It's one of those stories that makes you either fear for survival of the species, because people are too stupid to live, or make you fear for your own survival because people will take any opportunity to rip you off.
Someone posted a couple of ads on Craigslist in Southern Oregon saying a homeowner had to leave quickly and his belongings were free for the taking. And given the power of Craigslist, word got out and people showed up and started carting stuff off. (See the story from Associated Press here.) Even when the owner got tipped off to the ripoff and returned home to confront some of the people on his property, they hauled his stuff off anyway.
According to a report in the Medford Mail Tribune, he is starting to get some of his stuff back.
Check out some of the comments being posted to the news article too. I get a particular kick out of the ones justifying people who showed up to take stuff because they believed the ad.
Maybe our schools, churches and families have stopped teaching the lesson about being wary about offers that appear to be too good to be true because they probably are.
Oh, sure maybe someone somewhere is giving stuff away, but don't you think if someone intended to do that they would be there, or someone would be to hand out the booty? Someone that could prove they had title to the property or authority to give it away?
I guess we can only hope the people who would outright steal so blatantly or be so willing to believe such nonsense are also the same bright folks who steal copper wires from live electrical transformers. Perhaps that problem will take care of itself over time.
And if not, I'm going to start crafting my Craigslist ad for Willamette Valley oceanfront property for a bargain price. Why drive all the way to Astoria or Newport or Lincoln City when you can see the ocean from your own private deck, close to I-5.
We accept PayPal, direct electronic transfers or cash.
Monday, March 24, 2008
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Could the future president be coming to town?
Democratic presidential candidate Barack Obama is coming to Oregon at the end of the week and he is scheduled to make an appearance in Salem.
According to the Statesman Journal website, tickets are required at his Salem appearance, but no more tickets are available.
I don't talk about my politics, even with friends, so I won't say who I will be voting for in the Oregon primary or in November. Actually, I'm not sure if I'll get to vote for anyone in the primary, since I also didn't tell state election officials my politics and I am not affiliated with a major (or minor) political party. But I am a little intrigues by the opportunity to see someone who could be a future president with my own eyes.
Perhaps I was born too late. I love lots of the modern technological conveniences and devices, but I miss campaign style of earlier generations where candidates made their stump speeches from the backs of trains at a railroad siding while traveling the nation.
I got to meet a former president once and covered a couple of presidential candidates' appearances in Oregon when I was in college -- Jesse Jackson and Michael Dukakis. Papers I've worked for have covered campaign appearances, but I was long since relegated to desk duty during those events.
Maybe I just forget the feeling and excitement of those appearances because so much time has passed. But Obama's candidacy seems to be different. There is an energy and excitement out there among the public and the mainstream press. I guess I am intrigues at the idea of find out what that excitement is all about for myself.
Odds are, I won't go. I probably wouldn't get to a spot where I would see anything more than the candidate's motorcade anyway. It's just exciting that at least one of the primary races is close enough that a candidate will make several Oregon appearances. Back in January, I figured it both races would be long over by the time Oregon's primary rolled around in May. I don't we will see McCain or the Democratic Party nominee before the November general election. Oregon just isn't a big enough state with enough voters to matter in the fall, unless they make a quick pass through Portland en route to Seattle or somewhere else.
I'll also be curious to see whether Hillary Clinton visits any other cities besides Portland prior to the primary.
According to the Statesman Journal website, tickets are required at his Salem appearance, but no more tickets are available.
I don't talk about my politics, even with friends, so I won't say who I will be voting for in the Oregon primary or in November. Actually, I'm not sure if I'll get to vote for anyone in the primary, since I also didn't tell state election officials my politics and I am not affiliated with a major (or minor) political party. But I am a little intrigues by the opportunity to see someone who could be a future president with my own eyes.
Perhaps I was born too late. I love lots of the modern technological conveniences and devices, but I miss campaign style of earlier generations where candidates made their stump speeches from the backs of trains at a railroad siding while traveling the nation.
I got to meet a former president once and covered a couple of presidential candidates' appearances in Oregon when I was in college -- Jesse Jackson and Michael Dukakis. Papers I've worked for have covered campaign appearances, but I was long since relegated to desk duty during those events.
Maybe I just forget the feeling and excitement of those appearances because so much time has passed. But Obama's candidacy seems to be different. There is an energy and excitement out there among the public and the mainstream press. I guess I am intrigues at the idea of find out what that excitement is all about for myself.
