My So-Called Blog

Stress, with a side of depression

Thu, 18 May 06 12:01:00 UT

Yes, it's been a while. Okay, a long time. I get it. Let's not dwell on it.

No real time to write anything exciting, but since I want to take a story-writing break, I figured I would dip back into my blogular life. Onto the most important (okay, more like superficial) lesson I've unintentionally learned during the last month:

** extreme stress is the world's easiest diet **

It may not prove lasting, as even now, as I slowly creep out of what I'm lovingly starting to call a "funk," my appetite is crawling back. But in the last month, tossed between fright, depression and nervousness, I've lost enough weight to necessitate buying new pants, and have somehow whittled down to a size 6, all without trying.

Good thing I still have a follow-up doctor's appointment next week to try to keep this weight off. (Ho! See, the inappropriate humor's coming back, folks.)

Most health experts and, well, my mother, would say this isn't all that good for me. But, ya know, if I'm not going to feel great, I might as well look good. Ain't that the American way, after all?

Editor's Note: CK does not endorse the presence of health or love problems as solutions to being overweight. Thank you.

Hiatus

Mon, 1 May 06 10:10:00 UT

Hey, readers. It's been a bad couple of weeks. Stressful work. Health scares. Heartache. In that time, have obviously lost a bit of the trademark CK luster that makes me and this blog great.

Good blog entries will be back when, well, I'm back.

Got my motor runnin'

Sun, 9 Apr 06 12:49:00 UT

Needless to say, a lot has happened since we last met, fair readers. As a mighty quick recap, here are the things new in my life since I last checked in:

* car
* boyfriend
* ability to pack days' worth of clothing into one backpack
* inability to file my taxes way ahead of time
* start of repayment of grad school loans
* diminishing nack for keeping up well with friends
* application materials for 5-year college reunion
* scary realization of "oh shit, I've been out of ND for 5 years and I'm even poorer than before"

But first off, let's just talk cars, shall we?

We all know it, the '94 Chevy Cav had to go. She was wonderful to me, we'd been through so much together -- ah, I'll never forget that day in the Rosslyn, Va., parking garage when I heard the whimpered crushing of her driver's side door into that concrete pole. And oh, that glorious, oh-so-non-scary time when her alternator went kaput on me near Washington's 14th St. bridge, slowly wearing down to a slumber near increased traffic. Tugs at the heart strings, that memory.

But through it all, she stuck with me, totaling upwards of 121,000 miles before I decided to abandon her for a newer, shinier model. Somewhere, she's referring me as her cruel "ex" who dropped her for a young tart, but oh well.

So the 3-week-or-so hunt for a new car got underway, with Mom and Dad (and sometimes BF) and I hitting two Chevy dealerships in search of a nice Cobalt. (Figured I'd stick with what I knew: Chevys treated us well, and the Cobalt was perfect for me -- looks Volvo-esque, not too cutesy for someone who's simple and, well, not too cutesy.)

Dealership #1 (where eventual purchase was made): kind, friendly sales people. Firm, but accommodating in our constant pushing to lower that price! (to be read in a Ty Pennington Extreme Home Makeover fashion)
Ick factor: 3

Dealership #2 (where several blood pressures would be raised): friendly at first. Sly, sneaky people who held my '94 Cav keys hostage and busted out the "What will you pay tonight?" too many times to count. Literally, the sales guy came back to me, threw a bunch of figures my way and said, "my manager wants to know where we're supposed to come up with that missing $2,000 you want taken off." To which I replied, "I don't know why you're asking me. That's not my problem." It remained not my problem, as my parents and I walked out their door car-less.
Ick factor: 57

So now I am the proud almost-owner of a new silver Chevy Cobalt, plush with that new-car smell. Hmmmm...Of course, it's not really mine yet, until I can pay it all off in my 66 month deal. Which means when you add school loans 1-14, cell phone, credit card, soon-to-be-rent...

**Up next: how to properly FOIA the crap outta things for good stories (or how to take a day off of work to learn some cool stuff and hang with other folks from your company)**

Yes, I am alive

Wed, 22 Mar 06 10:53:00 UT

Yep, folks, the rumor is true: I am, indeed, still alive.

Which of course, is not to say that I'm going to be writing an interesting blog post here. Just in between interviews, so I figured I would confirm to those I haven't talked to in a while -- most of you, sadly -- that I continue to walk this Earth. Just more slowly, dragged down by the fatigue of work and life.

That's all from me for now, kids! More updates coming soon...

