The criminal/ reporter (part 2)

Yesterday was terrible.

It turns out that information I got from a police officer about a person's court case was incorrect. I wrote what he told me, and the person's family came in to complain.

It's a crime to print wrongful accusations. Defamation.

So I defamed a kid and it doesn't matter who my source was because as a reporter it's my job to make sure I only write true things.

I checked my legal guide and found out that I couldn't go to jail for this particular case, but the paper could be sued. (Because I'm acting under the paper's direction, they're ultimately responsible if I make a mistake.)

Obviously my bosses weren't happy and they took me to the police station to meet with the officer. He apologized and took full responsibility, so I think they forgive me. It sounds like the bosses had been talking about not covering court anymore, which would have devestated me because that's what I like most about living here, but the officer told them he's really glad that we're reporting on court.

I did some checking and I think the worst that could happen if we get sued is that we'll have to pay $1. That's what happened in another court case where a criminal was defamed. In that case the judge ruled that if someone has no reputation to begin with, they don't deserve compensation for harm to their repuatation.

So it seems like after printing a correction everything will be okay. I'm exhausted though. Even my bones feel weary.

The criminal/ reporter

I was booking an interview earlier today and was having a hard time finding a time when the woman I need to talk to (about her farm) and I will both be free.

After several times didn't work, she asked about another day.

"I can't do it then because I have to be in court all day," I told her.

Perhaps I should've tried to sound more like a reporter and less like a felon. I wonder if she'll bring some pepper spray to the interview.

The backstory

I decided to become a journalist because I couldn't pick from the millions of career options and the hundreds of courses offered at the university. I chose the only job that was all the jobs all wrapped up into one.

The premier told me his job was the best, adding "what other job lets you travel around and talk to all the people you meet?" I said my job was good for that.

It seems like everytime I ask people what they like about their jobs, they say something that I have in my job too.

I've interviewed a forensic scientist and kids working on a proposal for the United Nations. I've tried aquacizing with seniors and played a little wheelchair basketball with some elementary students. I get to do and be everything here. (At least in theory.)

Another reason I picked journalism was because the program at my school is one of the top in the country and only 26 students are accepted each year. Those that are accepted have to hand in an application package, write an exam and pass a panel interview and the entire process takes half a year of anxiety. The department has these snobby glass doors to keep everyone else out. I wanted to be the snob on the inside and that played a shamefully-large part in how I chose my major.

Now that I'm working at this small-town paper with my big-city ideas, I feel like everything is backwards from how it should be. I feel like people here think I'm dumb and it makes me feel like I need to prove myself to them.

I miss being behind those glass doors because while I was back there, everyone knew I was smart and one of the Chosen.

So?

An ambulance pulled in at a store across the street earlier today. My boss stood at our window and took some pictures through the glass. I asked what was going on and why he wasn't over there asking what happened and he said he didn't want to.

So I grabbed my notebook and walked over. There was a girl (maybe 12-16) on a stretcher getting oxygen. The store workers weren't very happy to see me and refused to answer any of my questions, so I talked to the girl's mom.

Turns out that she fainted and most likely is already up and feeling fine by now.

I didn't get in the way or interupt the EMS workers or do anything wrong, but I think I've scandalized this town.

Carrot topped

I've heard that I look like Uma Thurman, which is a good thing if I resemble her when she's in top form, but a terrible terrible thing if I look like her in Kill Bill when she's all beaten up and dying.

To make sure I look more like the first than the second, I decided to try being blond. It turned out more orange than blond, but I like it anyway. It's my first time ever being blond and so far all is well.

When I get tired of it, I'm sure it will be much easier to fix than the time I dyed it black.

P.S. I watched My Super Ex-girlfriend the other day and it was much better than I had expected. Funniness abounds. A few times when she was in her brunette-with-glasses disguise, I was startled to see how much she looks like me.

Flying with Icarus and Daedalus

For $5 it would be a terrible shame not to go up in a hot air balloon. The balloon will be teathered, which is kind of lame, but at least it won't take all day to get back down and at least the chances of hitting a power pole are minimal.

If I see you from up in the clouds, I'll make sure to wave.

*Unfortunatley we got nowhere near close enough to the sun to melt any homemade sets of wings.

