Wizard Life

After I got back from that hellish drive I described in my last post, I kicked back and went to a party. I have been to this party before: The Annual Man House Christmas Party. Last time, I arrived into a room crowded with upwards of 50 guests, all of them dead silent. They were listening intently to my friend Jason as he screamed out names scribbled on packages and handed those gifts. Not so much a white elephant gift exchange, but everyone gets a gift at the man house Christmas party. Last time I got a balance, like a chemical balance, and this time I got Ninja climbing claws. Always very obscure, generous gifts.

Anyway, in anticipation for this year's Christmas party, Nathan and Matt and I decided to become wizards. Or play the wizard game. No; become wizards.

One becomes a wizard by drinking beer. Harry P was known to down his share of High Life in his later years at Hogwarts. The better wizard you are, the more you can drink.

The length of a wizard's staff is the only true way to measure the apptitude of a wizard. The longer, the better. One will drink a beer, finish that beer, and duct tape a full beer on to the top of the empty beer. The bigger one's stick (wizard staff), the more beer they have drunk and the more respected they are with their fellow wizard brethren.

Matt, Nathan, and I decided to become wizards at this party. One reaches official wizard status when one's staff is over thyine own head. This is all in the handbook.

Only one problem with becoming a wizard: it is difficult. About halfway to my wizard status, when my staff was about waist high, I realized the commitment and responsibilities that come with being a wizard. The commitment meaning being committed to your status. When you reach wizard status, your words become undecipherable by the average ear. You walk with a stumble, and are inclined to grope members of the opposite sex. They are the biggest threat to your chaste wizard lifestyle. And when you are a wizard you are burdened with the responsibility of your choice for the next 36 hours. The next day is usually the roughest on those who are wizards. Hung over is what you lay-people call it.

Basically a daunting task. But those committed and responsible people who choose to complete their training and become actual wizards-roughly 14 beers- are forever more enlightened.

I am sad to say, I was no wizard. My staff only reached to my neck. I expelled plenty of toxins in the form of vomit, only to understand I was too naive to become a wizard that night. Maybe some other.

Matt and Nathan are wizards. Or, they were. And I will forever live with the shame in my heart for wussing out on the challenge.

As the old wizard saying goes: A hangover is brief, and glory lasts forever.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=boU6ztxor6M

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ihye6-OCgYQ

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UaPXV6aTRMQ

Marathon Runner

31 hours. Straight. In the snow for the last 6 hours. And I mean snow. A lot of it. People spinning out in front of me. Emotional basket case by the end. I literally cried. But god damn it, I'm a man and there was no way we were stopping to stay the night. I would rather die in a blizzard than have to live with myself after wussing out and staying in a hotel. This is how I do road trips.

That was my drive from Santa Fe back to Olympia. Summed up. Before we started the drive, my brother and I made a commitment to do it straight through. We thought the drive would take 25 hours. 25 hours is doable. From Santa Fe through Arizona and the entirety of California, my brother and I only stopped to get gas. A couple of coffees and a Thin Lizzy CD had us set. Then we hit the California-Oregon border.

We were 20 hours in at that point, a little frazzled from the long road behind us, but spirits were high. However, the mountain pass into Oregon was status 'Chains Required'. We didn't have chains so we ignored the warning and I white knuckled my Subaru over the pass. We barely made it. Another 3 hours of driving and then we hit Salem, Oregon. That is what did me in. It took us 6 hours to get from Salem to Southern Washington. The roads were in worse conditions then they were over the pass. By the end, I was shaking with fatigue and anger. It was the most dangerous drive I have ever done. Thank god my brother was there to scream at the other idiots on the road. He helped keep my sanity intact.

We made it home, said hello to my folks, and I went to my room and cried. I was on the phone with Molly and I broke down. Now I know how those Vietnam Vets feel. No sleep and a bunch of Asian cars coming at you, spinning out all over the road. I wept like a two year old. I haven't cried in some time, and it felt good to let it all out.

It is also good to be home.

I'm an Idiot

Tomorrow I drive back to Olympia, and will leave Santa Fe for good.

I will miss Santa Fe dearly. I have made great friends, had great times, and learned great things. The opportunities I had at the radio station were unlimited, and I've learned valuable skills that will carry with me to to NYC. My editor taught me much, and I hope I've constructed a solid base of experience to work from.

I have also learned I am an idiot. A stupid idiot, who can't interact socially. Not really, but I've been blowing it the last couple of days. This may be one of those things that sounds worse than it actually is- but I still think it's bad.

Let me explain:

For some reason lately, instead of saying goodbye to people, I have been saying 'good-luck'. It is always enthusiastic and sincere; and completely out of context. For instance, I call some people up for work, people that I have never talked to before. The conversation goes perfectly fine, but at the end I sign off with 'good luck'. People hesitate with confusion, and I just hang up the phone. "Good luck". "Good luck with what?," they undoubtedly ask themselves. More likely- "that kid is an idiot".

Good luck? Doesn't it sound condescending? Yet I can't stop saying it.

The worst instance occurred when I was saying goodbye to a co-worker and a friend. Actor Dan Gerrity is the assistant news director at KSFR. He was kind enough to mentor me during my short tenure at the news station. He is also kind enough to be a reference on my resume. We had a heartfelt goodbye, shook hands for a long time, and everything was going smoothly until I paused in the doorway and said, "and good luck!"

Good luck with what? He isn't going anywhere you idiot. He was shaken up, but managed to mutter, "ohhh thanks, you too". It wasn't sincere. What does he need luck for? I'm the snot nosed brat who is going to a new city with absolutely no experience and no prospects. I'm sure he almost said, "keep your luck you fool- your going to need it".

I can kiss that reference good-bye.

My Opus and Shameless Self Promotion

I have peaked before my time.

Last week I informed my editor that I was working on my opus. The journalistic masterpiece of my career. And I'm only 22. I'm like Keats, who did his best work shortly before he died at 24.

