Your daily birdcage-liner

It shouldn't be a surprise, and I'm sure someone's pointed it out way before me, but it's really pretty amazing how quickly the Internet has replaced the morning newspaper -- in just the way science-fiction writers predicted that computers would Totally Change Our Lives, years ago. These days if I'm too groggy even to try reading a real book, I can still pop open the laptop and suck up the latest news feeds.
Makes me wonder how I ever thought "published on the Internet" was a contradiction in terms.
Now, by the time I see a newspaper at work, I hardly ever look beyond the headlines. I've usually heard all the front-page stories on the radio or seen all the latest updates over the Internet.
Of course, newspapers can provide some DEPTH to the big stories -- or provide some opinions and humor with their columnists -- but thanks to blogs and all the people expressing opinions or joking around on-line, the Net's pretty-much got newspapers beat there, too.
So I wonder how long it'll be before all newspapers go on-line only, like the SEATTLE POST-INTELLIGENCER did, and NEWSWEEK magazine.
Probably not long.
I can't remember the last time I read something in a newspaper that really surprised me. Not in this 24-hour world, where you can get The Latest on your TV, smartphone, laptop, through texts, etc etc. Really pretty amazing. And addictive.
This past week I got back on Facebook after figuring it wasn't worth the trouble six months ago. And now that I've finally discovered (and figured out how to work) the SHARE button, I'm spending a few minutes each day trying to find OUTRAGEOUS news stories to share with my seven(?) Facebook followers worldwide.
It's addictive.
And luckily, outrageous news stories haven't been that hard to find lately.
It's pretty amazing, this multi-media behemoth we have all around us these days. Word about happenings spreads quicker than ever before, reactions come in faster, the hype builds up bigger. It's hard not to get carried away by all of it. Even if it would be better to sit back and take a breath and try to figure out what it all means.
I'm as guilty of this as anyone, and Ghod knows there's a lot to talk about these days. (Still haven't found any evidence that there are demonstrations and riots in Seattle EVERY DAY -- though it must sometimes SEEM like it, if you live there. If there's something to protest, Seattle people will hit the streets to do it. And there's been lots to protest, lately.)
...No deep thoughts here, just surprising to me that things have changed so quickly. Sometimes you get pushed into the High-Tech Space Age before you're even aware of it.
...By the way, have you re-read 1984 lately...?

#731: After words

Holy crap -- my 200-page newspaper memoir/e-book THE CONFESSOR is now available at Amazon.com's Kindle Store for $2.99. I just e-mailed the package to Amazon at 4:30 this morning and it's already Out There doing its good for humanity. These Kindle folks do NOT mess around.
A few words of explanation: This book covers some of my adventures during the 20 years I worked for newspapers in the Air Force and out here in The Real World. It includes some of my favorite funny newspaper stories, and some tragic stories that I haven't been able to get out of my head in the decade since I "retired."
There are also some behind-the-scenes stories of stress and overwork and outrage and incompetence and abuse. Turns out writing for newspapers in The Real World was even harder -- and stranger -- than putting up with the Air Force. You'll see what I mean.
I think you'll have a good time -- but I also think this book is a little less light and fun than GUARANTEED GREAT MUSIC! was. There's some really good funny stories in it -- there are stories in there that I've been telling people for YEARS. But I also learned some tough Life Lessons during my 20-year career, and they're also included.
And you can assume that there isn't a conventional Happy Ending, or else I'd still be writing for newspapers. But I survived it, and I'm still here writing about it. I gotta get SOMETHING out of the 20 years I wasted....
Not sure why all this stuff came pouring out so fast -- it only took me six weeks to write the book. Maybe because I had 20 years of experiences to draw from, so I had no trouble remembering things I wanted to write about.
So, give it a shot! You'll laugh, you'll cry, you'll kiss three bucks goodbye....
Holy crap, I've written two 200-page books since August! Why couldn't I do this while I was in my 20's?
Not sure what I'll do next, probably take a break -- but I've been thinking over finally pulling together TAD'S GUIDE TO STRANGE MUSIC. I've been piling-up information for it for YEARS. And I've sort of got a built-in audience waiting for it, right...?
Let's face it: Everything I write is pretty much one big long book that I hope people might dip into and maybe enjoy little bits and pieces of. What's a blog, if not a big long book in chapters?
BTW, I will NOT be starting another new blog to mark the publication of this book....
Also: One thing being a reporter taught me is that EVERYONE has an interesting life story. There's a reason you're here today, and there are reasons why you've ended up this way. You ought to get writing on YOUR story while you've still got some time left. Your family, your children, your friends will appreciate it....

BTW, through Christmas Day you can still download GUARANTEED GREAT MUSIC! for FREE at Amazon.com's Kindle Store....

AHEAD: Coming Real Soon will be the end-of-the-year 4th Annual TAD Awards, my annual roundup of the best and worst stuff I heard and read over this past year -- I'm probably going to call the post "3rd Annual Pipe Dream" just to see if anybody's paying attention....
Also Coming Soon: Overused Rock&Roll words, Songs it took me years to like, a salute to Caravan (drummer Richard Coughlan, RIP), and more.
Over at the Guaranteed Great Music! blog, a review of Todd Rundgren and Utopia's rather good 1980 ADVENTURES IN UTOPIA album is now posted -- the least I could do, since I stupidly forgot about it and left the album out of my RECORD STORE DAZE playlist/discography.
Sheesh, I'm surprised I can remember ANYTHING anymore. That must be why I'm scrambling to write all this stuff down now -- before I forget everything....
Happy Holidays, all....

#695: My Worst Moment....

