The end of every summer breaks my heart. From the summer I fell in love at art camp (I was eleven, but I swear it was the real thing) to last year, when I left my internship a day early so I wouldn't have to watch all of my friends leave before me, the transition from care-free summer to the darkening days of autumn has never been easy.
Standing on third street promenade yesterday, the imminence of ending dawned upon me. As my friends and I walked past carts and book shops discussing future plans, I began realizing I wouldn't be a part of them--their lives and plans would quickly fill in the hole in our social circle that I would be leaving behind. It is the same way at work--not that I'm getting pushed out, but as I start giving my contacts and notes to other bookers and producers, as I begin wrapping up bookings and not receiving new assignments, it's like I can almost catch the scent of autumn in the office. Hosts begin talking about air dates that are several weeks after I leave, and already I have had to say goodbye to close friends at the office who are leaving this week for vacation. We can't believe I'm leaving for good.
As the show discusses stories for its "back to school" edition at noon in the Angeles Room, I sit silently, trying to grasp that this is the beginning of the ending of my summer here. I can't quite picture what it will be like to tune in to Day to Day without knowing the rundown beforehand, without eagerly awaiting the interview I have already heard, without the smug satisfaction of knowing that at the end of the week, the host will read my name along with a list of people I have grown to really care about.
I know that it won't take long for that list to change, for the new, unrecognized names of fall interns to be added. And I also know that I will forget the layout of NPR West, the taste of the coffee here, the names of the streets I take to get to Santa Monica, even Katerina's extension (well maybe not, I've dialed it so many times I think it's hardwired into my brain), and all the little things that make up daily life here.
This September, I will drive my Subaru from Boston to my new internship in Chicago. And of course, I will be listening. I am almost looking forward to the oblivion; there’s something oddly appealing about going back to being just a listener. Everyday I will greet the show with rapt attention and curiosity, innocent to what awaits on today’s show, unaware of the close calls and the pains taken to make the stories sound seamless and the voices crisp and clean on my radio. I really do look forward to it, to staying connected through ears and radiowaves, just distant enough to really see the full effect of all the elements coming together.
Wednesday, August 8, 2007
Friday, August 3, 2007
Music to my ears
It has been a rough summer. Until yesterday, I had spent the past three months missing hundreds of songs I had (gasp) bought on iTunes. After calling the Apple help desk several times, and receiving, well, no help, I didn’t have the strength to wait on hold any longer.
“I’ll just get music from the people I work with,” I thought. I did, but I needed something more.
I wasn’t always getting entire albums. Instead, I was getting playlists. And while they were truly wonderful, well-executed, perfectly-timed playlists, the songs on them kept reminding me of the songs I’d been missing. In fact, they were the songs I was missing, only these were free and sans the full-length album.
What’s this? Sondre Lerche? I used to have his cd, until someone tried to break into my iTunes account! Camera Obscura? I could have really used all of you this summer, not just one song!
It may not be the worst feeling in the world, but it certainly isn’t fun to have the music you’ve paid for at your fingertips, only to find out that, when you press play, your account has been disabled for security reasons. It’s such an evil trick! I should have known that flirting with the Mac Genius to get a new logic board for free would bring bad karma my way. But who can resist!?
What I needed, though, wasn’t my music; it was piece of mind. Most of my friends download music for free and (il)legally, but for some reason iTunes has me hooked. It’s like I have monopoly money and can buy whatever I want, and the only reality check is when the account receipt forwards to my inbox…or when I’ve bought hundreds of dollars in music only to have it locked up before my very eyes.
BUT!...
Yesterday morning my spirits were revived by the iTunes support center. While there is no call-help line, one of my countless e-mails was finally answered, and, thanks to Michelle at iTunes, I now have a freshly authorized computer and about 500 of my best friends—truly alive and kicking.
To be honest, it hasn’t been that difficult to get through this summer without them, but everything sounds better when they’re around. And after all, absence makes the heart grow fonder.
“I’ll just get music from the people I work with,” I thought. I did, but I needed something more.
I wasn’t always getting entire albums. Instead, I was getting playlists. And while they were truly wonderful, well-executed, perfectly-timed playlists, the songs on them kept reminding me of the songs I’d been missing. In fact, they were the songs I was missing, only these were free and sans the full-length album.
What’s this? Sondre Lerche? I used to have his cd, until someone tried to break into my iTunes account! Camera Obscura? I could have really used all of you this summer, not just one song!
It may not be the worst feeling in the world, but it certainly isn’t fun to have the music you’ve paid for at your fingertips, only to find out that, when you press play, your account has been disabled for security reasons. It’s such an evil trick! I should have known that flirting with the Mac Genius to get a new logic board for free would bring bad karma my way. But who can resist!?
What I needed, though, wasn’t my music; it was piece of mind. Most of my friends download music for free and (il)legally, but for some reason iTunes has me hooked. It’s like I have monopoly money and can buy whatever I want, and the only reality check is when the account receipt forwards to my inbox…or when I’ve bought hundreds of dollars in music only to have it locked up before my very eyes.
BUT!...
Yesterday morning my spirits were revived by the iTunes support center. While there is no call-help line, one of my countless e-mails was finally answered, and, thanks to Michelle at iTunes, I now have a freshly authorized computer and about 500 of my best friends—truly alive and kicking.
To be honest, it hasn’t been that difficult to get through this summer without them, but everything sounds better when they’re around. And after all, absence makes the heart grow fonder.
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Pants and Counter-pants
Patrick, I decided to respond to your post about pants. See, I'm also afflicted by a pants wardrobe with limited applicability beyond a particular region.
In high school, I never really gave much thought to my pants. They fit. They looked fine. They're pants. How complicated could it be? My beloved home of Cincinnati is a city best classified as part Midwestern, part Southern. From the Midwest, we inherited practicality and a lack of curiosity. From the South, we inherited all of the redneck but none of the charm (thanks a lot, Kentucky). That's how I can best explain my pants wardrobe in high school: practical and complacent, but not particularly charming.
North Carolina, where I attend college, is a land of bow ties, pastels, ribbon belts, seersucker, and boat shoes. I was coming from a land of flat-front khakis, Birkenstocks, and nicely pressed shirts. No longer would pants be such a straightforward matter.
As I outgrew my clothes from high school, my wardrobe gradually changed. Content in my Southern haven, I hardly even noticed. But every so often, I was offered subtle reminders. Whether on a trip home to Cincinnati or a semester abroad in London, I learned that there are many places in this world where a man wearing Nantucket red is not taken seriously. Trust me.
I have pairs of pants--pants that I've grown attached to--that I'm unable to wear every time I leave the South. From white linen to green seersucker, I left a chunk of my wardrobe behind this summer when I moved to DC. Patrick, if you think that men in light-colored pants are funny, then my closet would be a Mitch Hedberg stand-up act.
Someday, I might take a job in a city that chews up and spits out men who dare to wear pants with a little bit of color. When I'm old and wise and thirty, it might not seem like such a big deal. But right now, it's a notion that I'm having a hard time accepting.
