Julia Goldberg's Blog

and then it was july

2009-07-06T19:27:00.000-07:00

It's been a very strange and turbulent summer. There's the weather: afternoon monsoons coupled with morning rains and chilly nights. It doesn't quite feel like Santa Fe.
And there's the added workload, some of which is not exactly voluntary but some is and, at any rate, it is what it is.
Right now, the sky is purple and black and lone fireworks are still being set off in the neighborhood. The yard, which the boy has been throwing himself into (he says it's good therapy after a night in the ER on shift, although he certainly doesn't use the word therapy) is very green and has an almost secret garden feeling. At least it does if you stand in one particular spot.
The last week has felt very charged. I returned home from the AAN convention filled with various thoughts on all the things one is supposed to be thinking about these days in journalism: twitter and aggregation and whatnot. I'm interested enough in all of it to have been pretty engaged, but en route learned of the car crash that killed four Santa Fe teens and left one of our employees' daughters in the hospital (slowly, slowly recovering) and was suddenly plunged into the most basic of journalistic tasks: obituary writing, albeit with heart, I hope.
I have this sense of Santa Fe imploding around me. It makes it hard to sleep or stop thinking. Although not in an entirely bad way, since I like to feel engaged whenever possible. Beats being bored, which I am not.
Am almost ready to revamp this blog and give it some real attention. Almost. As soon as I finish thinking.

If you can't stand the heat

2009-06-24T14:32:00.001-07:00

then don't go outside. That's pretty much my current mindset. I'm in Tucson, Arizona for the annual AAN conference and I'm pretty sure it's at least 100 degrees outside. I don't really care how hot it is digit wise, all I know is it's so hot that when I step outside I literally don't know what I'm supposed to do. Walk? Breathe? How?
The conference is being held in a big hotel with many pools. Normally, lying by a pool with a book is my idea of heaven, but I feel like once it reaches 110 degrees, what's the point of even getting in the water? Why isn't the water evaporating?
I'm very determined not to spend five days complaining incessantly about the weather, but so far I'm not off to a very good start, particularly if you factor in facebook and twitter, where I've been complaining relentlessly.
On the bright side, if I close my blinds in my room and turn down the temperature to about 60, it's quite comfortable.

happy anniversary

2009-06-03T08:48:00.000-07:00

The Reporter's 35th birthday is coming up, and I'm hoping to include lots of feedback on Santa Fe's past and future in the upcoming issue. To wit, I've created an extremely easy five-question survey. Fill it out, and your opinions, thoughts and creative ideas may be published on June 17. Here's the link:

My Sister's Marathon in San Diego

2009-06-02T11:08:00.001-07:00

Terminator 4 Needs Salvation

2009-05-26T15:04:00.000-07:00

In 1984, a world rendered apocalyptic as the result of machines fighting back against the people who created them had enough metaphoric foresight to do what good science fiction can do—capture your imagination and make you think.

In 2009, it's really not enough to just throw a bunch of killing machines into the ether and rely on the inherently profound notion that machines can think, but they can't feel like we do (not that there's actual evidence of believable human emotion in the movie), to provoke much of anything—other than boredom and irritation.

Even though the bulk of Terminator Salvation's action takes place in 2018, there is no acknowledgment by the filmmakers that this futuristic hellhole is just nine years away. Even an army of homicidal ipod shuffles would have at least given a nod to how much technology actually has taken over our lives since the Terminator franchise began. Lacking that, Salvation needed to bring what the Matrix brought when it explored a similar (I mean identical) trope: better gadgets. Matrix technology, like that of these movies' optimistic cousin Star Trek, is at least fun to think about. Keanu Reeves puts on some ridiculous head piece and is suddenly able to master kung-fu! Capt. Picard says "Earl Gray" toward a console and the tea appears! Wolf Blitzer is talking to a hologram of wil.i.am!

In Salvation, technology, despite being the supposed thematic bedrock of the franchise, doesn't even try. How will Skynet (maybe that name sounded scary 20 years ago; right now it sounds like the name of an airline) be undone? Um, a weird sound undoes it, you know, pitched at some weird frequency. The early version of the Terminator? Half man, half machine... It doesn't know it's a machine. Or follow orders. Whatever. Um, yeah, we gave it a human heart...because that makes sense. Because then when John Connor needs a new heart, we can just pop that half machine/half human's heart out, right there in the middle of the desert and do a little switcheroo. Man, medicine has come a long way in less than 10 years. You don't even need equipment anymore to do open heart surgery. And the Resistance? It resists in a submarine. The only interesting technological accomplishment was the shininess of Moon Bloodgood's hair in the middle of an apocolypse in the desert—the movie was shot in New Mexico—no one here has hair that shiny. (As a side note, when a real person named Moon Bloodgood plays a futuristic character named Blair Williams, it might be time to reset the entire series in the Renaissance era).

The other main facet of the Terminator series has been its reliance on Rule # 78 of the Space/Time Continuum. * It's sort of a "you break it/you buy it" philosophy when it comes to how time works. The series began with The Terminator (the movie misses Arnold Schwarzenegger so bad it uses real technology to cameo Schwarzenegger kind of naked and really young...please don't let anyone ever do that with our governor) going back in time to kill Sarah Connor so that she can't give birth to John Connor, who will one day defeat the machines). In Salvation, the machines are after Kyle Reese, (Anton Yelchin) Connor's father, who is just a teenager in 2018, to try to keep him from going back in time and knocking up John Connor's mother. ("I think I'm getting confused," my boyfriend said as we left the theater; my advice: "don't try to make it make sense.")

This new twist on the machines' determination to keep John Connor (Christian Bale, who grows ever less charming) from being born by going after his teenage father before he becomes his father, opens up the door, of course, for endless variations for future Terminators. Here's just a couple I've come up with:

1. Terminator: Supreme Justice

A Terminator goes back in time and becomes a US Supreme Court judge who gets to rule on Roe v. Wade. But instead of allowing women to have abortions, Terminator Supreme Court Judge requires all women, including Sarah Connor, to have them, thus eliminating the machines' future nemesis.

2. Terminator: Oral Fixation

When John Connor is just a child, he gets an absessed tooth and is saved from dying from infection by a kind Resistance Fighter Dentist. The machines take the dentist out, thus ensuring Connor's death.

3. Terminator: Helena Bonham Carter

Carter is given a role in yet another Terminator movie. The humans decide that perhaps people really should be extinguished off the face of the earth.

*I have no idea what rule of the Space/Time continuum this is. My geekdom has its limitations.

crossposted at sfreeper.com

Send money, now

2009-05-21T11:25:00.000-07:00

No, that's not an order. Don't you love it when people ignore their blogs and then the minute they post again, it's all, "send me money, send me money."
I don't really want you to send me money. But it would be cool if you'd send my sister some.
My sister, Abby, is running her first marathon in a week in San Diego, California. It's a marathon to raise money for leukemia. I'm still not entirely clear how or why fundraising for diseases and marathons have become inextricably linked, but, at any rate, obviously this is a good cause. And all the more remarkable if you knew my family, whose family crest (if we had one) would read: We Only Run When Chased.
I'm flying to San Diego next weekend to cheer on my sister at the finish line. And, if leukemia/blood diseases are an issue you care about, or you just want to support a good cause and a very sincere and good person (different gene pool), please consider sponsoring her.
Click here for the link.

Don't Quit Your Day Job

2009-04-08T13:11:00.000-07:00

Although I think I captured the boy well.

down to the wire

2009-04-01T15:27:00.001-07:00

I didn't watch The Wire when it was on TV, despite the urgings of many people, some of whom even understand my aesthetics and tastes. I figured I'd watch it someday or not at all.
And then I got my second bout of the crud and was so buried in reading for work that any other reading became verboten, and HBO started offering The Wire on On Demand etc. etc.
Several weeks later, I have finally finished all the seasons, including the final fifth one that everyone especially said I HAD TO SEE because it involved a newsroom etc. etc. (it is not, btw, a wrong assumption that I would be interested in anything involving the media; I do have that mad meta love; I even liked the movie The Paper, although Robert Duvall, when I met him last year, laughed at me for that).
Anyway, The Wire: Much has been written on its breaking of narrative conventions and, indeed, I liked that quite a bit. Very clever. And, of course, the characters, so many tightly drawn and unforgettable.
But when I finally finished, all I could really think about was the ultimate message. In three different, but connected "public" sectors: police, schools, newspapers, there is a common tension between people who just really want to do their jobs: real policework, real teaching, real reporting, versus those who are running the various institutions, who require proof that the work is making a difference. So in the copshop, you have people "juking the stats" to show that crime is down to please the politicians; in the schools, teachers teach to the test to improve scores so they can get federal dollars. And, in the poor newsroom, desperate reporters fabricate stories and overwrite them to please the higher-ups so that the newspapers can win Pulitzers (which, in real life, hardly guarantees fiscal solvency, but anyway).
It's an over-simplification to say the heroes are the ones who refuse to play the game, because such heroism isn't necessarily rewarded in The Wire (at least not materially), but it's not too much of an oversimplification. What is clear, by the end, is that any attempt by an individual to change an institution will take down that individual long before it takes down that institution. And, lo and behold, there will be someone else to pop up and take his or her place. Even the drug trade, the fourth "institution" of The Wire, is an unbreakable machine: No matter how many people die, no matter how much drugs are confiscated, there will always be someone to step in and keep the machine going. There will always be someone willing to juke the stats, teach to the test, or publish bullshit.
So, you know, not an overwhelmingly positive message. And such a reductive one that my tiny inner optimist (she's there, I swear) started narrowing her eyes during the final montage scene and shaking her head (optimists can narrow their eyes and shake their heads too).
The only real happy ending to the entire series comes for "Bubbles," the former junkie who, after massive loss and serious 12-step rehab, finally seems like he will have a chance to just live a decent life (you know, one day at a time) and his story, his actual true story, is told by a real reporter, who just writes the story "clean." And even that reporter gets his little reward—it's not a Pulitzer, but the moral of the Wire's fifth season is that going for gold is a good way to lose your way and end up either with nothing or so morally bankrupt that if you could recognize your own actions for what they were, you'd be disgusted too.
Would that it were, I suppose.

fooled again

2009-03-24T11:15:00.000-07:00

I'm usually the loudest when it comes to spreading the gospel of Santa Fe spring: "Don't think it won't snow again," you might hear me saying to some easily-deceived-by-a-day-nearing-70-degrees person" or, perhaps, "just you wait until the winds pick up!"
Anyway. I, too, was hoodwinked by last week's warm weather. So much so that yesterday I froze it out in sandals, as 80 mile an hour winds swept through the parking lot (Hello sweet hyperbole. What?)
I don't know; couldn't climate change ever mean that it changes in a good way. Like: no more wind? Does wind serve any useful purpose. What would happen if shit never blew around again anyway? Hair stayed in place; pollen clung to trees rather than flying up my nose, skirts never blew up in the middle of the street...
I spent last weekend's windy weather dealing with the stupid sinus headache that likes to now make itself randomly known. I've discovered Musinex D, one of those drugs you have to sign a meth-disclaimer form to buy. It's pretty good on the old noggin, and has the added bonus of making it impossible to either sleep or eat, so hello productive extra time. Shit, who needs a meth lab anyway?
Was sufficiently medicated by Sunday to attempt first grilling/bbq party of the season. Which was fun, even though it got a bit cold as the sun started setting (it actually got to be about 30 degrees, but, you know, I don't want to whine or anything).
And now it's Annual Manual season, which I could moan about, but if you've been reading this blog for the last, um, eight years or whatever, you've heard it before.
Oh the phone is ringing.
I guess I'll answer it.

emerging

2009-03-02T05:55:00.000-08:00

Despite my best efforts to avoid the sickness that spread through our office last week (which included constant handwashing and opening doors without touching them), on Friday the sickness began. I spent most of the weekend sneezing violently and shut in my house. I took every decongestant on the market (which included having to sign my name at the pharmacy as I bought the ones they keep behind the counter), and none of them worked. Except at keeping me from sleeping. The good news is, although my face feels like it's been rubbed repeatedly with sandpaper for the last 36 hours, I've only sneezed twice so far this morning (of course, it's not even 7 am yet). The bad news is it's Monday and I have almost no memory of the weekend. The only evidence of the weekend are crumpled tissues everywhere and opened pill bottles on every surface. I refuse to believe this was just allergies. I pray it's over.