I spent days researching my subject: chili peppers. Genetically engineered chili peppers that will kill us all. People actually think this. I researched both the potential end of New Mexico's chili pepper industry and the conflict surrounding genetically engineered foods. The editor was so enthused with my piece, he instructed me to do a write up of my work. Does this mean I am a published author? I think so.... READ AND LISTEN TO MY ARTICLE.

Throughout my research, I formulated my own opinion on GMO products. Essentially- they are horrible. I went to a forum about GMO crops, and farmers from all over the world outlined the destruction these crops have done to both the crops themselves and on the farmers. Biotech companies have destroyed the lives of farmers, pumped our food full of unsafe products, and put patents on living things. The horror caused by genetically engineered crops is beyond belief. If New Mexico puts a GE chili into production, it will be the nail in the coffin for the chili industry.

I encourage you to formulate your own opinion about the food we eat everyday. Corn, canola, soybeans, and cotton are all genetically modified. And they aren't tested by the FDA.

Read these wikipedia entries for background on GMOs.

GMO Food

Monsanto Biotech

You like my self promotion?

In other news, some friends of mine at the radio station put together the best local music I have ever heard. I will load it on here as soon as possible.

My brother is in town. We are driving back to Olympia on Saturday.

Friends!

I have made great friends in my short time here in New Mexico.

Above are pictures of Kalie and Joe. Good buddies of mine.

Joe goes to St. John's University, skates hard, and parties harder. Every weekend with him is a good experience. He still lives in the dorms. When I stay over, I always end up crashing in an empty dorm room. Last night I didn't have a sleeping bag, and the window above the box spring I slept on remained open all night. When I woke up, there was a layer of snow on me. It snowed throughout the night. Everything in moderation.

Kalie is one of the few girls I've met who can actually skateboard. It's weird because she is more enthused about skating then I am. We will be walking down stairs and she will get all excited, claiming, "ohhh man, I got this. I could ollie this." When we skate together she yells at me when I want to stop for the day.

My friend Pete Gardini's wife gave birth to a baby girl last week. He is one of the only friends I have who is married, and is now the first close friend of mine to father a child. A 6 pound 12 ounce baby girl named Olive Gardini. The birth process took over 24 hours and when I last talked to him he sounded a little beat, but very excited. We already talked about how he is going to intimidate all of her future boyfriends.

On a different note, is anyone bummed about how many times a day they check their Facebook? I check it at least 3 times a day. I remember when I first signed up for Facebook. I told myself I would promptly delete it when I finished college. Psssshhhh- forget about that, Brett. Sometimes I find myself wandering aimlessly on Facebook, looking at pictures of people I don't even know. It depresses me. I thought about deleting it, but then got scared. "How will I keep in contact with all my friends?" I'm like an addict, suckling on the the Facebook teet.

Papa Pete

Cowboys and Recycling

"People been saying that cowboys have been a dying breed for a hundred years, they just die hard I guess" -Miles Culbertson, Director for the Livestock Board of New Mexico

That quote was one of the most well spirited things I've heard during my short 'career' as a 'journalist'. Imagine someone saying it with a rural twang and a potential wad of chew in their mouth. Then you get a real sense of how it sounded. Deep rooted in country back roads.

The reason I talked with Miles Culbertson of the Livestock Board was to get numbers of professional cowboys in the state. My interest in professional cowboys was peaked when I did a brief story about a National Monument in New Mexico hiring pro cowboys to wrangle cattle out of the area. Feral cattle had wandered into the park, and they were very ill-tempered. Charging at hikers and all of that. The park manager gave me the number to the cowboy they hired, as well as the number of the Livestock Board.

The definition of a 'professional cowboy' is extremely vague. Miles explained it to me, saying, "All cowboys are ranchers but not all ranchers are cowboys". OK. I tried to play it cool on the phone with Miles, pretending I understood that perfectly. But,I didn't get a true idea of what/who a cowboy is until I called Devon Canaply, the cowboy hired by the park to remove the feral cattle.

He answered the phone gruffly, like I disturbed him. As soon as he answered I went into my usual and typical monologue, "HI!!! This is Brett Cihon from KSFR News and I want to do a story about cowboys! You guys are so weird and interesting!"

This isn't exactly what I said, but it was along those lines. Most people I talk to are more than happy to give me an interview. People like being in the limelight. Well no, some people like the limelight. Some people, as I quickly found out, are actually humble.

Devon stammered with his words for a few moments and said, "no sir, this doesn't interest me at all". I was taken aback. Until now, people (other than Val Kilmer) hadn't refused an interview request. Shocked, I asked him why.

"Well, it's just our life," he said. "It's not interesting, it's what I do." "I don't like the spotlight...I am a working man and there is nothing special to make a story out of". I explained to him that most people, correction most Urban people, know nothing about cowboys. "Well, if you have questions about what I do, you can ask, but I'm not going to do the cowboy piece," he said.

I talked to him a little while longer, embarrassed I had come on too strong.

After I hung up, I reflected on the call. It sickened me to think about how I approached this man. His job seemed like such a novelty to me, and I thought he saw it as a novelty also. A weird break in a sea of white color and 401(k)s. He must have known that what he did was obscure, right?

No. This man had been a cowboy his whole life. His friends were cowboys. Him and I are different. His parents didn't pay for him to go to college, nor does he want to live in a big city. He doesn't think being a cowboy is an 'obscure' profession. He lives his life raising cattle.

I felt bad I viewed his lifestyle as a novelty. More importantly, I forgot that most people aren't like me; don't see like me. When I called him up, I was used to talking to PR people, people who wanted to be on the news, and I forgot what a lot of this country consists of-people that aren't like me.

So, I'm trying to find another cowboy. It won't be the same, though. These cowboys were recommenced to me by the livestock board. "They will want to talk to you," Miles claimed. But now I think a true cowboy won't want to talk to me. A true cowboy wants to do his job in peace, and doesn't have time to talk to a cashmere wearing news reporter like myself.

We have started doing little video clips at www.ksfr.org and www.ksfrnews.com. I hold the camera sometimes.



I did a cool report about the horrible state of recycling in New Mexico. Here it is, 13:20 in.

