find out how and when the U.S. and Britain sponsored terror in Iran.

Tricks of the Trade

2006-02-01T00:19:00.000-06:00

I'm the world's best procrastinator. If it were a sport, I'd be a professional athlete. Instead, there's no market whatsoever for such a skill. Why is it that I'm only good at things that keep me poor? At any rate, my friend Lauren suggested that I educate the masses. So here goes. A list of ways to procrastinate. To be updated as ideas come to me.

1. update your blog.
2. watch several hours of Buffy.
3. check your e-mail.
4. call a friend and bitch about how you have no e-mail.
5. eat. you have to, or you'll die.
6. nap. again, necessary.
7. read the paper.
8. wash the dishes that have littered your sink for a week.
9. make your bed.
10. take a shower.
11. call your parents.
12. check your e-mail.
13. check friends' blogs.
14. paint your toenails.
15. do laundry.
16. go to intelligentsia to "study" and drink overpriced coffee
17. look at pictures of trashy celebrities at people.com
18. check your e-mail.
19. take out the trash.
20. go to the bookstore.
21. watch The Bachelor in Paris.
22. call several friends after to discuss the crazy woman with rotting eggs.
23. extract a pledge from each of them that they will never let you become that woman.
24. bake.
25. write an honest-to-God letter to your grandparents. nobody writes letters anymore.
26. that reminds me, check your e-mail.
25. Go to bed....which is where I'm headed now...Sweet dreams all.