Odds are, I won't go. I probably wouldn't get to a spot where I would see anything more than the candidate's motorcade anyway. It's just exciting that at least one of the primary races is close enough that a candidate will make several Oregon appearances. Back in January, I figured it both races would be long over by the time Oregon's primary rolled around in May. I don't we will see McCain or the Democratic Party nominee before the November general election. Oregon just isn't a big enough state with enough voters to matter in the fall, unless they make a quick pass through Portland en route to Seattle or somewhere else.
I'll also be curious to see whether Hillary Clinton visits any other cities besides Portland prior to the primary.
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Reaching for the breaching
I've had this urge. It's a craving. A pull. A need. It's a hunger that I have been unable to fulfill.
I've had this urge to write. Not a work of fiction. Not something related to my job. Something more personal. But I haven't been able to start.
It's sort of like when I have insomnia. No matter how tired I am, there are times when I can't bring myself to even try to sleep. It's been like that. I haven't been able to bring myself to write whatever it is in the middle of the whirlwind swirling around in my brain.
At so many points in my life, writing has been my solace. My therapy. It's as if the words flowing out through the ink from a pen, or that are tapped out through the stream of consciousness on a keyboard carry me like a river on some great expedition of self discovery.
I have the distinct impression, a feeling, that I'm coming up on some sort of turning point. A new phase. Like I want -- need -- to do something bold. But I need to write it out to figure out what that thing is.
I've done a little research for a blog post I want to do based on something I found online a few days ago. It was something that reminded me of my dad and family and my early childhood. I've bookmarked a few sites that I want to link to in that post. But that isn't the story I feel the need to tell. It's not the source of the craving. The urge.
This post ain't it either. I thought maybe if I started trying to explain the feeling that the source of the feeling would reveal itself.
If only the words would come. The right words. Then maybe I could find what I'm looking for.
I've had this urge to write. Not a work of fiction. Not something related to my job. Something more personal. But I haven't been able to start.
It's sort of like when I have insomnia. No matter how tired I am, there are times when I can't bring myself to even try to sleep. It's been like that. I haven't been able to bring myself to write whatever it is in the middle of the whirlwind swirling around in my brain.
At so many points in my life, writing has been my solace. My therapy. It's as if the words flowing out through the ink from a pen, or that are tapped out through the stream of consciousness on a keyboard carry me like a river on some great expedition of self discovery.
I have the distinct impression, a feeling, that I'm coming up on some sort of turning point. A new phase. Like I want -- need -- to do something bold. But I need to write it out to figure out what that thing is.
I've done a little research for a blog post I want to do based on something I found online a few days ago. It was something that reminded me of my dad and family and my early childhood. I've bookmarked a few sites that I want to link to in that post. But that isn't the story I feel the need to tell. It's not the source of the craving. The urge.
This post ain't it either. I thought maybe if I started trying to explain the feeling that the source of the feeling would reveal itself.
If only the words would come. The right words. Then maybe I could find what I'm looking for.
Monday, March 10, 2008
An enjoyable journey down October Road
This season's TV viewing has been pretty much a bust. The writer's strike left a lot of long winter nights without some familiar faces and video friends to keep us company.
I'm currently watching the season finale of October Road. I find it ironic that the second season is ending after showing about one season's worth of shows since it's debut.
In this strike-shortened year, it is an odd irony that one of the bright spots of the last few weeks has been a show that is very well written. I hope that's not a kiss of death for the show as the last well-written show I became a fan of was the Aaron Sorkin drama, Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip. That show died an all-too-quick death.
But October Road is different, because it's a show about normal people and the normal dramas of life. It's not another cop show, or a hospital show or a show about a show. It's a show a bout a small town guy and his mixed feelings about returning home. Trying to get a life back he left behind and reconnect with the people he loves who he once walked away from in pursuit of a dream.
I can related to that. And it features great music.
I like October Road. I hope it has a long and winding journey.
I'm currently watching the season finale of October Road. I find it ironic that the second season is ending after showing about one season's worth of shows since it's debut.
In this strike-shortened year, it is an odd irony that one of the bright spots of the last few weeks has been a show that is very well written. I hope that's not a kiss of death for the show as the last well-written show I became a fan of was the Aaron Sorkin drama, Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip. That show died an all-too-quick death.
But October Road is different, because it's a show about normal people and the normal dramas of life. It's not another cop show, or a hospital show or a show about a show. It's a show a bout a small town guy and his mixed feelings about returning home. Trying to get a life back he left behind and reconnect with the people he loves who he once walked away from in pursuit of a dream.
I can related to that. And it features great music.
I like October Road. I hope it has a long and winding journey.