...as a newspaper reporter had nothing to do with reporting. Way more to do with interpersonal communication & overwork & stress.
This post is for you Out There who've somehow gotten the impression that I'm A Nice Guy. I'm not. Or at least I sometimes wasn't back in my reporting days. It's also offered as an extreme example of what stress & overwork can lead to. Here's what happened....
It's mid-May 1999 at the world's smallest weekly newspaper, somewhere on the Washington coast. After pulling together another stress-filled issue, the Editor -- let's call her Judith -- calls the four-member writing&layout staff together for a Friday planning meeting. Where she drops the bomb that the annual Tourism Special Edition -- a 24-page advertising-filled tourist brochure -- is due MONDAY, on top of the usual work required for the next normal issue of the paper.
Then she drops another bomb: Myself, the Sports Editor & the Layout chief (who is my wife, who worked for 6 stress-filled months at the paper with me) are going to pull the Tourism Edition together while The Editor spends her weekend across the state in Spokane. She's going to write and do NOTHING for the Tourism Issue.
And she just leaves it there. The meeting breaks up. & I'm furious.
Because this continues a pattern The Editor has had since she came aboard 8 months earlier. She does only what she wants, dumps all the work on everybody else, blames other people for her mistakes, and spreads stress like a plague carrier. When the paper is delivered to the printers late, she blames everybody else for her short-sightedness -- when the front page is usually waiting for her writing & layout work to get finished before it can be delivered.
Over the last 6 months I've been doing more & more writing. At the worst point I'm covering 4 nighttime meetings per week, then coming back into the office at 9 a.m., writing my ass off. I'm on salary so I collect no Overtime. I hardly ever see my kids. About the only time I see my wife is when we bump into each other in the office. & Judith keeps piling on the work. Every time she calls my name from inside her walled-in cubicle my stomach locks up in knots because I know it means More Work.
We've had words before. The last time was when she asked me to do a hatchet job on an overworked city employee -- a guy who was hired to do all the stuff the Mayor and City Engineer couldn't get to. "He just smells wrong," she said. "There's got to be something there." This guy had never hurt anyone as far as I knew. There was no reason for us to go after him. I told her to write the hatchet job herself. She never wrote it, of course. Because there was nothing there to write.
This time around I'm so angry that I'm shaking.
"Can we talk about this?" I ask gently.
"No!" she said, slamming stuff into her travel bag. "I'm outta here. I need a break."
"Yeah, but you're leaving all the work for us."
"I'm allowed a break. I'm going to Spokane."
"That's nothing new," I said. "You take EVERY weekend off. While we clean up behind you."
"You guys can handle it."
"You're counting on that to be true," I said, and I start following her around the office as she gathers stuff to put in her bag. "You always dump all the work on us so you can have the weekend off."
"I do not," she said.
"You DO," I said. My voice is getting louder. "You never do your share, you always leave the work for everyone else. When is enough enough? Where do you draw the line at?"
"Mind your own business," she said. "I'm leaving!"
She goes into the back room to grab her coffee cup. I follow her. By now I'm yelling. I'm full of anger because I know I'm right. This has been coming on for a long time.
"This IS my business!" I yell into her face. "When does it STOP?! How much work do you think you can dump on people before they freak out?! We're ALL overworked! We're ALL burned out! When do WE get to go to Spokane?!"
"Shut UP!"
"NO!" I yelled. "You don't GET it! You dump work on everybody! You do NOTHING! All you do is create stress! You don't know what the F you're doing!"
"Get the F away from me!" she yells.
"NO! Run away to Spokane! Who CARES?! Don't F'ing come back! WHO CARES?! YOU don't! Get the F outta here! We'll cover for you! We always DO!"
"Get the F away from me!" she repeats, this time lower, angrier. I have her backed into a corner as we yell into each other's faces. All the rest of the newspaper's employees are out front in the main office where I'm sure our voices are echoing. Our Publisher is upstairs, directly above us, and can hear every word. And no one is interrupting.
She makes a break for it and heads for the front office.
"You're F'ing NUTS!" she yells. "I'm F'ing outta here! Who CARES if you do the work?! It's YOUR F'ing JOB! Don't do it and you're FIRED! See ya!"
I scream gibberish at her as she runs out the office door. Something about how I hope she crashes and burns and ends up dead in a ditch. Something like that. I walk back to my desk and collapse.
So much for professionalism. I'm still shaking. It's VERY quiet in the office. I expect my Publisher to come downstairs and fire me. It doesn't happen.
Over the next half-hour or so, 3 or 4 of my co-workers swing by my cubicle and say thanks for putting The Editor in her place. They've wanted to say all that stuff for a long time.
"Sure," I tell them. "Next time YOU do it."
The Sports Editor, my wife & I pull together the Tourism Issue over the weekend. We recycle a lot of info from the year before. None of us get paid any overtime for the 12-hour days we put in writing, photographing, updating and laying-out the issue. But that's nothing new, and the package gets done on time. It's one of the last things my wife does for the paper -- 6 months later she decides to divorce me.
The Editor returns Monday morning, & checks to see that the Tourism Issue got done. I cringe in my chair wondering what she'll say to me, but instead she goes upstairs to see The Publisher. They talk for an hour behind closed doors. Then she comes back downstairs, goes into her cubicle, grabs her things, and leaves.
It's quiet in the office for a minute or two. Then our Receptionist says "Uh ... I think Judith just Left."
She didn't even tell the Publisher she was quitting. Later that afternoon, he offers the Editor's job to me. I've told him No twice before, but this time I think I couldn't possibly do a worse job than Judith. So I say Yes.
And immediately Judith gets her revenge from beyond the grave, so to speak.
Immediately I start doing 50-hour work weeks, or more. I continue writing my ass off. The stress is actually less because I'm in charge, but the same amount of writing I was doing as a reporter is still there.
The first issue comes off pretty well. A local alternative highschool holds a rather modest and secretive graduation ceremony -- bassist Krist Novoselic of Nirvana is the surprise guest speaker. One of the girl grads pauses to pose for me right after getting her diploma, and it makes a beautiful front-page picture.
After that it gets tougher. Much tougher. My wife takes the kids and a friend and goes off to Canada for a week. I still don't realize my marriage is in serious trouble. I still think Life Is Good as I approach 40. I even take a week off to celebrate my 40th birthday....
And when I come back to work after my first vacation in three years, by 9 a.m. I'm hyperventilating, and soon after I'm lying on my back on the floor, gasping for breath like a fish....

#669: The torture never stops

(No, this is not going to be a post about Frank Zappa, but thanks for playing....)
In these recent newspaper-reminiscences I've posted, I've left out one of the main reasons I don't do that kind of work anymore.
Because it's a high-stress job, & as a reporter it's VERY easy to get people angry at you without even trying.
You usually don't see it coming, but folks can go off about the craziest things.
I had one angry woman call me up after a domestic dispute she was involved in made the front page of the weekly paper I was working at. Her husband got charged with assault with a deadly weapon -- a kitchen knife.
She wasn't mad about the story -- which quoted her kids telling police that Daddy said he was "going to cut Mommy's head off." That didn't bother her.
What she was upset about was the HEADLINE, which covered all the cases that got into court that week -- which included some meth-possession cases -- & which she said made her sound like a meth freak.
"All my neighbors and friends think I'm methed out of my head now," she said.
I explained that the story didn't say that.... That wasn't good enough for her. She hadn't actually READ the story. So I READ THE STORY TO HER OVER THE PHONE, to make it clearer. She was still pissed about the headline. Finally I said I couldn't teach her friends & neighbors how to read....
After a downtown house fire on a Saturday evening destroyed an apartment building & set-off some ammunition somebody had stored there, when I got into work on Monday I called the Fire Chief for more details about what happened. He didn't have 5 minutes to talk to me -- he said he was too busy running water lines for the new Fire Hall. He didn't want any of the other firefighters to talk to me about it either, said I'd have to wait 'til he was available -- then hung up.
I called him back at 10 p.m. that night, & he STILL didn't have time to talk to me.
But we were a daily paper (published Tuesday through Saturday mornings). So I got what details I could from the Sheriff's Office & went ahead & wrote the story without the Fire Chief -- but left in quotes from him about how & why he avoided me.
& naturally, the next day when I got to work, the Fire Chief was in my Publisher's office, yelling at my Editor & my Publisher about what a backstabbing scumbag I was.
"I've lived here for 35 years and I don't have to take this kind of shit from you!" he yelled.
"I just want to know two things," I said. "Did I get any of the details wrong?"
"No!"
"Did I quote you accurately?"
"Well, yeah, but...."
"I'm outta here," I said, & left my bosses to argue with the Fire Chief -- who wanted to get me fired for not waiting to talk to him.
This kind of stuff happened ALL THE TIME. It was so stressful, the Publisher & I used to have closed-door meetings once a month so we could yell at each other & get all the stress out....
When we printed a photo on the front page of a fisherman's body that was fished out of the river after he'd been missing for a month, people called & yelled at us about that -- even though all you could see was a big gray bag being carried by four guys.
When a prominent local lawyer ran for Mayor -- then got arrested on a meth-possession charge, I wrote the story. & then the Editor & I sat on it for 3 days because we just weren't sure. This was a story that could ruin someone's life. Then our Publisher ordered us to get off the pot & print the story. We ran it on Page 2.
& the next day the Mayoral candidate called up crying. How could I DO this to her, she asked. I'd interviewed her, I'd been IN HER HOUSE! Her husband, also a lawyer, who was listening in on the phonecall, asked if they could've had a little advance warning about the story. I suggested that if they'd had any warning, they probably would've tried to stop the story from being printed.
He laughed & said I was probably right.
I apologized to his wife, who I thought was a good person, & said I was sorry for how things had gone, & that I hoped it would all work out in the end.
She lost the election & never spoke to me again. I'm not sure what happened with the meth charge.
When I was in the Air Force, I got used to defending my writing against people who didn't understand what I did -- but who outranked me, so what they wanted was what went. I got pretty good at it anyway, even convincing some that I was right.
But in the Real World, everybody outranked me. No amount of Good Work I did (& I think I did a LOT) ever made it any easier. No doors opened more easily just because I was good at my job. There was never any big payoff or reward. There were never any "better" jobs offered other than in-the-trenches reporter or small-town editor.
& I can't remember how many times people called at midnight or 4 a.m., spilled their guts to me for two hours, & then said "This is all off-the-record, you can't use any of this, I never called you" ... even AFTER I told them at the start of the phonecall that I'd be taking notes.... But I always tried to be A Good Guy....
When I was in the AF, my old buddy & fellow editor Phil Guerrero had a joke about the kind of long, involved stories I used to write: "Keep typing 'til it makes sense!" For years, that was my motto.
But I got to the point where no amount of explaining made any difference, where everything was just too complicated, & I could no longer even find the main reason I was writing some things. For much of the last four years of my "career," I'd go into work on Monday morning, down a pot of coffee, write the entire front page of the paper, & go home that night not remembering anything I'd written.
Journalism is a career for a young person with lots of time & lots of energy & no social life. It's the kiss of death for marriages & families. You wouldn't believe how many divorced, alcoholic, unhappy reporters I met over the years....
& when I got to the point where I couldn't remember the basics, couldn't keep the facts straight, was making stupid mistakes, couldn't make any sense out of anything I was writing, no matter how much I tried to explain -- I knew it was time to retire.
That was 11 years ago, & I don't miss much of it.