(Yes, I know that was officially the worst, least-interesting blog ever written. Sue me. No, wait...no time for a lawsuit...)

Facing the Music City

Thu, 9 Mar 06 19:18:00 UT

Let me preface today's look into Christine's life by warning that a) I'm incredibly tired; b) fatique tends to have a negative effect on my humor skills; so c) NO, AG, I won't be as ha-ha as I usually am. Deal. Love ya.

So a new, bizarre discovery: I think I like country music. Well, some of it. Kinda. Let me 'splain: looooong story short, one of our local residents is one of the 10 contestants on the upcoming season of "Nashville Star." I've been covering her and her family for more than a month now, and decided I'd pitch my editors a great idea: send me to Nashville for the taping of the first episode, the only non-live one of the season. To my shock, dismay and delight, they said 'yes' and I just spent about three hectic, productive and fun days in Music City.

Got to attend the day rehearsal for the Tuesday night taping - slapped my little "limited access" media sticker on myself and felt real important for about 30 minutes. Got to see Wynonna Judd looking all diva-like, and catch the ins/outs of a television show. Was pretty cool. Then went to the actual taping that night where the judges voted someone off, though I'm not allowed to say who. Hey, it ain't Watergate, but I can keep a secret, my friends. Meanwhile, as I'm down there, it's hard not to get into the music, if even for a couple of days. Big & Rich performed at the show and I gotta tell ya, I'm liking their "Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy." Mostly 'cuz damn, that's funny. That shit is catchy, people, I'm tellin' ya. Been whistling all kinds of country stuff since I got back.

In other news, my paper apparently is sending me to IRE's Better Watchdog Journalism workshop in Madison next month. Sounds very cool, and I've never been to Madison, so I'm excited about that. Lots of nerdy things in store like sessions on computer-assisted reporting and public documents. Yes, I'm a geek and think it'll be cool.

So as you can see, the only real updates I have in my life deal with, well, not life so much, as work. All very cool stuff, but one of these days I'm going to have to schedule some time in there to, well, live. The quick synopsis of other relevant topics:

a) family: good, still kicking around
b) Work Dating Guy: good, still kicking around
c) friends: good, (hopefully) still kicking around, in process of forgiving me for being so out of touch?

Not ready for my close-up

Mon, 27 Feb 06 19:17:00 UT

Okay, we have got to talk about this situation with the ports. I mean ...

Psych. I totally don't care. Okay, not necessarily true. As long as my government doesn't allow people to guard our borders who, I dunno, want to kill me, I'm okay with it. I know so little about, well, a lot of stuff, that I won't even pretend to have a real opinion on this ports deal in NY. How's that for a well-informed journalist?

So onto more important topics. Glamour shots. I'm getting them done, for work. Kinda. Okay, so we all know the gist, I'm in a new position, in a supposedly revitalized bureau of our paper. This new team is apparently going to be the first group of reporters/editor marketed to our circulation-starved coverage area.

Great.

Cue camera-shy Christine's fear of ending up on a billboard.

Apprently we'll be in house ads and distributed "in the community," whatever that means. Hello?....I'm not a broadcaster? We're all a little nervous about the ordeal, and it's still unclear exactly where outside of the actual paper they're going to be plastering our faces. (And bodies - we are taking group and individual full-body shots, after all.)

In one way, it could be great. It could get us the (uh, clothed) exposure the paper needs in our target area, and convince readers we're there in the community dedicated to covering them. Or...it could be "Anchorman." With all of us striking ill-timed cheesy poses. Yikes.

I never thought I would be so happy that the majority of you readers of this fair blog live outside of the Chicagoland area. Thank God for small blessings. For those of you who live inside its tenuous walls, look hard for issues of the paper. Because whenever they hit newsstands, I'll be buying ALL of them.

Missing in Action no more

Fri, 24 Feb 06 13:38:00 UT

This week, the week I officially fell off the planet, was my first covering my new beat/county. And it would be a rather large understatement to say I was "busy." (In fact, I'm "off" today, but already filed a Sunday feature before 10 a.m., and will likely file another this afternoon. YIKES.)

We of the Medill fall '05 class are all pretty new at our jobs, so it's safe to say we all should still be bringing a sense of excitement and energy to our jobs for some time to come. But if it's possible, I have a renewed sense of it already in this new position. And it's largely due to the spirit of competition.

I, two other reporters and one editor were sent to a nearby county to help boost copy and cure fledging circulation in the area. Our orders: write. Write. Write. Almost nothing is too small, too insignificant. So we're writing. A lot.