Protesting Too Much

2009-02-24T09:41:00.000-08:00

I'm not sure I have it in me to read yet another story/obit arguing for the importance of newspapers and singing their swan song. Much as I love journalism and revere newspapers (and, of course, make my living editing one), the decline of print media at this point could pretty much be summed up in a twitter: coulda,woulda,shoulda.
Don't get me wrong. I eat up all these stories: They're dramatic and compelling and, ultimately, really freaking sad.
It's like looking out the window as you drive by the detritus of a car accident, except in this case the car accident is a 20-car-pile-up and instead of driving by you're actually stuck in traffic with nothing else to look at.
But there's something spurious about insisting to people that they understand the importance of newspapers: their intrinsic link to democracy; their watchdog role over government; their connection to community. It reminds me of interviewing blowhards who spend the whole time explaining how humble they are.
Of course, I believe all of it: the democracy, the watchdogging, the community part. But, then again, I'm not the one who needs to be convinced. And, just as it's bad form to write for your sources no matter the beat, newspapers' insistent coverage of their own industry strikes me as slightly problematic. No, it's not a story that can be ignored, but there's a weird disconnective flavor to all of it. How can any journalist write about the decline of newspapers without some level of conflict of interest?
More importantly, what is the public, assuming they have been or can be convinced of the importance of newspapers, supposed do about the problem? Read them? They are reading them. Buy ads? Sure, if they have the money to do so. Sign on to a Day Without the Internet? (Now there's an idea).
I'm not saying I have tackled and solved the question of how to re-envision newspapers (I'll leave that to greater minds than mine), but it does strike that it might be time for someone to generate a To Do List for the newspaper-loving public. Because harping on abstractions (newspapers promote democracy)is about as convincing as making someone eat their vegetables because children elsewhere are starving. Even citing specifics (as journalists are supposed to do) isn't that helpful. We can all cite important stories that sparked change and hypothesize about what might have happened if, instead of column inches, we had to change the world one twitter at a time (God save us all). But that doesn't really change reality.
Maybe there's nothing working journalists really can do, except keep plugging away and producing journalism that shows, rather than tells, the importance of this endeavor. (although as I wrote that last sentence a vision of the musicians on the Titanic popped into my mind; even worse, it was the James Cameron Titanic).

evidence of mental malfunction

2009-02-10T15:31:00.000-08:00

On Friday I woke up to no hot water and, upon further inspection, a big-ass flood. As the workmen worked and Nero ignored them (as in, did not even get off the couch as plumbers traipsed in and out), I decided to do the only reasonable thing a person could do in that situation: Find compatible software to hook up my printer.
I failed, although while hunting for various needed electronica and such in my home office, I found a box with memory for my computer that I apparently bought and never installed. I then contemplated installing it, but decided (after receiving a variety of conflicting and very male advice on facebook) to hire someone to install it. And then forgot about it some more.
On Sunday, after the Valentine's party, the boy and I headed for our weekly joint workout at the GC3. I put my stuff in my locker, locked it. Went back a few minutes later, opened the combo lock and stashed my sweatshirt. Forty-five minutes later, after racing the boy around the indoor track, we went to our respective locker rooms where I was completely, 100 percent, unable to remember the combination for a lock I have used, oh, maybe five times a week for the last two years.
So the workmen came into the locker room and broke the lock with bolt cutters.
The boy was very understanding of this short-circuit in my synapses. As he said, he would never expect to remember a combination lock; that's why he uses one with a key. And when I, a little whiningly, said I didn't want to have to carry a key around while working out, he made me a key holder that slips around my wrist. I mean, if that isn't love, what is, people?
Speaking of love, we had many nice loving photos taken at our pre-Valentine's party last Saturday night, at the Lodge, by photographer Jonathan Tercero, and here's the sneak-peak at the slide show I put together today. It will be up on the Reporter website tomorrow.

On Cerrillos Road

2009-02-08T17:53:00.000-08:00

Me: What, no comeback?
Boy, while driving five miles under the speed limit: No, because you're right.
Me: Oh yeah?
Boy: At least more right than I am. Any argument I make now wouldn't be based on fact. I could say that vegetables have feelings...
Me: Then you'd be arguing that no one should eat anything.
Boy: Exactly.

—The end of a very silly discussion about whether or not it's wrong to wear fur. I won.

Everything I Learned about I Life I Learned From Watching Zombie Movies With My Boyfriend

2009-02-01T19:42:00.000-08:00

1. Corporate domination over society will result in most of humanity turning into the walking dead.
2. The government will be complicit in such corporate domination.
3. If everyone tries to escape through a single exit from a city, go the other direction.
4. Trying to videotape apocalyptic events is a guarantee you will not survive them.
5. If your best friend is bitten by something that doesn't die, you should probably say goodbye sooner rather than later.
6. Your car will eventually run out of gas if there is no more gas to be found.
7. Reincarnation may have some philosophical glitches.
8. Everyone looks good in black.
9. A sense of humor does not guarantee a long life.
10. The end of the world is no excuse not to have good hair.

sleepy friday

2009-01-30T09:48:00.001-08:00

The boy and the dog, circa this morning, as I left for work. In their defense, the boy had just worked a 12-hour shift and the dog had almost chased a rabbit in the field half an hour earlier.

Yet Another Facebook Energy Suck

2009-01-27T15:22:00.001-08:00

Among facebook's many disturbing traits, it sometimes spawns various meme-like lists that are much harder to pretend you haven't seen than the ones that used to come via email. The latest, 25 random things about me, came to me earlier today. And since it came via Samia, one of my favorite people who is too nice to blow off, I succumbed. Here it is below:

Relief Like No Other

2009-01-20T10:39:00.000-08:00

Better than finishing my taxes or getting into grad school or driving down Agua Fria in a blizzard without crashing—the sense of relief I experienced as that helicopter took the Bushes away to Texas was enormous. And, yes, I know that was barely a sentence.
Most of the editorial department sat (or stood) in my office watching Obama's speech on my computer. I'm pretty sure that our constant wisecracking was just because none of us wanted to cry in front of each other. I was very anxious and spent most of the speech fondling my Calm Rock. Also, we were drinking mimosas. Hopefully there won't be an horrific typos in tomorrow's paper. I can't believe it's not even noon and the entire universe feels different. Calmer. Better. I also can't believe I have to watch Gov. Richardson's speech in an hour. Not really envying Richardson these days; talk about a meteoric nosedive. He thought he'd be there, in DC, part of the new regime, and instead he's stuck here, if he's lucky, giving a sloppy second speech to a Rotunda-full of doubting Thomases.
He should probably have a mimosa too.

Maybe Denial is a Reasonable Strategy

2009-01-15T09:45:00.000-08:00

I spoke this morning, briefly, with a woman who told me she feels very optimistic about 2009. I told her she's the only person I've spoken with who feels that way, and that everyone else I know (and don't know) seems to think things are going to be grim.
She said she just feels positive. And that she's stopped watching the news.
She may be onto something.

tonight

2009-01-14T15:37:00.001-08:00

THIS WEDNESDAY at 8PM

Geeks Who Drink pub quiz at...
Catamount Bar & Grille:
125 E. Water Street, Santa Fe

Featuring The Reporter's very own Editor: Julia Goldberg as Celebrity Guest Quizmaster!

Does it cost anything to play? Nope, it's free.

Do you need to sign up beforehand? No, that's silly.

Uh...what exactly is it?

The pub quiz (kinda like trivia night, but better, smarter and wildly superior in every possible way) consists of eight rounds of eight questions and is played in teams of up to six people. Questions are read aloud by the quizmaster; teams write their answers on provided answer sheets and turn them in at the end of each round.

Geeks Who Drink quizzes are unique in that they include two rounds of music questions - like name that tune, but with an edge. Examples: Country Music that Doesn't Suck, Pop Songs Butchered by David Hasslehoff…

What do you win?

Bar cash and prizes ranging from this to that. And of course, the winning team gets their photo on the blog at www.geekswhodrink.com

Wednesdays @ 8pm
Geeks Who Drink pub quiz at...
Catamount Bar & Grille:
125 E. Water Street, Santa Fe

halfway there

2009-01-09T08:24:00.000-08:00

My favorite thing about this NY Times article on Nat Hentoff's departure from the Voice is the photo.
As a lifelong struggler with clutter and paper-related chaos, this photo makes me think that maybe my natural impulse, which is to just stop trying to be some kind of minimalist metrosexual Ikea freak and give in to my actual nature; let myself be surrounded by endless papers and books. Of course, Hentoff is 83 and I am barely halfway there and am already surrounded by as much clutter, so maybe I should keep up my halfhearted attempts to organize for at least another decade or so.

Eich bin Americanish

2009-01-02T05:11:00.000-08:00

Or something like that.
I have returned from Switzerland, where I: ate lots of chocolate, ate lots of cheese, drank tons of coffee, drank lots of wine (my tolerance for alcohol in Europe is 20 times what it is in New Mexico; I'm working on a scientific explanation for this).
I saw A LOT of art: Picassos up the wazoo.
I froze my ass off, walked a bunch, saw many medieval streets and buildings.
Most of all, I spent a lot of time with my closest friend, Sonya, talking and doing all of the above.
I mostly was surrounded by people speaking German, which I don't understand, and discovered it's very pleasant to not overhear conversations or interact with people.
I also got a teensy bit frustrated by it at times and was grateful for Sonya's German.
And now I am home, about to start getting ready for work.
I am bussing it in because the boy was hit by a drunk driver in my absence and his car was totaled. That was the one sad note of the trip, because it was very worrisome to get that call. Had the boy not been in his now-destroyed tank of a car, he would likely have been very seriously injured. At any rate, he's got my car today so he can get some things done. On the bright side, the drunk driver had no license, warrants out for his arrest and was in a stolen vehicle, so he is (hopefully) going to jail for a good long while.
I can't tell if I have jetlag or not because my sleep has been so crazy in general for more than a week. I guess I'll know if I pass out at work this affternoon. Or maybe that will be a sign; sometimes I feel like doing that anyway.
I may post more pictures later (or I may not; I don't want to make promises I'll be too unconscious to keep). For now, here I am being cold over a scenic view of Zurich:

holiday hooplah

2008-12-19T10:02:00.000-08:00

Woke up this morning with a song from Hair stuck in my head (stuck in my hair?). Times like that I realize what a murky soup my brain must be. It wasn't the Aquarius one, but the one about "especially people/who care about strangers/who care about evil/and social injustice!"
God only knows what I was dreaming about. Not to mention why I have the lyrics to the song memorized, apparently.
Nero hasn't seen his friends, AK and Fatty Rodriguez, in more than a week, so I surmised that their owner has been walking them super early and vowed to Nero we'd get out and try to catch them. 6 freaking a.m. Pitch black. Crunch crunch on the frozen tundra, um, field. Nero took the darkness as an opportunity to try to run off and be invisible, but he underestimated my ability to follow his dark shape and crunchy ice sounds.
We're wrapping up our final/double issue of the year, and then we're off the streets until Jan. 7. I, too, will be off the streets, as I'm going to Switzerland to see Sonya. It's sort of an odd place for me to be going ("I'm going to Switzerland" doesn't sound quite as natural/likely as "I'm going to the gym."). But, there you have it. Really I just want some decent hot chocolate, yo. And, of course, to see my dearest friend. And to spend 15 hours on an airplane, because that's a lot of uninterrupted reading time.
OK, speaking of reading...back to it.
I'm sure I'll blog again, but just in case:
Have a safe & merry whatever!

