Before you folks wonder too much about why I've titled this series of posts "War Crimes," don't fret -- just like everything else, I'll get to it, and it involves my return home to Kansas. It'll all make sense eventually, so just hang in there.
So.
I'm not sure I mentioned it here before, but before I left for Omaha, I saw on the Newton newspaper's Facebook page (because, since I worked for them, I follow them -- they're also about the only source of news in this town) that they were looking for writers to cover some stories over the summer months.
Mind you, I did this for a year -- I moved into my house in Newton in July 2009, and by September I was working for the newspaper as a stringer, as they call it -- basically, a freelancer. They give you a list of topics/interview sources ranked by priority level, you call (or email, as it gets much more reliable quotes) the interview subjects, and write a story, email it to the news editor, and they assign it a publication date and pay you for it. As a stringer, I got $30 per story, and I wouldn't get paid until after the story ran. I even did some news briefs when they were shorthanded, and took some photos as well for varying rates of pay -- I wrote on anything and everything they gave me, as at that point the thought of applying to grad school was basically on the back burner and wasn't yet an option. I quickly became their go-to-person for stories, which made me first in line to be hired on in the paper's offices -- primarily as the paper's webmaster, but also with a dual position as one of the five staff reporters. I worked in the offices at the paper for about eight months, during which time I was accepted into grad school, and after which I left to, y'know, go to grad school.
I miss my reporter job. I live in small-town Kansas, in a town of about 17,000 people. I got to sit at a desk, take care of the newspaper's website, and write stories/take photos, sometimes going out on assignment or working on larger projects (such as the high school graduation section or the 2010 county elections). I felt like Clark Kent. It was an awesome job, and once I got hired on officially, I had a schedule and a pretty competitive salary for what I did. It wasn't great money, but it was better than I got paid to teach as a GTA (by leaps and bounds).
Anyway, I saw that they were looking for people, and then sent an email to the new editor there -- a guy I've never met, but who has been associated with the paper for a long time off and on (he worked there before I was there, and then came back and took over as editor a few months after I started grad school, when my former editor left the position). I gave him my credentials, told him I worked there before and that any writing samples he may want to see were in the online archives of the paper (because, ahem, I put them there) and told him I'd be happy to come back if they needed someone.
He responded that I should stop by and meet up with him, do the paperwork, etc -- on the days I'd be in Omaha. So I told him that I would be out of town and would happily meet up with him when I returned. I got home on Wednesday, and this morning woke up early, drove over to the paper, and met with him for almost two hours. Nice guy. Really nice guy, actually. About my age, probably a year or three older, really smart, and someone I'd love to work with. I filled out the paperwork and will be an "independent contract" journalist with the paper again -- the complicated way of saying I'll be a freelancer with them again, a stringer, and will be apparently focusing on feature articles. It also puts me at the top of the list for a full reporter position again if and when a position of that sort would open up.
"I do have to tell you this, though," I told my new boss. "You read my resume, and I told you before that I've applied for a lot of teaching positions all around the country. Obviously, in order to teach this fall, if it's logistically possible for me to pack up and go if someone in another state offers me a job, I need to do that."
"That's completely understandable," he said. "Remember, you're an independent contract journalist with us at this point -- you can do what you want and vice versa."
"I know that, but I would feel like an asshole if I had a bunch of assignments on my plate that I suddenly had to drop and hand back to you if something else came up. I worked here for a long time; I have a loyalty and sense of duty to you folks, and I hate letting anyone down."
"Understandable."
"Also, even if that doesn't happen, there's a good chance that I'll be adjuncting at [university] this fall, taking on up to five classes to teach. If that happens, my ability to write for you folks will be dramatically lessened."
I wanted to make it clear that as much as I loved working for the newspaper, as it is a pretty sweet job, I've got a lot of other feelers out right now for something that will pay me a liveable wage. While my priorities for the moment are focused on the paper, that doesn't mean everything will remain that way for a long time -- and truthfully, all of that could change within a week or so. He seemed to understand that; it also seemed quite apparent that I was the only person who had expressed any interest in writing for them, stringer or otherwise.