I had one of those stereotypical running-out-the-door-to-get-the-news days, and for such a random story. A teenager wearing a homemade sandwich board was picketing outside his own home for four hours, as a punishment his family gave him for getting suspended from school. Awesome. Ran out, got in my car, drove to the scene. Competing paper reporter already there. DAMNIT. Chat chat chat. Notes notes notes. Thanks, good luck, kid. Go back, write story. Go home, sleep.

Now I find that the first thing I do the next morning is read not my paper, but the competition. It definitely keeps the stress level high, but the work exciting. So all in all, I guess it's a good thing, to keep me sharp.

Also keeping me busy is The Guy I'm Dating. This is how I will refer to him - TGID - until I am comfortable enough to call him what many around him are referring him as, my "boyfriend." Yeah, not so comfy with the terminology or meaning behind it yet, seeing that it's only been a month. But he's great, still waters, smooth sailing, other boat references. Which is probably why I'm so....I dunno...reluctant to label. I mean, I'm used to drama, fighting, the passion that comes with arguing. And....there's none of that. Stay tuned.

** Also, on my semi-day off today, I just saw an MTV "True Life: I'm a Competitive Eater." The question MTV is hoping to answer in their probing one-hour show? Are these athletes, or just indulgers?

Fucking America.

(Although the reigning world champ is Japanese, I think. Oh well.)

Movin' on...east...and up?

Sat, 11 Feb 06 12:20:00 UT

We have these "golden boys" at work. Reporters who always get a ton of space to tell great stories and break big news. They're never "in trouble." So when I got an email from our executive editor Thursday lumping me in with one said Goldies and our main courts reporter, I was highly confused. The hell do I have in common with these people, and why is EE asking us all to meet Friday morning? Uh oh. Was this a group wrist-slapping of some sort?

I quickly discovered that meetings like these, cloaked in secrecy, happen all the time at the paper. They're not always bad, they're not always good. But they're usually attached to lots of hushes and whispers and worries of job loss. In my case, there was an extra-added layer of confusion, seeing that the people I was to meet with were vets of the paper, and I've been there just shy of 3 months.

SCENE: Friday. Big meeting. Exec ed. Editor from Medill DC quarter. Goldy. Courts. Me.

The gist is this: we need to boost circulation hard and fast in the county area to our east, so we three reporters and sole editor have been chosen as the team to do it. Starting in, like, a week. So starting a week from Monday, my commute will about double, as will my apparent story length and scope of issues-based projects. Cue my confusion and humble joy.

Because we were being told we're a group of great reporting and storytelling skills, we're "not going to be covering meetings and chicken dinners." YES! So long, town council meetings? Oh, but wait - so long the contacts I just built for 3 months? Damn. The whole point of this being I essentially just got a non-raise promotion of sorts, and the backing of the publisher and EE that I'm doing a good job. Professionally, I'm all kinds of excited and shockingly flattered. Personally...I'm pretty low to be leaving a whole new set of cool co-workers and growing story ideas. In many ways, back to Square 1. But in many ways, jump to Square 19, because as some of the other editors were assuring me yesterday, this new job is coming with high visibility and responsibility, meaning that apparently in my short stint there, someone's been liking my clips.

You know that bittersweet feeling you get when you're really pumped about something, yet so nervous and unsure you could, well, just die? Yeah, got that going on right now. So stay tuned for how it all shakes out...

New wheels ... (and guy?)

Wed, 8 Feb 06 09:38:00 UT

This poor, neglected blog is starting to go the way of countless unfinished journals I've started in my life, and I don't like it. Will do my best to update more often.(That is, if we could just hire some more reporters at work and, I don't know, give me a second to breathe once in a while. Just a thought. Sorry, Lee, don't fire me.)

Hung out with Work Date Guy again last night, who made me dinner. It's going well, he's incredibly sweet and just a genuinely nice guy, which to be honest, I'm not at all used to. Have dealt with enough guys treating me poorly or talking big games, that unfortunately I've become (a bit too?) cynical. Am all of a sudden aware that I must have a much tougher exterior when it comes to dating than I once believed. It's a bizarre (but good?) realization. More plans coming up, so stay tuned...

In other CK'06 news, this weekend will mark my first foray into "window shopping" for a new car. That's right, folks, I love her, but one of these days soon, the '94 Chevy Cav and I are going to part ways. Still haven't decided whether to lease or buy, and still haven't decided what make/model I want. So needless to say, I have a lot of leg work ahead of me. But I'm excited at the thought of a new ride, and am taking advice/opinions on what's good, what sucks and what might kill me upon impact.