In high school, I never really gave much thought to my pants. They fit. They looked fine. They're pants. How complicated could it be? My beloved home of Cincinnati is a city best classified as part Midwestern, part Southern. From the Midwest, we inherited practicality and a lack of curiosity. From the South, we inherited all of the redneck but none of the charm (thanks a lot, Kentucky). That's how I can best explain my pants wardrobe in high school: practical and complacent, but not particularly charming.
North Carolina, where I attend college, is a land of bow ties, pastels, ribbon belts, seersucker, and boat shoes. I was coming from a land of flat-front khakis, Birkenstocks, and nicely pressed shirts. No longer would pants be such a straightforward matter.
As I outgrew my clothes from high school, my wardrobe gradually changed. Content in my Southern haven, I hardly even noticed. But every so often, I was offered subtle reminders. Whether on a trip home to Cincinnati or a semester abroad in London, I learned that there are many places in this world where a man wearing Nantucket red is not taken seriously. Trust me.
I have pairs of pants--pants that I've grown attached to--that I'm unable to wear every time I leave the South. From white linen to green seersucker, I left a chunk of my wardrobe behind this summer when I moved to DC. Patrick, if you think that men in light-colored pants are funny, then my closet would be a Mitch Hedberg stand-up act.
Someday, I might take a job in a city that chews up and spits out men who dare to wear pants with a little bit of color. When I'm old and wise and thirty, it might not seem like such a big deal. But right now, it's a notion that I'm having a hard time accepting.
Monday, July 30, 2007
The Telecommunications Act
Day in and day out, I am constantly reminded of the one remaining goal I have yet to achieve at NPR.
Every morning, I walk to my perfectly-situated corner cubicle, sit down at my desk, turn on my computer, and within 30 minutes, I am inevitably made aware, once again, that I have unfinished business at this company. I prepare myself to concentrate on my various pressing labors, yet without fail, just as I have focused on a task, the heavens interrupt my attempt to ignore my, uh, calling:
“Doug Mitchell, please dial extension 3644.”
I pause, direct my eyes upward, and survey the room. A ponderous silence.
“Doug Mitchell,” it reiterates, “3644."
Cursèd speaker box! Why will you not bid me my peace? Do you not know how I wish to occupy, to possess you, to abuse you for my own secret mirth? Are you so unaware of my sordid wishes that you must taunt me with your unceasing proclamations, imperatives, and fiats?
“Michel Martin, you have a guest in the lobby.”
No longer do I care that you, the reader, condone or pity my madness. Verily, I only ask that I may describe it, that you may begin to comprehend my squalid predicament.
Freely, I admit! My quest is thus: to say something funny on the intercom system. Ideally, it would be uproarious and side-splitting for at least a select few; more likely, it would be mildly amusing and easily forgettable. (It may involve a pun.) But laughs will ring out! For one moment, I will be the purveyor of merriment to an organization which, like all similar building-bound organizations, ought to be reminded once in a while of the fundamentally absurd posture of the office environment and its multiform communication technologies. Once I have delivered my simple, elegant stanza, instant gratification will commence for all! My heroism will be anonymous, courageous, and life-affirming.
Of course, the necessity or comedic inspiration has never arisen. But! I am imbued with the demented passion and resolve of a protagonist in a Russian novel: one day, it will happen. From Olympian heights, Renee Montagne will smile in my general direction, the opportunity will be granted me, and I will shine.
“Someone from All Things Considered please call 2110.”
O, that this too, too solid flesh would melt, thaw, and recite its piece through the fiber optic network! For the love of Robert Siegel and everything else that is holy in this non-profit corporate entity, I know of my depravity! But the flame in me burns magnetic, incessant, undeterred!
Furtively, I continue to plot my machinations as I fill out Excel spreadsheets and deftly manipulate the URL Dictionary feature in the Content Management System. Yes, one day, one glorious, resplendent day! I shall reach for the receiver, trembling, and breathe deeply; when the moment has come, my nerves will still, and calmly, deeply (but not too deeply), professionally, I will declare my joyful memorandum for the entire company to hear. I shall, I shall! [Ascending bugle fanfare.] And at least two people in Newscast will chortle, mildly distracted!
(Should the opportunity never come to pass, I will settle for a brief, witty all-staff ISO e-mail.)
Every morning, I walk to my perfectly-situated corner cubicle, sit down at my desk, turn on my computer, and within 30 minutes, I am inevitably made aware, once again, that I have unfinished business at this company. I prepare myself to concentrate on my various pressing labors, yet without fail, just as I have focused on a task, the heavens interrupt my attempt to ignore my, uh, calling:
“Doug Mitchell, please dial extension 3644.”
I pause, direct my eyes upward, and survey the room. A ponderous silence.
“Doug Mitchell,” it reiterates, “3644."
Cursèd speaker box! Why will you not bid me my peace? Do you not know how I wish to occupy, to possess you, to abuse you for my own secret mirth? Are you so unaware of my sordid wishes that you must taunt me with your unceasing proclamations, imperatives, and fiats?
“Michel Martin, you have a guest in the lobby.”
No longer do I care that you, the reader, condone or pity my madness. Verily, I only ask that I may describe it, that you may begin to comprehend my squalid predicament.
Freely, I admit! My quest is thus: to say something funny on the intercom system. Ideally, it would be uproarious and side-splitting for at least a select few; more likely, it would be mildly amusing and easily forgettable. (It may involve a pun.) But laughs will ring out! For one moment, I will be the purveyor of merriment to an organization which, like all similar building-bound organizations, ought to be reminded once in a while of the fundamentally absurd posture of the office environment and its multiform communication technologies. Once I have delivered my simple, elegant stanza, instant gratification will commence for all! My heroism will be anonymous, courageous, and life-affirming.
Of course, the necessity or comedic inspiration has never arisen. But! I am imbued with the demented passion and resolve of a protagonist in a Russian novel: one day, it will happen. From Olympian heights, Renee Montagne will smile in my general direction, the opportunity will be granted me, and I will shine.
“Someone from All Things Considered please call 2110.”
O, that this too, too solid flesh would melt, thaw, and recite its piece through the fiber optic network! For the love of Robert Siegel and everything else that is holy in this non-profit corporate entity, I know of my depravity! But the flame in me burns magnetic, incessant, undeterred!
Furtively, I continue to plot my machinations as I fill out Excel spreadsheets and deftly manipulate the URL Dictionary feature in the Content Management System. Yes, one day, one glorious, resplendent day! I shall reach for the receiver, trembling, and breathe deeply; when the moment has come, my nerves will still, and calmly, deeply (but not too deeply), professionally, I will declare my joyful memorandum for the entire company to hear. I shall, I shall! [Ascending bugle fanfare.] And at least two people in Newscast will chortle, mildly distracted!
(Should the opportunity never come to pass, I will settle for a brief, witty all-staff ISO e-mail.)
