Since my last writing, I’ve fallen in love. His name is Hank and he recently turned one. He has soft blonde hair and huge eyes, and a smile that melts your heart.
I’ve been baby-crushing on Hank since I met his parents, Jeremy and Melissa, at a fundraising dinner early in my Carbondale days. Hank tried to eat my microphone. I think he likes radio.
As far as babies go, Hank is pretty awesome. He’s almost always laughing, sticking out his tongue and opening his eyes really wide. A very happy child. Melissa tells me he screamed for the first few weeks of his life, so maybe he got it all out.
Jeremy and Melissa are awesome too - they live just at the end of my street. Jeremy works at the Colorado Rocky Mountain School, which is a local alternative high school. Melissa works at the library and is taking some classes. Last Sunday, the four of us went out for brunch at Ella on Main Street. Hank entertained us, and the staff, in his adorable khaki cargos and nylon vest. And I offered to hang with Hank Monday night for an hour while Jeremy went to a meeting and Melissa was still at work.
By the time I got to their house, I had been through five hours of public hearing at the Garfield County Commissioners’ meeting. (See previous posts, re: commissioners who wear cowboy boots and rodeo belt buckles) After tense talk about oil development, I was ready for some kid time. Hank greeted me with a big grin. Jeremy and I chatted for a while and Hank amused himself by petting the cat, Scrabble, and laughing. I felt better already.
Just before Jeremy left for his meeting, he deposited Hank in the toy box to "toy surf." He said he’d never done that before. But Hank loved it. He flailed around a little bit, then arranged himself in a seated positionwith a variety of toys around him. And proceeded to stay there for 50 minutes. I tried to cajole him to come back and play on the carpet or the play mat. Nope. I’m fine here with my talking Backyardigans guitar and my stuffed giraffe, thanks. Oh, is that my toy cell phone ringing? I’m sorry, I should really take this call.
It should be stated that the toy box is huge - about the size of an old-school steamer chest, but made of kid-friendly plastic by Playskool or a similar outfit. And Hank stayed in of his own free will. It was pretty excellent.
And a good reminder that sometimes the simplest things can make you the happiest. After an hour with Hank, I felt better by leaps and bounds. Maybe Jeremy and Melissa will let me take him to the park next time. I bet he’ll like the swings as much as I do.
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Thursday, March 6, 2008
Rastlin', Raisin' and Rudin
Somehow March has crept up on me, with its warm winds and deceptive sunshine.
Carbondale is a warm and often muddy place these days, and the remainder of the snow that covered the parks and playgrounds is melting fast.
One of the best discoveries I’ve made in the last week and a half is where the local swing sets are. There is one at the brand-new elementary school, but the trouble is you risk looking very creepy if you head over during school hours. Yesterday I found a better spot - the swing set at Sopris Park, in the middle of town. It’s still a child-sized swing set, but it’s better than nothing. When you swing up, you can look at the peaks of Mount Sopris and the mountains that surround it. The view is unbeatable (apologies to the CN Tower). It is a very peaceful way to pass the time, listening to my indie rock and moving rhythmically back and forth in the air. I may have a swinging addiction, actually.
Another exciting event from this past week has been the women’s arm wrestling championship. Yes, that’s right. The local community radio station (not to be confused with KAJX, where I work) is having their spring pledge drive and they hosted an arm wrestling competition as part of it. It was held at Phat Thai, my very favorite place to have a dance party -- although that isn’t such an honor when you consider the dearth of dance party places in Carbondale. But I do love it.
Marci came down on Saturday night for the festivities. We arrived at the bar and teamed up with Phil, the reporter for the Glenwood paper, and Stevie Z from KDNK, the aforementioned community radio station. The next step was to register for the action, and a helpful man wearing silly glasses and gold chains assisted us in choosing our stage names: Hav Marci! and Victory is Assured. As more and more women poured in to add their names to the list, I was shocked - I never see this many women on the street. Where did they come from? Had they been training for this? Would we survive?
Following close behind the crowds of women were crowds of men, who seemed elated at the chance to watch the gals battle it out. Soon the small dance floor area was shoulder to shoulder. Helpers brought out a special arm wrestling table, about bar height with pads for the elbows and a grip for the inactive arm. They put this on top of a foot-tall riser, then set up a video camera to pipe all the action to the HD televisions behind the bar. This was a highly sophisticated operation!
It wasn’t long before the noise precluded conversation, and Marci and I exchanged nervous glances as we waited for the announcers to call us to the “ring.”