Worry Warting

2008-12-15T13:39:00.000-08:00

I know, in theory, that I used to drive in the snow without a care in the world. I commuted three times a week to Albuquerque when I was in graduate school, regardless of the weather. I even sat on the side of I-25 one night in the midst of a white-out, pre-cell phone, calmly weighing my options (there actually were no options. And at one point, a knock on my driver's side window nearly sent me into a coma. It was a state police, informing me I'd pulled over into the middle of a lane and I better just try to make it home since they were about to close the highway).
I drove to Española every single day when I worked for the SUN, through plenty of treacherous storms.
So why am I now considering taking the bus until the snow desists? Is this just yet another tedious result of ageing: fear, fear with a side of fear? Or is this a wonderful sign of growing maturity: the ability to make reasoned and practical decisions?
Or (and?) do I need to break down and buy a honkin' SUV to carry me safely through winter storms?

And what is a humbug anyway?

2008-12-04T12:17:00.001-08:00

People always assume that I hate the holiday season. I'm not sure why this is. Maybe there's some kind of Aristotelian syllogism going on here.
Cynical people hate holidays
Julia is cynical
Julia hates holidays

I actually don't hate holidays and, in particular, I don't hate Christmas. Why should I? What does Christmas have to do with me? Am I Christian? No. Do I resent the pressure of consumerism? Not nearly as much as I resent having to spend thousands of dollars on my stupid teeth, which are bad solely due to genetics. If there was a holiday celebrating genetics, I might hate that. Unless that's my birthday, which I don't hate, although there is something sort of tedious about birthdays. Well, the date, obviously, is predictable. It would be much more interesting if one celebrated one's birthday on a different date each year. Although that might damage the idea of a birthday as an anniversary of one's birth, I suppose.
I don't hate Christmas. I actually rather like Christmas songs. They are so very insipid and silly. But catchy. Kind of like a Nelly song. Nelly should put out a Christmas song.

It's getting hot in here
Santa says take off all your clothes
Refrain: I am getting so hot Santa! I'm gonna take off all my clothes!

Maybe not. I also don't hate Christmas trees. I think hating a tree seems like a sign that you have too much time on your hands. Hating an evil dictator I can understand. And Christmas ornaments? Granted, I'm not a fan of stuff, especially little stuff that has no real purpose, so Christmas ornaments are not really for me, but I think they're pretty. I asked the boy the other day, as we passed a Christmas Tree lot, if he planned to buy one. He said he was considering buying a menorah, because they are "classy." The boy really likes candles. I do not like candles. They are too waxy and only useful on those rare occasions when the electricity goes out. The boy used to buy me candles as presents until I begged him to stop. I also put stuffed animals and plants on the list of No Buy options. I guess I am somewhat hard to buy presents for, although not if you have a lot of money. Then I'm very easy.
All this began because the one thing I don't like about this time of year is that people say the same things over and over again. Like "Bah Humbug!" It only just occurred to me that I don't have any idea what a humbug is. It turns out the word humbug basically means balderdash. So Bah humbug is the same as saying Bah Balderash, except less alliterative, and possibly kind of weird. Still, I think I may try it out this holiday season, if the occasion suits.

College of Santa Fe Drama

2008-12-02T19:51:00.001-08:00

continues to unfold at a rapid rate. Here's Zane's latest update.

dystopic morning

2008-11-27T10:43:00.001-08:00

There's nothing I like better than a grey rainy morning when I don't have to leave the house and can putter around with books and coffee and a sleeping dog.
Too bad the world is going to hell in a handbasket.
I asked my mom, who just called, about terrorist threats on the NY transit system, (she lives in NY), and she was like, "Oh, I didn't see any cops at Penn Station. They're always saying there's terrorist attacks, I can't keep up."
I, on the other hand, am apparently subconsciously traumatized. I dreamt last night the Earth was being blown up and would no longer be inhabitable, so we were all being deported to another planet. I didn't get to take my clothes, but somehow fought my way through a very complicated building to my room (?), where I had stored Nero, since I refused to leave the planet without him. Most of my dystopically-centered dreams always have this same plotline, which involve me caring about nothing but my dog. So much for the subconscious.
Um, yeah, happy Thanksgiving.

Today's Best Email Spam Subject Line

2008-11-26T12:19:00.000-08:00

Is Your Ex Looking For You?

Response: No, Internet, they pretty much all know where I am.

over the hump

2008-11-25T19:28:00.000-08:00

I caught a terrible cold on Sunday. It was sort of odd. The boy and I have been going to the CG3 on Sundays. He lifts weights, or something, while I run on the indoor track. We were on our way out when I sneezed. And sneezed again. And kept sneezing and within an hour was full-blown just terribly sick and miserable, the kind of sick and miserable where your boyfriend makes the mistake of trying to find out what kind of cold medicine you want him to buy and you begin screeching at him because you can't summon the energy to answer a question. Even one asked in your own best interest.
I am starting to feel a little better, although somewhat in a malaise. I keep thinking the Onion should have a headline reading: Liberal Journalists Become Depressed Following Obama's Win, Sink Into Existential Despair. Well, it's not that bad, really, but it is sort of strange to have one's main past-time, that being obsessing about the election, be over. Thank God for knitting. And drinking (although the latter, not ever a major activity, has been heavily curtailed in the face of the excessive sneezing).
So Thursday is Thanksgiving, my least favorite holiday, since hanging around all day waiting to eat an enormous meal doesn't rank high on my list of fun ways to spend a day off. For the second year in a row, the boy and I have agreed to forego socializing and just hang out, eat something, and be done with it. We did it last year, for the first time, and realized it was more pleasant. He works that night, so if I feel the need for people I'll drop in somewhere and mooch pie. Friday, for the first time in years, I'm actually having a birthday, well pre-birthday party, with my friend Kate, who shares the same birthday. Yet another reason to rest up and stop sneezing.
And I suppose I should try to locate some renewed energy toward this blog. It's surely overdue for a makeover of some sort. For those of you who have stuck with me, feel free to send your suggestions.

Nothing is Wrong

2008-11-18T10:15:00.000-08:00

Note: glazed expression, but still keeping up on the eyebrows.

I keep having the vague feeling that Barack Obama stole my summer. One minute it was hot and sunny, light until 9 pm and I spent every spare minute hunkered down in my dark house cheering on Keith Olbermann while compulsively checking the Internet. Then I blinked, Obama became president, there was a worldwide celebration and suddenly it was 15 degrees out and dark at 4:30 pm. Mr. President: Can you make it summer again?
It's actually that time of year again. That time of year being the mad-ass run to the finish line, aka, the end of the year double issue, the publication of which affords me an actual week off, during which time any work-related phone calls or conversations will be verbotem and anyone who tries to start one with me will face a knuckle sandwich (like, metaphorically, I don't actually hit people).
Meanwhile: party party party as Parker Posey once said. It's also that time of year: cocktails and holiday potlucks and company dinners and birthday dance parties. Yeah, I said it: birthday dance parties!
But I am taking two days off this week. TWO DAYS OFF. Because my brain is functioning barely, I have seven hundred unused vacation hours and, strangely enough, all my crazy planning and workaholism has actually left me in good stead for the week. So, vayos con dios. Perhaps a little mental rest will reactivate my blogging gene.

Feeling strange

2008-11-05T20:04:00.000-08:00

I tend to have delayed reactions to things. Last night, I was sort of in a fugue state, obsessively watching TV, attempting to say hello to people, carry on conversations and then document what I could (which was sort of a failure, as the video below will demonstrate). I'm guessing in approximately six months, I will burst into tears and have no idea why. Meanwhile, despite my delayed euphoria, I am enough in touch with my emotions to be very bummed over Proposition 8 in California. One step forward, one step back? I don't know. I'm nowhere near focused enough to say anything articulate, except I think it sucks. Also, and this is kind of random, despite most people I know being in excellent moods today, I did receive a series of randomly pissy calls, one from a woman outraged that we'd included profanity in the paper (in a letter to the editor), another from a woman who seemed bewildered and angry that we didn't have multiple stories on our web site at 9 am about the passage of the GRT regional transportation tax hike that passed last night. Both before 10 am? I was equally bewildered by both of them.
OK, here's my incoherent election-night video, which begins with interviews with my guy-pals Mikey Baker and Andy Primm, and ends with the countdown to California's vote, followed by the reaction of the crowd when CNN announced Obama had won (followed by my apparent inability to hold the camera still).

has time stopped?

2008-11-04T11:42:00.000-08:00

Cuz it kind of feels like it has. We're on deadline. It's the quietest election day I can remember. Usually the phone is ringing off the hook with people having problems. Of course, a lot of people early voted and numerous organizations have set up hotlines for people having problems, so perhaps we're not as needed as we've been for that kind of trouble shooting.
It's too bad, though, because in lieu of having anything useful to do, I've just been eating lots of sugar and now I'm ready to rip my own eyes out. Can't wait 'til the paper is put to bed and we can get out of the office and see what's happening in the world. There are some election-related press conferences later this afternoon, and we will, of course, be providing whatever info we can over at Swing State of Mind.
I've kind of gone past anxious into a strange fugue state. I may be in shock that election day is finally here. And, of course, given the last two presidential elections, I'm trying to be ready for anything.

Happy Halloween

2008-10-31T10:50:00.000-07:00

Halloween Get Down!

2008-10-30T10:17:00.000-07:00

Looking for some great music for Halloween? (I personally need a good soundtrack while putting on my costume).
Check out the latest from the ever-awesome DJ Rocque Ranaldi: a It's The Great Funkin' Charlie Brown!. For those of you, like me, who were sad when Indie went off the air (mostly because I've long loved listening to Rocque on the radio), you can still hear him and other programming on the Web at indiesf.com. And you can download the podcasts.

cross-linked from Artist Overdose.