Ohhhhh Mexico

I went to Mexico with my cousin Mike.

I have officially stepped foot in Mexico. Finally. My entire life, I was ashamed that I had never been to Mexico. It's quite superficial of me, but it's true. When talking about foreign countries, people would undoubtedly bring up their "crazy trips to Mexico". Something gnarly always happened in Mexico. I would retort with, "yeah, well one time in Europe...", but it was never as good as their Mexican story. Now, if you try and out do my foreign adventure stories, I will throw Mexico at you and you will stop in your tracks.

And now for my crazy Mexican stories:

First, it was snowing in Mexico. I primarily envisioned Mexico as the land of Sun, Burritos, and illegal drugs- but only two of those stereotypes rang true. It snowed today in Juarez, Mexico. My cousin and I got thoroughly soaked while purchasing burritos and illegal drugs. Not really, I didn't buy any illegal drugs, although they were certainly offered to me.

Second, even higher on the list of things to buy in the industrial border town of Juarez are women. For the first half mile after you cross the border (we crossed on foot) every man I encountered would offer me women. They would realize the color of my skin, and thinking I was definitely over in their country to score some tail, would propose I follow him to get some chicks. They offered in all sorts of ways. One guy promised us a warehouse full of pus**, which is intriguing because of the pure logistics of the warehouse, but I kept my head down and continued walking....towards the warehouse.

No, just kidding family and Molly (the only people who read this blog?).

I was surprised at the poverty we encountered. It truly was a third world country. We crossed an imaginary border and into a third world country. The day was sobering on many levels. Yet, everyone seemed happy, and the further we got from the border the more 'normal' things became. It was still a third world country, but one that wasn't trying to peddle you sisters and drugs.

Because Juarez is not a tourist town, very few people spoke English. I would try to ask for the price of an item, in English, and they would just stare. People could say, "English.....No", but that was it. To break the ice I would start out with "Hola". Then I would stare at them for a of couple minutes with a stupid grin on my face, and they would laugh. Then I usually said, "Uhhhh, It's like uhhhh Muy Frio?" The pronunciation was butchered. They would nod and say "Si, Si" while laughing.

Along with this trip being my first time to Mexico, it was also my first time to Texas. Texas was a damn fine state. It reminds me of where I grew up in Olympia; an area of different ideals. People like their land and their trucks, and there ain't much wrong with that.

No truly crazy Mexican stories. But to all you-'I'm sooooo world traveled' people, I just got one more in the bag.

I hope I'm not just making these people up. Does anyone else think people compete in college with the places they have traveled to? Am I one of these people?

Sleep Walker-Talker

Back to NY.

I never sleep walk. Well, for a period of about 3 years starting when I was 8, I would sleep walk. But usually only if I was sick with fever.

This has all changed. My third night in NY, I woke up in Molly's roommate's bed. No idea how I got in the there. Luckily she was gone- had left town for the weekend. All the lights in the apartment were on. The most logical explanation is I left Molly's bed, went to the bathroom (hopefully in the toilet) and plopped myself down in Lauren's room. I did this all while unconscious.

The experience was scary. It was completely unnerving waking up in a strange bed, in a strange room, not knowing where I was. I had been drinking throughout the night-wine- but I wasn't 6 sheets to the wind or anything like that. I hope it doesn't happen again.

I'm driving into Mexico tomorrow. I don't know what I'm going to do there, since I am effectively out of money, but I'm sure something will come up.

Famous People I Saw....

On tonight's edition of the NYC blog update, I will tell you about the famous people I got a chance to gawk at. Not many people, just two. Chevy Chase and the Hebrew Hammer. Seeing famous people makes me feel famous.

First, Chevy Chase. On the first Sunday I was in NYC, Molly and I met Dan E. at a comedy club in Chelsea. I can't remember the name of the comedy club, maybe "ass cat" or some other whacky name that a bunch of theater kids thought up. The name of the club was weird, and throughout the remainder of my trip, I would call it something completely different than it actually was.

I was a little apprehensive about going to the club. I respect improv. My brother is a talented improv dude. I have seen funny improv. But most of time it's not too funny. It is entertaining, yes, but laugh out loud funny-hardly. Improv shows are usually laden with jokes that are much too slapstick for my refined sense of humor. And usually, improv shows are filled with kids who are trying to put on a little show of their own. You know what I mean? Laughing loudly, being obnoxious, trying to get attention. Filled with those kinds of people. Mean less to say, the thought of spending two hours in the club was daunting. But, Dan seems cool enough, and I trusted Molly's judgment.

It was a free show and the venue was packed to the brim with about 120 people. No one was further than 12 feet from the small stage. As the opening act began, I was surprisingly impressed with the humor. When they brought the whole cast onto the stage, the announcer said, "and we are happy to have with us a true comedy legend tonight... Chevy Chase"! I was astonished. To see a famous actor that close is quite cool. His humor was lacking, but as my mom pointed out- he doesn't have much improv training, and he was originally a writer. The whole show was better-than-average improv and I spent most of the time leering in Chevy Chase's direction.

I also saw the Hebrew Hammer- Adam Goldberg. Molly, Rachel, Andy, and I were cruising down a popular street in Brooklyn, looking for a shop that sold kittens when we passed him and a girl. Originally I didn't recognize him, and and I made a mental note of how hipster he was dressed. He held his cigarette like a girl, I thought. After we passed, Andy excitedly whispered, "that's Adam Goldberg". We all kinda stood around in shock as we were stuck at a street corner with him. I wish now I had said, "Hey, Hebrew Hammer," but it is too late.

Those are the famous people I saw while in NYC. And Andy. He is big in the NYC extra scene.

I also saw the outside of the restaurant in Seinfeld. I may have been more starstruck with that than I was with Adam Goldberg.

PS- I hate how I used the word 'saw' a bunch.

Mitch Cummstein

Brett's Back Baby

Ohhhhhhh yeahhhhhhhh. New York City. The Big Time. The Big Apple. The Big Easy. Something like that, right?