I got to go first, since my name was on the top of the registration list. As I squeezed through the wall of people between us and the table, cheers roared through the crowd. I don’t think this was a personal endorsement, just a collective release. I raised my arms above my head, drawing more cheers. The excitement was intoxicating (although that may have been the Mexican beer). I did a muscle pose and made a tough face. (If you are laughing out loud at that image, just remember a) that is an appropriate reaction and b) I live in the Wild West now!) More cheers. My opponent stepped up to the same reaction - and I worried a bit at her wiry arms. They looked strong.
Our referee, Mr. Vail, wore a black and white pinstriped shirt and a small white bow tie. He positioned our arms and ran the rules quickly before declaring the match begun. I locked eyes with the opponent and felt the resistance of the wiry arms against my own. The chalk I had dipped my hand into made a small cloud of dust that hazed the air between our faces. I held on, thinking that if I could just maintain the strength to keep her arm center, she would eventually give out. The crowd was cheering wildly, and I could see Marci out of the corner of my eye. I felt it would never end. And then, suddenly, I felt her arm go a little slack. I gripped harder and pushed her to the mat, a battle of wills, won. My win was declared and again I raised my arms, hopping off the riser into the crowd and weaving back to my posse.
I describe that in such detail because it is the only fight I won. In the second round I was crushed by a woman nicknamed the Hammer. It was painful and quick. But I’m already thinking I’ll train for next year!
The rest of arm wrestling night was similarly ridiculous. Phil had to drive back to Glenwood Springs, so he missed the dance party that ensued after the arm wrestling champ was crowned. Marci and I cut a rug with Stevie Z. When Steve took his tired self home to bed (poor pledge drive exhaustion!) we continued the dance party. I danced with people I had never met, I danced with people I had seen before, I made ridiculous conversation with familiar faces. And then, around 2 a.m. we wandered home. I count the night a smashing success, if for no other reason than I met my stated goal of uniting under-30 media types for a few hours.
The remainder of my weekend (Sunday) was spent recovering from the debauchery. I don’t know if it’s the altitude or if I’m getting old, but the festivities hit me hard! Good thing I had no big plans for the day.
What else did I discover this week... well, Saturday afternoon I went to the grocery store. I know this doesn’t seem very exciting, and to be honest it wasn’t. But for some reason I saw most of the people I’ve met in this town while walking to and from the store with my reusable grocery bags. I got waves from car windows, honks, and hellos. Either I knew them or I had something stuck to my butt. I hope it was the former.
Monday marked the beginning of the pledge drive at the station. Having come from the luxurious comfort of CBC life, a pledge drive was pretty much a foreign concept to me. Ask for money for public radio? Are you serious? In any case, it has turned out to be a blast. Well, except for the super-long days preparing long-form stories for our in-depth (no pun intended) water series. But Tuesday morning was my big on-air debut. I joined our executive director and program director at 7 a.m. for two hours of silliness. Andrew and Steve (exec and program directors, respectively) are hilarious, and at this point they had been pitching for four days. The first half hour was nerve wracking, but the ice was broken when Steve congratulated me on my "first trimester in the valley.” Of course, he meant that I had been here less than three months. We all dissolved into giggles moments later when we went off the air, and I couldn’t help but think, when would this ever happen on CBC? Ever? Andrew also interviewed me on my favorite stories in the valley so far, and I got to talk about all of the communities I’ve visited in my six short weeks as a local. I pulled eloquent prose out of my hat, talking about public radio as a place for local voices, and the importance of giving voice to all the communities of the huge geographical area that surrounds Aspen proper. I also got to wax poetic about Carbondale, which I referred to as “my ‘hood” - that’s right, I’m so badass. Again, when would this informality reign on CBC? The coolest part of the whole deal was calling someone later that same day for an interview, and he knew who I was because.... he HEARD me on the radio that morning! It was such a crazy feeling. Later I stopped in at the Lift and introduced myself to thank them personally for their donation to the pledge drive, and one of the guys behind the counter looked positively starstruck. I was like, dude, this is public radio we’re talking about, I cover town meetings and oil shale. But no matter. I’m making my mark. My next on-air action is tomorrow afternoon, for the 4 to 6 All Things Considered slot. Should be interesting!
Continuing on the amazing pledge drive week, Andrew and the gang have brought NPR political editor Ken Rudin to town for a talk (tonight, actually) at the Hotel Jerome. The news team got the best deal, though - Andrew took Mitzi, Marci, and me out for dinner with Ken last night. We went to Aspen’s oldest restaurant, The Steak Pit. Despite this quaint name, the restaurant is not exactly informal. I was glad I’d put on mascara and worn a nice sweater with my jeans and snow boots, let’s put it that way.