#667: The biggest missile base in the world

After three years in the Air Force spent coloring forms with yellow & purple markers at the Army and Air Force Hometown News Service in San Antonio, I begged to get out so I could get a real AF base-newspaper job -- & in June of 1986 I was sent to Francis E. Warren Air Force Base in Cheyenne, Wyoming -- at that time the biggest missile base in the world.
I was thrilled to be at a base where there was actually Something Happening. But as with several of my AF assignments, I couldn't really Talk about what was going on. Though the base controlled 200 ICBMs spread out over a 12,600-square-mile area covering southeastern Wyoming, northeastern Colorado & western Nebraska, we could neither confirm nor deny the presence of nuclear weapons in any particular location.
But everybody assumed those weren't just chewing-gum-warhead missiles sitting out there under the rolling hills of the Great Plains.
It took me awhile to find my footing. But soon I was writing & shooting photos for base-newspaper stories about security police patrolling isolated missile sites in the dead of winter as the gusty winds blew -60 degree wind-chill temps at them. We on the base newspaper (usually two staffers, rarely three) tried our best to write "mission feature" stories showing how each job on the base contributed to supporting the mission -- but it wasn't easy. There was so much we weren't allowed to talk about....
I finally got the chance to interview & hang-out with a missile launch crew while they were on-duty -- but it took a couple years of work & begging to do it, & I was only allowed to proceed after a reporter from the OMAHA WORLD-HERALD newspaper beat me to it. I tried to do a John McPhee/NEW YORKER-style atmosphere-piece on the crew & their surroundings....
...& naturally, after all that work & all that begging, I couldn't take all that I'd learned & turn it into a story of a reasonable size for a base newspaper. I was always too ambitious for my own good, back then. The story never got printed -- it was too freaking LONG, there was too much neat atmosphere & too many great quotes I wanted to cram in.
Months went by ... & finally I was told it would be better if I just gave up. I still have my 35 pages of notes. Not the last time I cracked under pressure....
One story I was proud of was when I got to be on the site when the last of the support crews "switched-on" the tenth Peacekeeper/MX missile, to reach what the AF called "initial operational capability" at the end of 1986. That story DID get printed, & helped win me an award. & eventually 50 of the 10-warhead Peacekeepers were deployed across the Wyoming plains.
But usually we on the base newspaper didn't get quite so up-close & personal with The Mission. We wrote about stuff that grabbed our attention -- folks from the base doing good & interesting volunteer work in the local community, interesting personalities, big base events, retirements, etc. I started reviewing strange music, movies & books.
After LOTS of encouragement, I started writing sports stories -- about a couple guys who ran in marathons, one AF doctor who competed in stair-climbing competitions & briefly got into the GUINNESS BOOK OF WORLD RECORDS (that story also made the front page of the local daily paper), the hilarious comedy of Youth T-Ball, & even the base's Chess Club.
& I found that writing sports gave me a freedom I usually didn't have in the rest of the paper -- the rest of the time we had to play it pretty straight.
But all the time I was looking for "light" stuff, more humor, because working at the world's biggest missile base was a serious business.
I wrote comedy pieces on Air Force Medals You Don't Want To Win, Fictional Air Force Bases You Wouldn't Want To Be Assigned To, & the comedy possibilities of Air Force jargon.
I even snuck through a piece about whether some of the older homes in Base Housing were haunted: Some of the houses dated back to the late 1890's when the base was a U.S. Army cavalry post. But it was a touchy subject, because the base commander wanted it known in no uncertain terms that he'd tolerate NO GHOSTS on base....
I tried to take stuff lightly, use the paper as a sort of escape from everyday AF grinds & demands.
& I had a great role-model to learn from -- an Air Force Technical Sergeant named Gary Pomeroy, who'd been Strategic Air Command's Journalist of the Year for three years in a row. Gary could write stuff that would make me cry from laughing so hard. But he was tough, he'd been around. Brutally realistic, he thought my laughing fits were silly & juvenile -- but he was a great writing coach ... if you could survive his critiques.
When I wasn't working on the base paper, I was writing at home. I still had dreams of being Stephen King when I grew up. The first draft of "On Tour With the Little Green Men" (which I posted here awhile back) came out during my three years at FEW. A 40-page science-fiction/music piece called "The Landscape Player" (probably too long to post here, though I think it's my best, most vivid piece of fiction ever) also came out while in Wyoming. Neither of them ever got published anywhere.
The wife & I loved Wyoming, & for the first time in years we weren't homesick for Idaho -- even when the snowdrifts piled up over the front door of our mobile home. I made the mistake of telling people I'd stay at FEW permanently, since few AF folks seemed to want to visit Wyoming -- they thought it was as brutal & boring as, say, North Dakota or Montana. Or South Korea. Or the Aleutian Islands. & they were wrong.
But saying I'd volunteer to stay was probably the kiss of death. At the end of 1989, the news came that I was "The Number One non-volunteer" in the AF's public affairs career field to be sent overseas. & there was a job waiting for me in Ankara, Turkey.
So in December 1989, that's where we went. At least I got to take my wife & my 2-year-old son. We were actually kind of excited about going. But it turned out to be two of the worst years of our lives....

#665: Wyoming will be your new home....

After taking 10 years of the Air Force's BS as a public affairs specialist & base-newspaper guy, I jumped at the chance to Get Out & put-up with some Real World BS -- & took a job as managing editor of possibly the world's smallest daily newspaper: The Northern Wyoming Daily News in Worland.
I thought I could handle it -- I could work hard, I could handle stress, & I was charming & modest enough to win over anybody.
But I didn't really know what stress was. In Wyoming, I found out.
There was an immediate culture shock. In September 1992 we moved from the San Francisco Bay area (home of the world's smallest Air Force base) to the geographical Middle Of Nowhere -- a charming, quiet little farm town surrounded by rolling hills & mountains, about two hours southeast of Yellowstone National Park. But there were no natural wonders in Worland -- just miles of empty countryside, cattle farms & sugar-beet fields & hop fields & oil derricks. & the area's "local time" was somewhere around 1956.
We found a comfy old mid-'50s house with plenty of space for me, the wife & the two kids, with a huge basement "music room," & a heater good enough to keep us warm even when it was -40 outside. & it was only two blocks from the school.
I dived into editing the paper, which proved to be a bigger challenge than I thought. Turned out the editor's job was to layout more than half the paper, slap in stories off the Associated Press wire, proofread all the local news, & write when/IF there was time. As a result, I didn't write much. So I wasn't very happy.
Plus I kept running into longtime local residents who wondered -- & who asked very directly -- if The New Kid was going to be able to "fix" the paper: cut down on the misspellings & get the facts right & stop treating local law-enforcement with kid gloves & tell people what's REALLY going on....
That was the first part of my education. My REAL education didn't start until two years later, when I gave up editing & volunteered to write full-time. Then I was MUCH happier. & even busier & more stressed-out.
I learned lots of things. I learned that the Air Force had no IDEA what stress & overwork was. I learned that local residents had a WAY better idea of what national political policies were going do to them than I did -- because they lived with the impacts on their bottom-line every single day. When local farmers & ranchers were alarmed about NAFTA & claimed that it was going to export millions of U.S. jobs overseas & ruin them financially, I laughed at first. But they were absolutely right.
After that I kept my head down & wrote my ass off. I hardly ever talked politics with folks -- because even if I disagreed with them politically (or thought I did), most of my neighbors were really great people, absolutely salt of the earth: hard-working, dedicated, devoted to their families & their community. Just because I couldn't see their small-town Republican outlooks reflected in national Republican policies didn't mean we had to argue.
Besides, I didn't have TIME for that. Even in a town as small as Worland (4,500 people), there was always something going on -- car wrecks & house fires, & school board meetings & city council meetings & county commissioners' sessions. High school graduations, sports events, community events to publicize & then photograph.
In my "down" time I found lots of funny stuff to write about -- the computer glitch that delivered three-dozen Thanksgiving turkeys to a local woman's door (she donated them to the local senior center); the old couple who replaced their dying front lawn with multi-colored old carpets after giving up trying to grow grass (this caused car wrecks in front of their house); the town council that called a pot-bellied pig to a meeting in a debate about the town's livestock ordinance; how a packet of Holly Sugar got a five-second close-up in an episode of THE X-FILES (there was a Holly Sugar plant in town, & the investigation into how their product got on the show was worthy of an episode all by itself).
There were also plusses I never saw coming. Local politics could be a grind, but I got to interview the Governor, U.S. Senators & Representatives -- names that made the national news regularly. & most of 'em were great people, way easier to talk with than I ever expected. The biggest shock of all came when I got a standing ovation at the Worland GOP's Lincoln Day Dinner my last year there -- the idea that all these staunch local Republicans could give me (then a hard-core Democrat, I thought) a standing-O just put me on the floor. To me it said I'd kept my balance & done a solid job & not disappointed my readers.
I also got my musical horizons expanded in Wyoming: I became a bit of a country music fan, grabbing great albums by Mary-Chapin Carpenter, Pam Tillis, Carlene Carter, Wynonna, Travis Tritt, Dwight Yoakam, & more. Wyoming was also where I first heard Rush's great "Time Stand Still." & where I FINALLY decided that maybe Led Zeppelin had some talent, after repeated playings of "The Battle of Evermore" & "When the Levee Breaks" & *GASP* "Stairway to Heaven"....
It wasn't all fun&games. People froze to death during the bitter-cold winters. People got hit by trains. One beloved local pastor died tragically during a hunting trip. One guy shot a friend by accident during another hunting trip. One local highschool sports star raped & murdered a woman & then dumped her body in the river. One woman & her hideous parents ended up in court in an incest case that made 60 MINUTES. One local guy walked into a bar, shot three people execution-style, then took the $126 in the cash register. It was never clear if the money was to pay for his child-support or to fix the engine in his truck.
After the last of these -- & the death-sentence trial that ate-up my every waking moment for a month -- my Publisher told me that he couldn't afford to give me any vacation time, & that he couldn't afford to hire anyone else to help me report the news.
So, after six years in Wyoming, I started looking for a new job. My wife & kids had been all over the state, to Yellowstone, & up into Montana -- but I never got there, because I was almost always working.
After a couple months of sending out resumes, I got a phonecall from a small weekly newspaper on the Washington coast. The area was beautiful, & the paper looked like it could use some help -- I'd be writing full-time again. So I gave my Publisher 3 DAYS NOTICE, & left for Washington at the very end of May 1998.
My Publisher warned me that as weird & stressful as the Daily News had been, the new paper I was heading to might be even weirder, even more stressful -- with even fewer people to do the work. I told him I couldn't see how that was POSSIBLE.
But he was absolutely right....

