A Newsroom Experiment

For the entertainment section, MiX, the newsroom staff has decided we will each try "Fad diets" for a week. I have volunteered to try the Special K diet where I replace two meals a day with cereal and get to have a normal third meal. I am into day one, and hungry, but I suspect most of the hunger is probably in my head at this point.

My first complaint:

Part of the appeal of the Special K diet is that although you are eating cereal for two meals a day, there are a variety of cereal flavors. I do not like fruit in my cereal, so that eliminated many of the options for me, but I had high hopes for their Chocolatey Delight flavor. Unfortunately, it was not in the two stores I looked and I am now bitter about it. This means it'll be Original and Vanilla Almond for the next week. I was, however, able to find Chocolatey Delight Special K cereal bars. I get two snacks a day.

More complaints will follow in the coming week.

Other diets staffers are trying include a raw diet, a red, green, or white diet excluding food from countries with flags of those colors, and a grapefruit diet.

By the end of the week the staff is going to be very crabby.

Old Man Winter

There is too much snow, and it is only increasing as time goes on. I have short legs. It is not easy stepping over three foot snow drifts and the snow being blown in my face, is just not nice. Review of my classes this semester to follow later in the day if I do not slip and fall to my death.*


*You may think I'm being overly dramatic, but you haven't seen this build up of snow and ice.

Another sad coffee story

I've haven't posted in a while so I have some catch up posting to do. There are several things I meant to blog about during the week but didn't, like ...

On Wednesday, I had a rough morning. Wednesday's are my sleeping in day, but last week it was also the day of our special Best of Pullman section. I had a profile for Pullman's favorite police officer due by noon, but had yet to speak to the subject. I knew he started work at 7 Wednesday morning. I set my alarm for 8, figuring I would give him some time to get settled at work, wake up and call him, and schedule an interview for later in the morning. Unfortunately, at 8:00, while I'm still in my pajamas, he said then was a good time for an interview. So I quickly got dressed, put myself together, and drove to the Pullman police station. I had no time for breakfast or more importantly coffee, and it was very cold.

The early morning interview finished, I immediately went to get myself some coffee. It was going to fix my desire for coffee and warm me up. But I was tired and running on auto pilot. I mistakenly ordered an iced latte. By the time I realized it, it was too late. I ruined the thing which could have saved my morning. I was sad. And still cold.

Fly or Fly Paper?

When I'm bored in class, along with critiquing people's hair cuts, I find myself creating analogies and metaphors. I think it all stems from several weeks ago when my editor shared one.

This is my newest:

Sometimes I feel like fly paper, but I don't want to catch flies. I'll notice one beginning to come a little close and I'll try to warn it. I mean fly paper gives out signals that it's fly paper. Alas, the silly fly will ignore all signals and come too close. Then it's stuck. I keep trying to brush it off, but it's no use, completely stuck. I've caught an unwanted fly and now have to deal with it. It's annoying.

All kinds of people can act like flies: the overly friendly stranger, an acquaintance who thinks you're close friends, and the most obvious and worst kind, which I prefer not to mention explicitly. It's not that I don't like people, but I like my space, and don't want them to be stuck to me. Everyone has a few unwanted flies.

But then I begin to wonder how many people think of me as a fly on their fly paper and decide maybe I shouldn't be so dramatic.

If you must ...

If you must canoodle in my presence, at least have the decency to do it out of the way of the entrance/exit. People have places to be. Tapping a canoodler on the shoulder to ask them to scoot aside is awkward for all involved. Let's try to avoid it in the future.

The trouble with doors

While my counter-part appreciates their efforts, I find their antics sometimes complicate the simple matter of passing through a door.

On my way to class today I was trying to leave a building just as someone else was trying to come in. He opened the door, but neither of us could pass because we stood on either side of the threshold. I would have preferred to simply step aside, let him through, and then operate the door myself for my exit, but it would not be. He gripped the door up higher and stepped aside so that I had to pass underneath his outstretched arm. I'm short, but not that short, so I still had to duck down. It was awkward. I do not like awkwardness.