God, I'm a sentence into this post and it already sounds like something straight from Zach's blog. Wasn't that like Zach's brand of humor up there with the Big Easy joke? Missing my buddy.

But yes, I have just returned from visiting Molly in NYC. And I am in love. In love. With NYC. Molly is a great gal, but a city like that... what a hardbody. NYC isn't exactly my stereotypical type, I usually dig a leggy and unique brunette like San Francisco, but NYC has it going on. Very full of life. Vigorous at all hours of the night. A real go getter.

Just to be clear- I'm comparing NYC to an attractive woman. Is this coming through?

I don't know where to begin with explaining how my trip to NYC went. Consequently, I will discuss the time I spent there over a period of a couple days. This first post is just an overview, and I will get into the heavy, deplorable stuff in upcoming posts. Stay tuned.

Everyone is extremely hospitable. I was squired around town by Molly and a revolving round table of her friends. We toured the city- from uptown to midtown. I went to museums, bars, and every place in between. Along with molly, my good buddy Jake Fields did a lot of my squiring. He is one of my partners in crime from France. He is a good kid.

Other than that, wait for more posts and more pics. Sorry it took me so long to update.

Sorry from NY

Sorry about the lack of posts. I've taken some good pics, and I can't wait to update my horde of readers. There will be updates soon.

The Bomber, The Brett, and The Buzz

Sorry about the lack of posts, I'm just lazy for the internet.

My dear friend Eric Nusbaum cruised into town for the last couple of days. Craziness ensued. We spent our time together touring the city, searching through bookstores, and getting coffee. And of course, responsibly engaging in adult beverages. Very adult stuff.

Eric is a good man. In college, we always discussed some one-on-one time. We would run into each other at social gatherings, promise to hang out, exchange numbers for the 12th time, and make a pledge to call each other the next day. It never happened. Keep in mind, I made this 'hang-out' claim a lot with people I had never intended to hang out with. I would see someone at a party, and the appropriate small talk was to discuss how, 'we should really hang out'.

But this wasn't how I felt about Eric. I actually like his point of view on many things. He is much taller than I am. Yet, the ins and outs of life made sure our paths would never collide into an exclusive/non-party hang out section. And I always regretted that. I wanted to hang out with him.

These last two days we finally got the chance to hang out. We both consider ourselves pseudo-writers, and spent much of our time together discussing the writing world. He taught me about iambic pentameter. So I wrote this poem for him.

ODE TO ERIC
To write is not a plain and simple fight,
You find the path of all the truth and light.
The beat and rhyme is more than space and time,
His heart and mind in meter we can find.

I'm not sure if this works, but I think it might.

He also filled me in on the last two months of his life. He was a campaign man, scurrying around for a congressman in Chicago, trying to see how big a margin he could get his boss elected by. Eric worked hard and speaks positively of the experience.

Eric's Blog

In other news, I want to be the next Youtube sensation. Check out these videos.

I'm leaving for New York tomorrow. Two weeks in the big city-seeing if I can cut it in the big city. I'm stoked.

Old and Behind the Times

There once was a time when I was on the cutting edge. Music, skating, fashion, style. I had it baby. I was it. People looked at me and knew. "That dude is in it," they would undoubtedly say.

This time is no longer. I am an old man. No fashion sense, skateboarding that is soooo last year, and worst of all my music. The only music I listen to is a Doors CD that has been in my car for the last couple months. I blast that stuff like the new hits, ignorant and careless that it's old.

Then I went to a couple of parties and heard some great dance music. But I was oblivious to who the bands were. I mean, I could pick out the played stuff like M.I.A., but other than that I was clueless. Yesterday, I went on a small road trip down to Albuquerque with a couple of my friends. The girl who was driving, Kalie, was in charge of the music. She put on the dance music that I had gotten down to at the parties.

"This is good, who is this?" I asked. The age oozed from my pores.

"MGMT, duhh," she said. My other friend chuckled at her response. My heart broke. After the drive, I ran home and downloaded all of their music. I typed their name into Pandora and found music like it. The newer the music-the better. How dare I become a laughing stock. I was hip baby, hip. Now look at me, a disgusting shell of my cool stuff.

If anyone is trying to reach me today I will be at American Apparel and Urban Outfitters, powering through a pack of Parliament Lights in my Ray Bans.

Ohhhh god, are those things cool anymore? HELP ME!!!! I need to go back to France where I am years ahead of what is cool.

Dog Park Gestapo and the News

Story

This story is an interview with the Secretary of State that ran today.

The wagon is moving for me getting an interview with Val Kilmer- and the wagon is rolling slow. It's the freaking wagon from the Oregon Trail computer game. The old D.O.S version. And I'm just spending my whole time hunting buffalo instead of moving toward the ultimate goal of Val Kilmer. And Molly, my teen bride on the Oregon Trail, is sick with diarrhea. That's how quickly I'm getting Mr. Mojo Rising Val Kilmer on the phone.

I'm sorry I have Molly sick with diarrhea in my Val Kilmer/Oregon Trail D.O.S parody. That's rude. But I can't remember anything else a trailblazer dies of in the game. Sorry Molly.

The dogs I'm watching wake me up every morning at 7:30. It would be endearing, if my clouded mind wasn't so loaded with hate for being woken up at 7:30. They wake me up because they want to go to the dog park.

The dog park is one of those weird scenes that stress me out. People are into the dog park. They love the dog park. Understandably, because they love their dogs. But like every scene, some people that are wayyy too into it. I feel like I'm in a fashion show strolling in with the puppies. Everyone looks, ooohhhs and ahhhhsss and compliments the dogs.

Today there was a lady orchestrating the whole shabang. She was pointing at dogs, yelling at dogs, and talking at their owners. When I cruised in, she immediately told me how beautiful my dogs are.

"Your dogs are soooo beautiful," she said.

I stood in place, contemplating my response.

"Uhhh, thanks. So are yours."

