Where the wild things are
This town moves so fast I can barely keep up. The breakneck pace of small-town journalism threatens to consume half my waking hours. I spent the first week here learning the ropes — without a net! And then today, after publishing several unsigned rewrites and obituaries, lo, I became a professional, accredited journalist ... when they printed one of my photos.
You know, Calvin & Hobbes creator Bill Watterson said, "I think I learned to write so I could draw for a living." And so it would seem, my first foray into professional (or at least semi-professional) journalism followed suit in the form of a piece of wild art:
This picture from a National Night Out picnic in East Temple is hardly the best photo in the world. In fact, I kind of like this other one from the assignment a little better:
But considering that I was only taking pictures as a back-up, in case our actual photographer couldn't make it to one of the events, and that I was using what one editor called the "digital equivalent of a disposable camera," I was satisfied with the results. The photographer — a fellow Daily Texan vet and Spurs fanatic named Dana — did end up getting a couple shots, so the McGruff picture ran as filler on one of the local pages the next day. Wild stuff!
My domestic hours are no less tumultuus.
Lilly has been femming me up with a steady diet Sex and the City DVDs and vegetarian food. Fellas, so help me, if I order a cosmopolitan this week, slap the taste out my mouth.
A quick question: How would you dance to intro music from S&tC? Lilly and I really got into it about this last night. She contends that the appropriate dance is an awkward, arhythmic bob and ass-wiggle, which is pretty much how she dances to anything. I, however, feel it lends itself to more of a ballet-like series of tippy-toe jumps, more akin to a graceful version of Butthead's dance in front of the T.V.
Beyond that, nothing much else happened except for that time Lilly walked in on me wearing nothing but my leopard-print manties and reading The Things They Carried. I was laying in what we call "the editor pose," a coy contortion of ravenous eroticism that puts one's ass center stage. Stunned, and unsure of what to do, all I could manage to say in a sultry voice was: "Ready for your assignment?"
After an initial shock, Lilly herself was overcome by my powers. "Oh, gross!" she said and started laughing.
But I got her back the next night, oh yes, final score in our Scrabble game: Matt -201, Lilly - crying into her sheets.
---
Today is Lilly's last day at the Telegram. It's an odd feeling for me, kind of like when your best friend moved away in elementary school. I won't know who to talk to if I get bored at work or need some info or advice; she's kind of been my safety net around the office. All in all, it's been pretty pleasant at the apartment. I was worried Lilly would want to kill me at the end of a week. It's probably helped that I've kept my gas to myself for once.
Tonight, we're going out drinking with some other Telegram folks to celebrate. Then it'll be back to her apartment, where we'll retreat to our separate beds, like an old married couple who haven't touched each other in years.
---
Probably the only truly crazy thing that's happened in Temple is the apartment I found. It's a 1/1 with vaulted ceilings, W/D connections, and a patio; my door is about 20 feet from the pool, and the complex is maybe 5 minutes from work, tops. The apartment is about, oh, 761 square feet. And it rents for 395 fucking dollars a month. Boo-ya!
This town moves so fast I can barely keep up. The breakneck pace of small-town journalism threatens to consume half my waking hours. I spent the first week here learning the ropes — without a net! And then today, after publishing several unsigned rewrites and obituaries, lo, I became a professional, accredited journalist ... when they printed one of my photos.
You know, Calvin & Hobbes creator Bill Watterson said, "I think I learned to write so I could draw for a living." And so it would seem, my first foray into professional (or at least semi-professional) journalism followed suit in the form of a piece of wild art:
This picture from a National Night Out picnic in East Temple is hardly the best photo in the world. In fact, I kind of like this other one from the assignment a little better:
But considering that I was only taking pictures as a back-up, in case our actual photographer couldn't make it to one of the events, and that I was using what one editor called the "digital equivalent of a disposable camera," I was satisfied with the results. The photographer — a fellow Daily Texan vet and Spurs fanatic named Dana — did end up getting a couple shots, so the McGruff picture ran as filler on one of the local pages the next day. Wild stuff!
My domestic hours are no less tumultuus.
Lilly has been femming me up with a steady diet Sex and the City DVDs and vegetarian food. Fellas, so help me, if I order a cosmopolitan this week, slap the taste out my mouth.
A quick question: How would you dance to intro music from S&tC? Lilly and I really got into it about this last night. She contends that the appropriate dance is an awkward, arhythmic bob and ass-wiggle, which is pretty much how she dances to anything. I, however, feel it lends itself to more of a ballet-like series of tippy-toe jumps, more akin to a graceful version of Butthead's dance in front of the T.V.
Beyond that, nothing much else happened except for that time Lilly walked in on me wearing nothing but my leopard-print manties and reading The Things They Carried. I was laying in what we call "the editor pose," a coy contortion of ravenous eroticism that puts one's ass center stage. Stunned, and unsure of what to do, all I could manage to say in a sultry voice was: "Ready for your assignment?"
After an initial shock, Lilly herself was overcome by my powers. "Oh, gross!" she said and started laughing.
But I got her back the next night, oh yes, final score in our Scrabble game: Matt -201, Lilly - crying into her sheets.
---
Today is Lilly's last day at the Telegram. It's an odd feeling for me, kind of like when your best friend moved away in elementary school. I won't know who to talk to if I get bored at work or need some info or advice; she's kind of been my safety net around the office. All in all, it's been pretty pleasant at the apartment. I was worried Lilly would want to kill me at the end of a week. It's probably helped that I've kept my gas to myself for once.
Tonight, we're going out drinking with some other Telegram folks to celebrate. Then it'll be back to her apartment, where we'll retreat to our separate beds, like an old married couple who haven't touched each other in years.
---
Probably the only truly crazy thing that's happened in Temple is the apartment I found. It's a 1/1 with vaulted ceilings, W/D connections, and a patio; my door is about 20 feet from the pool, and the complex is maybe 5 minutes from work, tops. The apartment is about, oh, 761 square feet. And it rents for 395 fucking dollars a month. Boo-ya!
posted by Matt at 12:04 PM
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