Chapter 5.3: Here Comes the Rain Again

The lawn's been cut, the foliage trimmed and we've redisovered the slate walk way in the back yard. Now it's pouring rain with no sign of slowing. We're home, having stopped down for the night with Maureen's parents. Yet I've not written word one in the novel all weekend. It was to be a time to catch up. So I'll put this blog entry away and get moving again.

Chapter 5.1: beers in

Ok, I'm into my third beer of the weekend and skimming a few other blogs and recognizing that my sense of humor is nowhere to be seen in my little jot of the blogosphere. I can make all sorts of excuses (which should be one of my "interests" -- excuse making) but I think it has to do with writing these inane little snippets of sheisen while I'm at work and in "suburbanized" state. I read it after a couple of beers and it sounds like Mary Fucking Tyler Moore. "Oh it's been raining, but I think the weekend will bring promise." Who the fuck cares?

I think it's far more disturbing that it only took two beers for me to recognize what crap I've been writing. Grammatically correct dreck!

I think my goal right now is to maintain the proper buzz needed to actually accomplish something. Friday of Memorial Day weekend: Get off your ass and start pissing people off!

Chapter 5: Slow Down

The holiday weekend is upon us, and Maureen and I actually should have some time to ourselves. The sun is starting to peek out and dry the rain-drenched streets. Steam is rising off the asphalt. Predictions for a pleasant weekend leave us hopeful.

It has been a busy week, having conducted several interviews (and several more to go next week), finishing one article, writing 1000+ words for another, and getting ready for yet another two or three when we return after Memorial Day. I have to finish everything before next weekend's family reunion on Shelter Island, which I'm looking forward to.

But the weekend will be about catching up on important things: time with Maureen, car care, sleep, lawn care, baseball, sleep, writing, reading, sleep.

I'm way short on my personal deadline for chapters 13-24 of the novel. I expect to get a chapter or three into shape over these days. I'll also put in some time to learn what more I can do on this blog to make it more than a journal of idle thoughts.

But, as I said, the weekend is upon us. Time to go.

Chapter 4: Home again

Last night I umpired for the second consecutive night. It was a Little League game (which is all I'm doing) between Summit's "Colts" and the Angels, which I believe are from Springfield. I've done games for both these teams before, and they're both decent clubs, though on purely a talent basis I'd give the edge to the Angels.

Their lefty starter had speed to burn and a little movement. The lefty I saw them pitch last time had even more movement on his pitches though not quite as much speed. Frankly, if I were grooming these kids for professional play I'd take the kid with the moving pitches. But the Angels didn't score any runs until the fourth inning, when they got four. The Colts came back, scratching out a run against the tough lefty. Then in the fifth they got two more, as the lefty's steam puttered out. It went to the bottom of the seventh and the Colts got a two out hit to drive in the tying run.

I briefly considered calling the game there. But it was only 7:50 and I thought that given the pace of the game these kids might be able to fit in one last inning. I told the coaches we'd play one more and I would make sure to keep it moving. With one out the Angels got a kid on base to start the eighth and I was afraid I'd made a mistake. The center fielder hadn't seen the ball. I again considered calling it, but we continued. The Angels weren't able to put the run across as the pinch runner got thrown out at second trying to steal. Excellent throw by the catcher.

The Colts put some pressure on the Angels. To cut to the chase, they loaded the bases (mostly on walks) with two outs. We were down to our last batter. With a full count, the batter dribbled one up the third base line. The fielder got it and shoved the ball to the man covering third, just in time. It was tight and I heard a few complaints, but the ball beat the runner on the force. Game over, tie score 4-4. I'd say that was the best Little League game I've seen since I was playing in them

Almost Forgot

Even though no one is reading this blog yet, I'll add one note: Our friend Jaimie did not win a date with Matt Murray. It was nice, however, to see her and to meet her friend Laura. Maureen and I had drinks and dinner with them at Hooters, which is one place I can easily never go to again. The girls were pleasant and pretty enough, but it just seemed so pointless to see families having dinner and dad's trying to not leer too obviously at the girls. I liked watching the radio show live; Maureen talked briefly with WDHA program director and radio personality Terri Carr. She seems very nice, and in my opinion she's better looking than most of the Hooters girls. I didn't leer, I swear. (I thought her "Love" belt buckle was a nice touch.)

Chapter 3.5: Post-Oxford Post

I have the beginning of an understanding why people from Mississippi love their state. It's truly a beautiful place -- at least the stretch of northern Mississippi that I have seen these past two years. The journalists got their money's worth, if only in terms of the barbecue they got to eat and music they could hear. I'd like to think they learned a few things as well from us "senior fellows" who made presentations. I wasn't nearly as nervous as I expected to be; I don't stand before "classrooms" often any more. It helped that I was making a dual presentation with Ann Andrews of Global Reach. I thought she did an excellent job.