Friday, July 27, 2007
A Day in the Life of Day to Day
I have not had much time to process and reflect on my internship here so sometimes I forget how bizarre my job really is. A few days ago I called home and my sister asked me how my day had been. As I prattled on, it suddenly struck me how delusional I must sound when I start talking about my job here. The stories. The people. The chaos. To illustrate this and to devote a moment to reflection, I'm just going to take a look back at the first couple of hours of my day yesterday to see what daily life at Day to Day is like.
The first thing one needs to know about Day to Day is how young it is. Tomorrow, it will celebrate its fourth birthday, but additionally, the mean age of the people who work on the show must be around 30. The part of the West office devoted to the show is always bustling and energetic with people laughing and voicing opinions at the giant white board. Someone is always excited about something, whether it's the interview that's coming in five minutes or the frosted left on the table or the latest Youtube video.
Yesterday morning, when I arrived a bit before six there were a couple gaps in the show (blank slots on the giant white board): not good news. My initials were already next to two story tags under the category "chasing" (this would change several times over the course of the morning).
But before I could begin to pursue a
The most exciting and frustrating thing about working here is how fast-paced it is--every day is a chance to start fresh, fill in the gaps, to get a little better at booking, chasing, etc. All of the previous days victories or confusions are wiped clean at the end of each day when Neal washes off the board and my initials disappear. Days here flash by and my last two weeks will no doubt go by as the past two months. And one of these days, my initials are going to be wiped off the board for good. I'll leave my press pass and right to say "This is Haley Bridger, calling from National Public Radio" at the door.
It's gone by fast, hasn't it?
Anyway, I need to get back to pursuing prison guards in the
Happy fourth birthday, Day to Day.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Touched By an Angel? Not quite.*
This week I have been touched not by an angel, but by another winged creature -- the pigeon.
*Due to the shift from mind speculation to blog entry, this will probably not be as interesting to you as me. But I'll try.
I love my office. It's really a cubby, a random narrow alley furnished with a desk that leads to a huge ten-foot window. Not bad, not bad at all.
There's a big cement block coming out of the wall next to my window, and there's a big sheet of window glass on the face of it that extends past the sides of the cement. This forms a little corner of cement and glass just outside my window, a perfect shelter for birds. These avian visitations have been welcome by me, as I like looking at nature while I'm working.
But recently, a gray pigeon with a black head and orange eyes has taken up permanent residence in the corner ledge. It sits calmly and, I discovered, has a pigeon mate.
This pigeon is the source of my unexpected fascination: It's a black-and-white patchy pigeon and I think it's the male (I don't understand how birds are sexed). I have never seen pigeon nest-building behavior until now, and it's fascinating -- I really had no idea pigeons could be so smart. At first I only saw it arriving, stick in beak, to deposit the find either on the nest or on the other pigeon, who would navigate it into a new position. This afternoon on my way back from Phillips Cafe, I saw the sprightly guy fly over and start vigorously bobbing up and down the sidewalk looking for choice sticks. It turns out pigeons are extremely detail-oriented! I thought he would just pick whichever stick came first, but no. He first picks up a stick that looks good, and weighs it by picking it up and dropping it a few times, and then shaking it up and down with his beak. I have seen the pigeon actually REJECT a stick -- how sad is that stick? After he's found a good one, the pigeon flaps back up to the nest-in-progress, and starts the process all over again. He's been at it for days now.
Sure, it's a pigeon, but this is a pigeon building a home and a future. I can't help but feel for this cute pigeon pair. And I can't help but worry about speeding cars when I see Mr. Stickfinder bobbing around on the street. And I have to admit I find it pretty awesome that the Discovery Channel is right outside my window when I walk over for a break.
*Due to the shift from mind speculation to blog entry, this will probably not be as interesting to you as me. But I'll try.
I love my office. It's really a cubby, a random narrow alley furnished with a desk that leads to a huge ten-foot window. Not bad, not bad at all.
There's a big cement block coming out of the wall next to my window, and there's a big sheet of window glass on the face of it that extends past the sides of the cement. This forms a little corner of cement and glass just outside my window, a perfect shelter for birds. These avian visitations have been welcome by me, as I like looking at nature while I'm working.
But recently, a gray pigeon with a black head and orange eyes has taken up permanent residence in the corner ledge. It sits calmly and, I discovered, has a pigeon mate.
This pigeon is the source of my unexpected fascination: It's a black-and-white patchy pigeon and I think it's the male (I don't understand how birds are sexed). I have never seen pigeon nest-building behavior until now, and it's fascinating -- I really had no idea pigeons could be so smart. At first I only saw it arriving, stick in beak, to deposit the find either on the nest or on the other pigeon, who would navigate it into a new position. This afternoon on my way back from Phillips Cafe, I saw the sprightly guy fly over and start vigorously bobbing up and down the sidewalk looking for choice sticks. It turns out pigeons are extremely detail-oriented! I thought he would just pick whichever stick came first, but no. He first picks up a stick that looks good, and weighs it by picking it up and dropping it a few times, and then shaking it up and down with his beak. I have seen the pigeon actually REJECT a stick -- how sad is that stick? After he's found a good one, the pigeon flaps back up to the nest-in-progress, and starts the process all over again. He's been at it for days now.
Sure, it's a pigeon, but this is a pigeon building a home and a future. I can't help but feel for this cute pigeon pair. And I can't help but worry about speeding cars when I see Mr. Stickfinder bobbing around on the street. And I have to admit I find it pretty awesome that the Discovery Channel is right outside my window when I walk over for a break.
Friday, July 20, 2007
Enough Already!
This is totally ridiculous:
Kids' Grief Counselors Wait By Phones in Case Harry Potter Dies
I am holding back a full fledged rant here but real quick:
I am sick of Harry Potter. If you're 12, fine. If you are 20, not fine. Please grow up. I am eternally glad that I (hopefully) won't have to hear about Harry Potter anymore other than stomaching the inevitable last two films.
I am almost certain that tonight I will be losing friends because they are waiting at midnight. Sad.
OK. Venting over. But real quick...
....Harry dies.
Kids' Grief Counselors Wait By Phones in Case Harry Potter Dies
I am holding back a full fledged rant here but real quick:
I am sick of Harry Potter. If you're 12, fine. If you are 20, not fine. Please grow up. I am eternally glad that I (hopefully) won't have to hear about Harry Potter anymore other than stomaching the inevitable last two films.
I am almost certain that tonight I will be losing friends because they are waiting at midnight. Sad.
OK. Venting over. But real quick...
....Harry dies.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
I'm Addicted to Guitar Hero
Well, not really, but when I found out that I could be a rock star in the privacy of my own living room while playing ZZ Top and Deep Purple, I was hooked. My brother didn’t really like that his 23-year-old sister was not more amused with things like books and socially interacting with people. Eventually I got bored, though.
I’m a pretty lame example, but I might go as far as to say that some people are actually addicted to video games. Like extreme gambling and drug use, daily life activities can take a back seat to the thrill of rolling the die just once more, getting one more hit or getting to the next level on World of Warcraft.