Forest Gump sat across from me on the bus today.

A feeble old man got on the bus today and didn't stop talking until he reached his destination. As he was talking in my general direction and as no one else was paying any attention, I gave him a few Mona-Lisa smiles in between listening to him and turning to look out the window, hoping he would stop talking. But he sure wouldn't.

He told me about his shed that has a lawnmower in it, stray cats that he looks after and how he likes fishing. Then he said that he had been engaged a few years before but his fiance died in her sleep seven months before they were going to be married. She died of epilepsy, a condition he has too, and I bet if he had been with her she'd have had a much better chance at surviving.

Poor little sweet man.

Justice at work

I just witnessed a woman being cleared of an assault charge, after testifying that she didn't do it.

That would be fine if I hadn't had an encounter with this woman a month ago where she told me she did it.

Neat.

"We want your stories to be more verbose"

"Verbosity is the product of making a text verbose, a process which is the exact opposite of being concise. A verbose text is one that has a larger than necessary amount of words, usually the inflation being due to a higher number of adjectives. Verbose texts tend to be more descriptive, but at the cost of blurring the information, to the point where excessively verbose texts have only description, and are often unreadable."
— Wikipedia

Who thinks a journalist should try to be verbose? Certainly not I.

I believe anyone reading the paper deserves to understand what's going on and not think, "Wow, I must be stupid because I don't understand a word of that."

It is for you, dear readers, and for newspaper browsers everywhere, that I risked my job today and refused to throw bonus long words into my stories.

I do have to admit I was tempted to clutter up my writing and make it incomprehensible and see how they liked that.

But the thought makes me ill.

Milky rice

No matter how much Rice Dream I drink, I don't think I'll ever get used to the idea of drinking rice. It tastes good, but it seems like chewing ought to be required.

Top-quality medicare

I went to a walk-in clinic to get x-rays done on my neck. I was in two car accidents and the provincial insurance comany that's been dealing with my case recommended I get x-rays before starting up my physiotherapy program.

So when the doctor came into the examination room, I told him all I needed was for him to write me a note telling the x-ray technician to take a few pictures of my neck bones. Simple and easy, enough for the doctor, wouldn't you think?

He got really angry and was not-quite-but-almost yelling, refusing to take my case. "If I get involved," he said, "the government will keep sending me paperwork about you and I don't want to do it." (He only gets paid for the number of clients he sees, so he wouldn't make any extra money by filling out any forms the insurance agency wanted him to.)

Then he insisted I go back to the first doctor I saw after the accidents, but I can't remeber even going to the doctor back then. If I had, it was to a rude walk-in clinic doctor who didn't think anything was wrong. I explained this to the doctor and he kept telling me he wouldn't do anything for me.

Well in Canada, medicare is free and provided by the government, so I asked how he could refuse to help me. He, continuing in his scary angry voice, said he already told me and it seemed like he was going to walk out.

I was getting mad by then and said, "Do you usually refuse to help your patients?"

He didn't like that too much.

By the end, I was getting so frustrated that my voice cracked. Soon after, he gave in and authorized my x-rays.

My x-rays showed that I really do have a bonus vertebrae in my neck. Doctors should know better than to mess with mutants.

Yes

I saw this when I looked out of the bus window today.

After staring at it for a minute or two, we drove past some trees and I couldn't see it anymore. When we were passed the trees it was like it had never been there in the first place.

My answer is yes. Yes, I do believe. I may not know the name of the mystical thing in the sky that keeps calling me, and I may not know the way towards it, but I know I believe and that it loves me.

When I had given my answer, the sun pulled out of the clouds and shone down on me in that warm white-gold way.

What would you say to the question in the sky?

Saturday night fun

It's 6:30 Saturday evening and what am I doing?

Why I'm in my office, working like a frantic beast. Isn't that what weekends are for?

I've been working since 7:30 this morning and have an event to go to right away and a story I have to write about it before I can leave tonight.

It's not so bad though. I got paid to go for a boat ride and I get Sunday and Monday off.

Happy weekend.

* It's 8:50 and almost my bed time. Still tired and still working away.

** It's 9:43 and I'm done. Finally.

Mystery solved

My coffee mug (which is actually reserved for tea, hot chocolate or cereal) has finally been spotted after disappearing earlier this week.

