Real-life ghost story

Some level of skepticism should be present. As debunking performs a fairly vital part of paranormal investigating, at least for Whispering Spirits, you'd expect the group to be somewhat wary of what it finds. You'd expect each of them (or at least some of them) to examine things with a critical eye, always naysaying each other and operating on a basis of "normal until proven not."

You'd also be wrong. Most of the debunking, it seems, falls to one man — Bobby.

The vagaries of getting old

You figure that out, though. There's a certain point where it dawns on you that you will continue to get folds and wrinkles and skin spots. You'll find getting up in the morning takes a little bit more effort, getting into bed a night feels a little bit better, and some midnight you'll discover the pure agony of hitting the bar after work when all you really want to do is go home and sleep.

Theoretically. So I've heard. Hey, I'm not in college anymore.

Poems for our "bureau" reporter in Santa Fe, whose stories I'm always left waiting for when I'm laying out:

Sitting at my desk
wondering if you're still alive
unmoved either way.

Four stories at noon
two out, two new by midday;
none ever find me.

He's slaving away
Interviewing, contacting;
AP filed at 5.

A blank page, staring
waiting to be filled with news ...
Angry Birds high score!

The downside of biking to work is I have to interact with people. To wit:

Our HEROINE is biking to work, since she lives like six blocks away and gas is well north of $3 in New Mexico. After a minutes-long coast (it's mostly downhill), she arrives at work and begins to lock up his bike.

FRIGHTENING BLOND WOMAN, who was lurking behind the building, comes around the corner talking loudly on her cell phone.

FBW: I don't know, I don't have the money.

Our HEROINE is doing her best not to listen, as it doesn't sound like a fun conversation to be dropping eaves on. Due to the volume the conversation is conducted at, however, she has no choice.

FBW: I don't have the money to file papers! If I have to go see a lawyer, I'm gonna go bankrupt.

At this point, our HEROINE realizes she's overhearing a discussion about divorce. Though the woman is glib, it's difficult to tell if she's joking or not. Her face is strained, even when smiling, giving it an almost movie-like quality - as if, at any moment, you'd expect her to pitch forward with an arrow sticking out of the back of her head.

FBW: Well if you're just going to die, I won't have to worry about it. I'll just be a widow, no problem.

Our HEROINE finally manages to work the lock, clicks it into place, and fairly runs into the building.

See, you can give me the environmental, physical and financial benefits of the bike versus the car all you want, but at least when I'm in my car I don't have to deal with the insanity of others. It's not like I'm deficient in that category myself.

It's not really new and it's not Mexico

Rest assured — or be disappointed, for that matter — my next stint does not involve starting my own snowplow company or buying an old ambulance and renting myself out as a medic for hire. I've managed to snag myself a gig as an online editor for the Farmington Daily Times, a small outfit in northwest New Mexico that produces some darn good journalism ... but could use some help on their interwebs (and, hopefully, I'll get to do a little copy editing and page design while I'm at it).

What's next

But none of that does any good. I know that's a tough prescription to take (much akin to a "Tough shit" offered when an accusation of unfairness is raised), but it's true. I struggled with it myself in those first few minutes after I went back to my desk after the meeting. I kept flashing back to that first meeting with the publisher, with the thoughts of loyalty running through my head: "I moved to Spokane, I quit my job, I gave my word that I wouldn't jump at the next incrementally better job ... You, on the other hand, laid me off/let me go/fired me six months in."

(These phrases sound like they're different, but only if you're not on the receiving end.)

Running roughshod

It’s pretty clear to everyone — people in the stands, his coaches on the sidelines, the other team’s defense — that the best way for G-Prep to win is to put the ball in his hands. Even if you know what’s coming (and since Sankey had 41 carries en route to 359 yards, it wasn’t exactly a secret), it’s still really hard to bring him down.

[Latest technology] is [expensive / confusing / worrisome]

Hoo boy! As a [technology writer/reporter without a story idea/old person], I've seen my share of changes in life. But [new product] is about to completely alter [area in which new technology will have extremely slight impact].

Best seat in the house

I’m not entirely sure what I expected when I ordered my tickets for ArenaBowl XXIII for “STANDING ROOM ONLY.” Perhaps a corral where we would be led and allowed to roam around, like free-range chickens.

“This is your pen, and this is where you must stay,” they’d say sternly, but we’d mill around and laugh and visit and generally enjoy ourselves

Small ball

Minor league baseball. Even the name sounds so ... inferior. “Minor league” has that connotation in today’s parlance: cut-rate. Second-fiddle.

Not good enough.

Yesterday was Moving Day; as is tradition, that means today is "Not Moving Day," owing to the soreness from yesterday.

