I could name many reasons for liking our new publisher, Rustan, but I would be lying if I didn't say a big factor was his decision to let me bring my dog to work. Is that selfish? Nah, I've had a lot of co-workers express happiness at having Beau the Dog in the office. I think this decision is indicative of a desire to foster job satisfaction and a community feel at the Empire.
I want to clone Michael Penn and make the clone work nights and weekends so I'm never pressed to take a photo again. When Michael's not available, I often find myself toting a DSLR camera to events and hoping I'll get lucky, that I'll have the right shutter speed, the right f-stop, the right white balance — if it sounds like I know what I'm doing, I've fooled you. Fancy cameras with all those different settings continue to befuddle me. I should probably take a proper photography class instead of this fake it 'til you make it style of taking as many photos as time and an SD card will allow.
There are locals who won't step foot downtown during the summer months because of the locust-like swarms of tourists — living downtown, sometimes I wish I could practice avoidance — but the tourists, when they find their way out of the diamond stores, are on to something. We live in a super great place. That's why we live here, after all.
Almost every week I have the pleasure of handling engagement, wedding and anniversary announcements. The photos are often of two people looking lovingly at one another, almost with giant sparkles in their eyes, or a couple with arms wrapped around one another like they want to never let go, or sometimes it is of two people with laughing smiles and eyes squinting because, obviously, they find joy in each other's company.
Working in the field of journalism can do weird things to one's hours. In some ways, it is wonderful — I hate waking up early. In other ways, it is rough. I often find myself eating meals at weirder and weirder hours.
Today I decided to heat up some delicious roasted-red-pepper-tomato soup in a mug in the microwave. To avoid soup explosions and unnecessary cleaning, I choose to microwave in shorter increments and stir. When the time runs out on this particular microwave, the screen reads "YOUR FOOD IS READY" even if your food is, in fact, not ready.
In recent years, everyone has been talking about defining a stage between adolescence and adulthood. It used to be that we'd go from being teenagers to being adults, before that, it was straight up childhood to adulthood. Adults with major jobs or responsibilities, lots of babies, etc. There is talk of a developmental stage called "emerging adulthood" that brings forth awful imagery of larvae for me. As it turns out, I'm on the cusp of being a real adult, both in age and in behavior.
I have been pretty lucky in terms of health. I mean, I'm not exactly a vision of olympic fitness and I certainly lack good vision, but I am not often sick and now I am convinced that I have super-human healing powers. Kind of like Wolverine from the Marvel Comics.
A few years ago, I was celebrating not having to work on a Thursday, Thanksgiving, by going out to have some drinks with a friend of mine; when we entered the bar, a woman greeted us with something like, "Happy Native American Slaughter Day" and I had no immediate response.