Ken Rudin is amazing. He’s like the funniest version of any relative you’ve got. He is instantly endearing, humble and sharp. His wit is quick and he can quote any line from When Harry Met Sally (which makes him my new NPR crush - sorry Loren Jenkins). As I mentioned, Ken is the political editor for NPR, which means he assigns and produces the reports of the political team. He also writes a column and appears on various NPR shows, does a political podcast, and takes part in panels on CNN and other networks. Amazing. He gave us the short version of how he came to be the Big Kahuna of politics at NPR, and it’s like something you read in a book - he was working in a law firm as an office manager, writing his own quarterly political newsletter. He left his house one day and saw a news type at a bus stop, and talked his way into a research position (which he was overqualified for but took anyway for the chance to get in the door). That research position lead to covering the ‘84 election, and he kept bumping up to bigger and better things until he got where he is today.
The other thing about Ken that was neat to talk about is his collection of campaign buttons - he has more than 70 thousand! And no, he doesn’t have them on display at all times. I asked. He keeps most of them in bookcases organized by year, campaign, state, etc. A man after my own compulsively organized heart.
So I’d love to tell you more about Ken, but I’ve got some swings to visit and then I’m heading up to Aspen, to see if I can finagle more air time and then stop in at the fancy gym before I go to the talk tonight. It’s a rough life, but somebody’s got to live it!
Carbondale is a warm and often muddy place these days, and the remainder of the snow that covered the parks and playgrounds is melting fast.
One of the best discoveries I’ve made in the last week and a half is where the local swing sets are. There is one at the brand-new elementary school, but the trouble is you risk looking very creepy if you head over during school hours. Yesterday I found a better spot - the swing set at Sopris Park, in the middle of town. It’s still a child-sized swing set, but it’s better than nothing. When you swing up, you can look at the peaks of Mount Sopris and the mountains that surround it. The view is unbeatable (apologies to the CN Tower). It is a very peaceful way to pass the time, listening to my indie rock and moving rhythmically back and forth in the air. I may have a swinging addiction, actually.
Another exciting event from this past week has been the women’s arm wrestling championship. Yes, that’s right. The local community radio station (not to be confused with KAJX, where I work) is having their spring pledge drive and they hosted an arm wrestling competition as part of it. It was held at Phat Thai, my very favorite place to have a dance party -- although that isn’t such an honor when you consider the dearth of dance party places in Carbondale. But I do love it.
Marci came down on Saturday night for the festivities. We arrived at the bar and teamed up with Phil, the reporter for the Glenwood paper, and Stevie Z from KDNK, the aforementioned community radio station. The next step was to register for the action, and a helpful man wearing silly glasses and gold chains assisted us in choosing our stage names: Hav Marci! and Victory is Assured. As more and more women poured in to add their names to the list, I was shocked - I never see this many women on the street. Where did they come from? Had they been training for this? Would we survive?
Following close behind the crowds of women were crowds of men, who seemed elated at the chance to watch the gals battle it out. Soon the small dance floor area was shoulder to shoulder. Helpers brought out a special arm wrestling table, about bar height with pads for the elbows and a grip for the inactive arm. They put this on top of a foot-tall riser, then set up a video camera to pipe all the action to the HD televisions behind the bar. This was a highly sophisticated operation!
It wasn’t long before the noise precluded conversation, and Marci and I exchanged nervous glances as we waited for the announcers to call us to the “ring.”
I got to go first, since my name was on the top of the registration list. As I squeezed through the wall of people between us and the table, cheers roared through the crowd. I don’t think this was a personal endorsement, just a collective release. I raised my arms above my head, drawing more cheers. The excitement was intoxicating (although that may have been the Mexican beer). I did a muscle pose and made a tough face. (If you are laughing out loud at that image, just remember a) that is an appropriate reaction and b) I live in the Wild West now!) More cheers. My opponent stepped up to the same reaction - and I worried a bit at her wiry arms. They looked strong.
Our referee, Mr. Vail, wore a black and white pinstriped shirt and a small white bow tie. He positioned our arms and ran the rules quickly before declaring the match begun. I locked eyes with the opponent and felt the resistance of the wiry arms against my own. The chalk I had dipped my hand into made a small cloud of dust that hazed the air between our faces. I held on, thinking that if I could just maintain the strength to keep her arm center, she would eventually give out. The crowd was cheering wildly, and I could see Marci out of the corner of my eye. I felt it would never end. And then, suddenly, I felt her arm go a little slack. I gripped harder and pushed her to the mat, a battle of wills, won. My win was declared and again I raised my arms, hopping off the riser into the crowd and weaving back to my posse.
I describe that in such detail because it is the only fight I won. In the second round I was crushed by a woman nicknamed the Hammer. It was painful and quick. But I’m already thinking I’ll train for next year!