#622: The poster-child for stressing-out

Late August, 1999. Two days after my 40th birthday. After taking my first week off from work in 3 years, by 8:30 am Monday I'm back at my desk, trying to pull-together the next issue of the small weekly newspaper I've been editing since May.
It's an absolutely normal Monday. There's a lot of work to do, a big pile of paperwork in front of me, & nobody did much to prepare for the next issue while I was gone. But I've been working 50+ hours a week since May, so I'm getting used to it. Everything is going exactly as I expected.
But I'm having trouble with it.
By 9:30 am I start to hyperventilate. I can't relax. My hands and arms are getting all tingly. I can't stop panting for breath. I call a therapist I've been talking to about work-related stress and marriage problems. He recommends getting out of the building and getting something to eat.
But I can't leave -- there's too much work to do. I can't push it off on my co-workers, either -- they're wrapped-up in their own work. I try eating. It doesn't help. I try organizing a long schedule of events for a quickly-approaching town festival, the one thing that MUST be on the next front page. But I can't focus. I can't MAKE it make sense. I can't even get the list of happenings typed.
I drink some water. I try to walk around a little, but my legs are all wobbly. My arms are going numb. My heart is racing. And I can't slow down my breathing.
I call my therapist back. He ORDERS me to get out of the building. But it's too late.
At noon, I ask our receptionist if she could do me a favor and call my wife. And an ambulance. I can't seem to do it myself. I can't breathe. I can't get enough air. For some reason it seems like there will be more air on the floor, so I go there.
By 12:15 I'm stretched out on my back on the office floor, still hyperventilating. My arms are numb, my hands locked into fists. My legs are cramping and folding up. I moan for someone to help me, but nobody will even come talk to me.
At the edge of my vision, I can see the head of the reporter I just hired, standing nearby, watching, but she won't get closer. I'm scaring her. I'm scaring myself. I can hear phones ringing and people talking and Monday going on, but I'm stuck on the floor alone and I can't move. I'm left to gasp and flop like a fish. I'm helpless.
Finally an EMT appears & I try to tell her what's wrong. Another EMT appears, they put me on a gurney & I'm wheeled outside into an ambulance. I notice vaguely that a crowd has gathered. My co-workers are calling my name and telling me to hang in there. My wife has appeared and says she'll follow me to the hospital.
In the ambulance, the EMTs give me SOMETHING & try to determine if I'm having a heart attack. I'm SURE that's what's happening. I'm convinced that I'm gonna die, 2 days after my 40th birthday.
In the emergency room, they run tests & try to bring my breathing under control. They have to teach me how to breathe again. It takes awhile.
When I'm stable, they admit me to the hospital & put me in the cardiac critical care unit til they determine if I've had a heart attack. It looks like I'm gonna be there for awhile.
My wife appears, and we cry all over each other. We both note the timing of this "attack," & without trying 2 make Too Big A Deal out of it, we both wonder if I've been pushing things too hard & if somebody's trying to send me A Message.
She stays for awhile, then has to leave to go check on the kids. She sez she'll bring me back something to read in case I'm stuck here overnight.
And as soon as she leaves, I'm overcome by the most intense feelings of RELIEF that I've possibly ever felt -- as if this bed, in this place, is EXACTLY where I wanted to be, exactly where I was headed from the moment I woke up this morning. It's safe & quiet here. And someone else is gonna havta run the newspaper for me.
And then I cry like a baby.
Eventually, 1 of the ER docs comes in & tells me I DIDN'T have a heart attack -- I had an anxiety attack. A nurse tells me they can prescribe some anti-anxiety meds, but they won't solve my problem -- that my problem is whatever's kicking around in my head.
Then they release me.
I take a day off to think it over, then go to work on Weds & resign as the editor. But I offer to work as a full-time reporter to make up for it. This is a mistake, but I was always happier writing full-time anyway.
I try the anti-anxiety meds, & once I get used to the "zombie effect," they're not bad -- I feel like me with all the stress removed. It's sorta enjoyable.
But the stress continues -- there's just as much, if not more, with reporting full-time. & I knew that. But this is my 1st step in moving away from my 20-year career in journalism. & it takes me 2 more years to give up & get out of it entirely.

Don't let this happen to you. If you're in a high-stress job that overworks you to the point of breakdown, get away from it. Figure out some other way to pay your bills. Don't give your life to a career where nobody keeps score. Because the things you'll lose are things you might never get back -- spouse, children, possibly your health, maybe your life. It ain't worth it.
I was stupid. Looking back, I wish I hadn't sold myself so cheap. & I wish I'd known I was living The Good Life while I was IN it....

#602: On becoming a news junkie

Before I became a reporter, I pretty-much hated the news. Never read it, watched it or listened to it. Had no real use for "current events." Closest I got to reading a newspaper was skimming thru some long non-fiction piece in ROLLING STONE.
But somewhere along the way I got hooked on the work of journalists like Hunter S. Thompson, John McPhee, Tim Cahill. & when I got to Journalism School, I hoped that -- if I had 1/2 the writing talent I THOT I had -- maybe I could figure-out some lighter, more personal, funnier approach to writing 4 newspapers.
"Personality features" were always my favorite assignments at J-school. Something where you could loosen the rules a little bit, let some of your subject's personality in -- have some FUN with the writing. Wasn't until YEARS later that I realized you could do the same thing with sportswriting -- practically ALL the time....
On my good days, when I could write some real-life comedy (33 Thanksgiving turkeys delivered to a local resident due to a computer glitch -- she donated them to the Senior Center; old couple gives up growing a lawn & replaces it with multi-colored carpets -- causing car wrecks in front of their house), I thot I DID contribute something new & unique 2 the newspapers I worked 4. It was a joy 2 share a laugh with readers on the front page. & every fun story was like a gift from God -- most of them practically wrote themselves. They were almost effortless.
I couldn't see why EVERY reporter didn't do them.
They were also a great break from the usual grind of car wrecks, murders, trials, council meetings, DWI arrests, drug busts & political stupidity that is the avg reporter's daily diet. Journalism is a great career 4 a young person with lotsa energy & no social life. If you're a little older, with a Significant Other & a family, the job will eat you up. Because it never stops.
I don't look at newspapers much anymore, because most of them just make me want to know MORE. Or I wonder why the reporter doesn't journey much past the just-the-facts approach. Why so few reporters seem 2 do the daily job with much STYLE. They may be accurate, but they aren't that much fun 2 read.
I DO read local newspaper COLUMNISTS. The FUNNY 1's. & I wish there were MORE....
I have a little more fun with TV news, tho it can B frustrating 2. I gave up on most TV political coverage months ago -- the way the national media were more intrested in Herman Cain's Women Problems or Rick Perry's Senior Moments than they were in Xplaining Romney's plan to save the country. Besides, I'm pretty-much sick of the prez election & grateful that by this time Tues nite our long national nightmare will be over. Or perhaps it will be just beginning....
In addition 2 being great waking-up TV, I'd agree that nothing unites us like the national news-media in times of crisis -- Hurricane Sandy (Proof that there's No God: The Atlantic City Boardwalk is destroyed, but Snooki's house is OK), Katrina, 9/11, the Challenger explosion, etc. I just wish they worked up 2 their potential more often.
On the night before Election Day, you may know where Obama & Romney stand on some of the issues, but do you know what their plans 4 the future are? Do they have any clear, substantial, detailed plans for saving this country?
I don't think turning the clock back 2 1980 is a vision 4 the future. But clearly there R millions of people who wouldn't mind going back there. Or who didn't learn anything the 1st time around.