Moments later, another fellow and I sought to enter a building at the same time. Again, the number of options complicated the simple task. I could wait expectantly for him to open the door and let me pass, open the door myself and let him go through first, or do what I did and open the door myself and go through, then kind of toss it back so it remained open for him to pass through. I felt rude for not allowing him to go first, but it would have been a role-reversal if he had gone first and just as awkward. Still, I was embarrassed by the escapade so I hurried away as quickly as I could. Just inside the doors was a flight of stairs. I scurried up them a bit too quickly for someone wearing nylons, so of course, my shoe slipped off.

I had succeeded in making a perfectly ordinary situation awkward and then even more so. I kept my head down, retrieved my shoe, and decided in the future I would try to strategically time my arrival at doors so there is no competition for passage.

A rant about direct relationships

The more time I spend sitting through college classes, the more fond I become of my years in the International Baccalaureate program. A large part of the problem arises because I am still in required lower-division courses. The classes are ridiculous. I constantly feel like I am being spoken down too and that professors purposefully draw out lectures to fill the entire class period, even when they could finish them in half the time.

The I.B. program was a good program because more than being challenging, the teachers expected things of students. Perhaps I have become disillusioned during these years I haven't been in high school. I didn't like all my classes, but save for a single instance (a horrible zero hour class) I don't remember constantly feeling like my time was being completely wasted.

It's not that I know everything already. I.B. prepared me well, but I still have much to learn and am eager to do so. The classes introduce new material, they do, but it is presented in such a way that it's better for me just to read the over-priced textbook. It bothers me that the lectures aren't really necessary.

All throughout high school, we were warned. College will be different. It is different, but not in ways I had hoped. I miss the challenge. I miss having more expected of me, than merely showing up. I suppose I may take all this back when the first set of mid-terms come around, but somehow I doubt it.

I'm not suggesting classes should be made unnecessarily difficult, but I want to gain something from them. I sincerely hope upper-division courses will be an improvement.

Our Friday Night: Part Four

We watched our movie and all was well. It got out around 12:30. Perfect timing to head over to Barnes and Noble to pick up my book. Most of the crazy people should have come and gone. As we pulled into the parking lot, however, we saw a mob hanging outside the doors. Hmmm, maybe people were having so much fun that they stuck around, we suggested. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

It turns out, at around six that evening, Barnes and Noble handed out a limited number of bracelets to people waiting outside. Only the people with these bracelets could go into the store and pick up their book, regardless of pre-order/reserved copy. I was not pleased. I was under the impression, when I reserved my copy, that I would be able to pick it up when the store began selling the books, which it did at midnight. I heard absolutely nothing about these required bracelets until that night. As I said, I was not pleased.

You disappointed me Barnes and Noble.

After we were unsuccessful at picking up HP 7, Ariel and I headed home. It was an unsatisfactory ending to an otherwise enjoyable Friday night, pushy self-scanner excluded.

Our Friday Night: Part Two

I think it has something to do with the tartness, but grapes really do make my teeth ache. Also, whether green or some other color, I can only chew grapes on the right side of my mouth. Grapes are too cold for my left side. It is very odd.

We then headed over to the cashiers to check out, but as we got there, no one was manning their posts at the registers. Luckily, we spotted a little thing that said "Self-Checkout."

I told Ariel we should try it. "It'll be fun," I said. I was sadly mistaken. It looked simple enough. There was the little scanning place and a small monitor with push buttons. I pushed a button that said something along the lines of "Begin Check-out," thinking to myself how easy it would be.

"Please scan your first item," the machine yelled.

"Ariel, how do you turn it down," I asked.

I don't know why I was embarrassed. I think having a machine yell at me just made me flustered. Still, I continued. I scanned my first item, a magazine. "Four dollars and sixty-five cents. Please place item in bag." (I ignored the directions and simply set the magazine off to the side. I was only purchasing a few items and didn't need a bag.) I tried to scan a second magazine but nothing happened."Please place item in bag," the machine loudly directed. It repeated this every time I tried to scan the second magazine. I gave up and put the first one in a bag.

After this, the second magazine scanned just fine. "How did it know," I asked Ariel. She didn't know. By this point, I was thoroughly embarrassed and frustrated. I found it annoying that the scanner yelled out the price of each item as you scanned it, even though the price showed on the screen. And what if I didn't want to use a bag. I shouldn't have to. It was a very pushy obnoxious machine and I did not like it.

Softball Game Update

Officially cancelled.