I looked at her mangy animals. They were some strange cross between feral cats and a shoehorn. She nodded in appreciation. She then went into this long monologue about how last week she saw a beautiful corkie -terrier mix. It was breathtaking. Since I have no knowledge of dogs, and wouldn't know if her shoehorn puppies were a 'corkie-terrier', I nodded in agreement and moved on with my dogs. She was a nice lady, and in my opinion, much to into dogs. And she is in to dogs like I am into skateboarding. I can't fault her for that.

And I forgot. I did a story about an ill-planned power plant that ran earlier this week. It was picked up the next day by the New Mexico Independent. I don't know if this is just coincidence or if the author heard the report. Either way, he went into much more detail, and it is a very good report.

Jack is Crazy

I have this buddy Jack from the skatepark. He is clinically insane. But, insane in the normal kind of way. He is a perfectly acceptable member of society, yet utterly whacko. You can tell only when you are in a deep discussion with him. That's when I look into his eyes and realize the craziness. We will be having a normal conversation about.....oh.....skating. I will mention some off handed remark and he will just loose it.

Like today. We were chilling on top of the quarterpipe talking about skinny legs. Some people have skinny legs. Some have fat legs. A Regular conversation all around. Then I said,

"Yeah, I guess it's just D.N.A you know, you get what your parents got."

He lost it. I immediatly knew. His eyes straightened and focused, but not on anything in particular. He was gathering steam for what he was about to say.

"D.N.A. is a bitch man." "It is unfair". He was serious. No joking.

He went on this rant about D.N.A. How it is screwed that people don't even ask for it, they just get it. He has deep hate for D.N.A. He detests D.N.A like I hate those crumbums at the airport. Serious, horrible hate. I would better describe his hate if I could, but I was focusing on how to get away from his ranting.

When he gets into these rants, I don't know what to do. Usually, I try to keep my voice serious, and nod intently. I try to get away by skating off orcutting the conversation short and then skating away.

"Yeah man, D.N.A is kinda crazy". That's how I ended it. Smooth Brett.

Her Name is Raven

Story 1

Story 2

These are two stories that were on the air last week. I also went live for election coverage. It was frightening. I did fairly well, except my voice started out in a high-pitched nasal twang. I got it under control after the first sentence. If you want to listen to the live piece, you will have to go to www.ksfrnews.com and listen through the podcast. My piece is 11 minutes in. I'm a regular Chris Todd. Or maybe that black reporter who took heat for crying after Obama was nominated.

I'm more like the crying black guy.

The puppies that I'm sitting for are doing well.

I watched a little of The View this morning. And the show after The View. The guest was the girl from The Cosby Show. She was all grown up. Her interview depressed the hell out of me. She went on and on about all the things she was doing: I'm producing this, my website is that, I acted in this. She keeps herself busy. She put me to shame. All I do is try to write one story a day for the news, and house-sit. Yet, my bones are exhausted.

I bet she has an entourage that helps her out. I need an entourage. I'm taking applications for the position of my cook; also known as Kevin Dillon in the show Entourage. The position won't pay of course, but the life experience that comes with being my cook is worth more than its weight in gold.

Prop 8

I can't tell if this is completely sincere, but it is a good message.

Maximizing your Crappiness

Sorry about the lack of posts lately. I was heavily occupied in Chicago, detailing and cleaning my grandparent's estate. Chicago was busy. Not much time to rest. I'm resting now at a house in Santa Fe. I'm taking care of two puppies while the owners of the home are out of town. The puppies are nice, but I don't think they really understand why I'm in their home. I think they just view me as a giant treat factory because every time they get antsy I give them a treat. They are quickly learning to work me.

I rode in a plane this morning. I mostly like airport. The feeling that hangs in the air of the airport; the excitement of traveling I guess.

I hate one aspect of airports. Not an aspect I guess, more one set of people that frequent airports.

I hate the people that think the plane ride they are about to embark on is going to be so treacherous, so comfortless, that they need to dress in order to maximize their comfort. They wear their disgusting, smelly, 10 year old sweatpants. They wear their over sized college sweatshirts that are more like a filthy sleeping bag then a sweatshirt. They have the neck pillows. They have the snacks. They have the beat-to-hell Uggs. I hate them. O.K.- I know your hour and a half flight from Baltimore to New York is going to be a grueling tour-de-force of pain, in which you needed to outfit yourself from head to toe in plane fighting fatigues; but come on. This is a society. You can't just role out of bed and come to the airport. These crumbums are roaming the airport think that because they are about to take a plane certain rules in society cease to exist. What happened to flying being a luxury? You're about to take a trip-dress respectably. I think you are hideous anyway, at least dull my pain by pulling your self together.

Under no circumstances should someone dress like I have described. I don't care if you are about to take a 19 hour flight. Are jeans really that uncomfortable? Just deal with it.

40 Years Ago

The picture from the '68 Chicago Democratic Convention captures the nation over 40 years ago. The 'candidate of change' Bobby Kennedy, had been shot. Nixon won handily. Years of Vietnam and deceit followed.

Tonight there are 200,000 people near Grant Park; waiting to hear from the anti-war, progressive, President-elect. Ohhh, how much a difference 40 years can make.

Hallo-weekend

I hope everyone enjoyed their Halloween weekend as much as I did.

I was Hunter Thompson from the '72 campaign years. I went to St. John's, partying down with all of those philosophy majors. The costume really took over. I made an effort never to break out of character, and I took a notebook with me in order to interview students. It started off normal enough, but then-in homage to Hunter-it got weird. Here is an example:

Headline- Interview with Lucas "The butcher" Sl***er
Hunter (Me): Where you from young fella?
The Butcher: Kansas
We then talk about Sebelius. Booze fiend never heard of her. Ohhh, the horror. Kids never learn.
He is a UFC fighter. I smile and nod politely, trying to avoid a beating. He is small for that sport, most likely insane. Ask him something I could quote him on.
The Butcher: "Happiness is only real when shared" I ask him where he got the quote. Responds, 'Into the Wild'. I like the book, he says he never read the book, only saw the movie. I again nod politely, trying to avoid eye contact.

