before they poured out libations for the wedding reception – last month.
cotton clouds gazing on the Northwestern campus….
for theme thursday
“This first-of-its-kind protest signals a refusal to let major label lawyers control what musicians can create and what the public can hear. The Grey Album is only one of the thousands of legitimate and valuable efforts that have been stifled by the record industry– not to mention the ones that were never even attempted because of the current legal climate. We cannot allow these corporations to continue censoring art; we need common-sense reforms to copyright law that can make sampling legal and practical for artists.
Go download the Grey Album! Check it out – Jay-z’s Black Album and the Beatles’s White Album….mixed-up, tripped up, and in a strange but kickin’ harmony.
i can love, with my whole heart. i can believe in myself again. subtle miracles. Mark gave me hope – he saw the goodness in my when I couldn’t find anything decent. Medill gave me a chance when I couldn’t forgive myself.
School is kicking my ass – breaking down my ego on writing. It’s forcing me to re-define my ideas on news, politics, people, ethics, and possibly some aspects on life.
Every beat reporting day – it feels like I’m hanging by a shoe string to file these stories, or any story and to construct the damn lead (or lede). But I make deadline, often to the maniacal glee of a professor, who was making changes to my story up to 2 minutes before deadline.
“Hey Kris, did you file?” he asked.
“Yes,” I snapped.
“Good,” he said with a chuckle.
On our first day of writing, he set us off on a story. Then he started calling out random things to watch for like mis-spelled words and false facts.
“Are you trying to mess with us?” I asked.
“Of course,” he answered.
It’s a learning experience. I get frustrated and ticked off at my professors, but when it comes down to it – I’m learning. There’s always an oppertunity to re-draw the news story structure. Even during happy hour, my professor was copyediting stories for students were not in his class. He drew the same news story structure on their papers, like he did with mine during class.
During another educator’s tangent on news value, my professor lifted his vodka tonic and pointed out with his vodka tonic: “Hey Kris, did you get that? Third graph.” I nodded over my dirty vodka martini (vodka is not the drink of choice for journalism students and professors). It’s tough to take those knocks on stories I spent quite a few hours on travel and interviews and patience. But I know it’s necessary. I have to suck it up and apply that knowledge, somehow…..
maybe I should make a Word Doc template for that news structure….
yeah…just normal…whatever….it’s vicious out there…this mornign, I woke up and found I got some scratches on my hands, from the icy air. I know what these marks look like – I used to ge them on my face when I went skiing without a face mask. I think I’m going to invest in one really soon.
last night, after a day of running around the city on our public documents scavenger hunt and a night of drinking at Bergoff’s and karaoke…..I got my ass on the red line. It was a two-block walk from the karaoke bar and thankfully, I made it without any trouble. The girls were trying to convince me to take a cab….but I just wanted to get home….
I was buzzed and I got really sleepy on the train. I texted Mark a few times in a futile effort to stay awake.
We pulled into Howard and I was about to step on the purple line train to Evanston.
Then I felt my pockets and I didn’t feel the familar bulge of my cell phone. I freaked out – banging on the doors and flagging down CTA operators about my phone. An Indian guy pointed out it’s location, it must have fell down while I was dozing for bit. He also tried to flagged from some CTA people. Thankfully, they opened up the doors of the red line train, now out of commission for the evening. I grabbed my phone……I was a bit bummed about missing the purple line train.
The Indian guy asked me where I was heading and he said we should check out the schedule. It was only 11:30 and I had a few more trains heading this way before the night was over. He smiled and wished me luck and walked away.
I thanked him.
And this morning, I realized I was lucky to have this stranger looking out for my well-being and making sure I had a way to go home. Maybe he was an angel.
I’m grateful. I made it home, smelling like miller light and nicotine…..does everybody have to smoke in these Chicago bars??? grrrrr…….but I was able to crawl into my bed, chat with Mark before heading of into my dreams….
and this stranger helped me get home.