|
SubscriptionsSites I Read
|
|
|
|
| Plop went the shoe
For a long time now we've known that switching from afternoon to morning paper was a possibility. Because of some of the things that would entail, I really hoped it wouldn't happen. But today we found out that it is, and much earlier than anyone expected: Sept. 8, to be precise. This of a process that someone who has a much better grasp on than I do said would probably take a year to complete.
Anyway, the big issue is that instead of our practical deadline being 8 a.m., it's now going to be more like midnight. Which means that instead of having a reporter work the midnight shift just Friday and Saturday, we may need to have at least one person do that every day of the week. And that instead of having just one reporter working Sundays, we're going to need at least two -- and this at a time when we're already working essentially every other weekend.
There are a lot of issues to work out -- for instance, we might still have one early day reporter and with the composition of my beat, I'd love to do that. Or that maybe we could talk the editors out of the midnight thing, which I've always thought a little ridiculous because in practicality we never use anything that comes in after 10 p.m. anyway. But even so -- just one additional evening of working until 10 p.m. a week would be a major disadvantage in my mind. And with everything changing we would more than likely be smushed in together with the sports guys, which means a noisier office, which means it's harder to concentrate. And my one valued survival mechanism -- waking up at 4 a.m. to write the story I didn't feel capable of tackling at 10 a.m. -- is suddenly totally out of the question.
Yikes.
Anyway, if you could pray that somehow this turns out to be a good thing, or at least not horrible, I would appreciate it. Or, then again, maybe God is trying to tell me it's really time to vamoose. But, um, what about that 13-month lease?
PS -- I'm also seriously concerned that we're going to lose reporters over this. Which, frankly, when you have a tight-knit and relatively experienced group of only five reporters that even so is barely hanging on by the skin of their teeth, is scary unto death.
| | |
| Church as SA meeting
Hi, my name is Heather and I am a sinner. Jesus Christ saved me, totally and forever, when I asked Him to, but despite eternal admission that I am helpless, I still struggle, frankly, to get over myself, massive pride, fear, desire to hear “You're the best” from everyone. Sometimes I think church services are bad for me, because I know just how to play them. I know the songs by heart, and I could play piano with them better than at least half the people I've heard accompany. I know the books of the Bible and the stories. If the text is familiar I probably have it functionally memorized, and chances are I probably know exactly where the sermon's going within three minutes, even sans outline. And I'm good at smiling and shaking hands. See what I mean? So much attempting to radiate perfection when really I should just say “I need help.”
| | |
| Everybody wants to be a youth pastor
But I keep wondering if it might not be better if some of them became, say, juvenile probation officers.
Don't we, after all, believe that faith should be in action outside the walls of the church building?
And, trust me, there's a need.
**
I've been breaking into wild peals of laughter lately
The reason: WDAC.
Specifically, the "music."
For instance, there was the man with The Most Bombastic Voice I Have Heard In Eons, who was soloing on "Immortal, Invisible." But apparently majestic wasn't to his taste, because both his styling and the accompaniment were decidedly bouncy.
Yes, bouncy. Blithe, cutesy, careless -- you name it, he was going for it. In staccato.
I howled.
Then there was the male quartet composed of people who A. didn't have good voices, B. didn't blend and C. evinced a fondness for baroque gospel t
echniques.
And the one in which Someone decided it would be ethereal and inspiring to have a light soprano hovering musically above the chorus. It might have worked if said soprano had any sense of timing whatsoever.
And all the ones where they decide the melody everyone knows is boring, so they pick a random different one and sing it double speed, with odd pauses to keep you on your toes.
I grew up with WDAC, and over the years heard it turn more contemporary. All of this appeared, surprisingly, to be more conservative, so I'm thinking they realized they were going to lose all the contemporary people to other stations and tried to return to their base. I'm not going to argue that. But someone needs to send them a memo that conservative doesn't have to equal flat-out awful.
Then again -- I'm out of WDAC's area most of the time these days. Maybe it just seems particularly egregious because I haven't heard it for a while?
| | |
| Work in progress
I'm tired of being
old hat to you.
Remember when
this old hat was new?
You wore me so proud,
tipped me just so.
We were together
wherever you'd go.
In rain or in shine,
we strolled along swell.
If someone dissed me
My how you'd yell!
But you forgot me –
A little, a lot –
and now saying “we”
is something we're not.
It's you, always you,
walking all by yourself,
whether or not
I sit on the shelf.
Oh, you still wear me –
still raise me, too.
It is expected;
all gentlemen do.
But that's all it is,
just part of the show.
Don't bother lying:
You know that I know.
I want it back --
all that we had.
I want it back,
and I want it bad.
It's not just for me;
you need it too.
...
(I keep meaning to write these erudite things -- and I keep making them down-to-the-ground simple. The original title was First Love, as in Revelations -- but I'm not sure that works now, either.)
| | |
| Notes on a cruise * In addition to sunshine, the Bahamas have a shocking abundance of lizards, seashells scuttling along on crustacean-looking legs until you appear, and free-ranging but apparently harmless dogs.
* People of colors other than white are frequently stunning. People who should be white but are trying to upgrade to brown by way of red are frequently stunning, too, but in a decidedly less positive way.
* I have retained my ability to shock people by informing them that no, I am not in high school. Or college. Haven't been for FOUR YEARS, thank you very much.
* Bahamians drive on the wrong side of the street, but their steering wheels are in the rightplace.
* Royal Caribbean apparently does not hire Caucasians except as dancers.
* They look like ships, but they're really cleverly disguised Stairmasters. My legs feel like something Michaelangelo would have painted.
* I don't remember the last time I was in a place where no one was using cell phones -- not texting, not chatting, not surfing the Web. It was refreshing. | | |
|