I've discovered this is a time when being a simple, non-materialistic person is tough: I don't want anything flashy or trendy, and don't need anything terribly "cute." I have very Midwestern, plain Jane motives at work: I want something that'll get me safely from Point A to B, won't kill me on mileage and won't look....well, like a senior citizen might drive it. Should make for a real interesting adventure...

Elementary report

Thu, 2 Feb 06 18:55:00 UT

'Been a long time, kids. Let's just jump right into things. Below, relevant elements of CK and their general status.

WORK: Busy, good.
In the past couple of weeks, I've written a few of my favorite stories. I can honestly say my human interest stuff - stories I like to write the most - are getting better, which I'm thrilled about. If any of you are familiar - and you should be - I've been following a local family with a sick son. Well, I got up close and personal recently on an office visit to find out if he's responding to treatment. He is, the family was happy, I wrote it up, and people loved it. I'm not into vanity, but it's nice to know when people enjoy the stuff you work so hard on. (BTW, AG, thx for your awesome email note. For you to call something "touching." Whoa.)

And it's a small, nothing back-pat, but work folks nominated the story for our monthly "honor roll," our little inner-office awards. It's silly, but like they say, it's an honor just to be nominated. (Which is the story I'll definitely stick to if I don't get that $20 the winner gets.)

HOME: Stable.
Still love Mom and Dad. Still counting the days to move out. Still expecting spring. Work and life been so hectic lately that I haven't really been at home much.

*"LOVE": Fair, I hesitate to say busy?...
Catch me a week or two ago, I'd really have nothing to update here. But, well, my life moves fast. Long story short...for months (not joking) my good friend has been telling me a fellow teacher of hers has a son she really wants me to date. Great. Problem - he lives in Tucson. Arizona. (In case you were wondering if there was a Tucson somewhere in southern Indiana. There isn't.) Anyways, weeks ago, a "date" of sorts was agreed upon - I would go with Susan, her friend and her son to lunch. Now, what exactly is "date"y about that, you ask? Not a clue. Aside from the fact that he and I walked into the situation knowing exactly why we were there. Anyways, I walked into lunch annoyingly surprised that a) he was very cute and b) funny/charming. For example: he hates ND (which, actually, if you know me you know I enjoy b/c of the flirty competitive potential) and so he made fun of me when I said a Congressman I knew went there. I believe his exact words were: "What, you want a cookie?" Sarcasm? Amazing. I love you, let's get married. But not really.

Anyway, the lunch ended, and my "sources" told me later that "date" was impressed but upset that his mom essentially stole the show and he and I didn't get to spend enough time together. Awesome. But hey - Tucson. I'm looking at it now as a mere hurdle we have to overcome. A vacation spot for me, if you will.

Oh, and I'm going out with someone from work tomorrow. No real details will be given on that yet, due to the sensitive nature of it a) being something I'm looking forward to and b) being something potentially sticky b/c we work together. Stay tuned.

* I use everyone's favorite Shift symbol to illustrate that, obviously, I wouldn't call this a love life, per se. I'm wary of even calling it a "dating" life. It's, well, just my social happenings. There. Now you know what I know. Pretty much.

Metal mouthz

Mon, 23 Jan 06 19:17:00 UT

For fear of another arrow to my heart and dignity via blogular comment, I'll likely be limiting my entries to topics of conversation visitors arguably can't make a personal attack out of. At least for now, until my ego has rebuilt itself and I stop resenting the person who left the earlier comment on an entry I've since deleted. As a new, light-hearted example:

* I'm pretty upset that I kinda like Nelly's song "Grillz." It stands for several things I hate:

- gold or bejeweled teeth
- the opulence of capitalism such teeth represent
- use of the name "Hillary Rodham" in rap. Never right.

But it does honor some things I highly enjoy:

- Nelly
- the use of "Z" to pluralize something
- the use of "grandmama" in a song

Thanks for your attention. Back to your regularly scheduled lives.

It's Friday. Got a job. Got shit to do.

Fri, 13 Jan 06 20:49:00 UT

Workin' the night shift.

3-11 p.m.

Right now it's about 8:25 p.m.

Have a story for next week I should wrap up.

Motivation is at an all-time low.

Fatigue is at an all-time high.

Worked at parents' office this morning.

7:30 a.m. to 12:30 p.m.

Filing. Data entry. Filing. Data entry.

Gonna call around to the 4 gillion cops again soon.