The rest of arm wrestling night was similarly ridiculous. Phil had to drive back to Glenwood Springs, so he missed the dance party that ensued after the arm wrestling champ was crowned. Marci and I cut a rug with Stevie Z. When Steve took his tired self home to bed (poor pledge drive exhaustion!) we continued the dance party. I danced with people I had never met, I danced with people I had seen before, I made ridiculous conversation with familiar faces. And then, around 2 a.m. we wandered home. I count the night a smashing success, if for no other reason than I met my stated goal of uniting under-30 media types for a few hours.
The remainder of my weekend (Sunday) was spent recovering from the debauchery. I don’t know if it’s the altitude or if I’m getting old, but the festivities hit me hard! Good thing I had no big plans for the day.
What else did I discover this week... well, Saturday afternoon I went to the grocery store. I know this doesn’t seem very exciting, and to be honest it wasn’t. But for some reason I saw most of the people I’ve met in this town while walking to and from the store with my reusable grocery bags. I got waves from car windows, honks, and hellos. Either I knew them or I had something stuck to my butt. I hope it was the former.
Monday marked the beginning of the pledge drive at the station. Having come from the luxurious comfort of CBC life, a pledge drive was pretty much a foreign concept to me. Ask for money for public radio? Are you serious? In any case, it has turned out to be a blast. Well, except for the super-long days preparing long-form stories for our in-depth (no pun intended) water series. But Tuesday morning was my big on-air debut. I joined our executive director and program director at 7 a.m. for two hours of silliness. Andrew and Steve (exec and program directors, respectively) are hilarious, and at this point they had been pitching for four days. The first half hour was nerve wracking, but the ice was broken when Steve congratulated me on my "first trimester in the valley.” Of course, he meant that I had been here less than three months. We all dissolved into giggles moments later when we went off the air, and I couldn’t help but think, when would this ever happen on CBC? Ever? Andrew also interviewed me on my favorite stories in the valley so far, and I got to talk about all of the communities I’ve visited in my six short weeks as a local. I pulled eloquent prose out of my hat, talking about public radio as a place for local voices, and the importance of giving voice to all the communities of the huge geographical area that surrounds Aspen proper. I also got to wax poetic about Carbondale, which I referred to as “my ‘hood” - that’s right, I’m so badass. Again, when would this informality reign on CBC? The coolest part of the whole deal was calling someone later that same day for an interview, and he knew who I was because.... he HEARD me on the radio that morning! It was such a crazy feeling. Later I stopped in at the Lift and introduced myself to thank them personally for their donation to the pledge drive, and one of the guys behind the counter looked positively starstruck. I was like, dude, this is public radio we’re talking about, I cover town meetings and oil shale. But no matter. I’m making my mark. My next on-air action is tomorrow afternoon, for the 4 to 6 All Things Considered slot. Should be interesting!
Continuing on the amazing pledge drive week, Andrew and the gang have brought NPR political editor Ken Rudin to town for a talk (tonight, actually) at the Hotel Jerome. The news team got the best deal, though - Andrew took Mitzi, Marci, and me out for dinner with Ken last night. We went to Aspen’s oldest restaurant, The Steak Pit. Despite this quaint name, the restaurant is not exactly informal. I was glad I’d put on mascara and worn a nice sweater with my jeans and snow boots, let’s put it that way.
Ken Rudin is amazing. He’s like the funniest version of any relative you’ve got. He is instantly endearing, humble and sharp. His wit is quick and he can quote any line from When Harry Met Sally (which makes him my new NPR crush - sorry Loren Jenkins). As I mentioned, Ken is the political editor for NPR, which means he assigns and produces the reports of the political team. He also writes a column and appears on various NPR shows, does a political podcast, and takes part in panels on CNN and other networks. Amazing. He gave us the short version of how he came to be the Big Kahuna of politics at NPR, and it’s like something you read in a book - he was working in a law firm as an office manager, writing his own quarterly political newsletter. He left his house one day and saw a news type at a bus stop, and talked his way into a research position (which he was overqualified for but took anyway for the chance to get in the door). That research position lead to covering the ‘84 election, and he kept bumping up to bigger and better things until he got where he is today.
The other thing about Ken that was neat to talk about is his collection of campaign buttons - he has more than 70 thousand! And no, he doesn’t have them on display at all times. I asked. He keeps most of them in bookcases organized by year, campaign, state, etc. A man after my own compulsively organized heart.
So I’d love to tell you more about Ken, but I’ve got some swings to visit and then I’m heading up to Aspen, to see if I can finagle more air time and then stop in at the fancy gym before I go to the talk tonight. It’s a rough life, but somebody’s got to live it!
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