I don't mind the rain, unless it's Wednesday. My whole week has been ruined.

RIP Nikon Coolpix L3

If you're thinking about buying a digital camera don't buy a Nikon. I've gone through two already and they are no good. They are nice for about 10 months, then they die. Mine recently passed away from a "lens error." This is apparently a common COD for the L3s. I wish I would have known this before. What a waste of money. It happened yesterday at Ali's grad party. Everything was going fine. I was getting some great shots, when suddenly it just stopped working. I was obviously frustrated, but I didn't mess with it because I was sure I would just break it more.

After the party Mom, Christina, and I went to Target to see if there was anything I could do to save it. I showed the guy and he said:
"Hmm. Did you drop it?"
"No," I replied flatly and honestly.
"Are we lyyying?"
"NO," Christina and I said together, disgusted at his accusation and belittling tone.
"Hmm. Well this is a common problem with the L3s. You can buy a new one or we can send it in, but that will cost money too."
"Great. Thank you."
We walked away.

Today I decided to troubleshoot online and see what other people did to fix the problem. There were many sites where people had posted their complaints that were identical to mine. The answers and suggestions consisted of: "slap it against your palm" "shake it" "squeeze it" "use a bobby pin to pop the lens back into place," etc. I tried them in order, including the bobby pin, which DOESN'T WORK! Don't try it. The bobby pin was the official COD for my camera. It only succeeded in shoving the lens in further.

Then I called Nikon. I could send it in if there was no physical "accidental damage" to the camera. That they didn't cover, only manufacturer error. If only I hadn't just done obvious physical damage to the lens! Craaaaaap. Looks like I'm SOL, seeing as how I don't have enough hours at Big 5 to make enough money to buy a new camera.

Why Male Teens Pay More

After a long day of job searching and application filling, I was tired as I pulled into my old high school parking lot to pick up my sister from school. As I pulled in, I saw a visitor spot open and was thankful for my good fortune. I prepared to drive up, straight into it. But as I left the safety of the two rows of horizontally parked cars, in order to pull into the vertical spot in front of the school, a crazy high schooler in an old white mustang hit the gas and flew around the corner.

I heard the vroom of his gas pedal and then the "smack," of his car against mine. It was lucky for this young man that rather than braking, I managed to hit my gas pedal. He hit just behind my wheel instead of on my passenger door. My car is not in the best of shape. The horses broke the passenger side mirror and a bad experience with chains beat up by front left panel. This teen added a nice crack just above my right rear wheel. There was really nothing to be done about it, and it's not that large of a crack when one considers all the other problems with my car. As I was unhurt, I spoke to the young man but just let him go with the hope that he learned his lesson. I just didn't want to deal with it.

Later, however, as if it wasn't enough that I had been in a minor car accident hours earlier, my father lectured me about not getting the guy's information, as if we would have done anything with it. I probably should have taken down his name and information, but if I hadn't told my father about the incident, he wouldn't have noticed at all. It was a poor end to a busy day.

People should drive slowly in parking lots.

A Ruined Cake

There once was a good little girl, who didn't care very much for vegetables. Still, this little girl was so good that she ate them anyway. As her reward, she got to have dessert. Her mouth watered and her eyes widened as a lovely piece of chocolate cake was placed in front of her. She tasted a bit of the frosting. It was delicious. Next, she cut into the soft, fluffy goodness with her fork and scooped up a big bite. But as she began chew, she realized something was wrong. There was something in the cake, something ... gross. Not just one thing, but multiple things. They were stringy and slightly firm, not soft and moist as a cake should be. The little girl screwed up her nose. This cake was no good. She slowly pulled out a stringy thing. It slithered out from between her lips like a worm. She poked at the cake and found other worm-like things. This was not what she had bargained for when she ate her vegetables.

This was my first experience with German Chocolate Cake. I did not know it was German Chocolate Cake. It looked like a normal innocent cake. This was also the day I learned I hate German Chocolate Cake. Coconut and pecans only corrupt cakes and should stay out, at least out of mine. The shredded coconut makes me feel like I am eating a cake full a meal worms and cake should be smooth and soft. Pecans are hard.