It isn't with the other mugs, as one might expect, nor is it on someone's desk. It's sitting on the counter right next to the hot chocolate, impatiently waiting to be filled up again.

I may have to oblige.

Getting closer to zero

My revised budget shows that it will be possible to reach the illusive goal of $0 by mid-February.

I can't wait to be rid of all my minus money and it feels good to have a plan.

Weird story from the archives

I lived in a snowboarding mountain town the year I was 19. I moved into a house with a girl I didn't know and she went on holidays a day or two after I moved in.

She had a cousin who needed a place to stay because he was visiting for a week and before I moved in she told him he could stay at her place. Before she left, she keep apologizing that she was leaving me with her creepy older cousin, but I didn't really care. I was just glad for a place to live.

Her cousin seemed a little strange, but not too bad. He liked me, but I wasn't interested.

The day he was leaving, I showered and went to work. When I got home he was gone.

Also gone were my delicious-smelling pink Herbal Essences shampoo and conditioner.

My roommate thought I had just misplaced the bottles or used them up without noticing. It wasn't until about two years later, on his next visit, that she believed me.

When he left, he left my half-empty shampoo and conditioner bottles on the edge of her bathtub.

My lovely hair pins

I look crazy today. Somedays I wake up with an irresistable compulsion to wear something most people would be confused by.

For example, last year I had this inexplicable fascination with leg warmers and wore them to work (I was on an internship with a big-city paper) with a little skirt. Faunty and the Photographer tried to persuade me not to leave the house like that, but that only confirmed to me the genius behind the outfit.

Back to today: I'm dressed like a haunted widow whose husband died in a tragic accident at sea. I'm wearing a long crinkly billowy off-white skirt and a cream shirt with thin gold sandals.

I feel like I should be standing on a dock staring out at sea on a stormy day with sea foam swirling around my ankles.

I feel like I'm becoming the old woman Margaret Laurence wrote about who was sitting in a cave near the beach putting beetles into her hair, believing the bugs were beautiful tortoise-shell hair pins.

I'm getting tired of being alone in my new town. I only hang out with myself here and I'm afraid I'm going to get lost forever in a space deep inside my imagination.

* I just remembered the book was called A Jest of God.
**I changed into normal clothes on my lunch break. I feel repressed here.

8:30 (ish)

I suffer from Chronic Lateness Disease, a terible malady, which makes me late for work each and every day. I've been late for a meeting with one of the biggest provincial politicians and in school I used to miss the bus regularly.

My Grade 8 teacher was concerned about my lateness and wanted to cure me of it. He warned me that if I was late for class one more time before the volleyball semi finals, I wouldn't be allowed to play. I loved volleyball, but I just couldn't get to school on time. I had to sit on the sidelines while my team lost. It was torture.

(I'm not and never have been especially good at volleyball, but playing it made me happy. It wouldn't have made a difference to our final standing if I had played, but at least then I would have died trying, which is always better than sitting on the sidelines grieving inside.)

A few months later I was so late for the year-end party that I missed the bus to the waterslides or wherever it was that we were going. I'm sure my teacher was confused as to why his plan didn't work.

Back to why I'm telling you this: it doesn't matter that I'm late for work every day because my boss sometimes comes in an hour late and the other reporter hasn't shown up yet today.

It almost makes me look punctual.

Millions of peaches

The grocery store had a sale on 10-pound boxes of peaches.

Being a single person living on my own, it would seem more rational to buy say five or six peaches, not 30. But I think it's already been established that I am not, in fact, a rational creature.

My boss and I are splitting the case of peaches, but I'm still consuming them in mass quanities. My tummy doesn't feel so good, but that's completely besides the point. There are peaches galore waiting to be gobbled up.

Sometimes I am dumb

I saw one of my skirts laying flat over the back of one of my chairs and was alarmed by how big it was.

"Am I really that fat?" I asked myself, thinking that my mirror must be more than a little deceptive. Agast, I continued to stare at the skirt.

Then I realized that I, like most people, am three dimensional.

If I'm only half as big as I worried I was, I think it must be time to indulge in a few treats.

Q: You know what's really sexy?