My news addiction has even gotten in the way at work. I haven't been playing much music lately. (Still recovering from the batch of strange CDs Crabby sent me awhile back -- Cromagnon's CAVE ROCK may have scarred me 4 life....) I'll get back 2 it, of course -- but mainly over the past week or so I've been listening 2 Seattle's news-radio station, KOMO. Tho they have a definite format they repeat each hour, the great thing about the news is that it CHANGES -- unlike the playlists at all the local rock stations.
Have listened 2 a little music that's grabbed me, tho -- Aaron Copland's "Appalachian Spring," Beatles' "A Day in the Life," Who's "Love, Reign O'er Me," Led Zep's "When the Levee Breaks," Dylan's "Like a Rolling Stone" & "I Want You," Cat Power's "He War" & "Speak for Me," part of a track off the new Neil Young album, "Walk Like a Giant" (which sounds a little like the return of "Like a Hurricane") -- & some great trax by classic late-'60s psychedelic band Love: "Alone Again Or," "Maybe the People Should Be the Times," "You Set the Scene," "Your Mind and We Belong Together."
These last replayed while reading Andrew Hultkrans's book-length look at Love's 1967 cult-classic album FOREVER CHANGES -- not sure I buy all Hultkrans' claims 4 what influenced Love-leader Arthur Lee 2 write the songs 4 FOREVER CHANGES, but the album turned out a mostly-gorgeous period piece anyway, a great forgotten companion 2 SGT. PEPPER and PIPER AT THE GATES OF DAWN (and DAYS OF FUTURE PASSED). Should have a review of the book posted soon....

#540: The worst Prom date EVER

So, you think maybe you've had some bad dates? Yeah, uh huh, sure. Ever had your date interrupted by YOUR JOB?
Spring 2000: The X-wife had moved out months earlier, taking the only working vehicle, emptying the checking account, & leaving me to feed our 2 kids with absolutely NO kitchen skills. Lucky the 3 of us didn't starve 2 death. But I'm not bitter.
Confused, heartbroken & lonely, a co-worker at my then-newspaper job tells me she knows some1 who'd love 2 meet me. She sez this unknown woman is Pretty Hot, too. Bring her on, I say, trying to put on a brave face. My co-worker sets us up.
This unknown woman calls me later the same nite. We talk. She has a nice voice, seems friendly. I make her laff. A lot. She's a great audience. We spend a couple hrs gabbing. We agree 2 go out the following Sat nite.
Meanwhile, the Evil Management at my then-Newspaper job (the Willapa Harbor Herald, Raymond, Wash.; look them up & complain 12 years late, they'll just ignore you -- that's what they always did with ME when I worked there) hatches a plot 2 destroy my life:
Late Fri aft, the Evil Editor tells the rest of us Lowlife Minions that he was told by the Clueless Publisher 2 go photograph the local highschool Prom, 25 miles up the road in Aberdeen, on Sat nite. But Ed sez even tho he's gonna B right down the street at WalMart while the Prom's goin on, he's not gonna bother stoppin in 4 pictures of the Prom Royalty, & he's gonna tell Clueless Pub 2 Pound It.
We cheer. Ed's not such a bad guy sometimes.
Fast-forward 2 Sat aft, I'm getting ready 4 my Big Date. Phone rings. Ed sez there's bn a change of plans. I've now bn assigned 2 photoize the Prom.
Ed knows I have no car, no $$$, no way 2 get there. What he doesn't know is I have a date the same nite. So I tell him this. Can't he find NE1 else? Some1 with a CAR? He's gonna B 5 mins down the road at WalMart with his family -- can't he just pop in 4 a few quick photos?
"No," he sez. "YOU do it, or else you're fired."
I take a deep breath. This has bn building 4 months. It's all a conspiracy 2 get me 2 quit. The writing's on the wall. No matter how good a reporter I am, I'm 2 big a pain in the ass 2 deal with, & they don't know how 2 get rid of me. I won't quit -- they'll havta fire me.
I dive in. The phone conversation quickly descends in2 screaming & threats, all by me. Ed hangs up. I scream some more, then call Clueless Pub.
Can I at least use the Company Van so I can GET 2 the Prom? "No," he sez, "find out some other way to get there."
What the Hell am I sposta do? WALK?
"Cover it, or you're fired."
More screaming & threats, also all by me. Pub hangs up.
My daughter -- a very mature 9 years old at the time, who has chosen 2 spend the weekend with me rather than go see her Mother 4 the weekend on Fri -- has heard me screaming in2 the phone 4 the past 15 mins. She wonders if maybe I've lost it. I reassure her: I HAVE.
There's only 1 thing 2 do. We sit on the couch & wait 4 my date, who's already en route 2 my house. This is going 2 B an intresting evening....
My date -- I can't remember her name, but let's call her Trudy -- arrives within the hour. She's a fairly attractive blonde, pleasant & friendly -- & with a pair of breasts approximately the size of New Jersey. (Thank you, David Steinberg....)
She takes a seat on the couch & I make my pitch: If she doesn't mind hauling me 25 miles up the road to Aberdeen so I can take a few quick photos at the Prom, then we can go out 2 dinner afterward. We can talk on the way there. She can get 2 know my charming daughter -- who I wasn't Xpecting 2 have home for the weekend. I know it looks like a total disaster, but we might B able 2 salvage a nice nite from it if she can forgive me & bear with me.
I wouldn't have blamed her if she'd told me 2 Stick It. But Ghod bless her, she said Sure, Why Not?, I Didn't Have Anything Else Planned Anyway.... & other nice things people say when they're stuck in an Mbarrassing no-win situation.
So we hit the road & talk along the way. She's really nice. She laughs at all my bad jokes. She banters with my daughter. I start thinking I may B on2 Something Good here.
But I'm wrong. The disaster is still ahead.
We arrive. The ballroom is PACKED. It's DARK. There's a TON of highschool kids here. I leave Trudy & my daughter on a bench near the door & promise I won't take long.
I'm lying.
It's REALLY DARK. When I look in2 the camera, I can't C what I'm pointing it at. & this lame, primitive early-model digital camera won't focus or shoot without enuf lite. I hang from the ceiling, I pose in lighted doorways, I perch behind spotlites -- there isn't enuf lite in the ballroom 4 me 2 shoot. The flash on the camera won't even kick-in 2 help me lite things up, the room is so friggin dark.
I blow what seems like 2 hrs trying 2 get 1 decent shot. Finally, they announce the Prom Royalty & I drag them outside under some of the ballroom's outside-walkway lites 2 have enuf lite overhead 2 get some faces in focus. I take 1/2adozen awful, poorly-lit, posed photos & realize that's the best I'm gonna get. By then it's nearly 11 pm.
Me, my daughter & Trudy stumble out of the ballroom & set off 2 try 2 find a late dinner. I've learned that in the 2 hrs I've bn hanging from fixtures & begging highschool kids 2 B patient & give me some room, Trudy & my daughter have gotten 2 know each other pretty well. Wish I could say the same....
I am stunned 2 find there's NOTHING still open in Aberdeen. McDonald's is closing down, they won't even serve us up 3 measly cheeseburgers. A really good Oriental-food buffet closed at 10 -- there is NOTHING left.
We all heave a sigh -- my daughter is starting 2 get tired & cranky -- & Trudy drives us back home. It's really quiet in the car on the way back. I don't see how the evening could get any worse.
In the driveway, I let my daughter in2 the house, then turn back 2 the car. "I'm really sorry about this," I begin....
"It's OK," Trudy sez. "It wasn't that bad. I had a good time. You're funny, and your daughter's an angel."
"You're lying," I say. "At least about SOME of it. But will you forgive me? Can we try this again when I don't have to work?"
"Sure," she sez, & smiles. & I think: Maybe this isn't such a disaster after all.
"I'll call you," she sez. & she drives away.
Monday: Trudy hasn't called, of course. I'm angry, the photos I wasted a date 4 look like crap, & nobody at work will talk 2 me -- until my & Trudy's Mutual Friend comes in & stares at me.
"Man, what happened?!" she sez. "You really F'd that one up! Trudy says don't bother to call her -- she's not interested in seeing you again. She says there was no 'spark' there at all."
Yeah, This Just In. No Suprises Here. She was a really nice taxi service, tho....

(This post is 4 Allison, who nudged me....)