2008-10-29T08:39:00.001-07:00

well, hello

2008-10-25T16:23:00.001-07:00

As several people have questioned me about my blogging absence, before supplying the requisite, "you must be really busy," I decided to drop in and say, yes, I have been very busy.
But busy isn't really new. I think I have actually been sort of mentally overwhelmed; it's a great time in history to be a political junkie, except to extend the metaphor, I think I may have Odd somewhere down the line and not even noticed. My brain isn't really processing information very well anymore. The last few days I've been thinking that politics, as much as I care about it, may have overtaken the country in an unhealthy way. Ever the pop-psychologist, I've been trying to understand, this week, exactly what is really at stake for people. I don't mean the obvious: our civil rights, economy, foreign policy. I think I understand, to the extent that anyone paying a fairly high level of attention can, the issues. And certainly, my views on them are pretty solid, have been for a while. But what's really at stake for people at this point? I think of all of us, right now, as heavily invested in an outcome that we've endowed with meaning far beyond what we can really articulate. As if the political season, the candidates, the vernacular, the arguments, are all surrogates for something else.
I keep thinking, musing, on my own reaction to Obama's speech in 2004 at the Democratic Convention, the way I felt something when he spoke that I hadn't felt, as an adult, ever. And how Kerry's campaign left me cold. I voted for him, sure, and endorsed him, but I didn't feel it. Is it really just the generational divide at work, the need for my generation, and the two following me, to engage in a post-Vietnam discourse? Or am I just a sucker for a pretty speech (or, perhaps, both?).
But the other speech that held me was Teresa Heinz Kerry's. When she spoke about marching against Apartheid, while watching the US march for civil rights. How her country lost their battle, but knowing America had won its was enough for her in some way. I suppose it could all come down to some sort of combination of genetic disposition and upbringing. I was raised to believe in the good fight, and this election season has fed that feeling.
All I really know, though, is that the waiting has become unbearable. In just over a week, it will happen, one way or the other, and everything that happens until then feels, to me, like pointless prologue. I've voted. I'm ready. And yet, at the same time, am I?
There's lots of certainty in some quarters about the outcome, but I've been down that road before and am actually incapable of summoning that certainty anymore. I don't know what will happen, not in my mind or my gut. I'm not placing any bets. I'm not getting my hopes up. I'm just waiting.

ODing on politics

2008-10-19T20:23:00.001-07:00

In the vernacular of political junkiesm, I think I'm hitting my limit. I've been writing SFR's political endorsements for five days. In between I: argued with a Republican friend, early voted and saw W (which I thought was not a good movie). I don't really know why the endorsements seem to be taking me so long. Unlike the primaries, I'm not particularly torn over any of the races. Reviewing and reporting on the amendments and the bonds was a bit time-consuming. I think it may just be 24/7 news cycle-induced brain deadedness. Also, having some kind of terrible virus situation with microsoft word. Anyway...it's almost over.

Yay Zane

2008-10-09T11:58:00.001-07:00

Zane Fischer, SFR's web editor, columnist and art critic, is profiled today by The Association of Alternative Newsweeklies, in its How I Got That Storyseries. AAN is profiling first-place winners from its annual contest. Zane won first place for column writing in our circulation category (under 50,000). SFR won a total of seven awards in the competition, including awards in arts criticism for Emiliano Garcia Sarnoff, editorial layout for Larry Kohr, honorable mention for our now-defunct Bill Richardson blog, and several awards for Angela Moore in cover design and illustration.

cross-posted from Artistic Overdose.

Goodbye Club I

2008-09-30T19:30:00.000-07:00

Live in Santa Fe for a few decades and you get used to saying goodbye. Friends you love leave, restaurants you eat at close, politicians you regularly interview retire or get indicted.
Nonetheless, there are a few constants in my life I never question and one of them, until a week ago, was Club International, my gym, where I have worked out regularly for close to 20 years, anywhere from 3 to 5 times a week (or, for a brief period, 7 days a week, but that was BT, Before Therapy).
Tonight was the last night for Club I and, even though working out was the last thing I felt like doing (I woke up at 1 am this morning feeling like someone was stabbing me in the eye), I knew saying goodbye was an important step in the grieving process, somewhere in between outrage and miserable acceptance.
Like most things I love, Club International's charm was not obvious on the surface. It wasn't fancy or state-of-the-art. Truth be told, if often didn't even seem very clean. But there was core group of people who had been going there for a long time, which created a sense of familiarity, the nice kind that doesn't involve actual relationships or in-depth conversations or e-mail.
Tonight, the final night, the club was mostly deserted, except for the owner, a few staffers and a couple of members who, like me, seemed determined to be the last person out the door.
An old stationary bicycle with a handwritten sold sign is probably not the most likely spot for elegaic musings, but I have a long history of inappropriate sentimentality. I kept my best friend Sonya's old ripped dirty sweatshirt for about 10 years after college because I couldn't bear to throw it away. I had once written the makers of Powerbar to complain bitterly about their discontinuation of the mocha power bar and how they had ruined my daily menu, and possibly my life. They had written me back a strangely understanding note assuring me I would soon get just as used to another flavor. (I had wanted to write them back and argue that my loyalty, once earned, is hard to shake, but I recognized that doing so would probably land my letter in the crazy pile).
I pedaled away, slowly. The only magazine left in the cardio room, once well-stocked with trashy celebrity reading material, was Continental Airline's inflight magazine, so I read that, which depressed me further. When would I ever go scuba diving in Argentina? Or get a lifetime pass to the President's Club in the Continental terminal to enjoy complimentary wireless and cocktails? Riding a bike to nowhere, that seemed more my style. I attributed these dark thoughts to the fact that, for the first time ever, the overhead TV, usually tuned to horrible Nancy Grace screaming about blondes abducted on tropical islands, was off. No distractions here tonight. I guessed the cable had probably been cancelled.
I pondered, as I half-heartedly read a story about the best martini bar in Jackson, Mississippi (how many martini bars can there possibly be in Jackson, Mississippi?), the demise of the gym. A notice taped up last week on every available surface of the club had attributed its sudden closure to the shaky economy. I'd been too overcome by the news to take it in at the time. All I could really recall was something about rising rents or rising gas prices, the costs of repair needed in the building. It all sounded plausible and implausible at the same time. I'd kept expecting, all week, some sort of reprieve, even heard rumors that the racquetball players were planning a last-minute save. I sighed. This was the problem with Magical Thinking, the disappointment that accompanies it. My first thought when I heard that someone won the $200 million Powerball this week was that if it was me, I would save the gym. Even though I hadn't bought a Powerball ticket.
But now, here we were, the final hour. There was no white knight coming to rescue our dilapidated gym. Where was John McCain when you really needed him?
Alone in the cardio room, a bad magazine on my lap, I have to admit I was having a lovely time. It was sort of nice to take a break from thinking about the horrific state of the world and just feel sorry for myself for half an hour. And burn calories at the same time.
Just then, a man I've seen for years, popped in and began making his way toward me with a determined march. He was freshly showered, wearing street clothes. He had always greeted me when I saw him, although I could never be sure if he was saying "Goldberg or Good Afternoon" when he walked by. Now he planted himself right in front of me and as soon as I'd removed my ear buds said: "Julia Goldberg. I never really got to know you, but I just want to say The Santa Fe Reporter is fantastic. Thank you and if I never see you again, good luck. I can tell you're a good person." And he shook my hand as I thanked him and then marched off.
It was kind of hard to feel sorry for myself after this. For one thing, I was giggling too hard. Chances are, I'll see him tomorrow; rumor has it most of the Club I members are going to join the gym down the street. I am, at any rate. Maybe I'll get attached to it. Maybe I won't. Life goes on, I suppose. And, as the gym owner had said to me last week when I called her, "there are worse things."
It's funny in Santa Fe. Even when things we love are gone, we still find a way to keep them alive. Half the people I know give directions using as landmarks restaurants and businesses that have been gone for a decade, even more. I, myself, referred to something as "catty corner to where OJ Sarah's used to be" just last week. Maybe it's a fault, this failure to accept change, to evolve, to roll with the punches. Or maybe there are some things that just deserve to be remembered.

overheard

2008-09-27T17:40:00.000-07:00

Saturday Lunch:

The Boy; I need a new calendar.
Me: What do you mean? Like a wall calendar?
Boy: Yeah, so I can write out my work schedule.
Me: Well, they probably have '09 calendars out.
Boy; Yeah, but I need one for now because mine just ran out.
Me: Why did your calendar run out at the end of September?
Boy: It's a Jewish calendar.
Me: Uh huh. Why are you using a Jewish calendar?
Boy: It has different things on it. Like it's the year 1570 or something. And different names for the months.
Me: And this is useful?
Boy: It's different.

Lass gets Sierra Club endorsement

2008-09-25T15:13:00.000-07:00

and Block fails to respond. Also, just in from Dave Maass, the Secretary of State is consulting with the AG on Block's campaign finance problems.

public displays of hysteria.

2008-09-23T19:55:00.000-07:00

This made me laugh. A lot. On the treadmill, no less.

Hanging with Duvall

2008-09-22T08:46:00.000-07:00

Read about my failed attempts to talk politics with him here.

KBAC Questions Political Advertising.

2008-09-18T15:22:00.001-07:00

Gotta love them for doing this.

Add it to your reading list

2008-09-11T14:28:00.000-07:00

If she could make every American read one book before the Nov. 4 election, Arianna Huffington would choose Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire.
To read more of my interview with Huffington, who comes to Santa Fe next week, click here.

working out

2008-09-09T20:18:00.000-07:00

Tonight I went, as I do many nights, perhaps three, sometimes more, to the gym. I've done this regularly for going on 15 years because I am a creature of habit and just a teensy bit vain. The difference tonight was that I managed to talk the boy into accompanying me. He hasn't gone to a gym in about 20 years. This all came about because I have been just a little bit harpy lately on him about getting in shape. It should be noted that I would not personally want to be in a relationship with me at times like this when I get it into my mind that someone should do something, like start working out. Also, that if things were reversed, and he started harping on me to lose weight or get in shape I would kill him where he stood, so quickly it would be like: Woah, Ninja! Holla!"
Anyway, he actually had a good time and appears to be contemplating getting a gym membership now, which means he will if I have anything to say about it, which I'm sure I will. Some people would call this typical female nagging, but seeing as how we're not allowed to say sexist things anymore, I assume I'm in the clear. And I will give the boy credit, he often translates my nagging as "being inspirational" or "motivating," so, really, it's a win/win. At least for me.
Today I did what I normally do this time of year, at work, which is try to plan out the rest of the year, schedulewise. Obviously things come out that can't be planned, but there are so many special issues/writing contests/elections etc. etc., that if I don't get the calendar together, it's hard to keep it all straight. The downside to my relentless planning is that even though it's only the first week of September, I already feel as if it's Christmas and about to start snowing at any minute. Which it may very well do. I'm actually predicting an early snow season, although, it should be noted, I am not a meteorologist.
As for predictions, be sure to pick up the paper tomorrow for some interesting astrological/political predictions.

08 zozobra RIP

2008-09-05T07:58:00.001-07:00

Man, what a night. I'd say more but...I'm too busy trying not to collapse. Our gloom table was a big success—7 hours of non-stop catharsis!
Zozobra: pre-burn

Me, with Poppy Wilder, her friend and the boy, after we dumped the gloom into Zozobra!