A lot (and I mean, with much emphasis, a lot) of the logistics and behind-the-scenes stuff has changed since I was last working there -- for one, I'm not working with any of the news crew I worked with before. They're all gone now, save for the sports guy. For two, the entire newsroom has been overhauled and rebuilt. A ton of positions have been eliminated, as much of what the paper now does is automated, and a lot of the more tedious work I used to do when I was there before -- such as layout, online advertising, online publishing, etc -- all of it has either been automated and/or is taken care of by the company itself now. That means that there's been a lot of reorganization within all newspapers owned by that company, as well as budget cuts and/or layoffs. It's been a mess. The webmaster position I used to have there has been completely eliminated, for example, which I was told three years ago, even, when I was working there, that it probably would be once I left. There are a few holdouts, however, mostly staff, who are still around, a few of which I got to talk to before I left. It felt like I was home again after a long absence.
So, I have a job again, apparently. Or at least sort of a job. The going rate for the stories I'll write is $30 each, $40 if I get pictures as well (some of those will be stories where pictures aren't really applicable, however). I've been encouraged to come to my new boss (read: the editor) with ideas and thoughts about stuff that could be turned into features, though I'm not incredibly sure how that's going to work as I don't get out much. In the meantime whatever I can do, I'll do. $30-40 an article isn't great money, of course, but it's a little. Pocket money, money I can get food with or fill the gas tank in my car with. Obviously, it's not enough to live on, but for the moment it's something, and if I'm writing several stories a week until I get something more substantial -- there or somewhere else -- it's better than nothing.
This thought was in the back of my mind, of course, the entire time I was in Omaha -- I knew as soon as I got back, if nothing else I would be able to go over to the paper and help out, and get a little cash for my trouble (as well as more experience). So, upon my return, when I had two rejection letters from two different universities I'd applied to teach at (one in Pittsburgh and another in Kentucky), I wasn't incredibly distraught.
But I'm getting ahead of myself. Onward with the story I started in my last post...
The 4th was pretty uneventful, and it was filled with relaxing family interaction. Daisy's mother went to bed after dark, and I sat out on the porch chatting with her father for probably two hours before he went to bed as well. Daisy and I stayed awake a bit longer before going to bed, but still went to bed before it got really late. We had a lot to do the next day, and throughout the weekend.
The next morning, we got up and had breakfast with the family -- bacon, bagels, and other wonderful breakfast stuff. We'd planned to get our haircuts on Friday (that day) if at all possible, but Daisy called to make us appointments and found out that not only were they closed, but they would be closed throughout the weekend until Monday. I had already shaved down to a goatee in anticipation of getting a haircut, as I look really weird with a full beard and short hair (plus, when I shaved it had been really hot). I was itching to get out of the house and do something, even if it was something inconsequential. We'd wanted to go see a movie, but wanted to wait until Tuesday night (as it was the "cheap movie night" at the theater). Daisy had Friday off, so we could really do whatever we wanted. We ended up going out about town for a bit, going over to Gordman's and getting me some dress clothing fairly cheaply (I got several nice, dressier shirts on clearance, one of which -- a Polo shirt -- I wore to my newspaper "interview" this morning). Her parents offered us dinner, but we declined -- we had plans.
Daisy had, weeks before, asked if I wanted to go to some arcade up there. Family Fun Center, or something like that. I told her I'd be happy to, as part of a date-night thing, but that it wasn't required. This was good, because as we were driving to it, Daisy's GPS went on the fritz and stopped working, basically (it happened again, in the same spot, two days later). So, as a result, we couldn't find it.
"It's fine, babe," I said. "We don't have to go to this place, we can go somewhere else."
"Well, there's a Dave & Buster's right up the stree---"
"Take me."