Our presentation was "How to Know if You're Being Handled By the PR Department," and apparently there was a bit of buzz over the title. John Thomas, the retired communications vice president from Independent Sector, said he'd never seen the topic presented before. I suspect that as I follow through on my early stages of a book on nonprofit journalism I'll need to include many of the ideas from this presentation.

Chapter 3 - I feel like Oxford, Mississippi

I feel so far behind today. I'm flying to Mississippi tomorrow -- actually to Memphis, where my boss and I will take a car to Oxford, home of Ole Miss. He and I will be involved in a workshop teaching other reporters about the nonprofit sector from a reporter's perspective. I'm half of a panel (with Ann Andrews of Global Reach) about how to tell if you're being handled by the PR Department. The presentation is complete -- has been for more than a week now -- but I've not scripted my comments. I know what I'm going to say, but not exactly HOW I'm going to say it.

I don't know why I'm so nervous about it, however. It's more like how I approached the classes I taught when I was doing my student teaching in college.

Couple that nervousness with the recent onslaught of NPT 100 information arriving on the fax and in the mail. It has begun again: the annual attack of paper, data, clerical tedium. It makes my skin clammy; my fingers cool as the blood scurries back to the heart, leaving my extremities at risk.

Yet tonight should be pleasant. It's a beautiful day, and I'll umpire a Little League game, pack for tomorrow, and enjoy spending time with Maureen. She's not sure whether she's going to watch our friend Jaimie on stage at Hooters for the "Dating Game" through WDHA. I suspect it'll be done by the time my baseball game's over. I could probably use a beer tonight, though, before I pack.

Chapter 2: Ratios and Analogies

One of our writers is awful at math, and it was painfully obvious in an article he wrote about a survey of donor habits. He kept writing about the differences in percentages as though by themselves they mattered. (I ended up writing comments on the proofs such as "how is a shift from -6.6 percent up to 1 percent 'relatively constant'?" before I realized what his problem was. He had no idea where the numbers started or what was being compared to what.

This guy is a musician, so I asked him what the difference was between 4/4 time and 3/4 time in music. This one didn't work too well; I asked how they sounded different, for example, and he tapped them out on his desk. Wrong question, I suppose. Then I tried to have him imagine sight reading a piece of music. "Start two beats into measure 23," I said. Then I explained, "Unless you know what came before, you're not really going to know what's going on from that point. You don't know how it feels or sounds musically."

A good musician can sight read like that; an excellent musician might actually be able to make it sound beautiful. But I don't know whether even a musical genius can make it artful by jumping into the unknown song two beats into measure 23 -- or wherever.

It's been years since I sat in an academic classroom, so I could be wrong in my supposition. But it seems to me that students give up too easily when it comes to understanding math or science. And perhaps teachers quit on apathetic students. Brains are wired differently from person to person, but can't teachers cut new pathways to understanding, slicing through the underbrush to lead a team of outsiders to discover the otherwise invisible temple of knowledge? I think I need to learn how to teach again.

Starting the week

Listening to WDHA this morning I happened to catch a familar voice competing for her chance to date DJ Matt Murray. Jaimie Field was one of three selected for the finals, which will be held at Hooters in Union on Thursday. I don't know what her competition is like, but if anyone can talk her way into something it's Jaimie. Good luck!

The weekend was busy, with about 300 miles of road behind us. The round-trip to Avon, Conn., was tiring, but we enjoyed seeing Casey and John and the boys. Now the trick will be getting them to visit us. That's a lot of miles with two little guys, even if they're in diapers. The kids -- not John and Casey.

The weather was beautiful during daylight hours. (Quite a storm on Saturday night, however) Unfortunately I spent much of Sunday reading old copies of the First Aid Squad's meeting minutes since 1986 to make sure I found the by-laws that were missed. It's amazing how much gets lost over the years.

Chapter 1.5 - The Next Day

I haven't had time to learn what I want to do with this blog, but I doubt I'll get to do much over the weekend. Maureen and I can chat about it, perhaps, as we drive to or from little baby Jack Gorman's baptism. It'll be a full day, as we travel close to the Massachusetts border with Connecticut.

The plans for tonight, however, are to spend an hour or two tonight thinking and tinkering with the blog, while I listen to the Mets.

The Mets surprised me this week, splitting their series with the similarly mediocre Diamondbacks. But the Astros are in a different class, and their pitching will match up well against the Mets anemic hitting attack. (Bob, how would you spell that one?)

Chapter 1: Thinking out loud

Welcome to all readers.

This is my first attempt at entering the blog universe. It won't be much of a step, either. A mere sniff of the ether.

I haven't decided yet what will be posted here. Presumably there'll be a focus on my writing: the full-time job with The NonProfit Times and the various fiction and freelance efforts I have underway. I'll also include a link to my small AOL home page (which could eventually be swallowed up by the blog).

Beyond that, I'll learn as it evolves. My limited understanding of blogs will grow and I'll determine how much of my opinion and my interests I want to expose for consumption. There's enough indigestible dross in the world already.