The American Psychiatric Association says no, extreme gaming isn’t an addiction, but I could probably name someone, or someone who knows someone that has missed school occasionally or gotten out of work, or not showered for an entire day because the mission is to finish the game. I can see how it’s appealing though… The ability to stop or restart a game whenever you want? To be another person for a while and alter your own reality?
Recently, Europe’s first rehab center dedicated to video game ‘addiction’ opened, set in the canals of Amsterdam in a 16th century townhouse. Countless tales of kids and adults dying from heart failure for playing too long and committing suicide are out there.
So…extreme gaming: addiction or vice?
I’m a pretty lame example, but I might go as far as to say that some people are actually addicted to video games. Like extreme gambling and drug use, daily life activities can take a back seat to the thrill of rolling the die just once more, getting one more hit or getting to the next level on World of Warcraft.
The American Psychiatric Association says no, extreme gaming isn’t an addiction, but I could probably name someone, or someone who knows someone that has missed school occasionally or gotten out of work, or not showered for an entire day because the mission is to finish the game. I can see how it’s appealing though… The ability to stop or restart a game whenever you want? To be another person for a while and alter your own reality?
Recently, Europe’s first rehab center dedicated to video game ‘addiction’ opened, set in the canals of Amsterdam in a 16th century townhouse. Countless tales of kids and adults dying from heart failure for playing too long and committing suicide are out there.
So…extreme gaming: addiction or vice?
On the Other Side of I-295
For the interns that have yet to leave DC this summer, this weekend is the time to get out and wander over the border into MD! Growing up in this area, one of my favorite summer events has always been Artscape. Sadly, I won’t be able to attend this year, but hopefully some of you all can check it out!
Artscape is a Baltimore arts festival where both local artists and artists from across the country are showcased. There’s everything from paintings and crafts to performance art like dance and fashion shows. And most of the art is pretty out there and eclectic so it’ll keep you quite entertained. Culinary art is also a part of the festival with a whole section that showcases international cuisine from local vendors. For you music lovers out there, there are free concerts with local bands and national headliners (I noticed Lupe Fiasco on the list) happening on the four or five stages located throughout the festival. And the best part is that it’s all FREE! For most specific details check out: http://www.artscape.org/index.cfm
Now how do you get to the other side of I-295 to attend this fabulous event??
For you car-less folks (which I assume are most of you), if you go Friday after work, you can take the MARC commuter train out of Union Station to Baltimore Penn station (Penn Line). From there you can take the Light Rail shuttle to the University of Baltimore/Mt. Royal Avenue stop where the festival is going on. The last train to DC leaves at 10:10 PM and gets back to DC at 11:00. This will cost you about $15 roundtrip.
For the Penn Line MARC schedule: http://www.mtamaryland.com/services/marc/schedulesSystemMaps/Penn_Line_4Web10.pdf
For Light Rail Information: http://www.mtamaryland.com/services/lightrail/
If you’d rather go on the weekend, you can take the AMTRAK out of Union Station to Baltimore’s Penn Station & then take the Light Rail shuttle to the University of Baltimore/Mt. Royal Avenue stop for the festival. The AMTRAK will cost you more than the MARC (probably $30 roundtrip) but you can make a day-trip to Baltimore out of it!
Enjoy!
Artscape is a Baltimore arts festival where both local artists and artists from across the country are showcased. There’s everything from paintings and crafts to performance art like dance and fashion shows. And most of the art is pretty out there and eclectic so it’ll keep you quite entertained. Culinary art is also a part of the festival with a whole section that showcases international cuisine from local vendors. For you music lovers out there, there are free concerts with local bands and national headliners (I noticed Lupe Fiasco on the list) happening on the four or five stages located throughout the festival. And the best part is that it’s all FREE! For most specific details check out: http://www.artscape.org/index.cfm
Now how do you get to the other side of I-295 to attend this fabulous event??
For you car-less folks (which I assume are most of you), if you go Friday after work, you can take the MARC commuter train out of Union Station to Baltimore Penn station (Penn Line). From there you can take the Light Rail shuttle to the University of Baltimore/Mt. Royal Avenue stop where the festival is going on. The last train to DC leaves at 10:10 PM and gets back to DC at 11:00. This will cost you about $15 roundtrip.
For the Penn Line MARC schedule: http://www.mtamaryland.com/services/marc/schedulesSystemMaps/Penn_Line_4Web10.pdf
For Light Rail Information: http://www.mtamaryland.com/services/lightrail/
If you’d rather go on the weekend, you can take the AMTRAK out of Union Station to Baltimore’s Penn Station & then take the Light Rail shuttle to the University of Baltimore/Mt. Royal Avenue stop for the festival. The AMTRAK will cost you more than the MARC (probably $30 roundtrip) but you can make a day-trip to Baltimore out of it!
Enjoy!
A Brief Treatise on Socks
Noting the recent posts on the topic of pants, I feel we need to appreciate the sartorial contributions of pants' slightly lower, often overlooked bretheren: the socks.
Socks are not just a means of keeping your feet warm, or getting sweat off your feet if they're hot, or keeping your shoes from getting really smelly. Socks offer an important window into someone's personality. For example, how does someone choose which socks to even buy, much less wear, among the various designs? Obviously, one picks the socks the appeal most to them. It is a matter of aesthetics. So at the very least, someone's socks tell you a little about what they think looks good (i.e., their aesthetics).
Socks are also a means of personal expression, especially if one rolls their pants up a lot. As one who appreciates a sense a style, I salute all those who wear brightly colored, stylish socks. Just make sure they match. Or don't. While some people may read into your sock wearing habits (i.e., someone whose socks don't match is disorganized), your socks are still a personal expression of your own aesthetics, and for that reason, are a reflection of your beliefs. As such, your socks, whatever style (or however mismatched) they may be, should be celebrated. They are a unique, personal expression of the wearer's preferences, as should be respected as such.
Essentially, Socks are Awesome.
Here are some more reasons why:
1) The provide cushioning for uncomfortable shoes.
2) They protect my feet from sharp rocks.
3) If you put them on your hands, you instantly have mittens!
4) They makes great puppets. Or pets. Whatever you want, I guess.
So please, appreciate your socks. They can do a lot.
Socks are not just a means of keeping your feet warm, or getting sweat off your feet if they're hot, or keeping your shoes from getting really smelly. Socks offer an important window into someone's personality. For example, how does someone choose which socks to even buy, much less wear, among the various designs? Obviously, one picks the socks the appeal most to them. It is a matter of aesthetics. So at the very least, someone's socks tell you a little about what they think looks good (i.e., their aesthetics).
Socks are also a means of personal expression, especially if one rolls their pants up a lot. As one who appreciates a sense a style, I salute all those who wear brightly colored, stylish socks. Just make sure they match. Or don't. While some people may read into your sock wearing habits (i.e., someone whose socks don't match is disorganized), your socks are still a personal expression of your own aesthetics, and for that reason, are a reflection of your beliefs. As such, your socks, whatever style (or however mismatched) they may be, should be celebrated. They are a unique, personal expression of the wearer's preferences, as should be respected as such.