Don't Believe Everything Al Green Says

2008-09-01T17:52:00.001-07:00

So the blog of light is Al Green, which gives you both a sense of how close the boy and I were to his phenomenal show Saturday night at the Opera, and the limits of the iphone camera. I was attempting to take a photo that would show the cross Green was wearing, which he announced, at the start of the show, had been given to him by the mayor. I was slightly confused by why David Coss would give Al Green a cross (have we run out of keys to the city?). But my confusion was alleviated by fate. Our seats were next to the man who gave Green the cross and who had identified himself to Green as the "underground" mayor of Santa Fe. Details, details. I won't reveal his identity, but suffice it to say he's well-known in the music scene.
The show kicked major major ass. People were going crazy! One girl broke through security (and leaped the moat that protects the stage) to breakdance on stage and was dragged, literally, kicking off of it. Two other women made it up; they left more peacefully. I'm fairly certain another woman threw her underwear on stage and some man was dragged out by security, although I'm not totally sure what that was about. I swear, if I have an iota of Al Green's energy in 30 years I will be happy...actually, if I had it right now I'd be pretty jazzed.
As per usual, Green threw roses to the ladies throughout the show. I did not catch one. However, he also threw his tie and that was caught by the man to my left, known on this blog as "the boy." Yes, my boyfriend now owns Al Green's tie and I have the feeling I will be seeing it at all events that require a tie. Not just cause it's way cool, but also because it's a clip-on and neither the boy nor I seem to know how to tie a tie (discovered last year when we were running late to a wedding and that was the only thing left to do; not sure there has been a lower point than me, frantically looking for a tie-tying diagram on my old Sidekick while the boy struggled in the mirror; in the end, he went tieless).

Can't say I miss the dirt

2008-08-27T10:09:00.000-07:00

So, it will probably come as no surprise to anyone that my gardening skills are non-existent. I went through a phase a few years ago (10, to be exact), when I wanted a real yard with, um, plants and stuff? So I spent a lot of money on tools and plants only to break and kill most of them. I also spent a lot of hours in Home Depot and, to this day, really can't bear to go in there. (One of my least favorite memories involved a cashier needing a price check on the "Super Ho" I was buying and yelling "I've got a Super Ho at Register 5" very loudly over the intercom.
Anyway.
The boy, unlike me, likes to DO STUFF when he's not working (versus lie on the couch reading and speaking to no one). And he really wanted to pretty up my yard, disagreeing with my assessment that dirty can so be pretty if you just adjust the way you think about these things.
I was worried about him doing anything because I worry about water use (I specifically worry about ending up as a high user in our annual water use story). He convinced me he wouldn't use a lot of water and then, lo and behold, it RAINED all summer and he barely needed to use any.
Now summer is closing up shop, or whatever it does, and soon the yard will be cold and wintery, although he promises me that this summer lays the groundwork for next summer. Anyway, I think it looks awfully pretty (so does the neighbor, who apparently told the boy over the fence "that yard looks better than it has in 10 years." No one respects the dirt, apparently.

emo obama

2008-08-25T14:09:00.000-07:00

Courtesy of our copyeditor, via this link.

chefs du jour

2008-08-25T10:27:00.000-07:00

The boy likes to cook, which is convenient since I, occasionally, like to eat but rarely feel like cooking. Jen's man also is quite the chef, so a few weekends ago I devised my most brilliant plan ever: An ironchef cookoff between our boyfriends!
So it came to be that while the men slaved in the kitchen, the ladies drank wine and played Rock Band. Who says feminism hasn't made any advances? (I, for one, never say that).
In the end, it was a draw. Both of them made some great dishes—and a lot of it. In fact, if we ever do it again, we all agreed that we probably need to not eat the equivalent of four meals at once. Favorites included the boy's lobster nachos (yum!) and J's tuna carpaccio.
Really,everyone won. Except for me, since I was supposed to make cupcakes and didn't. I totally rocked it on Rock Band, though, particularly the drum part of Suffragette City.

Musharaff as a New Mexico resident

2008-08-21T11:38:00.000-07:00

I can't stop thinking about it.

2008-08-20T12:50:00.001-07:00

the vp shakedown

2008-08-19T09:54:00.001-07:00

Well I've put my buck in the office pool on who Obama's VP pick will be. I am not a sentimental fool, I'm just putting my money where my journalist's black heart is: Richardson as VP is a much more interesting story for me than Biden. So there. Plus I saw the guv last night at a reception for film people at the Mansion and he was in such high spirits that something has got to be up. I wish I could find the bizarro photo of Richardson they ran on CNN this morning, where he looks like he's getting out of a car with his hand out as if to say, "Please! No paparazzi."
Who are you betting on for VP? Also, could the announcement come tomorrow instead of today so I don't have to go into production and change the cover story?

midwest return

2008-08-18T13:29:00.000-07:00

My flight home from Chicago was as easy as my flight there: It left on time, was not full (I had empty seats next to me on both legs) and both also arrived early. Security was a breeze. Sheesh, even the baby two seats over was happy and never cried once.
As we took off, the pilot told us we'd be getting into Albuquerque a few moments early and that the temperature was 62 degrees, which caused quite a lot of confused murmuring on the plane.
Indeed, it feels as though summer ended while I was out of town. Although Chicago, normally 98 in the shade this time of year with 300 percent humidity, also was cool and pleasant (drastically cutting down on my ability to complain, although not, of course, entirely).
Actually, I had a great time at the workshop, met some cool folks, enjoyed Gustavo Arellano's talk and had fun hanging out at the California Clipper, a Chicago bar where my friend Tony works. I did not enjoy, as much, the drink Tony recommended, named for his uncle, called The Purple Martin, which features grape soda and coconut rum. But that's another story (actually that's the whole story).
So now it's back to business, with a few things worth noting:

Reporter Dave Maass will be heading to the DNC next week, so keep your browser tuned to Swing State of Mind, where he'll have lots of great coverage.
And, it feels like fall so it must be fall? Well, I don't know about that, but Zozobra, my favorite fall tradition (actually my favorite thing in general) is right around the corner and, as per usual, we are collecting glooms at our office, so write down those woes and bring 'em on down (or find me at my gloom table at Zozobra).
OK, back to the salt mines yo.

is it winter yet?

2008-08-12T09:21:00.000-07:00

I apologize for having nothing to say. I blame it all on the crushing sinus headache I've had for nearly a week. It's a little less crushing right now thanks to my coffee/Musinex cocktail. I've been religiously sinucleansing and occasionally popping some Tylenol sinus, but staying clear of anything heavy duty or, god forbid, actual allergy medicine, because I can never tell how pharmaceuticals, even over the counter ones, will affect me, and I don't have the leisure time to allow for the possibility of being unconscious for 12 hours. Unfortunately.
Headache probably not helped by the comments from people I tell about it, a strangely large percentage of whom respond by telling me about someone they knew who had a headache and next thing they knew a brain tumor. For the record? Please don't say brain tumor to me; it makes me anxious.
Despite my lack of clear headedness, have had some fun over the last few days. Checked out last Friday's Gluey Brothers' show, which was kickass, and then went to a very lovely wedding on Sunday. Thursday I'm off to Chicago for AAN's writers' workshop, at which I'll be both working and attending. And probably drooping under the humidity.
And I guess I better get going because there is a writer in my office now.

a sentence missing from journal north story today on Jerome Block

2008-08-08T06:16:00.000-07:00

As reported by The Santa Fe Reporter.
Pretty lame, given we acknkowledged their reportage in the story. For the original piece in SFR, click here.

post-bosf recovery

2008-07-28T10:17:00.000-07:00

Am slowly returning to normal. The party was a blast, and you can find video and more to come on our newly-launched web site. This picture of me looking at the camera while the governor drinks a margarita behind me seems kind of amusing to me. Although my amusement of it may come as a result of nervous exhaustion.

Come on out. I'll be the one slumped against the wall.

2008-07-22T12:35:00.000-07:00

Best of SF—press run #2

2008-07-21T09:39:00.000-07:00

We. Are. Almost. Done. As. Am. I.

overwhelmed by minutae

2008-07-10T15:54:00.000-07:00

This morning, on the radio, I complained about my recent inability to get any sleep. I'm a lifelong insomniac, but it's usually intermittent, whereas this summer it's been kind of non-stop. Have received much advice via email today, which I have boiled down to the basics: it's either hormones or I'm crazy. (Or, yes, possibly both). I am inclined to think it may also be about caffeine and being hot (temperature-wise; I don't think I'm up all night because I'm contemplating how awesome I am. Oh no, that ain't it).
What else? I seem to have ordered Internet for my house, despite swearing I never would and am contemplating buying an iphone, but maybe not the first day they are available since people are, apparently camping out waiting for them. I don't know if people would camp out waiting for a phone here; I suppose I could go find out. I will not be camping out. Although, I suppose, if I wake up at 4 am tomorrow that might be a more productive use of my time than wandering my house like a zombie. Maybe.
We're heading into Best of Santa Fe time. So if you don't hear from me before July 23, you know why. But I will do my best to stay semi-present here in ye old www. Having internet at home should help this task. Because that's what I need: More time on the computer. Hmm. OK, need to go look for zombie figurines for small children. Tonight's activities include a birthday party for my favorite seven-year-olds.

one step forward, one step back

2008-07-03T07:01:00.000-07:00

I was very gratified with the way both The Albuquerque Journal and Santa Fe New Mexican cited us when they followed reporter Dave Maass' story on Jerome Block Junior. They clearly learned of the story from our reporting, followed it as was appropriate, but also cited us as the originating source. And while some castigated the dailies for waiting until the end of the story to mention us (thank you), I was satisfied: I've been harping on this issue for years as the ethical way for journalists to cite one another's work, have spoken with Poynter and other journalism experts on the topic and, as many news readers know, it's standard practice for many news outlets, including The New York Times and the Washington Post.
So how disheartening to see Phaedra Haywood's story today on Santa Fe County's dismissal of former county commission candidate Stephen Wust.
It is an almost-verbatim repeat of SFR reporter Mark Sanders' story that we published yesterday. With no acknowledgement whatsoever. For the record, not only do I think it's wrong for papers to rip off one another's stories with no acknowledgement, I think it does a great disservice to readers, who deserve as much transparency in their journalism as possible. I also think it's a little sad when a paper with who knows how many more reporters than we have uses our paper to find stories and then can't do the courtesy of acknowledging that we got there first. Especially when, as I suspect, they wouldn't have known about the story otherwise. I suppose it's possible Haywood was already working on this, but I find it odd that the story is almost identical.
I'm not sure if Journal North has anything or not. I haven't looked at the paper edition yet, and its new Web site for the north isn't as user-friendly as it was. I'm actually sad about the Journal's new Web site; the previous incarnation worked a lot better.
Oh, an interesting followup from The New Mexico Independent on the Block story: Ben Ray Junior won't say if he supports Block as his replacement in PRC District 3. The Independent also cites Dave's story yesterday on the county's attempts to block online access to jail records. The county does not seem to be very open government focused these days. County PIO Stephen Ulibarri was of no help to Dave Maass in talking directly to jail administrators; he was excessively unhelpful to Mark in reporting on his Wust story and tried to bullshit me into thinking we couldn't quote from the county manager's article cited in our article by telling me it was copyrighted. I don't know if Ulibarri, as PIO, actually doesn't understand how Fair Use works or if he was just hoping I didn't, but either way, a PIO who tries to intimidate the media out of providing the public access to information is not my idea of good open government. And I'm kind of thinking this isn't the last you'll be hearing of that.
In fact, I'm going on the radio shortly. Maybe I'll talk about it some more there.

lack of domestic skills revealed

2008-07-01T10:48:00.000-07:00

Approximately once a year, I grow weary of my own inability to do much of anything besides write and read and have what I have identified as ADU (Annual Domestic Urge). This year, the urge struck at about the same time as our award-winning writer Zane Fischer's birthday, so I decided to bake cupcakes.
I have never baked cupcakes before (I've only ever baked one thing, actually, a pound cake and this was during ADU circa 1998; last year for ADU I think I knitted some mittens).
In my mind's eye, the cupcakes were very arty (because they were for Zane), kind of white and black with neo-deco "Zs" on everything. In reality, they look sort of like someone's 5-year-old made them. But I've been told they taste good (I know you're supposed to taste things you make, but I was too scared). Really, it's hard to understand how something that seems so simple could be so challenging. There is still icing in my hair, I swear to God. Anyway, viola:

Maybe it's biochemical...what's biochemical mean again?

