I'm on day #5 of my own "Project 365," and I'm finding I really enjoy the task of taking at least one photo every single day.
It's kind of funny how something like that would help me uncover more about nighttime Waynesboro than some of my own reporting. You start to notice a few more details about the place you live...what's going on in windows, on porches, behind doors, etc. In the past two days alone I've poked around the industrial side of the city, the dodgy neighborhood, even a tattoo shop.
Posting a single photo to my blog at the end of each day helps me feel accomplished, creative, alive and curious. And lately I've paired my daily posts with an episode of This American Life...always a good time.
Somehow I ended up reading about melee weapons on Wikipedia. It started with potato guns (not melee) and t-shirt cannons (not weapons) and went from there. The most appealing melee tool I found was the sjambok, a traditional African cattle prod made from the thick hide of the hippopotamus. It bears some resemblance to a street-legal hardwood staff one Zach H. used to carry in Hillsdale, except that the sjambok is flexible, like a whip (sadly, it was also used to oppress humans under apartheid in South Africa.)
On Amazon, I found the Cold Steel Sjambok, a synthetic model available in 42" and 54" varieties. Here's a demonstration:
Surprisingly, this video has not diminished my desire to own a sjambok for home defense.
I should warn you, however, that a Czech product reviewer by the name of Bartok Kinski said his sjambok failed to protect him from a pack of wolves in the wilderness. He posted the same negative review four times. At first I thought he was out of line for posting an identical review multiple times, but maybe he was just bragging about surviving not one, but four wolf attacks?
This summer was the first time since 2006 that I had slept nights in a first-floor bedroom. My bedrooms at the Beat, Sad Bear, and Factory were all second floor lookouts in a formidable fortress of safety. But I spent this June and July in a first-floor bedroom in the State House, a 109-year-old four-bedroom home on a calmer street. This fostered paranoia.
Now I live by the fairgrounds ("Most Popular Fair on Earth"), two blocks from where a 34-year-old neo-nazi allegedly slit another man's throat earlier this month. I saw the victim's body on the sidewalk as police set up barricades. It made me glad to be back on the second floor.
I'm also looking for a helmet to wear on long road trips.
I get the feeling nothing in news is as chic as the Mexican drug cartel situation. When it gets coverage it comes with gritty photos -- or night photos (see above) -- and frequent use of the word "gritty."
Of course, I'm eating it up, even slightly softer photos that include soldiers with digital cameras. The Post has its series, the LA Times too (my pick), and even good news gets big play (see above, and story here).
I'll admit Somali pirates are probably more popular, but they have yet to garner unique "ongoing project" type pages. Frugality is also making a push: NYT, Post, and NPR.
Some crime stuff:
First, you probably don't need to read the full text of the bank robber whose genitals got burned when a dye pack exploded, or the full story about FBI agents who put their high-tech cameras to peeping tommery, but please do read about the car burglar who crapped his pants.
And I forgot to mention in my previous post that Phantom Planet's self-titled third album is really awesome. If you want something like Spoon but a bit more manic, check it out.
On November 4, 1991, my little brother was born. I was at home though, sitting at my kitchen table, staring into the plastic wrap of a gift basket. At the same time, no more than 300 miles away Oscar Bills, Jr. was shot to death in his driveway. He was in his twenties, like I am today.
I always find it a little eerie when I discover something horrible happened during a time where I can match my exact whereabouts to the event. When you become aware, it's kind of like you momentarily draw a link with the victim or the victim's family. You become witness, at least in some strange way, to something terrible and your brain isn't quite sure how to react.
I found out about Oscar Bill's murder after listening to episode #342 of This American Life ("How to Rest in Peace"). It was easily the most disturbing episode I've ever listened to, but interesting nonetheless. In it they reference to this article in The Atlantic (1997) about the families of murder victims. It's long, so if you don't have some time to spare I'd wait till the weekend.
"She came out of the neighbor's house and asked, "Is she dead?" Al said, "Yes," and Harriett blacked out. Moments later she heard horrible screaming and wailing, like the sounds of a wounded animal way off in the distance, and then she suddenly realized that the sounds were coming from her, that she was screaming and wailing and pounding on Al's chest. In an instant she came to, and saw that Al was sobbing..."
The story talks a lot about grief, which was consequently a huge part of the theme in TAL #342. The article begins with a note on America:
"Americans are fascinated by murders and murderers but not by the families of the people who are killed -- an amazingly numerous group, whose members can turn only to one another for sympathy and understanding."
The story made me think more about a crime reporter's role in telling those types of stories. NPR actually hosted a roundtable of crime writers in July 2008. They spoke a lot about how race affects their jobs, but also a bit about their actual work routine. One of them said:
"My passion was to cover the communities where the crime happened, rather than the crime."
I like that statement. It's true, reporting like this should be more about how it affects the community you cover, not just the defendant, and certainly not just the crime. Maybe this is a common point, and I'm just new to thinking about it. But it's something I want to remember when I go into the business of journalism.
I am an avid fan of The Wire (Omar! Word). It's a television show about crime in Baltimore, Maryland - which superficially got me obsessed with following The Baltimore Sun. I recently ran across a Sun blog post entitled "A Reporter's Lament" (just one of the posts at the Sun's crime blog).
They post about a lot of things, including how they (the reporters) see themselves as part of the community, their dealings with police, what the murder numbers mean for individual communities, and even a few personal stories from the job. In one post they linked to this man, a retired police captain turned citizen-crime blogger (remind anyone of a particular character in The Wire?). He has a different perspective, and it's interesting to compare some of his notes with those authored by the newspapermen.
It's all fascinating. Hearing these people and looking at their crime maps (2006), it makes me super-curious and even more interested in covering these types of stories, at least for a bit.
I'm going to go see this movie today. I think it's somewhat appropriate that it opens on July 4th. The Houston Chronicle had a pretty good review of it on Wednesday. Lucky me, it's only playing in the theater up the street from my house.
In other news, I have a job (but not a Real Job...a coffee house job - Kyle will be proud) and I'm going back to school starting next week. Whoopie!
Also, to give you an idea of just what it's like here in Houston, consider this:
Edit: If Eliot Rosewater were come to life, he'd probably be the man featured in this article from The Chicago Tribune.
Here's a rundown of the best content from the two most recent issues of Reason Magazine, in order of quality:
+ Doherty tells the story of one group living off the grid (and brainstorming a highly efficient and recycled style of living) in "Power From the People." + Beato on the "Nuppie," or more specifically, on how living mobility is becoming a sign of wealth, not poverty.
+ Beato on Hollywood's "Decency Epidemic" + Various essays on "The Coming Recession" + Reason writes about The Wire a lot, and here are two recent stories that got me intrigued: 1, 2
A man poses as a 10 year old boy and writes to incarcerated serial killers for advice. He also solicits Dick Cheney, Larry Flynt, Clarence Thomas, and Alan Greenspan.
“Your parents are right. You can subscribe to Hustler when you turn 18. Hang in there – you'll be 18 before you know it. Until then, you should read the Sears & Roebuck catalog.” —Larry Flynt
“I like the Egg McMuffin. Actually, I like almost everything there.” —Clarence Thomas