Essentially, Socks are Awesome.
Here are some more reasons why:
1) The provide cushioning for uncomfortable shoes.
2) They protect my feet from sharp rocks.
3) If you put them on your hands, you instantly have mittens!
4) They makes great puppets. Or pets. Whatever you want, I guess.
So please, appreciate your socks. They can do a lot.
Different Perspective on the Middle East
A group of University of North Carolina students who are traveling or studying in the Middle East this summer started a blog called Tar Heel Travelers.
Now, I like NPR's coverage of the Middle East.
The BBC does a good job, too.
But it's difficult to find news that does not focus on militants, peace talks, the war in Iraq, or Iran's nuclear capabilities. There's a lot more to the Middle East, much of which is rarely discussed in the media. I think that truly understanding America's relationship with the Middle East requires something beyond the ability to properly pronounce "Ahmadinejad."
Which I can't really do, anyway.
If you're interested in the Middle East, I encourage you to check out the blog. In the last two posts, topics included overused motifs, the public portrayal of autocratic leaders, and ghost riding across Midan Tahrir. It's interesting to read the reactions of peers who are living in the region. Pretty insightful stuff.
Now, I like NPR's coverage of the Middle East.
The BBC does a good job, too.
But it's difficult to find news that does not focus on militants, peace talks, the war in Iraq, or Iran's nuclear capabilities. There's a lot more to the Middle East, much of which is rarely discussed in the media. I think that truly understanding America's relationship with the Middle East requires something beyond the ability to properly pronounce "Ahmadinejad."
Which I can't really do, anyway.
If you're interested in the Middle East, I encourage you to check out the blog. In the last two posts, topics included overused motifs, the public portrayal of autocratic leaders, and ghost riding across Midan Tahrir. It's interesting to read the reactions of peers who are living in the region. Pretty insightful stuff.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
TP
With plans to head out to a birthday party in Bethesda shortly following work yesterday, I left the office in an excited haste. However, realizing that my apartment had run out of toilet paper, I stopped at the CVS before the China Town metro to pick some up. As I dug around in my cavernous purse to pay for it, I discovered that my wallet was missing. After running through the days events, I reasoned that I hadn't even left the building and that it HAD to be at my desk. I called a friend still at the office who sits near my desk, and my assumptions were confirmed. After running back to the office to pick it up, I realized I would never had known it was missing if i hadn't stopped to get toilet paper. And with my bar essentials inside, ie my photo id, credit card and cash there was no chance of me getting into the party. Then it made me chuckle to myself to think that toilet paper saved my a$$.
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Rollin' on the River
If you're going to drink beer at 11 am--on a Sunday--then I think you should have to earn it.
And I say that waking up at 7 after a night of light partying, then trekking across town to the Waterfront and baking in the DC sun for a few hours counts as earning it. That's how I spent last Sunday along with Nicole, Becky, and Whitney, in kayaks on the Potomac.
The Potomac looks different when you're sitting a couple inches above its surface. I usually see it from the Yellow Line, looking out over the bridge that connects the Pentagon and L'Enfant Plaza Metro stops. The water appears dirty. There's no impressive boat traffic, except for the fleet of paddle boats by the Jefferson Memorial. Most of the bridges are rather ugly. The river is a mere 15 seconds of my morning commute.
But when you're in a kayak, the river is a.) huge and b.) beautiful. Remember the scene in Dead Poets' Society where Robin Williams/John Keating makes the boys stand on top of the desk for a different perspective? If you paddle past Georgetown for a few minutes, it's possible to forget you're around the bend from a big city. As long as you can ignore the stream of commercial jets 100 feet overhead.
Being in that kayak was the most relaxing thing I've done since I moved to DC. This city doesn't seem to relax very often. I'm from the Midwest, and I go to college in the South. I appreciate the art of relaxation.
Ah, but back to the beer. After a couple of hours, we docked the kayaks, compared sunburns, and took a walk along the Waterfront. On hot, sunny mornings like last Sunday, those outdoor bars and their $6 beers hold an unfair advantage over anyone whose ID says they are 21. The fight was over before it started. We soon found ourselves sipping on $6 bottles. For goodness sake, there's a bar in Chapel Hill where $6 can conceivably buy 30 beers on a Tuesday or Thursday night.
But the beer tasted good, and when the guy on the stool next to mine started strumming a ukulele, I decided that it was worth the price.
And I say that waking up at 7 after a night of light partying, then trekking across town to the Waterfront and baking in the DC sun for a few hours counts as earning it. That's how I spent last Sunday along with Nicole, Becky, and Whitney, in kayaks on the Potomac.
The Potomac looks different when you're sitting a couple inches above its surface. I usually see it from the Yellow Line, looking out over the bridge that connects the Pentagon and L'Enfant Plaza Metro stops. The water appears dirty. There's no impressive boat traffic, except for the fleet of paddle boats by the Jefferson Memorial. Most of the bridges are rather ugly. The river is a mere 15 seconds of my morning commute.
But when you're in a kayak, the river is a.) huge and b.) beautiful. Remember the scene in Dead Poets' Society where Robin Williams/John Keating makes the boys stand on top of the desk for a different perspective? If you paddle past Georgetown for a few minutes, it's possible to forget you're around the bend from a big city. As long as you can ignore the stream of commercial jets 100 feet overhead.
Being in that kayak was the most relaxing thing I've done since I moved to DC. This city doesn't seem to relax very often. I'm from the Midwest, and I go to college in the South. I appreciate the art of relaxation.
Ah, but back to the beer. After a couple of hours, we docked the kayaks, compared sunburns, and took a walk along the Waterfront. On hot, sunny mornings like last Sunday, those outdoor bars and their $6 beers hold an unfair advantage over anyone whose ID says they are 21. The fight was over before it started. We soon found ourselves sipping on $6 bottles. For goodness sake, there's a bar in Chapel Hill where $6 can conceivably buy 30 beers on a Tuesday or Thursday night.
But the beer tasted good, and when the guy on the stool next to mine started strumming a ukulele, I decided that it was worth the price.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Griffith Observatory
Last night, curled up in my seat on the Coach bus traveling down from Griffith Park Santa Monica Blvd Los Angeles Los Angeles Griffith Park
This is not to say that interns are not highly evolved creatures with a sense of refinement and class, but certain situations (i.e. abject poverty and long hours) can easily reduce us to a more primitive state. Basic needs take over and suddenly we are driven by the instincts of our ancestors. Take an average day at NPR West for me for example.