2008-06-27T08:46:00.000-07:00

Now that I've come clean about my snarling contempt for SUV drivers, I thought I'd be upfront about another little quirk I've been keeping secret: I'm invisible.
And I don't mean metaphorically. I obviously don't mean literally. I mean biochemically. Actually, I don't know if that's what I mean because I don't quite understand the definition of biochemical.
Here's the deal: You know those automatic doors in supermarkets and other large stores? They are activated by people walking up to them? They are convenient when carrying large loads or when the effort of just opening a door is too much? (They are, of course, quite necessary if one is disabled).
I don't activate them. Like, 80 percent of the time they just don't open.
Now when I first noticed this happening, I assumed they were all just broken. That might seem unlikely but I do live, after all, in a city where as best I can tell no one has replaced the receipt paper at any of the gas station pumps since 1998.
But it soon became clear, it's not them, it's me. Because if I sit and wait for someone else to come along, the door will open for them and I can sneak in.
This situation is not isolated to automatic doors; I often find that the body-activated hand-dryers and towel dispensers neither blow nor dispense when I put my hands under them. I can, usually, get them to work by punching them or occasionally leaning both hands on them with my entire weight. Not sure how this looks to others; probably better than me wiping my hands on my pants.
I'm also unsure if this relates to an incident some years ago in which my ex gave me a watch, as a gift, which promptly stopped ticking. Two replacement watches later, the watch salesman gently informed me I might be "one of those people who can't wear watches."
Unclear what kind of people that is.

In Which My Lack of Niceness is Revealed

2008-06-25T05:31:00.000-07:00

Despite my ongoing quest for keeping an open mind, I have a little bit of a "thing" against people who drive huge, massive SUVs. Fortunately, for me, this is one area in which prejudice is acceptable, even politically correct these days. I'd like to say I resent them because they represent the worst of American oil-guzzling and because of the effect on the environment and, sure, this is part of it. But I have a sneaky suspicion my distaste for these things also is connected to some kind of deep-seeded dislike for excessive personal wealth (no doubt some kind of genetic predisposition toward communism). Most of all, I hate being bullied on the road and constantly facing the prospect of being squashed like a bug by someone who thinks they need to drive a tank.
So this would be, for me, selfishly, the upside of the hideous gas-price situation; a sense of smug satisfaction when I think about how much it is taking folks to fill up their Durangos/Expeditions/Hummers whatever.
I am aware this is not nice. In fact, it's not even rationale as my little car doesn't have particularly good gas mileage.
Most of all it's a mind-set begging for a universal reaction.
See, I have what we Santa Feans call "bad karma." Meaning, the minute I do something wrong, the universe tends to rebound. For this reason, I don't steal, cheat or lie (OK, there are other reasons).
So I figured it was only a matter of time before the Universe took notice of my shitty attitude toward SUV drivers and taught me a lesson.
The lesson came in the form of required auto repairs. My car went in for diagnosis a week ago and, after waiting a week for the parts to come in, the mechanic (at the dealer; thank god for warantees) called and told me to bring it in and he'd been done by the end of the day.
Except, once he'd taken the car apart, he realized one of the parts hadn't come in and he'd need it overnight. He curtailed my immedate reaction (to complain) by telling me he'd give me a loaner.
Now, if I were an employee of a car dealer, I probably wouldn't hand some tiny complaining customer the keys to a brand new 35,000 SUV without looking at her license, registration or insurance, but apparently, despite myself, I don't seem very suspicious to others, because that's exactly what he did.
I have no doubt this is some kind of ploy, and there is an expectation that when I return to pick up my tiny car, I will be so overcome with the joy of driving 20 miles above traffic that I will demand to purchase said vehicle. But this, friends, ain't gonna happen. In truth, I feel like a jackass driving this thing (although being higher on the ground than others is a rare and slightly exhilerating experience).
My favorite thing about the SUV is the imbecilic digital dashboard that informs the driver what is going on in the car. Like, for example, the image above, that explains in clear graphics that the AC is blowing on you. In case I was to get distracted ("Oh my God! What is this cold air? Where is it coming from?). There's an equally stimulating picture of a radio tower when one changes radio stations, you know, to explain radio waves. Too bad there's not a graphic of a person's brain being fried and then getting arrested for talking on a cell phone while driving.
It's early; I can't believe these are the things I wake up thinking about. Really must get back to yoga.

but where's the rain?

2008-06-22T19:51:00.000-07:00

It's a windy blustery and intermittently thundering Sunday night. But no rain yet, though I wish it would rain and dispell some of the strange humidity that's been in the air all day. I spent most of the day cleaning the house, which has been sadly neglected what with all the travels and block parties and summer guides and what not. I am not much of a cleaner, so when the mood hits me I go with it. Thus the floors have been mopped a good three times, though I'm sure by Wednesday any signs of cleaning will be gone. The boy appeared around 5:30 and grilled tuna, marinated in curry sauce, on the new barbecue he bought for my house.
Last night we went and saw The Gender Offenders' drag show at Wise Fool, which was one of the kickoff events to this week's Gay Pride. Then we had a drink with friends at the St. Francis and headed home. I actually slept until 8:30 in the morning, which was exciting since Saturday morning I awoke at the ungodly hour of 5:45 am. I broke down and bought a new ipod, the old one having been swiped during my Philadelphia trip. Tomorrow, with any luck, the car parts will come in and I can get my rack and pinion (I know that can't be the right spelling ) fixed, since I am now driving around in a state of terror that at any minute it will go out.
And, yup, that's all that's shaking here as the weekend draws to a close. Pray for rain!

last night's block party

2008-06-19T14:33:00.000-07:00

on the block

2008-06-18T06:11:00.000-07:00

So tonight, from 5 to 9 pm, you'll find me and probably 5,000 other people in The Reporter's parking lot, Yes, it's time for our annual block party. If you haven't been before, come on over; it's lots of fun! I have been very busy and quite overheated, but mostly I've been working and having fun. Saw The Roots for the fourth time on Sunday (yes, I've become a groupie) and Erkyah Badu, who put on an amazing show, although some of the things she said between singing her ass off, were kind of nutso (I can't quite quote her, but somehow she managed to intermingle: The Zapatistas, the mountains, the Comanche "Indians," vortexes, bowling alleys, skating rinks and Barack Obama; don't ask me how).
And now, it's early morning, already almost 80 degrees and I need to get ready for work. See you tonight, I hope. If you can't find me in the throng, you may see me near the boy's booth at the party. Hint: lots of funky skull art!

the answer is blowing in the wind

2008-06-12T07:26:00.000-07:00

I spent so many years not believing allergies were a real thing (since everyone in Santa Fe believes in something, I've decided to be different and believe in nothing), that it's hard to reconcile myself to this indisputable reality: I have allergies. This morning I woke up, eyes sealed shut (the sequel to Eyes Wide Shut), my head pounding on one side, my sinuses pulsating. What am I allergic to? Clearly this starts up when the winds kick up, so it's something blowing in the wind. But what? Elm? Juniper? Dust? Radioactive mites? Hell if I know.
I don't take allergy medicine because half the time it doesn't work and makes me either knocked out (if it's non-drowsy) or wired like a crackhead who just drank 10 espressos (if it's the sleep formula). Instead, I started today with a lovely cocktail of Musinex (grossest name ever), a sinucleanse, Excedrin sinus and, a few squirts of nosespray. The nosespray helps, but I'm paranoid about it having been warned by several people that it's "really easy to become addicted, and you don't want that." This is clearly what happens when one reaches a certain age. Suddenly, the gateway drug is no longer dope, it's nose spray. I can't think of anything more ignonomious than developing a nose-spray addiction. I'm not even sure what that would entail; Me, shaking and cold, panhandling for pennies in front of CVS to scrape together enough money for just a few squirts?

dental checkup

2008-06-11T17:58:00.000-07:00

Ten days after surgery, my mouth is healing well, says Dr. R. today. Really well, really fast, he said, sounding surprised. Much faster than he'd expected.
'Well, I'm a really fast healer," I told him. Even I could hear the ridiculous pride in my voice. I mean, who feels a high-level of self-esteem over the ability to heal fast after dental surgery? Apparently, I do.
"I can see that," he said.
I restrained myself from asking him if I had healed faster than all of his other patients. I don't know if dentists make referrals to psychologists, but I'm pretty sure that feeling competitive about how fast one heals probably borders on some kind of crazy, although what kind I'm not sure.
Anyway, that was good. Less good was the vicious sinus headache brought on by the 300 mile an hour winds. That headache was compounded by watching a clip on CNN from a few months ago in which Bush expressed surprise at hearing there were predictions that gas was going to hit $4 a gallon in the near future. I try to restrain myself from too much Bush-bashing these days (it's boring and futile), but, really, how can you be president and be completely unaware of something like that? Even I had heard those predictions at the time that he said he hadn't. Unless he was pretending to be surprised. Which, though inexplicable, would almost be preferable. Though unlikely. Anyway, here's a link to the video, via huffington, via msnbc, in case you missed it, as I had.

OK, let's get serious

2008-06-11T10:52:00.000-07:00

I had dinner last night with Heather, Brad and Darius at, of course, the Cowgirl. The dinner made me realize a few things:

1. I have never had a meal anywhere with Darius that wasn't the Cowgirl and this is his fault.
2. I have been blogging for way too long (last night there seemed to be a general agreement that I am the first blogger some of my friends ever knew) and
3. my memory is really really terrible.

It was great to see Heather, though; she and Brad were visiting for the first time in too long and hopefully they will remember how bomb Santa Fe is and move back immediately.
I have to say (no, really I have to), coming back from Philadelphia on Sunday was one of the first, if not only, times when I didn't get back to NM with a sense of epic relief (Hawaii was the other time). I am still puzzling through what a great, great time I had in my hometown. I mean, OK, I grew up there so maybe it's normal that I would go back and have fun except in my memory (which sucks), I ran away screaming with no memories of there being anything good about it whatsoever. If I was so wrong about that, who knows what else I am wrong about? What if I'm wrong about everything? That would totally wreck my sense of identity, which is based on being right about everything. It's kind of fucked up.
But, seriously, and in no particular order, things that made my trip to Philly super fun:

1. The Roots and The Roots. Two nights, two shows, one in my beloved Theater of the Living Arts (which used to be a movie theater, that's how old I am). The other at Penn's Landing. So great.
2. The conference, particularly Seymour Hersh, who was the First Amendment Speaker. So smart. So bloody depressing. But smart always trumps depressing for me.
3. David Carr, who spoke, as he often has for AAN, about the changing media landscape and the internets and all that shiite. It's kind of hard to explain what makes Carr so funny and engaging. I guess that's it, he's really funny and engaging.
4. Winning stuff. Yes, I do love winning stuff.
5. Lastly, but probably mostly, seeing Jen and Anne, who were both really close friends of mine back when I was a juvenile delinquent. We all agreed we look exactly the same (improbable, but we believe it). And I just had so much fun seeing them. And here we are, 20 years older, but, at least in my case, just as sweaty as ever.

back from philly

2008-06-08T16:04:00.000-07:00

A more detailed post to follow (I am wiped out from lack of sleep and my ridiculously early flight). In the meantime, check out how well we did at the annual awards.
(the short version: two firsts, three seconds, one third and one honorable mention, aka, we rocked).