Yeah, so I actually wrote that stuff in my notebook. I hope I did Hunter proud. The notebook only gets weirder from there, with me just quoting things from random people. More examples: "My driving skills are excellent"
"Change we can't define"
"He can dig"

The notebook from that night ends with me writing, "I'm in pure madness, I'll be lucky to get out alive." I actually thought I was Hunter Thompson for the night. Very Cool.

I also witnessed a best-dressed awards ceremony. A person who dressed as a street sign won the contest. A freshman who dressed as a clown got booed off stage, and he ran out of the room crying. College kids are harsh. Good weekend all around.

To end on a sad note, I have to go back to Chicago for a funeral. It will be nice to see my family.

Five Minutes....

See me on that chopper baby? Try not to drool, it's still me. Except now I'm an ass kicking SOB that will steal your girlfriend without ever needing to put my Pall Mall down. And my facial hair has increased ten fold. It almost matches the intensity of my chest hair.

Story 1

Story 2

Above are two stories I researched, wrote, and composed that were on the radio this week. The story about the lawsuit was actually quite pressing. It was the intro story on local news that night. Psshhh, local TV news...we got that story up two hours after they took the case to court. They are a bunch of boobs. But, we did take the idea about the foodbank from local TV; so it's a give and take relationship.

There is quite a process to making the news. It starts as an achingly slow procedure that lasts hours, to holding onto your sweaty head because the story has to air in three minutes madness. Take for instance the lawsuit story. I show up to the radio about 9, and just mill about on the internet for an hour. I'm constantly checking every source-from our email to the AP Wire to weird political blogs. In the case of the lawsuit story, we got a press release from MALDEF. I then take the press release to the editor, who tells me that this is important news, and he wants a story for his noon newscast.

I then call up the attorney for MALDEF. Number one rule to journalism is- anyone you call will never pick up. I leave a message and hope for a callback so I can get the clip. I wait until 11:20, realize they won't call, and try to write half-cocked copy from the already limited press release we received. I write the story and speak it into the computer. Then at 11:40 the attorney calls me. I perform a ten minute interview.

It's 11:50. I tell the boss that I want to rewrite the copy to include a clip, and he says that's the plan. By 12:10, after completely redoing the whole story and rerecording my voice, my boss comes into the computer station during his commercial break to listen to my story. He tells me it's good, but I need to ad the word 'alleged' to the story, and that he wants it to air in five minutes. Upon hearing this my sphincter tightens. He leaves the room and I cry salty tears while I try to rerecord the story. I miraculously get it done with 1 minute to spare. I take the story to the chief and he high fives me before I exit the room. While leaving the station, I can hear my disgustingly-unenthusiastic voice being broadcast throughout northern New Mexico.

Ohhh. I wrote nifty little intros for each piece that the newscaster spoke, but I couldn't figure out how to put those intros online. They don't start as abruptly as they seem here online.

That's how it goes down. I really love it. Now I just need to get paid for this stuff. Little steps, grasshopper, little steps....

In my spare time I write useless copy. I try to take an original approach, but I mostly amplify my amateur status. Here is a piece I wrote that will never be used. I want this kinda copy for www.youngperspective.com. News that is interesting. If you have any desire at all to write, please help me once I get the website online. I'm hoping for a January release date.
This is an unedited example of a type of story I would like on youngperspective. To all my friends-start thinking of stories you would like to write about.

They may have jumped the gun, but The New Mexico Sun News is making headlines across the nation. In the latest issue, New Mexico's by-monthly publication has preemptively declared Barack Obama the presidential nominee. With the headline, "Obama Wins," the the editors of the paper are calling the Sun News the first paper in the country to declare the winner of the presidential election.
The article explains that claiming Obama the winner of the election is a strong statement, with the potential to bring a lot of publicity for the paper.
"If we wanted to be first, we had to be bold," explained an editor.
The usually under-the-radar local paper is now making news of its own across the country, with the title drawing plenty of attention throughout the political community. Ultimately, Sun News hopes to avoid a situation like the infamous "Dewey defeats Truman" incident of 1948. Until that happens, Sun News continues to bask in the light of being the first paper to name Obama the country's next president.

I don't write for a paper, so I'm sure the grammar is off. I think it's an interesting story, and I want news like that on youngperspective.

Tattoo the Do

My uncle jumped off the ship and got a tattoo. Jumped off? Jumped on? Whatever....

Weird tangent aside, my uncle got a tattoo. It's boss. We first went to the tattoo parlor on Sunday. Uncle Do was hesitant then. He didn't want one. My aunt was consistent in her desire for him to have one, so we left tattoo shop with a scheduled appointment and a non-committed uncle. We wandered the city, putting up with his wavering attitude. He kept saying, "I'm not sure....I'm not getting one". Excruciating to listen to his moaning.

We haphazardly wandered into one of the many art galleries throughout Santa Fe, and it hit him like a bolt of lightning. He saw a surrealist painting of a stick bird in the dessert. The painting made connections in his subconscious, something about the desert being his life and the antithesis of the corporate world. Or maybe he just liked the piece. Either way, we went back to the tattoo shop, handed them the picture of the dessert-bird, and it was on. He got tattooed the next day at high noon.

The artist who tattooed him was named Crow. She was your standard version of a tattoo artist. Her presence was composed and intimidating, making it seem like she was too cool for me. I was afraid to stand next to her. I find most tattooists intimidating. The tattoo went by without an incident-Standard business. He claimed it didn't hurt, but the pictures I took of him squirming in his chair beg to differ.

I couldn't watch my uncle get a tattoo for long. There are two reasons. First, the intimidating personnel who work at parlors. Second, I start to want some ink. I don't have anything specific in mind, but I want one. I also know I don't want a tattoo. My solution is to stay out of tempting areas, like a tattoo parlor.

I did a real cool story for KSFR. Wait for tomorrow, I'll put it up.

Typewriter Madness

I want a typewriter. Bad. The aesthetics and wonderful sounds of the machine entice me. Works just pour out of my subconscious when I press the keys, getting into that rhythm behind the sound only a typewriter can make. I'm tired of looking at the fluorescent screen of my computer. I priced electronic typewriters today, and I'm going to buy one off of craigslist for $30. I hope it works.