Moving is supposed to bring about an onslaught of different emotions: a twinge of nostalgia at leaving the place you've called home, sadness at altering/losing the different interpersonal relationships you've developed at said location, and excitement or trepidation at thought of what's to come.

I don't know that exhaustion can rightly be counted as an emotion, but the depth to which I feel it now seems to indicate it should at least be in the running.

After the third or fourth major geographical upheaval in 12 months (with a few minor phase shifts as well), moving just doesn't have the same impact anymore. Sleeping for the first time under a new roof felt just as comfortable as sleeping under the old one, which is to say "not very" because I never really "settled in" to the old apartment in the proper sense. Despite living there for eight months, the overly spacious two-bedroom apartment treated me more as a guest in a motel room than a permanent occupant.

Sure, I have some memories. The hideously overweight 40-some-year-old creepster who lived on the ground floor and sat outside his apartment 80 percent of the time, whiling away the days smoking, eating peaches or painting his fingernails a flamboyant hunter orange. That wouldn't have been so bad were it not for his completely obvious leering at women half his age or whenever he'd get in the mood to go shirtless.

Or consider the Albertson's grocery cart in the parking lot that mysteriously disappeared and reappeared on no set schedule, without rhyme or reason. Nothing says class like an Albertson's grocery cart.

Obviously, it wasn't all bad. Friends came over, drinks were drunk (and drunks kept drinking), movies were watched, great books were read and many a sleep was slept. But none of this served to dispel the ever-present air of transiency.

I'm now in Spokane, more specifically Browne's Addition, working at a job that seems pretty damn perfect for me (more on that later). The hope is to keep this apartment for quite some time, to break the moving cycle. At least long enough so that the next time I have to move, it actually means something again.

The bonds that restrain us

Space was different. When you reached the edge of outer space, it made no more sense to refer to your flight in relation to earth than it does to imagine our galaxy as a geocentric one. What is up when there is no gravity? What is down when you can look up and see the earth?

Hello, Seattle

Last month, I was pleasantly surprised to discover I had quite a bit of vacation time racked up at work. Once we passed through the busy season, I took the first opportunity to use it. I decided to take an entire week off and go camping - much to the surprise of nearly everyone I told.

Apparently, mine is not an "outdoorsy" dispositon.

Extra-ordinary powers

Everyone wants to be special. Everyone wants to have that one thing they're the best it, what they're known for - in many cases, what defines them as a person. I am not everyone. I accept the fact that I am good at a lot of things and the best at none just as I accept that I know a little bit about damn near everything, but am an expert in practically nothing.

2009 in review

It's Dec. 31, which means I’m parked in front of my television starting my annual personal Twilight Zone marathon. Though I stole the idea from the SciFi channel, mine’s better because a) there aren’t any commercials and b) I have the full complement (the original series and the remake from the ‘80s).

Nonfiction

When he picked up, the first thing he asked me was if I had heard about Rachel. I wasn't quite sure what he meant. We were the same age, having attended the same school from kindergarten right up through college. We were both in band, we had a number of activities and classes that overlapped, and I was fairly certain I had seen her at a barbecue two days before graduating college, about three months prior.

TW: Suicide

What more do you want from me, Kindle?

I've not made much of a secret of my purchasing a Kindle, largely due to my evangelizing the stupid thing whenever the opportunity arises. Despite what some people would have you believe, I do not ardently desire the death of printed books, libraries, or puppies (an unrelated story for another time). I do, however, believe that printed books could use some competition. My purchase of the electronic daemon-tome was justified (to myself) on the basis of a few facts:

It's all about the cover letter

I preserved a cover letter I wrote for a job right as Web 2.0 as launching into the stratosphere. While I do think this was the beginning of an era where people were able to present themselves more as whole persons than drones, I am also fully aware that only a fraction of the population has any idea what these websites even were, much less why the cover letter isn't just full cringe.

I realize that former Gonzaga basketball player Josh Heytvelt was trying to give a heartfelt interview and express his remorse over being arrested for possession of 'shrooms, but there's a reason why athletes usually have people talk for them. This quote is why:

Heytvelt was ordered to do 240 hours of community service. He did more than 300, working primarily with terminally ill children at a Ronald McDonald House. "That really made me think that those kids aren't choosing to have cancer. They're given that," Heytvelt said. "I realized I had made some really bad choices and that really made me think about every choice I made from then on out."

Two questions: Did Heytvelt previously think those children had chosen to have cancer, and who did he think gave it to them?

One year in

I don't often do much reflection, but this felt like a big step. Looking back on the one-year mark working at my college newspaper, the Washington State University Daily Evergreen, after getting involved on a lark. Then they put me in charge of the thing??