Mornings begin before dawn when I creep about my cave-like apartment scavenging for clothing and the occasional piece of toast in the dark. By 5:45 I am at work, busily booking, adrenaline pumping through my system as I conduct research on Live Earth for Frangela. By 11:30 when it’s time for lunch, I cautiously scarf down my sandwich, carefully watching to make sure no one tries to steal my yogurt and banana. By late afternoon, with lunch gone, I am suddenly aware of every piece of edible food in the entire building. Someone unwraps a lifesaver three cubicles away, and I can sense it. The moment a half finished box of Wheat Thins is left on the counter, I can immediately smell the nutty, wheaty fragrance of the slightly stale crackers. Before the generous Wheat Thin donor has even finished writing “Please Take Some” in Sharpie on a paper towel, I am there, hands outstretched. I hate to conform to these stereotypic intern behavior patterns, but I honestly can’t resist my caveman instincts. The need for food—both powerful and blinding—consumes me and I can suddenly picture what it must have been like for primitive man, always hunting, always searching, never satisfied.
But last night, plentiful feasts abounded. The PBS and Wired Science event at the Observatory was catered by Wolfgang Puck, which meant enough chicken tostatadas and guacamole plantains to feed an entire cave of interns. And those were just the hor dourves. As the sun set and the dim lights of the buffet table illuminated the Observatory’s courtyard, I imagined what it must have been like to gather about a campfire after a long hunt and feast. It must have been here, their needs momentarily met, that my ancestors discovered the heavens and connected stories to its constellations.
Rising above us over the brightly lit, smog filled city ofLos Angeles
This is not to say that interns are not highly evolved creatures with a sense of refinement and class, but certain situations (i.e. abject poverty and long hours) can easily reduce us to a more primitive state. Basic needs take over and suddenly we are driven by the instincts of our ancestors. Take an average day at NPR West for me for example.
Mornings begin before dawn when I creep about my cave-like apartment scavenging for clothing and the occasional piece of toast in the dark. By 5:45 I am at work, busily booking, adrenaline pumping through my system as I conduct research on Live Earth for Frangela. By 11:30 when it’s time for lunch, I cautiously scarf down my sandwich, carefully watching to make sure no one tries to steal my yogurt and banana. By late afternoon, with lunch gone, I am suddenly aware of every piece of edible food in the entire building. Someone unwraps a lifesaver three cubicles away, and I can sense it. The moment a half finished box of Wheat Thins is left on the counter, I can immediately smell the nutty, wheaty fragrance of the slightly stale crackers. Before the generous Wheat Thin donor has even finished writing “Please Take Some” in Sharpie on a paper towel, I am there, hands outstretched. I hate to conform to these stereotypic intern behavior patterns, but I honestly can’t resist my caveman instincts. The need for food—both powerful and blinding—consumes me and I can suddenly picture what it must have been like for primitive man, always hunting, always searching, never satisfied.
But last night, plentiful feasts abounded. The PBS and Wired Science event at the Observatory was catered by Wolfgang Puck, which meant enough chicken tostatadas and guacamole plantains to feed an entire cave of interns. And those were just the hor dourves. As the sun set and the dim lights of the buffet table illuminated the Observatory’s courtyard, I imagined what it must have been like to gather about a campfire after a long hunt and feast. It must have been here, their needs momentarily met, that my ancestors discovered the heavens and connected stories to its constellations.
Rising above us over the brightly lit, smog filled city of
Watching the giant universe swallow up our little planet is always a haunting, disorienting reminder of how delicate the balance of our lives on Earth are. And how rare, amid the race for food and bookings, are the moments when we can truly look heavenward, and be filled the same feeling of astonishment and satiation humans must have felt since the dawn of the zodiac and the first storytellers. On the bus ride home from the Observatory, looking out across the glowing din of the city, I squinted and turned the LA skyline into a sea of starry light.
Monday, July 9, 2007
West Coast Skinny III
Last week was full of fireworks and powerful moments for the West Coast interns. Although July 4th landed in the middle of the week, we were all kept busy covering stories, doing bookings, and finding our own voices.
A few highlights:
This week, Ellie met the young men and women who will be the voices in her piece on the transpac race. Standing on the docks of Long Beach, Ellie captured the sounds of the lapping water, boats, etc. along the dock and spoke with the team members of one of the youngest and most well-trained groups of transpac sailors. Although Ellie has gone out to cover stories for newspapers before, this was her first venture into the world of sound and radio. I went along as Ellie's producer, and I think both of us had a heightened sense of awareness about the sounds that enveloped us on the docks. Ellie's fourth of July was equally scintillating. She went out on a boat with her aunt and uncle and had a great view of the fireworks as they were launched from the Queen Mary, which is stationed in downtown Long Beach.
Over at News & Notes things are hectic, but that’s just the paceKenya Kenya Kenya
Meanwhile, at Day to Day, Bernie and I have struggled to schedule interviews in a process that one producer likened to "nailing jello to a wall." While I pursued Dennis Kucinich and Ron Paul, Bernie worked to find a man who survived Katrina and moved to Texas, only to be flooded out yet again. As Bernie searched for the hurricane victim, I researched the impact of global warming for several stories. I looked into the cap and trade system Arnold Schwarzenegger is endorsing and gathered materials for an interview Day to Day will be having with the "governator" later this week. At the same time, I started looking at how the Netherlands and other coastal mega-cities are bracing for rising sea levels. I booked reporters in Indiana, Ohio, and New Mexico for a conversation this morning on defecting senators and I'm hoping to book Cameron Crowe for an interview to air on Friday, his birthday and mine. Last week, in honor of the 4th of July, I got to chat with a man who has written the definitive book on competitive eating (listen to Alex Cohen's interview with him here). Alex's piece on green weddings is up now too--thanks Allison for some great tips on going green!
Life here is such an adrenaline rush that sometimes it's easy to lose track of the small moments of triumph when a story airs, an interview lines up, you get the perfect clip, and the jello sticks to the wall. However, as all of us find our stride at NPR West, we've had a little more luck and a little more of a chance to find our perfect moments. Look for more West Coast adventure updates next week!
A few highlights:
This week, Ellie met the young men and women who will be the voices in her piece on the transpac race. Standing on the docks of Long Beach, Ellie captured the sounds of the lapping water, boats, etc. along the dock and spoke with the team members of one of the youngest and most well-trained groups of transpac sailors. Although Ellie has gone out to cover stories for newspapers before, this was her first venture into the world of sound and radio. I went along as Ellie's producer, and I think both of us had a heightened sense of awareness about the sounds that enveloped us on the docks. Ellie's fourth of July was equally scintillating. She went out on a boat with her aunt and uncle and had a great view of the fireworks as they were launched from the Queen Mary, which is stationed in downtown Long Beach.
Over at News & Notes things are hectic, but that’s just the pace
Meanwhile, at Day to Day, Bernie and I have struggled to schedule interviews in a process that one producer likened to "nailing jello to a wall." While I pursued Dennis Kucinich and Ron Paul, Bernie worked to find a man who survived Katrina and moved to Texas, only to be flooded out yet again. As Bernie searched for the hurricane victim, I researched the impact of global warming for several stories. I looked into the cap and trade system Arnold Schwarzenegger is endorsing and gathered materials for an interview Day to Day will be having with the "governator" later this week. At the same time, I started looking at how the Netherlands and other coastal mega-cities are bracing for rising sea levels. I booked reporters in Indiana, Ohio, and New Mexico for a conversation this morning on defecting senators and I'm hoping to book Cameron Crowe for an interview to air on Friday, his birthday and mine. Last week, in honor of the 4th of July, I got to chat with a man who has written the definitive book on competitive eating (listen to Alex Cohen's interview with him here). Alex's piece on green weddings is up now too--thanks Allison for some great tips on going green!