That's basically how the conversation went. For those of you who have never been to one, Dave & Buster's is basically like a Chuck E. Cheese for adults. And it's awesome. So we went there and had an awesome date night, and afterwards went to our favorite pizza place in the city, Night Flight Pizza, where we shared vegan cheesesticks and a vegan artichoke/onion/garlic pizza before going home and ending our night.
Here's the thing, though -- while Daisy had Friday off, she still had to work Saturday, Sunday, and Monday nights. While I'm not normally up there and visiting while she works, this time I would be. I knew this beforehand, of course. Adding to this was the fact that her parents were leaving for Colorado on Saturday morning for their new grandchild's christening (Daisy's sister had a little boy a couple of months ago), so Daisy and I would have free reign of the house -- and when she was at work, I would have free reign of the house. I made the joke that I needed the home address there again so that I could put out a message on Facebook that said "House party at [Daisy's] place, __________." She didn't find it as funny as I did.
Obviously I would never do that anyway.
Before leaving, Daisy's dad asked us to take care of the house, water the plants, and get the mail while they were away -- they weren't returning until Tuesday night -- and that I was welcome to any food in the fridge or freezer that I wanted to make for myself. I was told to make myself at home, as Daisy's parents always tell me.
I don't take advantage of this; I never have or will. I'm not the kind of person who's like "free food? MUST HAVE IT ALL" or anything like that. I made jokes to Daisy about raiding the fridge/freezer/pantry, but in reality all I did was bring up some American cheese and some pepperoni from the freezer while her parents were gone. Cheese and pepperoni, I might add, that would be used almost immediately upon their arrival home.
"There's steak down there! Shrimp!" her father told me upon their arrival back home. "You could've had anything you wanted!"
I know that. I didn't need it. It would've felt intrusive or advantageous of me. I only use what I need to survive, and Daisy had made a point of planning and cooking several vegan meals for us while I was up there. I didn't want for anything. It's also an issue, for me, of the golden rule -- treat others as you'd want to be treated, etc. I do, of course, want Daisy to eat and have whatever she wants when she visits me, as my house is her house. And she does, and I don't mind that at all -- I encourage it. It's different for her parents; I have way too much respect for them to perform a freezer raid and eat $30 worth of steak or shrimp. Being poor puts that in perspective to me -- I know how much food costs. I don't like costing people money, nor did I see a personal need for any of that stuff. So, while I'm open to it and very thankful that I'm given such free reign, such trust, I'm not going to take advantage of it and eat all of the stuff they spent a lot of grocery money on. As much as I like decadent things on occasion, I am a minimalist at heart: I only use what I need to survive, and I don't want to inconvenience anyone, or cost them money, in doing so.
Anyway, when Saturday afternoon rolled around (when we got up), everyone was gone and Daisy had to work that night. We went out and got vegan junk food for dinner (pierogies, fries, fake chicken nuggets, and veggie burgers) and ate that. I also opened my computer for the first time, to see...that it was 73 degrees in Newton and raining.
I'd been outside a good chunk of the afternoon on Saturday, and it was 90 and blistering hot in the sun in Omaha.
"So it waits until I leave town -- and leave the state -- before it gets cool and rains in Newton?" I asked Daisy. "Figures."
I was mad at mother nature. Of course the weather back home is my absolute ideal weather in the middle of the afternoon, after I'd been begging for it for two weeks or so, when I wasn't fucking there to enjoy it. Of course that's how it works. Still, 73 and rainy was good for the cats -- it would mean that the house wouldn't heat up and get nasty/stuffy for a while when I was gone -- if it's cool outside for an extended period of time, that generally means it stays cool in the house for a while even if it gets hot outside again, especially when the house is closed up, which it was.
Thar night, Daisy went to work and I didn't do much -- she asked if I wanted to know how to work the TV, the Wii, Netflix, etc, but I told her no; I wouldn't use it. I had my laptop, mp3 player, DS, and a book. My entertainment quota was filled, and I needed nothing else. She came home for lunch around midnight and I ate with her, and after she went back to work, I showered and went to bed around 3. She would join me once she got home from work in the morning.