Maybe at 9. Yeah, definitely 9.

Keep your fingers crossed there are no murders.

Keep your fingers crossed there are no fires.

Keep your fingers crossed I stay awake to find out.

Wanna play Shadow? Wanna play Shadow?

Tue, 10 Jan 06 19:24:00 UT

I have a Shadow: a reporter at our main competitor newspaper. I cannot shake her, as hard as I try. When I stand up, she stands up. When I talk to the town council president, Shadow talks to him. When I go to the bathroom, Shadow....well, she doesn't do that, but still.

We've been to a few functions together now, completely natural since at times we share the same three-town beat. First time I was Shadowed, I sorta let it go, knowing this is how things work: you're at a public meeting, you openly ask one person something, you all write it down. Duh. But last night, Shadow went too far.

SCENE: 3-hour plan commission meeting (zzzz... Stay with me, some interesting stuff here).

Town Councilman has just stood, told commissioners "shit was done wrong" (loosely translated). Councilman sits. I saunter up, "yo, G, wanna go talk outside real quick?" G says yes, up we go.....and a-here comes Shadow, prancing behind me, out of the meeting, into my private interview. Shadow, what the hell you doin'??

CK: question, question, intrepid reporting, question
Shadow: note taking, note taking, quote stealing...
CK: (appalled) "Thanks, G, gonna go talk to the resident."
Shadow: follows. Continued quote stealing ensues.

Same shit seriously happens again at meeting's end when I'm questioning a developer's lawyer.

Next time we're in mutual coverage mode, I'm going to whip my much-cuter head around (sorry, catty time) and gently ask, "Shadow, how much of that paycheck you gonna start forkin' over my way since I've done all of your work for you?? Step the F aside, this is my turf right now. Step back and let the real (albeit new and still learning) reporter do the work."

If that doesn't work, Dad's already offered to "Absence of Malice" her ass - gonna pose as some important hot shot, cook up some fake news, spoon-feed Shadow who will eat it up like the lazy non-reporter she is, and burn her no-talent-ass-clown, well, ass.

"Road Rage Sufferer"

Mon, 9 Jan 06 16:28:00 UT

So I'm driving to work today and I get cut off pretty badly by some man in a tattered, old boat. Huge thing, probably could've crushed my hot '94 Chevy Cav, which is really saying something about the enormous state of his tin machine. Weirdest, most annoying part of this near-death experience was that it wasn't quick, just out of the blue.

I could see this guy was drifting a *wee* bit close to my lane, but figured, of course he sees me coming to pass him, no way he's going to keep drifting. Well, I was wrong. His massive, ominous boat drift, drift, drifted just this close from the front of my car and the assface took over my side of the road. G-D, dangerous geezer.**

As I was cursing him in my only little Midwest way ("Really?! Sir, are you KIDDING me?!?"), I noticed a peculiar sign in his back window: DIALYSIS PATIENT. Um...okay? I immediately, for some unknown reason, felt a bit guilty at semi-cursing him. Oh, well, he's a dialysis patient. Don't be an asshole, Christine. But then the mere illogical nature of this slammed me in the face: so what??

I have never been on, nor do I know anyone who has been on, dialysis. I honestly don't know what it does to a person, their motor skills (no pun intended), their attitude, etc. I mean, does it automatically make a person a bad driver? Is this something I'm just catching on to? My theory? - any bad-driving Tom, Dick or Jane can throw a "Dialysis Patient" sign into their window and be forgiven for poor roadway manuevering. Really don't seem fair.

I mean, where do we draw the line?

"Asthma Sufferer"?
"Plastic Surgery Patient"?
"On a Clinical Trial"?

**If you find yourself offended by any of the above, try driving behind one of these people. Go 'head. Go 'head, get down.

Mission Unaccomplished

Sun, 8 Jan 06 16:11:00 UT

In these times of blogular war, things get dirty real fast. People say things, words are like arrows to the heart. But nothing hurts more than childhood memories trounced out as stealth hits. Just wrong.

So after the Halloween of my youth was displayed for the world (er, this sad web of degenerates) to see, I embarked on Mission Make the Kralys Hate DICKie. I'm sad to report that it did not go as planned.

SCENE: Kitchen, post-attack, Mom, Dad, CK....

CK: Listen to what that idiot DICKie did...(describes horror of photo-posting betrayal)

Mom: "Well, it could've been worse." Laughter

Dad: "Hip." Laughter

Shit. Well, apparently DICKie is still welcome in the CK household. (Just as long as I'm not there.)