A: when you're dressed all cute and summery for work and you find out you have to drive out to a regional park in a car with no air conditiong.

The best part is when a droplet of sweat runs down your knee pit.

Somehow my outfit doesn't seem so cute anymore. But at least the paper-towel bath I took when I got back to the office was refreshing.

Because Faunty never updates her blog, here's what's new with her

Faunty got 92.5% on her midterm exam in her summer class. That disgustingly-high mark was the highest in the class. Even so, when I was home she kept saying, "I can't hang out with you because I have to study." Right.

Faunty is still dating the magician and he is quite proficient with balloon creations. I'm trying to convince her to be his "lovely assistant," but she doesn't want to wear a glittery silver gown.

Faunty still doesn't take proper care of her dog. For example, we went for a walk on my most recent visit where I invited her to bring him and she left him behind. In her defence, he is dumb and annoying and has a strange habit of running straight into oncoming traffic.

Faunty is thinking about getting her masters degree in sociology. I'm afraid she'll eventually be my boss.

Of bathrooms and busses

I got myself into a little crisis last night.

I was on the bus and it was getting late at night. We stopped at a town about an hour away from mine and I went into the depot/hotel to use the washroom.

The washroom was in the basement and it was kind of dark in the hallway. Making things even creepier, a greasy-haired older man was hanging out downstairs.

I went into the washroom, which was quite small, and turned to push the door closed behind me. The door was too big for the frame, but I wasn't going to take any chances with the creepy man, so I slammed myself into the door to get it to close.

Any guesses as to what happened?

I couldn't get the door open again.

And I'm a little clausterphobic.

And there weren't many people around in the hotel basement, besides the one whose help I didn't want.

After an awful lot of pulling, sweating, and bad words yelled silently, I finally managed to get out. And the bus was still waiting. Phew.

Perhaps in the future I won't be so skeptical about those tiny stinky washrooms at the back of the bus.

Namaste

I just discovered that one of my favorite bloggers no longer exists. Jesus loves me, this, I know doesn't have a blog any more and it makes me sad.

Sure he was mean sometimes and didn't always use the most ladylike words, but he was brilliant and interesting and I think I've become a better person from listening to what he had to say.

I miss you -- like I told you I would -- and I hope you're in a better place. I'll be here if you decide to come back.

Besitos carino.

Welcome home

I've always loved the instant when you're driving at night and all of a sudden in the distance you see the lights of the city you can't wait to get to. My family spent a year being nomads and so I got quite used to getting in the car, eating wafer cookies, falling asleep and waking up hours later to watch the orange lights getting closer across the horizon.

Tonight as the bus got closer to town, I imagined the lights were talking to me. They were so excited to see me they didn't let me get a word in.

"Welcome home," they said. "We've missed you. How was your trip? Not too long, I hope. Would you like some pie or iced tea or shortbread cookies? If you're too tired out from your trip, your room is ready for you down the hallway. I've turned down the sheets and laid out fresh towels for you. Good night dear. We'll have to get caught up on everything in the morning. Shall I tuck you in?"

Those lights, I love them. They seem like home to me -- like family, like my grandma standing on the front steps inviting us into the house or like my parents waiting for the bus pull in.

Sometimes work is fun

I just got paid to flirt with a cute stranger.

I also kind-of-sort-of got asked on a date while out doing my regular job.

He's just visiting town and I'm going back to see my family again this weekend. Too bad, because I definately would have agreed to a date.

I was doing streeters when I met him. For streeters I go out once a week to ask people what they think about something that's going on in town or in the news. Then I write down their comments and take their pictures. I'm starting to think Friday afternoons are a very good time for that kind of work :)

Curly

Faunty, lucky Faunty, is taking a summer class with this guy I really really like.

I don't know him and can't explain why I'm so drawn to him.

I sat next to him in a summer class last year, spoke to him maybe two or three times and spent the rest of the time staring at his fantastically curly hair.

He's really smart and he seems kind. Faunty stalks him and found out that he only has two pairs of shoes and refuses to buy more as a social choice.

I imagine that he would love hitch hiking, would be desperate to go kayaking in Peru and would volunteer at a refugee camp, hauling water and handing out rations of food.

I think I like him because, in my mind at least, our ideals match.