Riders on the Storm

I think the best part about a party is right before the party. The anticipation. Freshman year anticipation may have been the best. Friday night, eating dinner at the dining hall with your friends. Someone in your roommate's class heard there was a party tonight. Everyone is going, even though the situation is sketchy. You gave your roommate thirty dollars so a guy you never met before can get you booze. He buys you 15 dollars worth and keeps the change, but you could care less.

You go to the party. You desperately clutch to your roommate, or anyone else who manages to have a conversation with you. Trying to look cool and casual. The twelve pack that the guy bought does the trick. By the end of the night, your the king of the party; wooing all the women and chatting with everyone. Days later you pass a person who was at the party, who that night you were swearing was your best friend and, "we should hang out sometime". When you pass, you give each other an awkward nod; restricting your chat until the next party meeting. The night rarely went perfect, but it was good.

But then years of crappy parties with awkward conversations and scummy dancing killed the anticipation. The only parties you go to now are the ones where you know everyone -if you go out at all. Parties are mostly a bummer anyway.

I was lucky enough to feel that anticipation again. I hadn't been out in a while. My buddy Joe goes to St. John's college in Santa Fe and he invited me to hang out with him. I was nervous because I didn't know anyone; and I once again felt that excited anticipation. The party was good...real good. It's nice to be in a place where you feel like a stranger and every party is like the first major party of your freshman year.

I rode Harleys with my aunt and uncle today. I need to buy a bike, it's a cool ride. I felt like Peter Fonda from "Easy Rider". It was hard to be too cool; I was restricted to the back seat of my uncle's bike, desperately clutching him to avoid falling off. I guess I was like Jack Nicholson.

"No Story! But it's Sad...."

Remember when I told you about my friend Pete? He's a good guy. He also has a kid on the way.And Pete just lost his job. He was a delivery man who worked hard at his job, was well liked by his bosses, and wanted nothing more than to work hard throughout the day and go skate afterwards. But, due to complicated factors with the tourist industry in Santa Fe and the decline in retail sales, he and two other people were let go from their work. And now, two weeks later, he is stressing out trying to find a labor job that will help him support his family.

I wanted to do a story that involved Pete. Without getting into the specifics; the story was supposed to be about the difficult life of the laborer during the current recession. Cable news focuses on the downfall of people's 401(k)'s, but I wanted a story that talks about the people who are too busy working remedial jobs to have time to worry about a retirement plan. This story seems a tad cliche and obvious, but I thought I could make it work from a local perspective. Because of the economy, the business man can't buy that $500 dollar watch from a Santa Fe boutique , and in turn Pete looses his job. Who has more to worry about?

I researched retail sales across the nation, which are down. Researched retail sales in Santa Fe, which are down. Researched tourism in Santa Fe, which is down. My story was this- laborers are loosing their jobs throughout Santa Fe because of the economy. Tug at the heartstrings kinda thing. I took it to my boss, who is the smartest and most well-respected journalist I have ever met. He looked at it, and quickly pronounced the most important lesson I have learned thus far. "Brett, this isn't a story," he said. "People know this already; the economy is down, low income people will loose their job". He wanted me to look for something that was up in the bad economy. Do a story that starts, "With everything loosing profit these days, people are finding solace in.....uh I don't know.......sleeping pills. The sleeping pill industry is booming". Interesting story? As interesting as real people loosing their jobs?

News is about finding a story that people don't expect. It's too intuitive that Pete lost his job. I can't turn a personal story into real news. Ultimately, my boss said I could go through with the story, but I could tell he wasn't interested. I let it go.

Journalism is hard. Stories that you care about, others could care less. I know the story wasn't much of an actual story, but I thought I could help out Pete. I like journalism because it influences people-in a positive and negative manner. You can have an influence on people's daily lives. A HUGE influence. But I look at cable news and it sucks. They just did a story about who would make a better James Bond, McCain or Obama.

Sorry for the shitty rambling. I'll get back to posting stories about cleavage.

Finger on the Trigger

I got put in charge of the newsroom today. No, I didn't get the dream promotion. Nobody else was there and my boss wanted to go vote, so he left me with the instructions, "make sure it doesn't burn down". What responsibility! But as I was sitting on my butt, writing stories that will never get used, I thought of something. With the 'On Air' button just feet away, I could reach out, and plunge my self into FCC oblivion. I could get on air and give a speech about the election, pronounce my love for skateboarding, or just make funny noises. What stopped me? Well, I guess self respect, and the knowledge that I want to do this for a living. Getting on air inappropriately and pronouncing how good I look isn't the ideal way to receive a good recommendation from the boss. But I could have....

I really like my job. Everyone is good to me.

My friend Liv is going to be Mount St. Helens for Halloween. That's a good idea for a costume. I can't ever think of ideas for a costume. Here I am, a professional reporter, and I can't think of ideas for this stupid, juvenile holiday. Maybe I will be Mt. Vesuvius and 'one up' Liv.

I might try to get a grant for my youngperspective.com idea. I'm interested in the website, and there are plenty of grants in the academic community for proactive ideas.

Ruling the World with Cleavage

I was at Starbucks today, getting my daily caramel frappuccino, when I got attacked by man's biggest vulnerability: cleavage. I had just payed for my drink, turned around, and BAM! There sat a woman, in her early thirties, laboring over some pages that were spread out on her Starbucks desk. The Starbucks desk was low, and so was the cut of her shirt. The perfect storm of cleavage. I was caught in those tractor beams for about 10 seconds, until I realized that I was leaning forward at a forty-five degree angle and my tongue was hitting the floor. I snapped out of it and pulled myself together, only to look to my right and see a forty-something year old man caught by this vixen's trap. She was a tricky one.