#528: The smallest Air Force base in the world

I've bn stuck in some pretty small places. Ankara Air Station in Turkey (where I was assigned by the US Air Force in 1990-91) was about 4 blocks long & 3 blocks across -- a home 10,000 miles from home 4 the 2,000 or so Americans assigned there. It's all closed up now.
Onizuka Air Station in Sunnyvale, Calif., was even smaller. Not counting the 3-story parking garage, you could almost throw a baseball from 1 side of the base 2 the other.
But that'd B leaving out "The Blue Cube" -- a 4-story, windowless high-tech block, "shrouded in secrecy" (as the local newspapers put it), that was the whole reason the base was there.
Unfortunately, the Blue Cube sat right next 2 US Highway 101, where hundreds of thousands of cars passed by every day, possibly with 1,000s of people inside them wondering what went on inside that huge light-blue building....
Onizuka's whole mission was satellite tracking -- including GPS satellites that I assume were used 4 enemy surveillance & target-spotting during the 1st Gulf War. But in 1992, when I was there, We Couldn't Talk About Any Of That. It was all still Top Secret. This was LONG B4 everybody & his brother had a GPS system in their car.
I'd bn in other places where we Couldn't Talk About Our Mission -- in the 3 years I was at Francis E. Warren AFB in Wyoming, I could never Confirm or Deny the existence of nuclear missiles at any particular location. Everybody just knew they were Out There ... somewhere. That's about as detailed as I could get.
Onizuka AS was even MORE secretive. Imagine being a public-affairs guy at a place like that. Sure you could talk 2 the local media -- you just couldn't tell them what the base DID.
Imagine being a base newspaper guy at such a place. What the hell could you write about?
Well, somehow I found SOMETHING to fill the 8-pages-per-week of the Xerox-copier-reprinted typing-paper-sheet-sized ONIZUKA ORBITER. Since I couldn't talk much about the mission, I tended 2 write lots of humorous pieces, & focused on base intramural sports & people with intresting off-duty hobbies -- the 1's who'd talk 2 me about those. 1 guy wouldn't talk about being a member of a local rap group (when he was off-duty) Bcos he thot it would signal 2 his superiors that he didn't take his job seriously.
I had 2 put up with this heavy-handed Big Brother take-your-job-deadly-seriously stuff EVERY DAY. It was the kiss of death 4 a reporter who tried 2 have fun with his job. & it helped me decide 2 get out of the Air Force that much sooner.
In an AF base newspaper, 1 of a reporter's highest callings was sposta B 2 write a "mission feature" -- a slice-of-daily-life-style piece that would vividly show how 1 person's or 1 unit's job helped get the mission (national defense) done. In a place as secretive as "Oz," mission features were tough 2 write. Impossible, even.
1 unit didn't like the fact that I led off a story by focusing on the 9 empty 3-pound coffee cans they had stacked up in their break room. I thot the coffee cans showed the kind of demanding, ongoing, routine kind of job they did -- as important as it was. They wouldn't let me print the story with that description in it. I was able 2 convince their section chief of my reasons behind including such an image -- she even agreed with me. But she said publishing it would cost her her job. So I backed off.
Another unit (as close as I could get 2 the satellite-tracking center of the base's mission) was offended when I pointed out that their main work area (a cluster of huge satellite dishes that sometimes had 2 B climbed out on 2 B cleaned) included a "Pigeon Attack Zone" -- this area ID'd by big signs next 2 the door out 2 the dishes.
The guys thot the signs were hilarious -- so did I -- but they didn't want the signs (or the kind of "attacks" the pigeons often dive-bombed them with) mentioned in the base newspaper. We talked it over, & I held on. & the story ended-up winning an award.
But after that, fewer offices & work areas around the tiny base would talk 2 me in NE depth. Mission features got tougher 2 find. So much so, that 4 an April Fool's Day edition, I wrote a mission feature on the base's janitors -- a dozen guys who spent hours each nite vacuuming carpets & mopping miles of tile floors. I thot the story was hilarious -- so did the janitors. & when I printed the story under a "Mission Feature" banner, nobody could miss the joke. That story also won an award.
I fought the overly-secretive silliness every way I knew how -- not always good-naturedly. & I told every1 I knew there that I couldn't see why everything was so hush-hush -- we hadn't bn THAT secretive during those 3 years I served at the biggest missile base in the world (which I promise 2 write more about soon).
...It wasn't all bad. Tho I wasn't there 4 the very 1st issue of the ORBITER, they let me re-design it a little with the 2nd issue. Since the Sunnyvale/San Jose area was even then known as a high-tech mecca 4 computers & such, I chose a modern, high-tech look 4 the paper, with a sorta computerized-looking sans-serif typeface that let me squeeze even more info in2 every issue's 8 (or sometimes more) pages.
& despite the frustrations, I wrote some stuff I was pretty happy with. 1 piece was on 1/2adozen base guys who had up&coming parts in the Bay Area rap music scene. I wish I coulda done more of that stuff. I hadda lotta fun with base intramural sports -- usually attracted 2 the losers, but trying pretty conscientiously 2 get everything covered. It was a small base & pretty EZ 2 keep up with.
Possibly the best story ever while I was there was on a base golf tournament -- & naturally, I followed around some REALLY BAD golfers, including R base Chaplain who was still learning how 2 play. He was hilarious -- after he scored a 9 on the 1st hole & a 10 on the 2nd, we were all crying from laffing so hard. & luckily the comedy came over in the story.
But all the stuff I Couldn't Talk About left me with a lotta stuff I Couldn't Write About -- & sometimes if I tried, people I'd never met would rewrite me 4 reasons unknown. Certainly not Bcos of National Security. I was able 2 convince most of these folks that I Knew What I Was Doing. But their rewrites would always stand. I started taking my name off of lots of stuff -- the only way I could noticeably protest.
I'd bn planning on getting out of the AF since B4 coming 2 Oz. When things started going bad, I started sending out a dozen resumes a week 2 Real Newspapers, begging 4 a writing job. Finally, in Sept 1992, The Smallest Daily Newspaper In The World -- located in Worland, Wyoming -- offered 2 hire me as a managing editor. It was the beginning of a whole new adventure.
After 10 years of service, the AF did at least let me out when I asked nicely. & I left Oz with a couple of end-of-the-year awards, 4 AF Space Command's Best Feature Writing & Best News Writing of 1992. (The 2nd of these was kinda a joke. There was no "news" at R base. Not Officially.)
...Oh, music was important in all this, 2. The cheapest house we could find 2 rent was 45 mins away from the base in San Jose (which then had the most Xpensive rent prices in the nation, we were told). 2 dare California's freeways (101, 680, 880, etc), music was ESSENTIAL. It was while driving these freeways that I realized Madonna was an Artist -- a mix-tape of her songs that I could actually STAND ("Open Your Heart," "Live to Tell," "The Look of Love," "Oh Father," "Dear Jessie," "Dress You Up," etc.) probly kept me from wrecking the car a dozen times. On the way 2&from work I also played the HECK outta mix tapes I'm still playing 2day.
& that 45-minute commute was on the Good Days. When it rained -- which it seemingly always did each Fri aft -- the drive home could stretch in2 3 hours....

2 years in Turkey! (NOT as in "gobble-gobble"....)