Homecoming

2008-06-05T09:15:00.000-07:00

Apparently one can go home again, though it remains to be seen what
benefit there might be to doing so

Memorial Day

2008-05-26T10:41:00.000-07:00

Well, it's a Monday holiday, which means I'm not at work. We slammed on Friday to get everything done so that our Tuesday press deadline wouldn't be too rough. All that remains is to write the endorsement in the third congressional district, one task that has overwhelmed my thoughts for the last two days as I parse through a series of arguments with others and myself.
It also is, officially, the first pool weekend, but I've yet to don a bathing suit and make it there. This is in part because I've decided to add skin cancer to the list of things I'm worrying about, but also because it's kind of windy. In about an hour, the boy and I are taking the dog on a little urban-trail walk and then it is entirely possible I will take a nap, one of my favorite things to do when I'm not working, and something I've yet to accomplish this weekend.
Friday night, SFR had its first drive-in movie event. We pulled in and thought we had a good spot, but after we walked around awhile and came back, the front row we were in had become about the sixth row and a large van was in charge of us. Fortunately, the van belonged to someone we know, who agreed to switch positions with us. My friend's two six-year-old twin boys decided they wanted to watch the movie in my tiny car, so we bought them cheese burgers and were pleasantly surprised they managed to make it through almost the entire movie without getting bored. I am readying for a short week: I've got dental surgery at the end of the week (oh joy), and then next week I fly to Philadelphia for a journalism convention. But in the meantime, I've got about 500 words to write on a race that has been alternatively fascinating and depressing to me. I am trying to keep in mind, since it is Memorial Day after all, what is really at stake in this year's election; and when I am able to do that, the choice I need to make seems clearer than when I allow all the other factors, accusations and brouhaha invade my thoughts. But I am still open for comments, so if by some sad chance you, too, are on the Internet, instead of barbecuing or swimming or planting things in the yard, feel free to e-mail me!

primary countdown

2008-05-21T16:13:00.000-07:00

Is it over yet? No, not until I finish transcribing endorsement interviews and writing our endorsements. Right now, I'm trapped at my desk waiting for a call from Benny Shendo regarding his attempted outing of Ben Ray Lujan last night.
Here's his official statement, which I just posted on Swing State of Mind.

things that need to happen

2008-05-20T13:09:00.000-07:00

Or, a "to do" list, with some things on the list seeming more appealing than others.

1. Finish interviewing candidates for June 3 primary. Last interviews are tomorrow.
2. Finish writing endorsements for nine contested races. Must be done by Friday, because Monday is Memorial Day and we are closed.
3. Attend Drive in movie event Friday night.
4. See Samia & Serena Saturday for girlie activities, plus hang out with boy and NOT HAVE TO WORK as I have every weekend for the last two months because I swore I wouldn't have to.
5. Visit D's pool, assuming it remains hot and doesn't snow.
6. Get cover story ready for June 4 edition by May 28 in order to
7. Miss work May 29-30 for dental surgery. :(
8. Edit summer guide articles in time for June 4 dummy date because I will have to
9. Pack and go to Philly June 4 for AAN convention, where I will run "speed bitching" panel; see old girlfriends from high school, collect awards (we are nominated for seven in the AAN contest. woo hoo.
10. Return home June 8 and start it all up again.

I can do all that. Piece of cake. Arsenic-laced cake, but cake nonetheless. On the bright side, I've already voted!

bugging tom udall

2008-05-17T17:05:00.000-07:00

I early-voted today to kill a few minutes before Tom Udall arrived to early vote. I had this fantasy that no one would show up to watch him vote and I could harangue him into telling me who he's supporting as a super delegate. I got nowhere. I think if I could have gotten his wife, Jill Cooper, alone for a few minutes I could have gotten it out of her. She always seems fond of me, although she's called me "Emily" for years and I never correct her (it kind of reminds me of Devil Wears Prada and, thus, I find amusing). Anyway, I got nowhere. And, I can't get my video of Tom voting to download on my computer at home for some reason and I can't seem to log onto to Swing State of Mind, our election blog, from home. So here's my interview with Tom, as posted on Huffington Post earlier today. Look for, hopefully, video on Swing State on Monday, perhaps with a photo or two. Here's one of Udall and Cooper, under siege by yours truly, at the county fairgrounds.

I really screwed up this week's video

2008-05-16T10:06:00.000-07:00

Like, spaced on adding the music track. Oh well. Such as it is:

Yay!

2008-05-14T17:25:00.000-07:00

AAN and Medill Announce AltWeekly Awards Finalists

The finalists this year, selected from more than 1,400 entries and over 90 participating papers, run the gamut from investigations of errant public officials to stories about green living. L.A. Weekly leads the pack with eight winners. Washington City Paper and Santa Fe Reporter follow closely with six nominees each. The order of finish for the 13th annual AltWeekly Awards contest will be announced on June 7 in Philadelphia.

Yahoo. Read the rest here.

The Paramount: RIP

2008-05-14T08:06:00.000-07:00

It was sad enough when The Paramount closed its doors. But this? This is hard to take.

The answer is blowing in the wind

2008-05-13T13:12:00.000-07:00

Oh wait, no, that's not answers blowing in the wind, just dust.
I think I am on my way to becoming one of those folks who walk around with a face mask on. Particularly after my Friday night ride on the train to Lamy (the KBAC's soul train), where I ate so much dust on the outdoor car that I immediately got a horrible sinus headache, then became motion sick and spent most of the evening trying not to hurl on everyone who spoke to me. Good times. I have got to learn to not leave my house. If you met me that night, and I seemed unfriendly, I apologize. I really was working hard not to be sick everywhere.
I am staring at two solid week of candidate interviews (and attending, tomorrow night, the Third CD forum at Temple Beth Shalom, it's at 7 pm). Meanwhile, here's my newest post on Huffington Post, also found in a slightly different version on our Swing State of Mind blog.
Meanwhile, I'm kind of sad that today's West Virginia election is predicted to be a blow-out for Clinton. Not because I begrudge her her win, but because I can't sit glued to the news all night biting my nails. What fun is a predicted blow-out?

this week's radio show

2008-05-08T13:52:00.000-07:00

A dozen interviews to go

2008-05-06T13:30:00.000-07:00

Just back from DC, I did the last thing I felt like doing, which was book my tickets to Philly for the AAN annual convention. I am leading an event called "speed bitching," which is not, unfortunately, just me complaining while on crack. Actually, I don't really know exactly what it is or how it's going to work, but I swear to you, if you're planning to attend, it's going to be AWESOME and if I do score some crack I will share it. Pretty sure we'll be in the right city for it.
Speaking of which, yes, home again, home again, skippity skip. I haven't been back to Philly in, I'm pretty sure, a decade, possibly 15 years. It's hard to keep track of time when you spend so much time denying its passage. At any rate, it's been a long-ass time, long enough that I have, in fact, no family or friends there, so as far as homecomings go, it will be a little low-key. Also, I pretty much hated every minute I lived there and have lived in SF longer than I lived there, so I guess you could describe my attitude about the whole thing as ambivalent. At best.
Speaking of attitudes, our copyeditor has taken on the daunting task of scheduling all the politicos in for their endorsement interviews. The ones who have gone through this before are behaving pretty well about the whole thing. We interview all the candidates in a group since a. we are a tiny staff and that's the only way to do it and b. if they are going to talk shit about one another, I'd just as soon they do it in front of each other so that the shit-talkers and shit-talkees can respond to one another. Also, it keeps things fair, as in everyone answers the same questions and gets about the same amount of time. It's not a complex thing, but you'd think we were asking them all to come in naked and recite Shakespeare (now there's an idea). Listening to Karen answer their questions (Wiviott's campaign person just asked her if the candidates would be required to sit in a circle. Um, yeah, and hold hands...WTF?). The silly part of it is, the ones that get it get that, hey, do you want our endorsement? (Answer: Yes, you do). Then do what we say, come in, answer our questions and appear to be thoughtful and accessible. Do you NOT want our endorsement (No, you don't not want it). Then argue and ask annoying questions and be a pain in the ass about it. (And, no, it wasn't just Wiviott's campaign person being annoying, that was just the most recent example). Fortunately, Karen is talking to these people and not me, because she is very patient whereas I, as you may have noticed, am not.

weighted down by hair

2008-05-03T05:34:00.001-07:00

So here I am in Washington, DC, my need for coffee having overwhelmed my legendarily poor sense of direction such that I was actually able to map out a route from N street to K street. Look, Ma, I know the alphabet! I realize for most people being able to negotiate a four-block walk wouldn't seem like a big deal, but I am someone capable of getting lost just walking around a block, so I am feeling pretty snazzy right now, aside from the fact that thanks to the humidity my hair has, overnight, expanded fivefold and I can barely lift my head.
I am staying in the world's cutest bed and breakfast. I say this objectively because, unfortunately, I am not a fan of B & Bs. Not being able to turn on the news (because there is no TV) makes me feel as though anything might have happened since I got here, as if I have been completely cut off from the rest of the world. Because I haven't watched CNN in 12 hours. Uh huh, I know what you're thinking: Get help.
I didn't sleep very well. I kept having nightmares that I was living in a thrift store and the owner kept making me try on old sweaters she had for sale. This is what sleeping in a B & B apparently wreaks on my sub-conscious. Still, objectively speaking, it's a very cute B & B, the restaurant downstairs where I ate last night with the AAN membership committee was really good, the neighborhood is awesome, all brick buildings, blooming flowers, ivy creeping up walls, that kind of thing. A great architectural and aesthetic vaca from the dry, windy environs of SF. If it weren't for my hair, which I swear just expanded more while I was writing this, all would be grand. I fly home tomorrow morning, super early. This is a quick, quick trip, so I don't know that I'll get to do much besides eat and meet, although there is some talk of going to a News Museum later and, if that happens, I will definitely tag along. After all, maybe they will have CNN, yes?

Overheard in dallas airport

2008-05-02T13:59:00.000-07:00

Counter girl in yogurt shop: "are you from austrailia?"
Me: "No."
Girl: "Your accent sounds like you're from Australia."
Me: Stony silence.

Note to self: I'm not unconsciously speaking in an australian accent
while in airports, am I? Or has that girl never left this airport before
and thinks anyone without a texan accent is from australia?

the latest from the sunport

2008-05-02T11:05:00.001-07:00

Here I am again at the ABQ Sunport Airport, or whatever it's called. I don't know if I actually spend a lot of time here, or if it just feels that way, but I am beginning to feel like a regular. In fact, earlier, the wireless didn't seem to be working, so I picked up the courtesy phone and told someone and the guy said, "OK, let me reboot it and then try." Now that's service.
My flight, of course, is late, because I'm flying to DC through Dallas where, apparently, huge thunder storms are causing everything to run late. After my Phoenix fiasco, I booked a pretty longish layover, so hopefully I will be fine. As it is, I won't be at my hotel until 9 pm at the earliest, and at a meeting at 9 am tomorrow, so, basically my 48 hours are looking like this: flight, delay, wait, airport, flight, delay, meeting, meeting, meeting, flight, delay, flight delay. Or something like that. It's sort of more crowded and chaotic than usual here at the airport—usually Albuquerque is weirdly quiet, as if it's just a movie-set airport and not an actual airport. Airports are so freaky. I feel like a different person when I'm in airport. For example, in real life I never think too much about what people are wearing or what they weigh. In airports, I find myself obsessed, thinking: Why is everyone so fat and badly dressed? I guess I'm a bitch in the airport. A superficial bitch. But I don't think like that any other time, so maybe it evens out and I'm just like everyone else. Or maybe airports attracts such a preponderance of overweight badly dressed people, that I'd have to be blind to not notice. Or maybe...
I suppose there's no point in wearing down my battery blathering on about the 7,000 pounds of human flesh in polyster that surrounds me. Instead, I bid you good travels. Or, rather, I bid that to myself.
Also—did not get enough sleep last night.
Until DC—

2008-05-01T19:53:00.000-07:00

I should be packing. I should be packing. I should be packing. I HATE packing.
So...I know all this self-promotion is revolting and I am self-revolted, but if you have a chance, check out my Huffington Post post and buzz me up or fan me or whatever. I will do the same for you! I swear! (Or the equivalent: come to your show, buy your book (and read it), whatever.
Yeah...definitely should be packing.

ready, set, d.c.