Sometimes I'm afraid of criminals

What kind of person:
- bites someone else's leg?
- punches and kicks someone in the face?
- runs out of a store, setting of the alarm and shows the manager who chases him out a knife hidden up his sleeve?
- punches his sister so hard in the forehead that her face swells?

Probably not the kind of person I'd want to have follow me home.

I've decided it's best for me to stop by my office every time I leave court before going home, just in case someone gets mad that I'm writing about them in the paper and wants to find out where I live.

I'm starting to wonder if I'm in danger.

I've heard two people complaining about there being a reporter in court and since these people aren't the most reputable characters, I wonder what they might do.

Oh, the curse of an overactive imagination.

A new day

In case you were wondering, I'm in a much better mood today. And it's court today, so I get to leave the office and get paid to watch democracy in progress. Yipee.

Aggrivating

I don't want the paper I work for to be crappy and I don't think anyone else in the office wants that either.

But so far today I've "discussed" two things we're doing that seem completely ridiculous.

First, we're printing a four page list of names of people participating in an event. Just their names. That's big news, I hear, and everyone in town wants to see a big ol' list in the paper.

And we have about five letters to the editor this week, and all except one are about the same thing. Wouldn't it seem logical to put the one off-topic letter at the beginning or the end, to seperate it from everything else and to keep the readers from getting annoyed and confused? Apparently not.

Why is common sense not working today?

I wrote that 10 minutes ago. Now I'm annoyed about two more things. A cheesy pun I made has been edited out. Instead of calling the court briefs "Court briefs," I had them under the heading "Court, briefly." But it's been changed back to the boring unfunny way now.

Also, I didn't write about the man who was charged with drinking and driving because I don't want to write trash. If something had happened other than him getting caught, like if he had hurt someone or gotten into a big accident, then it would be news. But just naming him and saying that he pled guilty seems low to me. So I didn't do it and I'm not going to.

One last complaint for the day — I hate editing mistakes out of other people's work and having them edit mistakes into mine. Dates, semi-colons, possessives, singular/plural agreement, and it's versus its seem to be the biggest problems here.

I can't wait to leave the office. (And I bet the rest of the people in the office also can't wait for me to leave today.)

To my favorite taker of pictures

I'll love you no matter what.

Now go and make a good choice. Tell Abigail I said hi.

Baby face

Faunty is 20 and I am 24, but people always think we look a lot younger than we are.

A few years ago a friend of mine was shocked to find out that Faunty was older than 12. One summer about four years ago a 13-year-old girl thought I was the same age as her. And when I was paying admission for the grounds today, the worker asked if I was under 17 and seemed quite surprized when I said no.

Tonight we decided to see how old we look to the "experts."

At the guess-your-age-weight-or-birth-month booth, the worker guessed Faunty was 17 and thought I was 20. We both won lovely prizes and are considering making an annual trip to the fair to confuse the workers and pick up some gifts.

People always tell Faunty and I that we'll appreciate looking young when we get much older, but I'm appreciating my kid face and my blue zebra right now. I also like being able to wear children's sun glasses because kids get all the neat sparkly ones and they're always so much cheaper than grown-up shades.

The "really really nice great guy"

My sisters took the liberty of informing me that my blog is depreciating. "It's getting boring," they said.

I have to agree that blinds and plastic bags aren't the most fascinating subjects, so I think it might be time to share something scandelous.

When I was riding the highway bus yesterday, I thought back to another time, years ago, when I was on a bus. I had been on the bus for a few hours when we stopped for a break and when I got back on, a very attractive tall black guy was in the seat beside mine.

We talked quite a bit and I told him that I had just quit my job and was on the way home, not knowing what I would do once I got there. He, being remarkably friendly and kind I thought, told me I could rent his basement with bills and everything included for $100 a month.

We had a long bus ride and at one point we were talking about cake. He said, "I like white cake much better than chocolate cake." And I, thinking we were talking about cake, not skin colour, said, "What? That's crazy. Chocolate cake is the best."

Then he reached out and touched my cheek bone.

Before we got off the bus, he made sure to remind me that I was welcome to move in with him.

About a month later I was tempted by his offer because it was so cheap and he seemed so nice. My dad got worried and called the police to see if he could get a record check. (I'll come back to this.)