Life here is such an adrenaline rush that sometimes it's easy to lose track of the small moments of triumph when a story airs, an interview lines up, you get the perfect clip, and the jello sticks to the wall. However, as all of us find our stride at NPR West, we've had a little more luck and a little more of a chance to find our perfect moments. Look for more West Coast adventure updates next week!
Friday, July 6, 2007
Word for the (un)Wise
Pepperoncini, also known as Tuscan peppers, sweet Italian peppers, waxed peppers, and golden Greek peppers, are a variety of Capsicum annuum. While called "pepperoncini" in American English, in Italy these and other sweet varities of peppers are known as peperoni (singular peperone), while the term peperoncini (singular peperoncino) is used for hotter varieties of chili peppers.
Evidently I had never been exposed to this word beforehand, and thought it was a typo for "pepperoni" on the Port of Piraeus menu. The relevance here is that I have a hard time with anything spicy. I mean, I had heard of sweet peppers before, but not this. Am I alone here?
Evidently I had never been exposed to this word beforehand, and thought it was a typo for "pepperoni" on the Port of Piraeus menu. The relevance here is that I have a hard time with anything spicy. I mean, I had heard of sweet peppers before, but not this. Am I alone here?
Thursday, July 5, 2007
Married With Children
I don’t know if I am the only one of us interns Married with Children – but even without my husband being Al Bundy (Thank God!) – life is not easy as I pursue this radio career. It’s 15 years after I getting my B.A. and now at age 34, with a husband and 2 babies in tow – I am getting my Masters in Broadcast Journalism. As interns, we are all on the same path. But I wonder how many of you, especially the women in the group, have considered how challenging it will be to go full force in life as a journalist and a parent, if you choose to do so. I’m not eliminating the men from this conversation, but the truth of the matter is 1) career-driven men are more likely families than women and 2)the bottom line is no matter how 50/50 your marriage is, mom’s innately have more responsibilities than dads. It’s not a sexist thing – it’s just the way it goes. My husband is a there-all-the-time Dad and my kids love their Daddy to pieces -- but in the middle of the night if they have a nightmare, they instinctively call for mom. When they climb into our bed at 3am in the morning, they scrunch up on mommy’s side. When the ouchie hurts, they run to mom. It’s just our lot in life as moms – and I embrace it whole-heartedly. I was a stay-at-home mom for three years before I went back to school – and evening admitting that not only do I have to work – but that I want to work is a hard pill to swallow. Some kind of way, it’s perceived that you are saying my career is more important than my kids. I eventually got over that Mommy worry, but now after being here at NPR for a month and especially after hearing all the accolades and achievements for employees at the employee appreciation lunch, it feels so selfish to say “I want to do that too!” (like covering the Pope’s death, being stationed in N.O. for Katrina and touring with a presidential candidate). It’s like I am saying I wish I had that life over the life I have now. And while I obviously love my husband and kids to pieces, I do feel cheated out of a career I really want. I guess in Him anything is possible – but it’s hard to cover the nation’s top stories and take the kids to gym class and swim lessons at the same time. Something’s got to give. Just some food for thought for you “youngin’s” as you conquer your dreams in journalism. At some point, if you choose to have a family – you may come to this crossroads too. But I must say – my satisfaction comes when I think about someday watching my son at his first school play, or dropping him off for his first day of kindergarten, and as time goes on, playing midnight basketball with them on a Friday night. I have to believe no breaking news, no story, no award will ever live up to those moments. For now – I just go forward doing the best I can with all I got.
Kenya Young, NPR West
Kenya Young, NPR West
What to Do On Your Lunch Break
The NPR offices in Washington have the advantage of being situated near a number of sights worth seeing. While you can't get too much done in an hour, here are a few museums and other attractions nearby.
Smithsonian American Art Museum and the National Portrait Gallery
Open every day from 11:30 a.m. until 7 p.m.
Free!
The recently restored Reynolds Center houses both the American Art Museum and the National Portrait Gallery. Three floors of art to explore! Main entrance on F St. but you can also enter on G St. at 8th.
National Building Museum
Open Monday - Saturday, 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. and Sunday, 11 a.m. to 5 p.m.
Free, $5 suggested donation
The building itself is an architectural gem, but the museum also houses exhibits devoted to architecture, design, engineering, construction, and urban planning.
International Spy Museum
Open every day from 9 a.m. to 8 p.m., last admission at 6 p.m.
$16
F St. between 8th and 9th Sts.
The secret world of espionage isn't so secret anymore.
Ford’s Theatre and Peterson House
Open every day from 9 a.m. to 5 p.m.
Free
10th St between E and F
Operated by the National Park Service, you can pop in and see the site of Lincoln’s assassination in Ford’s Theatre or the room where he met his demise across the street at the Peterson House.
The Bead Museum
Open Tuesday through Saturday from noon to 6 p.m.
7th and D Sts.
This small museum “promotes cultural understanding through the interpretation of beads.” The collection includes a 38-foot timeline of beads and an exhibition featuring religious uses of beads. (“Beads are very big right now—anklets, necklaces, you name it.”)
And because I'm a library nerd:
Martin Luther King, Jr. Memorial Library
Open M-Th 9:30 a.m. to 9 p.m., F-Sa 9:30 a.m. to 5:30 p.m.
At 9th and G Sts.
The central branch of the DC Public Library system -- not the prettiest building around, but you can’t beat free books, movies and music!
Smithsonian American Art Museum and the National Portrait Gallery
Open every day from 11:30 a.m. until 7 p.m.
Free!
The recently restored Reynolds Center houses both the American Art Museum and the National Portrait Gallery. Three floors of art to explore! Main entrance on F St. but you can also enter on G St. at 8th.
National Building Museum
Open Monday - Saturday, 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. and Sunday, 11 a.m. to 5 p.m.
Free, $5 suggested donation
The building itself is an architectural gem, but the museum also houses exhibits devoted to architecture, design, engineering, construction, and urban planning.
International Spy Museum
Open every day from 9 a.m. to 8 p.m., last admission at 6 p.m.
$16
F St. between 8th and 9th Sts.
The secret world of espionage isn't so secret anymore.
Ford’s Theatre and Peterson House
Open every day from 9 a.m. to 5 p.m.
Free
10th St between E and F
Operated by the National Park Service, you can pop in and see the site of Lincoln’s assassination in Ford’s Theatre or the room where he met his demise across the street at the Peterson House.
The Bead Museum
Open Tuesday through Saturday from noon to 6 p.m.
7th and D Sts.