Sunday was very quiet; I got up on Sunday morning around 11 or so, made coffee, and continued to go about my morning routine (though it was a bit altered from the routine I have in my own house). I knew she'd worked all night and hadn't slept a lot over the past few days I'd been up there, so I let her sleep. She slept all day long; I figured that if she was sleeping all day long, she needed to do so, and left her alone. Finally, around 5:30PM, I went upstairs to check on her and wake her. She had been out like a light and had slept close to ten hours straight by this point, so I wanted to make sure she was okay. She was, of course; she just needed sleep. We got up, made a quick dinner (I don't even remember what we had now; it was almost a week ago) and she went to work once more.
About an hour or two into her shift, she sent me a message telling me that she had asked for, and had received, Monday off. This meant that we could do whatever we wanted all day on Monday without having to worry about her needing sleep before going back to work that night yet again. She'd mentioned earlier that she wanted to do this, and I told her it would be good provided that they wouldn't try to screw her over by making her work one of her regular days off to make up for it...since, y'know, that wouldn't really work with me needing to come back home. This freed up Monday for us to get our haircuts and to go out to the Chinese buffet, which is something I wanted to do while I was there in town.
Meanwhile, I had checked the weather forecast for down here to see if it had changed...and it had. Instead of highs being in the mid-to-high-80s at most (which, I'll remind you, is what it should be in Kansas this time of year), the forecast had been completely altered over the course of the day beforehand. Now, it was scheduled to have highs every day of 99, 100, 103, etc -- with the hottest day being Tuesday, where it was supposed to hit 104.
It hit 106 here on Tuesday while I was in Omaha, but that's neither here nor there now.
This, of course, made me worry about the cats. I had provided them with four large bowls of water, bowls they couldn't/wouldn't tip over, two massive bowls of food, and two fresh, filled litter pans. However, I know how much water the cats drink when it's hot, and when it's that hot outside, without me there to monitor them and make sure they were staying cool, I immediately got concerned. The house was closed up, everything was turned off, and I know how hot it gets in there when it's closed up, unless it's cool outside -- after a certain point, as I've written here before, even if I left the air conditioner on and running at max capacity for twelve hours, it's not enough to cool down the house more than five degrees or so. When the Kansas sun is unrestrained and scorching, and when the temperature outside gets above 95 or so, my house turns into a greenhouse. Run the AC all you like, but it'll never be below 90 in there. When the AC is off, it's not uncommon to have it match the same temperature it is outside...in the basement. It's always about ten or fifteen degrees warmer upstairs. This is why, as it was 100 this afternoon, it is still 96 in the upstairs of my house right now (and why I'm so hot that sweat is dripping off of me and I find it hard to concentrate enough to write). The heat doesn't go away once the sun goes down, either. Again, greenhouse. In fact, it usually gets hotter, at least upstairs and definitely in my Man Cave, in the overnight hours. I don't know why. I'll probably never know why.
Anyway, this made me worry about the cats. Again, they're not stupid -- when it's hot, they go downstairs where it's cooler, sleeping on the tile or under the bed. When they're hot, they sleep more and they're not as active. And, regardless of how hot it is, as it's been much hotter than that before, they've always been fine. They don't get sick, they don't get heatstroke, they remain...well, cats. I resigned myself to the fact that even if I were there, there was little I could do to help them stay cool aside from making it about five degrees cooler in the house with the AC, at the cost of a massive electric bill. As I've also written before, after a certain point there's no reason to run the damned thing -- it's just a waste of money for very little, temporary comfort. It's an old house, poorly insulated, and the AC unit is as old as I am. There's nothing I can do; what is, is.
Still, in the back of my mind, for the rest of the time we were in Omaha, I was worried about my fuzzy children. I couldn't not worry -- Daisy, of all people, knows how important my cats are to me, and she understands my mentality towards them. They are, effectively, children to me. Some of you may think that's stupid, but they are. I've raised them from kittens, I feed them, take care of them, cuddle them, and they sleep with me -- all of them, every night.
I shall, in my next post, finish this story.
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