2008-05-01T14:33:00.000-07:00

So, tomorrow morning I go to DC for the AAN membership committee meeting. I'm slightly bitter that I'm flying all day Friday, sitting in a meeting most of Saturday and then flying back Sunday morning. Bye-bye weekend. Oh well.
If you haven't yet, please check our SFR's new election blog, Swing State of Mind. I've just posted on the David Iglesias scandal as it may or may not impact the Pearce/Wilson Senate race. The post is also on Huffington post, so feel free to read it there too!
And, finally, before I leave you for my cross-country journey, this week's radio cast—sorry the editing was a little rough. I'm in a hurry...and I'm not that good at it yet.

The Kanye West show

2008-04-28T11:49:00.001-07:00

I reached a few conclusions after the Kanye West Glow in the Dark show at Journal Pavillion Saturday (April 26) show:

1. Kanye West may not be the "greatest star in the universe" as hyped during the show, but he comes close.
2. The end of April is too cold for an outdoor show (and I've got the cold induced by freezing for five hours to prove it).
3. There is way too much alcohol for sale at the Pavillion.

First off, I don't want to neglect mentioning that openers Lupe Fiasco and N.E.R.D. were phenomenal. Interestingly, although Fiasco went first, he was, clearly, much better known to the crowd than N.E.R.D. and got lots of back-up vocalizing from the way hyped crowd as he ticked off Hip Hop Saved My Life and Superstar. N.E.R.D. also was a crowd-pleaser, particularly when Pharrell Williams brought up a very authentic-looking group of ABQ-area ladies for a song whose lyrics seemed to consist of, mostly: "I want to fuck tonight/I feel horny." (Although he did bleep out the F-word, so maybe I just have a dirty mind. Not). I was particularly happy to hear Rock Star, a song I can no longer play in the car because I have gotten two speeding tickets from playing it while driving. It just kind of makes you want to lean on the gas.
But folks were there for Kanye and he delivered. Unlike many rappers who sound like ass outside the studio, West was high energy and his rapping was flawless. The theme to the show was, um, Kanye alone in the universe. His spaceship has become lost in space and he can only communicate with its computer (named "Jane"). I'm sure I'm not the only person who was thinking, wow, how David Bowie is that? Or, well, maybe I was, given that the average age at the show was about 20 and the average blood-alcohol level about four times the legal limit. Still, the technical aspects of the production made it an out-of-the-ordinary experience for a hip-hop show and if it had a little bit of a geek-meets-megalamania flavor to, so be it. Kanye's sing-along version of Good Life was particularly intense and brought the house down. Gold Digger also was a great one, and worth noting that West bleeped out the N word while singing. But not the F word on other occasions. I should have some theory for the selective self-censorship, but I don't.

2. It was freaking freezing outside, which was good for sales of Fiasco's hoodies, but not so good for those of us not in the mood to chalk over many bills to keep from catching pneumonia. Achew. I can't begin to imagine how the many girls wearing almost no clothing managed to survive. Unless, somehow, drinking a lot keeps one from feeling the cold.

3. Speaking of which, before the show even began, I witnessed young-looking girls throwing up in the bathroom and banging, drunkenly, into one another everywhere I looked. It's beyond me how the Pavillion can sell SO MUCH booze at a venue that you've got to drive in and out of. I mean Jaeger Meister shots? Also, one can drink anywhere (there are no designated drinking areas so popular at Santa Fe events), so any kind of control over minors having access to liquor is zilch, from what I could tell. I hate to sound super old or super Santa Feish, but the whole thing seemed like a DWI waiting to happen. Also, a coffee stand wouldn't be the worst idea in the world.

At any rate, I'm glad I went!

(cross-posted from Artistic Overdose).

make me popular

2008-04-25T21:30:00.001-07:00

So, I am now a blogger on Huffington Post, although I must confess I have no idea what that means or how it works. I guess I will find out. The one thing I'm fairly certain of is that it will go better if you all go here RIGHT now and become my fan and leave comments and stuff. Cause, um, I guess that's how this Internet thing works?
Am full of sushi and extraordinarly exhausted for no reason whatsoever. It's been a tiresome week and I can't believe I have a work-related trip to DC next weekend. OK, no need to think about that right now. So, yeah, we're all clear on the making me popular thing? At least on the Internet.

Yesterday's radio show

2008-04-25T08:43:00.001-07:00

Better late than on time...I mean never.

the midwest & I

2008-04-20T19:28:00.000-07:00

I am one of those coastal snobs who thinks the midwest mainly exists as a place where one changes planes. I exempt New Mexico, at least Santa Fe, from this equation because, you know, Santa Fe is so unique and beautiful that, like most of us who live here, I have a probably delusional sense of superiority just 'cuz my zipe code is 87501 (oh wait, I guess it's actually 87507, not that I ever get my mail anyway).
So when everyone I know was hating on St. Louis and telling me it was a "shithole," I assumed they were right. I mean, you know, Missouri? Find that on a map. Well haters, St. Louis is actually pretty cool. Now, granted, I got to hang out all weekend with my homegirl Samia AND see The Roots, the best band in the world, and see them with, maybe 600 people, in a college gymnasium. And they sang Seed 2.0 for the encore and did a totally amazing hip hop history lesson throwing in everything from Kweli to Salt n Pepper. But aside from all that, St. Louis also has numerous awesome independent coffeehouses (one of which is huge, in a four-story house), a very large and dynamic restaurant scene with numerous cuisines we don't got here and if I'd stayed another month I could see The Roots twice more, not to mention Erica Badu. So, coffee, food and music, what else do you need? Plus, we found a really, really good bookstore.
It was weird to be somewhere where you can smoke inside at coffeeshops and bars, though. And, I have to admit, we had to move outside because I couldn't breathe and my eyes were burning. Who would have dreamed it? The bar we went to last night, Cafe Venice, was amazing: the entire place is covered in all different sorts of mosaics, everything from very studied, artistic ones to just funky walls with marbles and toys in mosaics. Everywhere you looked, there was something cool to see. I kind of wished the boy was there, because he's artistic (when he's not changing IVs for the injured, that is), but maybe it's good he wasn't as he'd probably feel inspired to mosaic his entire house and I'd never see him again. Anyway, here's a few pics from Cafe Venice, and then i'm off to shower the plane smell off of me and edit the cover story.

Take me to st. Louie

2008-04-18T09:22:00.001-07:00

Well, here I am at the sunport, blogging on my ailing sidekick. And
apparently sitting next to someone who knows me. Can't wait to sleep on
the plane! Hung out on the new train party last night. More later!

say it ain' so

2008-04-17T07:40:00.000-07:00

My eyes tell me it's snowing. Snow fell on my head as I walked Nero this morning. But my heart? Say it ain't so, it says. Say it ain't so.
I'm off to the radio station!

I think I'm turning Japanese

2008-04-16T14:44:00.000-07:00

No, I really don't think so. Unlike some people I've known, I've never had a fascination with any other culture or a desire to appropriate it or live somewhere else. I belong to no land and no one. On the other hand, Japan does have several appealing components: I wouldn't be considered particularly short there AND I'd be surrounded by sushi.
The Times has had a least a few trend features that I filed (mentally) under the tag: Things Are Weird in Japan.
The first related to the the ubiquitous use of QR Code in Japan. Which is totally Minority Report and, thus, I am kind of obsessed with it. (Yes, yesterday's post was in QR code. I was kind of inspired to do that after Zane sent me an email in QR code. Maybe the entire paper could be in QR code from now on?)
Growing so popular, the code is now turning up on scarves for cripe's sake.
But nothing, NOTHING, I tell you, has stuck in my brain as much as this story about people dressing up as soda machines in Japan to hide from attackers. I have brought this up in conversation dozens of times since I read the story; I just can't get over the photograph. Love it.

break it down, peeps

2008-04-15T14:20:00.002-07:00

this is only a test

2008-04-10T17:18:00.000-07:00

So the news today is that the FCC has approved a system so the government can send everyone text messages when there's some kind of horrific emergency. The brain trusts on the morning news shows were quick to point out how easy this will be because "everyone knows how to text." Indeed. I can't help but envision just how our future emergency text messaging system will go down.

GOVT: FYI: Under attack.

ME: OMG, totally freaking out.

GOVT: Remain clam.

GOVT: Sorry, meant calm.

ME: Drivng hm rt now. Sht, just ran rd lite.Gs I'll stp and get sx mo. of wtr.

GOVT: LOL, me 2.

live to blog another blog

2008-04-08T14:12:00.000-07:00

Slate pretty much demolished The Times' weird blogging kills story. And it really begs the question: How does a story like this get published?
Now this April 7 Albuquerque Journal story about one mother's crusade against anti-depressants, on the other hand, is an important and timely story. Or, at least it was when we wrote it on March 5.

overheard at the dentist

2008-04-08T09:00:00.001-07:00

So yesterday, while getting my teeth cleaned, the hygenist told me that she cleans inmates' teeth part-time at the prison. And that Wednesday, she would be cleaning accused cop-killer Michael Astorga's teeth, because all inmates get their teeth cleaned on their birthdays (prompting the not-very-liberal thought, on my part, that not only was I paying for my own teeth to get cleaned, I also am paying for Astorga's; not to mention, given the high-end dentist's office I was in, I found myself thinking all sorts of not-politically correct thoughts, like, can't they get a hygenist who doesn't work on inmates?). Anyway, I don't know how true any of this is, though, as from what I can tell Astorga's birthday isn't until next month.
Meanwhile, have I mentioned how sick I am of going to the dentist?

taking my life in my hands

2008-04-07T08:33:00.000-07:00

The morning news people were all a twitter this morning over this New York Times article about how blogging may be fatal, which includes the wonderfully hilarious line:

To be sure, there is no official diagnosis of death by blogging, and the premature demise of two people obviously does not qualify as an epidemic.

I'm surprised there hasn't been a study yet on how blogging affects one's health; there seems to be a study on everything else.
The 24/7 news people seemed openly amused by the idea that blogging was stressful, one of them noting, with a lobotomized and overly white grin, "We all have stress!"
Well said, shiny, happy news people, well said.
OK, better keep this short; I have a long day to live through.

hear hear

2008-04-04T08:48:00.001-07:00

Annoyed by Web sites' links? Me too. Click for a great article on just how annoying they are.
And then click here to vote in the Best of Santa Fe contest.
And then read this New Yorker article on the death and life of American newspapers. And after you do, let me know if I should read it. I'm trying to conserve my eyesight.