This small museum “promotes cultural understanding through the interpretation of beads.” The collection includes a 38-foot timeline of beads and an exhibition featuring religious uses of beads. (“Beads are very big right now—anklets, necklaces, you name it.”)
And because I'm a library nerd:
Martin Luther King, Jr. Memorial Library
Open M-Th 9:30 a.m. to 9 p.m., F-Sa 9:30 a.m. to 5:30 p.m.
At 9th and G Sts.
The central branch of the DC Public Library system -- not the prettiest building around, but you can’t beat free books, movies and music!
Is Your Internship Better than Trevor’s?
Being an intern can be a lowly profession. People tell us to fetch things, they take our desks and then they make us pay $35 if we want to get on the air. Not much exposure, huh? Well, there is one summer intern who seems to be drawing a crowd.
If you haven’t met Trevor, let me introduce you: http://www.mentosintern.com/
This is Trevor, a 19-year-old college student from Ownesboro, Ky., who has been hired this summer as the Mentos Intern. What does this entail you ask? Well, anything that you want it to. That’s right. All day long, Trevor sits at his desk at the candy maker’s headquarters in Erlanger, Ky., talking into a live webcam that is broadcast over the web. He spends his day taking schedule requests from visitors to the site, responding to instant messages from curious spectators and answering phone calls from those who want to make a real connection.
When Trevor comes to the office in the morning, he takes a look at his schedule. If there are openings in the day, visitors can schedule an appointment with him and have Trevor do whatever they’d like. This past Tuesday, for example, Trevor displayed an act of patriotism at 9 a.m., performed yoga at 1 p.m., and will call someone’s sister at 3:45 p.m.
Why not put Trevor to use for NPR? Need to research an author? Transcribe the lyrics of a song? Come up with a new on-air promotion? Trevor could be your man.
Warning: After visiting the site for the first time, watching Trevor’s internship became bizarrely addicting. He’s not talking about anything particularly interesting or being asked to do anything too outrageous. But, there was something about Trevor and this bizarre human experiment that held my attention…for an extended period of time.
So what does this mean? Well, it means that those folks over at Mentos are pretty smart. This viral marketing scheme is sure to make it’s way around to the computer screens of thousands of interns this summer, who will most likely forward it to their co-workers, friends and family. Admirers will add Trevor as a MySpace or Facebook friend, play him on Xbox Live, or blog about him (I am such a joiner). And maybe, just maybe, all of this will have people thinking about Mentos is a new, quirky way. All hail marketing 2.0.
This site even has me taking time away from my own internship to write about Trevor’s internship. Yup, I think Mentos is going to have a good summer.
Caroline Herter
If you haven’t met Trevor, let me introduce you: http://www.mentosintern.com/
This is Trevor, a 19-year-old college student from Ownesboro, Ky., who has been hired this summer as the Mentos Intern. What does this entail you ask? Well, anything that you want it to. That’s right. All day long, Trevor sits at his desk at the candy maker’s headquarters in Erlanger, Ky., talking into a live webcam that is broadcast over the web. He spends his day taking schedule requests from visitors to the site, responding to instant messages from curious spectators and answering phone calls from those who want to make a real connection.
When Trevor comes to the office in the morning, he takes a look at his schedule. If there are openings in the day, visitors can schedule an appointment with him and have Trevor do whatever they’d like. This past Tuesday, for example, Trevor displayed an act of patriotism at 9 a.m., performed yoga at 1 p.m., and will call someone’s sister at 3:45 p.m.
Why not put Trevor to use for NPR? Need to research an author? Transcribe the lyrics of a song? Come up with a new on-air promotion? Trevor could be your man.
Warning: After visiting the site for the first time, watching Trevor’s internship became bizarrely addicting. He’s not talking about anything particularly interesting or being asked to do anything too outrageous. But, there was something about Trevor and this bizarre human experiment that held my attention…for an extended period of time.
So what does this mean? Well, it means that those folks over at Mentos are pretty smart. This viral marketing scheme is sure to make it’s way around to the computer screens of thousands of interns this summer, who will most likely forward it to their co-workers, friends and family. Admirers will add Trevor as a MySpace or Facebook friend, play him on Xbox Live, or blog about him (I am such a joiner). And maybe, just maybe, all of this will have people thinking about Mentos is a new, quirky way. All hail marketing 2.0.
This site even has me taking time away from my own internship to write about Trevor’s internship. Yup, I think Mentos is going to have a good summer.
Caroline Herter
Why Size Matters...
So I've been reading this book ("Why Size Matters") by some biologist (John Bonner). It is about why size is important in the biological world. But I've been wondering if his ideas can be extended to the non-biological world. I've concluded that they can. The effects of size in the non-biological world, are such:
1. Bigger things are more impressive.
For an example, consider why the Washington Monument is the tallest structure in D.C. instead of only being, say, 10 feet tall.
2. The physical constraints of our world (existence in this realm of dimensions, physical laws, etc.) makes certain objects of certain sizes impossible.
This might take a little more thought. Obviously, why something very, very large is hard to build is obvious. The larger the structure, the larger the base and the more engineering marvels that must go towards producing it. It might no be so obvious why we cannot build something very small. It is beacuse, oddly enough, we don't fully understand the physical dynamics of the submolecular world (i.e. quantum mechanics or string theory). This is partly because it is nearly impossible to observe.
My point in all of this is that there is a reason why our world, and civilization, looks the way it does. It is beacause if is either physically impossible or impractical for it to look any other way. True, it may not have the variety of a Frank LLoyd Wright skyline, but a boxy skyscraper uses less materials to build as is just as strong, if not stronger. If you look around, you can see the implications of a structure's size on its shape, purpose, and really, the essence of what it is, or at least was supposed to be. Size gives us clues about the world around us, about why something is the way it is. And from that, I think its pretty clear that size does matter, probably more than a lot of other things.
1. Bigger things are more impressive.
For an example, consider why the Washington Monument is the tallest structure in D.C. instead of only being, say, 10 feet tall.
2. The physical constraints of our world (existence in this realm of dimensions, physical laws, etc.) makes certain objects of certain sizes impossible.
This might take a little more thought. Obviously, why something very, very large is hard to build is obvious. The larger the structure, the larger the base and the more engineering marvels that must go towards producing it. It might no be so obvious why we cannot build something very small. It is beacuse, oddly enough, we don't fully understand the physical dynamics of the submolecular world (i.e. quantum mechanics or string theory). This is partly because it is nearly impossible to observe.
My point in all of this is that there is a reason why our world, and civilization, looks the way it does. It is beacause if is either physically impossible or impractical for it to look any other way. True, it may not have the variety of a Frank LLoyd Wright skyline, but a boxy skyscraper uses less materials to build as is just as strong, if not stronger. If you look around, you can see the implications of a structure's size on its shape, purpose, and really, the essence of what it is, or at least was supposed to be. Size gives us clues about the world around us, about why something is the way it is. And from that, I think its pretty clear that size does matter, probably more than a lot of other things.
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