The 2 worst years of my life! That's how I felt about my 2 years in Turkey, at the time. Sorta still feel that way.
But 2 good things came out of it: My daughter was born there. & I wrote some of the best work of my life.
After 3 years in Wyoming telling every1 I'd stay permanently if they wanted, the Air Force sent me 2 Ankara, Turkey, a city of 4 million people located in a bowl in the middle of hilly Anatolia.
The X-wife & I were Xcited about going. Prices there were CHEAP -- we were told we could take a "luxury" bus from 1 end of the country 2 the other 4 $10. There were lots of ancient ruins 2 crawl around on & "Oooh" & "Ahhh" at, plenty of neat stuff 2 see. All that history! A whole diffrent place! A totally new Xperience! So much 2 learn!
We flew over early in Dec 1989. Practically right after we arrived, the 1st Gulf War started. So most of R plans 4 touring the country went right out the window....
The 2nd big shock was Ankara itself. We landed in the middle of winter, & the Turks use coal 2 heat their homes & the MANY apartment bldgs around the city. & in the winter, the smoke from that coal -- along with the Xhaust from a coupla million cars -- hangs in the air, & stays there until the temperature warms up.
We noticed during R nighttime ride from the airport in2 town that the air was BROWN. In the daytime it was more of a gray-white, but the smog was so thick we couldn't clearly see the apartment bldg NEXT DOOR. At night there'd just B squares of lite from other people's apartment windows, seemingly hanging in the air....
Ankara Air Station itself was tiny -- a few blocks wide by mayB 6 blocks long -- home 2 a couple hundred Americans. Home away from home. We had a grocery store as big as 2 7-11's stuck together -- with great milk from Germany, & my 1st-ever Xperience with bottled water, since the public water supply wasn't considered really safe. We had a small base exchange -- like a tiny WalMart, the 1st place I ever saw CDs.
We also had 1a THE BEST bookstores ever. The Stars and Stripes Bookstore was crammed full of the latest paperbacks & LOTSA newspapers, cos 1 thing most of us DIDN'T get every day was News From Home. Most of us didn't have access 2 the Armed Forces Radio and Television Service, which showed lotsa reruns, tape-delayed sports events, & 5 mins of AF-approved news each nite.
So the S&S Bookstore carried the weight. It had LOTS of war-fiction, + TONS of science fiction, horror, mysteries, thrillers, romances, bestsellers, lotsa Tom Clancy & Stephen King. Oh, & lotsa porn, 2. The owners knew who their audience was....
There was also a ton of books from Great Britain -- stuff like the great PENGUIN GUIDE TO POPULAR MUSIC, & M.H. Zool's GOOD READING GUIDE TO SCIENCE FICTION.
There would B something new & cool on the shelves there every week. It still amazes me how many books we brot back from Turkey. A partial list: Thomas Harris's THE SILENCE OF THE LAMBS & RED DRAGON, Kathe Koja's THE CIPHER, Gael Baudino's GOSSAMER AXE, Jesse Sublett's ROCK CRITIC MURDERS, Ellen Datlow & Terri Windling's YEAR'S BEST FANTASY AND HORROR, Gardner Dozois's YEAR'S BEST SCIENCE FICTION, Karl Edward Wagner's YEAR'S BEST HORROR STORIES, Edward Lee's over-the-top COVEN, & LOTS more....
Books & newspapers & letters were about R only connection with Back Home. After a year, when we got an apartment that had actual TV, the X & I Bcame Major League Baseball fans just so we could see something CURRENT that was actually happening in America!
We didn't know what THE SIMPSONS was 'til late in our 2 years -- when I saw the 1st couple episodes I laffed til I cried, & then I laffed til I about threw up. America was a mystery that was 10,000 miles away 4 us -- Rosanne Barr sang the National Anthem at the World Series?! What the hell is GOING ON Back Home...?
It's hard 2 Dscribe the sense of isolation we felt. All of us who were there felt it, I think. So we tried 2 have some fun with it, have some good times. You never knew when the electricity would go out -- possibly sevral times a day. You never knew when the water would stop running, or if the toilets would flush.
But the work never stopped. 1nce I settled in I was a 1-man-band on the newspaper, which kept me hoppin -- & eventually Xhausted me. I got 1 week off in 2 years.
The paper itself looked like a little magazine, which was cool -- it had photos & cool graphics & everything. & there was room 4 me 2 write personality features & comedy & off-the-wall stuff if I wanted. & somehow I Bcame a sportswriter -- I guess Bcos of the freedom it gave me compared 2 just-the-facts reporting. & base intramural sports were a blast 2 cover. 1 of the 1st big stories I wrote after arriving was on the base basketball championship game -- which went 2 quadruple-overtime!
While doing all the other stuff I could just have fun with sports -- I wrote stories about the base's 2 worst baseball teams, including a team from the British Embassy that went winless all season but laffed all thru it. Their captain assured me they'd B back next season: "We might even know the rules by then."
I also wrote about the base's worst volleyball team -- fielded by the base Clinic: doctors & nurses & paramedics & admin people -- some of whom went on leave rather than face losing another match....
Pieces like this won me U.S. Air Forces in Europe's Sportswriter of the Year Award in 1991, & I was runner-up 4 the command's Journalist of the Year Award. I was thrilled. Speechless. & it was the freedom I got thru sportswriting & comedy that got me that recognition.
Probly my fave story in 2 years was the Dog Bone Awards, about the ways the base's Finance Office kept morale up during tough times. The Dog Bones were presented every Fri 2 the Finance troop who did the most embarrassing thing all week. I attended 1 of these blowing-off-steam sessions, thot it was hilarious, wrote it up 4 the paper -- the story wrote itself, only took about 30 mins -- & the week after the story appeared, the Finance folks gave ME a Dog Bone. & the plaque is still hanging on my wall....
It wasn't all fun & games. Elsewhere in the country Americans were getting shot at by terrorists. Not all Turks thot it was OK that we were bombing Iraq. We were told 2 "dress Turkish" -- wear dark clothes, don't speak English, go without a shower 4 awhile, blend in, take diffrent routes 2 work.
1 morning in late October 1991, a friend of mine -- a computer Xpert who'd bailed me & the paper outta computer problems 100 times -- got blown-up by a car bomb on his way in 2 work. Everybody at the base went in2 shock. The X & I spent R last month in Turkey in a daze. & we left in Dec 1991. I haven't bn back. I don't really miss it that much.
Ankara Air Station was closed a few years back as a cost-saving measure. It feels weird that a base where I spent 2 years of my life isn't really there anymore. I can still see it....
Don't let me give you a bad impression of the Turks, either. Mosta the folks we met were Xtremely nice, & they were especially kind 2 my son & my golden-haired newborn daughter.
& if you were 2 visit Turkey today, you might like it. The southern coast is gorgeous -- the little I saw of it. My daughter was born in Adana, & that place was like Florida with Turkish roadsigns. There were even palmtrees!
It all depends on where you're at, what you see, & yer attitude. In the middle of that 2 years I spent 3 weeks in Athens, Greece, helping close-down another base. The Greeks think Athens is a toilet -- totally polluted. I thot it was so dazzlingly bright I hadta buy a pair of sunglasses.... It was like California only with what looked like Russian roadsigns....
After we left Turkey, the Air Force sent me 2 San Jose, California, 2 the smallest base in the entire AF. Where the biggest building was a 4-story Blue Cube that 1,000's of people drove by every day. & the base had a mission that I Couldn't Talk About....

Where are the laffs?

These R grim times.
As any look at a newspaper or any random 5 mins of CNN will tell ya.
Now more than ever, we need laffs.
& I don't mean in silly movies or in TV situation comedies or in comedy clubs or on "Reality TV."
I mean in the very media that bring us down every day:
TV news & newspapers.
About the only time TV news & newspapers R the slightest bit funny these days is when they're covering the latest screw-up on the Republican presidential campaign trail. (Did you see Herman Cain's latest act on Tuesday? Oh my Ghod! Couldn't stop laffing!)
Things R getting so freaking serious that we NEED SOMETHING 4 a break. When the GOP fields the Usual Gang Of Idiots as potential presidential nominees, when there R STILL 10 million people out of work, when Congress is useless & the President is helpless & the US teeters on the brink of becoming another 3rd World country....
We need SOMETHING to help us lighten up. About the only time that happens these days is if the media MAKES A MISTAKE (Ghod forbid!). Or if some soundman or camera guy accidentally farts during a press conference.
(Of course you'll never hear THAT on the 6 o'clock news....)
4 Ghod's sake, at least give us another Republican debate 2 laff at....
(If Herman Cain would just ADMIT that he's got a thing 4 white women, we could all have a big laff & then get on with our lives....)
Things didn't useta B this serious. & the media useta have a lot more fun with covering the news. These days the only reporters I see REGULARLY making fun of what happens out there in The Real World each week are Jeanne Moos at CNN & Craig Wilson, who writes a weekly lite-humor column called "The Final Word" 4 USA TODAY. (Is Dave Barry still writing his syndicated humor columns 4 newspapers? I haven't seen them in quite awhile.... Maybe he gave them up 2 write books?)
& there is NOBODY in my immediate local area writing topical humor 4 any of the newspapers -- that I've noticed. Almost all the reporting & commentary is viewed straight-on. There's an editorial columnist 4 the TACOMA NEWS TRIBUNE named Peter Callaghan who occasionally does screamingly funny Q&A columns about hot statewide political issues. But he otta write them every week. His newspaper could use a little more life.
It didn't useta B like this. Back in my newspaper days it seemed like every paper had somebody who could write comedy. When I was working on Air Force base newspapers in the '80s & '90s I went outta my way 2 try 2 find some lite & funny stuff 2 counteract all the dead-serious & sleep-inducing stuff we hadta print.
I remember writing columns about "Air Force Medals You Don't Want To Win" (like the infamous "Air Force Condemnation Medal"), an Air Force "Glossary" (in which a bureaucratic phrase like "alcohol-related incident" was decoded into its real meaning: "A drunken brawl"), & "Air Force Bases You'll Never Want to Serve At" -- an atlas of fictional bases located in desolate West Texas, desolate Southeastern Oregon, & desolate Western Wyoming ... 2 go along with the real bases we already had in Greenland, Iceland, Korea, the Aleutian Islands, North Dakota, Wyoming, Idaho, Montana & other Ghod-forsaken places....
I also wrote an off-the-wall sports feature on an AF doctor named Joe Kenny who competed in stair-climbing races during his off-duty time -- a hobby that got his name in2 the GUINNESS BOOK OF WORLD RECORDS. Not Xactly yer standard AF-newspaper-type sports coverage....
When I left the AF & started working 4 civilian papers, I discovered real-life comedy was all around, all I had 2 do was notice it. & it practically wrote itself.
I wrote silly lite-comedy features about a married couple who used multi-colored carpets 2 replace their front lawn after their grass died -- & about how many traffic jams & car wrecks in front of their house this led to; about how a computer glitch led 2 3-dozen turkeys being delivered 2 a local Senior Citizens' Center just in time 4 Thanksgiving; how a small-town council had 2 subpoena a pot-bellied pig 2 a council meeting 4 a discussion about the town's livestock ordinance; how some packets of Holly-brand sugar got a 5-second close-up during an episode of THE X-FILES (there was a Holly Sugar factory in the Wyoming town where I lived); how a local highschool senior wanted 2 impress President Bill Clinton during a National Honor Society visit 2 the White House -- so the boy performed a gorilla impression....
...& lots more. Some of this stuff got picked-up by the Associated Press & sent 2 newspapers all over the country. & it was an absolute BREEZE 2 write, like a gift from Ghod. It was a great break -- & a great RELIEF -- from my usual straight-news reporting about council meetings & car wrecks. Most of these silly stories I could crank out in 30 mins or less, & it was like every word flashed in2 my head perfectly from beginning 2 end.
It was my favorite part of being a reporter & the 1 thing I miss most about the newspaper business.
& I knew that after writing a story like that -- after sharing a laff with readers on the front page -- I knew I'd done my job & a whole lot more. I'd earned my paycheck ... & hadda great time doing it.
You can't fake comedy. It's either good or it isn't. & you know when it's good. Not just because you're laffing. You get that sorta glow....
I really miss that.
& even tho these R grim times, we could use a lot more real-life comedy. Fun stories. I know they're out there, even at the worst of times. Because people still have a sense of humor -- & still use it 2 get thru their days -- no matter how bad things get.
I don't know if newspaper & TV reporters' hands R tied or if everybody's just 2 tense these days 2 try 2 crack a joke....
But it's the 1 thing I hardly ever see anymore on TV news or in newspapers. & it's the 1 thing I would most LIKE 2 see.
We could all use some laffs. LOTS of them....