Today, I was again tricked into eating German Chocolate Cake. The cake looked innocent enough. It looked like a plain chocolate cake topped and filled with chocolate frosting. But no. It was German Chocolate. It was not good. I screwed up my face upon the first bite just as as I did when I was a good little girl.

Worrying Tummy Aches

After I walked over and collapsed on the couch, I lifted up my head to look at my suitemate.

"My tummy hurts," I said.

We both knew why. I had just eaten an entire pint of vanilla caramel brownie ice cream, the entire day's worth allotment of calories included.

After a few pathetic moans, I added, "Tummy is a rather childish word." She looked up from her computer screen and nodded her head in silent agreement.

"It's making your tummy hurt, the word tummy," she said.

I was puzzled.

"Tummy is a childish word, but you used it in reference to your stomach," she explained. "Now, not only does your stomach hurt from the ice cream, but you'll become all anxious about whether or not saying the word tummy makes you seem childish. You'll lay there and wonder if I'm thinking about the fact that you said the word tummy, which will in the end only make the tummy ache worse."

At this point, my tongue is beginning to thaw so I choose not to respond. I continued lying there and realized how sometimes I do indeed worry about the oddest things. I suppose it's nice to know she knows me well.

How College Works

This post could take several different directions. I could talk about what kept me so busy yesterday I didn't have time to post, but the answer to that is really quite simple: Newspaper. I could write about how ridiculous it is that I had three classes canceled this week (two for the entire week, the third just for one day), but I've already complained about college. I don't think many of my peers would appreciate my complaints about my lack of classes anyways. It makes me sad though, because I enjoy being challenged. My courses this semester are easy enough as it is. Not even having to go is ridiculous.

This brings to mind yet another thing I could blog about. Sometimes I wish I wasn't such a good student. I don't mean that I wish I didn't do well in classes, but sometimes I wish I could overlook what I feel my obligations are as a student. No matter how pointless or boring I expect a class to be, I can't not go. I go to every class, even if it's just a review session. I should be happy when classes are canceled instead of feeling cheated. Other students are envious of my schedule. It seems like it should keep me satisfied too. But alas, I was hoping to get more out of college than a degree. I went into to college foolishly thinking I would learn things (including things outside my major). As I come to the end of my freshman year, I have learned that's not exactly how college works. Maybe upper division courses will be an improvement. One can hope.

Where have all the workers gone?

While I am one who truly enjoyed high school, it is hard to deny that college has some perks. Today, not only were my first two classes canceled, but I was released early from the third because the teacher was not feeling well. As I am a double liberal arts major only in my freshmen year, I also had no homework except for some reading in Poli Sci. (I actually find it quite surprising how minimal my work load is after all the work required to gett an I.B. diploma. Still, I suppose if I.B. had not prepared me so well, my first year at college would not have seemed so easy.) This left me the entire day to work on several articles and brought to mind something which has hampered my attemtps to be an efficient journalist.

The work day traditionally ends at five. If I am trying to reach someone for an interview, I try to do so during the work day so I don't disturb his or her evening. It frustrates me a great deal therefore, when people leave their office before five as I've discovered many are apt to do. They may not think they'll accomplish much in that last half hour of their day, but at work they should remain until the work day officially ends. I will be in the newsroom long after five. It's the least they can do.

On a side note, I've discovered it's easy to write much more in these posts than I originally intend to, as evidenced by this case. I think it stems from the fact that I'm not always sure where the post is going. Much of the introduction to this one, for example, is completely unnecessary.

The Little Things

I am also easily annoyed by small details because I tend to be a perfectionist. When the blog says 1 comments, it drives me crazy. If there is only one, then it should be comment, singular not plural.

O the Joys of Technology

I spend a great deal of my time in The Daily Evergreen newsroom located in the basement of Murrow. When I'm not in class, at dinner, or conducting an interview, I can typically be found there. When I was thinking about how I would contribute to this blog, I assumed that a majority of my posts would probably be entered as I waited in the newsroom for a source to call me back or to go to an interview. Today as I was waiting for my interview for the news editor position next semester, I thought I would give the blogging at work idea a try. Unfortunately, the computers in the newsroom are antiques. Not only can I not change the color of the font, but I can also not create links. This means that any postings I do from work, will have to be updated at a later time. I will do the posts anyways, but expect future complaints from me about the crappy computers.