Now, there are a couple of things that one should know about cleavage. A good shot of cleavage can be more tantalizing than a bare breast. I'm not sure why this is, but it's true. Perhaps it's because we men think that women don't mean to show us all this. When we see cleavage, it's like we catch a sneak preview of the next summer's blockbuster movie. However, it's clear that women can use tactical cleavage to their advantage. They could rule the world. Second, one should stare at cleavage for only a split second. Like Jerry Seinfeld says, "It's like looking at the sun, only for a glance or your eyes will burn". My fellow Starbucks patron could have learned this; he was lost in those babies.

Sorry if that was too crude. I can't wait for potential employers to read this site. They will think, "This kid went to college? What the hell was he doing"? What was I doing indeed....

Everyone should check out www.allcityshowdown.com. Some of the best Seattle skating I have seen.

Brett the Webmaster

To increase my 'employability' in the journalism world, I have began the tedious process of making websites. First, I'm in charge of www.ksfrnews.com. Ksfr news already has pages on www.ksfr.org, but my boss wants to separate our news department from the other site. I started the new site today, with almost no knowledge of web-making; but it is a fun learning process.

Try to ignore the glitz of www.ksfrnews.com. Just kidding. Right now its so simple and ugly a monkey could navigate through it.

I also have been thinking about a website of my own. The website will be devoted to young journalists, who have little or no experience because of the hiring freeze that has been put on by many companies. Since there are so many experienced journalists who have recently lost their jobs (it's predicted that print will loose 40% of its advertising income), there is even less space in the impossible job market for inexperienced journalists. My site will be devoted to news that is important to young people and young journalists, not news from the 'old guard'. I'm hoping college level journalists will contribute to the site, with fresh ideas and good discussion. Hopefully, the website will not turn into the mainstream media's 'one focus journalism', and contribute productively reporting to the world. This site is far off, but if you are interested in helping me out, either with the web aspect or the journalism aspect, that would be great. Think of stories you think should be seen in the news, or stories critiquing current news, and write them up.

Yeah, so that's what I'm up to.

Also, I'm friends with this guy named Pete. Pete goes to the skatepark. He is 30 years old, and from Long Island. Pete is so freaking New York, its ridiculous. I can't really explain it, other than he has 10 times more chest hair than me. Think about it.

Update: I bought the domain name-www.youngperspective.com

Mexican?

I have made some friends from the skatepark. I've even got a couple of phone numbers. The cool thing however, my friends are LATINO! Or at least, I'm pretty sure they are. Is it racist to be excited that I have friends that are a different race than me? The Latino population in Seattle is non-existent, so excuse me if I'm excited. They are cool dudes.

Here is an interesting nugget. They told me that they are allowed to take Spanish as their second language. I asked my high school friend Gabe, who's first language is Spanish, what grade he got in his Spanish class. He said, "Dude, it's my first language, I got a 98%". And I struggled through Japanese when I was in high school-like a SUCKER. Psshhhh, lucky kids.

Is the appropriate term for people of Mexican descent-Latino? Is it appropriate to ask this question?

Psshhh, whatever, like you fools have any Latino friends. I can see your jealousy from here.

ICP for Life Son!

There was SUCH an Insane Clown Posse fan at the skatepark today. The dude was literally wearing face paint. He was in his mid 20's, grossly overweight, and pushing mongo. He was also wearing one of those 'hideous saying' t-shirts. The shirt said, "I'm mad and I want to find someone to choke". He was only there for about 20 minutes but he was amazing. I could only think, "How can this dude go about his life with face paint on? It's the middle of the F-ing day...."

Can I wear one of those 'weird saying' t-shirts? Have they been out of style long enough? Like, if I bought one of those t-shirts and started wearing it around, would it be fashionable because I'm a hip dude? Ironically fashionable? One that says, "I'm F.B.I - a Federal Booty Inspector." Is that cool? Are Che Guevara shirts cool again?

This was on the radio yesterday.

I ate the worst meal today at Panda Express. The chicken tasted ultra funky, like it hadn't been cooked all the way through. I then made the mistake of washing it down with a tall Frappuccino. Wrong move.

I might have the opportunity to interview a few celebs who live in Santa Fe. My blog will gradually morph into d-listed, and I will have to move to L.A. to support my coke habit.

More short stories are coming.

I hate the Red Sox.

Mo' Molly

The other night, Molly and I got dressed up and went to a casino. We were WAY too posh in comparison to most of the people there. I always have a romantic vision of casinos; where I win thousands of dollars and sweep my woman off her feet in dramatic fashion. The glitz, the noise, the glamor. However, Sandia Casino north of Albuquerque is not very romantic. It's filled with drunkards and old people, all looking depressed as hell as they shovel their money into the casino's machines. We had fun anyway. I might have well been one of those drunkards loosing their money-I lost $60.

Molly left today. Bummer.

I've been frequenting the Santa Fe skateboard park. It's a scene, man. There are hundreds of little Latino kids on pimped-out bikes, and they own the place. They weave in and out, screaming at people (including me), and talking trash to each other. I've heard so many 'I can't wait to get your momma home so I can.... blank' jokes at the skatepark; it's a vulgar place. Today, a parent started screaming at her kid, telling the kid not to 'dis her'. It's a funny place, but I alway feel like I'm seconds away from getting my head beat in by a disgruntled biker.

The Santa Fe newspaper, The New Mexican, is planning to let go 18 employees. Does this mean there is a job open for me?

Kennedy Stumping

Yesterday, Molly and I briefly attended a stump speech by Robert Kennedy Jr. He was in Santa Fe, stumping for Obama. I was immediately struck by how much he resembled his dad. He seemed like a cool cat, and the event was jammed with people. I believe New Mexico Congressman Ben Lujan Jr. was also at the event, but I couldn't verify.

Blown away by seeing a real-life Kennedy, I did a little research on Bobby Jr. I found that after a distinguished academic career, Bobby Jr. was caught with heroin in a South Dakota airport in 1983. He is also an activist, and had further legal trouble when he broke into a naval base while protesting. He is a preeminent conservationist and a radio host on Air America, even though he possesses spasmodic dysphonia, which inhibits his speaking. Got to love those Kennedys.

I Miss My Friends

'Nough said.