A friend and I were annoyed with our other friends one night and were bored. We were driving around town and ended up near the highway. We decided to run away, just for a few days, and to have fun on our own.

We didn't know where we would go and on a whim decided to go visit my new "friend." We were both 18 at the time and lived with our parents who would not approve of our running away to visit a strange older guy, so we each called home to tell out parents we were staying with each other that night.

Anyway, we got to his place and my friend was horrified by all the drug stuff he had laying around and I was half creeped out and half flattered when tried hitting on me. My friend and I decided to leave because he was making us uncomfortable.

A while later he called to say he still really wanted me to come and live with him. And he said he thought my friend was pretty and he had told a friend of his about her and his friend wanted her to go live with him. What?

That was when I started to realize something was very very wrong. Another sign was that his house was kind of small and shabby on the outside, but the inside was full of expensive treats, including a wide screen TV that covered one whole wall.

I forgot to mention that his job was working as a "night-club promoter" and that he had promised me a job if I came to live with him. I assumed he meant I would be a bartender or something like that.

Back to when my dad called the police... They told him that it's never a good idea for a girl to move in with a guy she doesn't know and told him to try and persuade me not to go. They also told him they were watching this particular guy because they knew he was part of a prostitution/drug ring and that he was selling girls across the border into the United States.

That was the beginning of my skepticism.

Slightly scatterbrained

To save money and the environment and to be able to take unlimited trips to my family's house this month, I bought a bus pass.

I only had 20 minutes to pack after work before I had to leave for the bus depot. I raced home, ripped off my button-up shirt and sped around the apartment in a worn out old undershirt while I threw all the necessities into my bags.

I was unlocking my car when I looked down and realized I had forgotten to put a proper shirt on. Yikes.

Fortunatley I'm in the habit of taking sweaters off and tossing them into the backseat, so the crisis was averted.

Tremendous fun

You know what's really fun? Waxing your armpits before going to bed, waking up the next morning in a hurry to get ready for work and putting on an alcohol-based deodorant.

There's nothing like a little early morning burning to prepare one for a day at work.

A case of unfortunate timing

A conivted pedophile (allegedly) kidnapped a 10 year old boy and had a 14 year old boy with him. Both boys and the suspect had their names and pictures all over the news as police searched for them.

But now that the boys have been rescued (they were molested but are still alive), their case is in court. In sexual assualt cases, there is a publication ban on the victim's names to protect their privacy. The problem, though, is that because of the search efforts, everyone already knows who they are.

Yesterday we put our newspaper together with an editorial about the suspect and the victims (with their names included). The paper printed yesterday and is usually distributed by Friday morning. The publication ban on the names came into effect at 11 am this today. (I guess that's the time the suspect's charges were officially laid.) Anything distributed before 11 is fine, but everything else is being recalled and we have to reprint that section of the paper with a new editorial.

If we hadn't found out about the ban, we could've gone to court.

The blinds

So my blinds are gently resting on the tops of my window sills. Two are staying on their own, but the third one kept falling so I had to tape it up with regular scotch tape. It's working remarkably well but I think I need to beg someone to hang them up properly.

Even though they aren't up right, they're blocking out a ton of light. I think I must have been smiling all night in my little dark cave:)

I'm afraid of cows

I went to watch cows get vaccinated today. It was terrifying. Cows are big. To get them into the holding pen we had to surround them and run at them waving our arms if they looked like they were going to trample us. After today I would not advise anyone to try cow tipping.

The last of the light nights

Tomorrow will be just as exciting as Christmas for me. I'll be getting a wonderful gift that I've been dying for since I moved here -- huge room-darkening blinds.

Street lights shine right through my windows and mini-blinds aren't doing much about it. It's unbearable because I can't sleep unless it's as dark outside my eyelids as inside. I've tried hanging blankets and towels and dark jackets to keep the light out, but it's never enough.

Now I have a tablecloth pinned to the window frame and a blanket is hanging over it, blocking out a little more light.

My new blinds are even more exciting because they're free. My landlord felt bad for my predicament and is letting me take them off my rent.

The only thing I'm concerned about is putting them up. I don't have a ladder, hammer, screwdriver or measuring tape. It could be an interesting evening.