The Boogie Monster and other adventures....

At the end of May 1986, the Air Force transferred me from San Antonio, Texas, to Cheyenne, Wyoming, where for the 1st time in my 3-year AF career I was finally gonna get the chance 2 write 4 a real base newspaper.
To celebrate, my then-wife & I took a 2-week "great circle" tour thru the Plains & the Intermountain West -- across west Texas, thru New Mexico & Arizona, then north up thru Arizona & Utah, across southern Idaho 2 see our folks in Boise, then back east across Idaho & thru the wilds of Wyoming 2 Cheyenne.
We stopped at every National Park we could find along the way -- the Grand Canyon (which is really stunning), Bryce Canyon (which isn't really a canyon), Zion (which was as awesome & as much like going 2 church as Grand), Craters of the Moon, Yellowstone, etc.
By the time we got 2 Yellowstone we were pretty tired & pretty bored with the whole thing: "What, another scenic climax...?"
When we finally got 2 my new base -- Francis E. Warren AFB on the western outskirts of Cheyenne, then the biggest intercontinental ballistic missile base in the country -- the folks at FEW put me & the Mrs. in temporary housing til we found somewhere 2 live. Their temporary housing was more like a huge cabin -- over a hill from the main base, down by a creek, surrounded by trees, quiet -- like still being on vacation.
The cabin had all the essentials -- beds, couches, TV, radio, kitchen, etc. Naturally, I turned on the stereo the 1st evening 2 C what kinda music I'd B forced 2 put up with in Cheyenne. I was dreading that it might all B Country, something like being back home in Idaho.
Instead, 1 of the 1st stations I found was (I think) KOA AM outta Denver, playing some rare R&B track from the early '60s. & then the DJ came on. He called himself The Boogie Monster.
At 1st I thot he was some kinda 2nd-rate Wolfman Jack -- same deep voice, same kinda jive come-on, a little cheezy, in a good way. But soon I realized he wasn't 2nd-rate at all. The stuff he played I'd never heard anywhere B4. & he sure had a lotta fun with it.
In fact, it soon Bcame clear that listening 2 The Boogie Monster was like some kinda lunatic had escaped from the asylum & locked himself in2 the studio with a pile of ABSOLUTELY GREAT previously forgotten records, & he was gonna play EVERY ONE OF 'EM, & you were gonna LOVE ALL OF THEM. & that's how it was gonna B 'til the police kicked down the door.
Now here's the catch: I don't remember 4 sure ANY of the stuff he played. I didn't keep any lists like that back then. I know it was all great. I think I mighta heard Brewer & Shipley's brilliant "Witchi-Tai-To" 4 the 1st time on his show, & some long but intriguing number by a short-lived late-'60s "supergroup" called Sweet Thursday. But I might B wrong. It mighta bn some other syndicated "forgotten oldies" show.
I know I listened 2 The Boogie Monster sevral times during the 3 years we lived in Cheyenne. But I know I also kinda took him 4 granted, figuring he'd always B there, & that I'd always B around (I told LOTS of people I'd stay in Wyoming til I retired if the AF would let me), that I'd have plenty of time 2 listen 2 more at my leisure. But it didn't Xactly work out that way.
Besides, I had other things on my mind, like how 2 write in English for an Air Force newspaper, how 2 run the whole thing myself, how to write, photograph, layout, & distribute the thing all over the base on Friday morning. Usually alone. Sometimes in 2 feet of snow.
Sometimes I had help. I invited 1 of my co-workers & his wife over 2 the house 4 dinner in an effort 2 make the office/work atmosphere more comfortable. Then I stumbled over the issue of What Music To Play? My co-worker & his wife were rather fundamentalist Christians, & I had no gospel or sacred music in the house. But I wanted something that rocked a LITTLE.
So I tried 2 turn them on 2 Fairport Convention -- which they said was "too morbid." That'll teach me 4 starting out with "I'll Keep it With Mine." Shoulda opened with "Listen, Listen," or "Come All Ye." Or maybe tried something else instead. The Moody Blues? Hey, if they wanted morbid, I shoulda put on Nick Drake. Or I coulda played King Crimson & just scared 'em the hell outta the house....
We also hadda couple of broadcasters in the Public Affairs Office (at 1 point we had 3, Ghod knows why), & they moonlighted with off-duty jobs at local radio stations. 1 of 'em invited me 2 drop in on him while he worked at 1a the local Album Rock stations.
So I drove over 1 nite after work & watched him do his thing as "Steve Cheyenne" on the air 4 a coupla hrs. It was pretty cool. We both cracked up about how obvious his on-air name was, & we were both frustrated by how tight the station's playlist was -- because the ramshackle studios were CRAMMED with albums -- there was vinyl piled & scattered EVERYWHERE. It was a freakin treasure-house of tunes & there were only maybe 200 songs on the station's playlist.
Just being IN the station was cool, especially at nite -- it was not at all the brightly-lit high-tech place I Xpected -- in fact, the rundown dark-shadows condition of the place was almost an Xact match 4 the station described in Gregory Nicoll's spooky 1989 horror story "Dead Air," 1 of my horror faves.
While I was in Cheyenne, a co-worker dragged me along 2 a writers' workshop in Denver, where I got 2 meet a couple of my favorite science fiction writers, Edward Bryant & Connie Willis. I found out that pro writers put their pants on just like every1 else. I raved 2 Bryant how knocked-out I'd been by his great Wyoming story, "Strata." I was pretty incoherent tho, probly sounded like an idiot. He said only a couple of people had ever noticed that story before....
Tho there was some job-related stress, I didn't realize til later that I was Living The Good Life. The X & I were no longer homesick 4 Idaho (like we had been in Texas), & despite the brutally cold winters, Wyoming was pretty great. We were pretty happy. Our son was born in Cheyenne in 1988.
But I made the mistake of telling 2 many people I'd stay permanently. & the AF sent me 2 Ankara, Turkey, at the end of 1989. That was also an adventure, but it's a whole diffrent story.
When I left Cheyenne, The Boogie Monster was still on the air. But I've never been back there, or NEwhere close 2 Denver, so I don't know if he's still on the air 20+ years later & still crankin out those great forgotten tunes. In these days of the Internet where nothing is ever forgotten, The Boogie Monster doesn't have a Wikipedia page, & I'm not even sure I got the KOA call-letters right.
But I remember. Sort of. I remember....