Friday, March 7, 2008
17 Across: Triumph, but just barely
Something is wrong with the universe. I just finished a New York Times puzzle.
Maybe it's one of their easy puzzles, I don't know. But that was pretty weird.
I know a lot of people in my line of work -- newspaper journalists -- that are crossword puzzlers, but I never picked up the habit. One of my exes was something of a fanatic about her morning routine, which included doing (or at least starting) the puzzle out of the morning paper. Sometimes, I would pick up a half-finished puzzle and try filling in a few blanks, but I would usually lose interest in short order. I'd get bored, or frustrated, or be unsure of the spelling of some word and have no confidence of writing my guess in ink, so I'd toss the paper aside and do something -- anything -- else.
I don't know what possessed me to even start working on a puzzle today. But the lifestyle section of a paper from a few days ago was sitting here next to me and I picked it up and dove into the Sudoku puzzle. Those things, I'm mildly addicted to. In fact it's become part of my bedtime routine to do a few puzzles to empty my brain of other thoughts. I have a Sudoko game loaded on my iPod and I can do puzzles on there for hours until I either get tired of the games or get too physically tired that I doze off.
The Sudoku puzzle in the paper wasn't much of a challenge and I whipped through it pretty fast. I still had some time to kill, so I decided to try a few clues on the crossword. I got more clues than I expected and just kept going. Next thing I knew, all the squares were filled in.
I have a bit of a complex about writing out words, particularly longhand. I'm not a confident speller, and grammar isn't my strong suit either. I used to hate being called up in front of the class in school to write anything on the chalkboard. Maybe that's why I didn't pursue writing earlier in my life. I enjoyed writing but didn't aspire to study it or try to make a living with it because of the stigma about spelling. I took some newswriting classes in college because I had to to pursue my interest in newspaper photography as a major. But I figured the longest thing I'd every have to write was a photo caption after college. It turned out, I was wrong.
Thank God for computers and spellcheck programs. Still, I need an editor (as may be obvious from my posts).
That's my core paranoia. What if the other word folks around me will discover I'm an impostor. That I'm not a word person. I started off in journalism as a photographer. There was no conscious plan to become a reporter/editor. Years ago, when I was between jobs, I had an opportunity to work as a reporter on a fill-in basis for a paper that had a vacancy. The voyage to the word-side was supposed to be temporary. As an ambitious (and poorly paid) reporter, I aspired to move up and became an editor.
Now, after nearly 18 years working as a writer and editor, I'm finding that maybe I'm a little bit more of a word person than I've ever really bothered to give myself credit for being. Most people I've worked with in my career have only known me as a word guy. They don't know that my own self image is that I'm a picture taker who's pulling a fast one on everyone.
It's funny to wake up one morning and realize the person in the mirror isn't the person you thought you'd find. Sometimes you expect to find a Sudoku puzzler and discover a crossword puzzler instead.
Maybe it's one of their easy puzzles, I don't know. But that was pretty weird.
I know a lot of people in my line of work -- newspaper journalists -- that are crossword puzzlers, but I never picked up the habit. One of my exes was something of a fanatic about her morning routine, which included doing (or at least starting) the puzzle out of the morning paper. Sometimes, I would pick up a half-finished puzzle and try filling in a few blanks, but I would usually lose interest in short order. I'd get bored, or frustrated, or be unsure of the spelling of some word and have no confidence of writing my guess in ink, so I'd toss the paper aside and do something -- anything -- else.
I don't know what possessed me to even start working on a puzzle today. But the lifestyle section of a paper from a few days ago was sitting here next to me and I picked it up and dove into the Sudoku puzzle. Those things, I'm mildly addicted to. In fact it's become part of my bedtime routine to do a few puzzles to empty my brain of other thoughts. I have a Sudoko game loaded on my iPod and I can do puzzles on there for hours until I either get tired of the games or get too physically tired that I doze off.
The Sudoku puzzle in the paper wasn't much of a challenge and I whipped through it pretty fast. I still had some time to kill, so I decided to try a few clues on the crossword. I got more clues than I expected and just kept going. Next thing I knew, all the squares were filled in.
I have a bit of a complex about writing out words, particularly longhand. I'm not a confident speller, and grammar isn't my strong suit either. I used to hate being called up in front of the class in school to write anything on the chalkboard. Maybe that's why I didn't pursue writing earlier in my life. I enjoyed writing but didn't aspire to study it or try to make a living with it because of the stigma about spelling. I took some newswriting classes in college because I had to to pursue my interest in newspaper photography as a major. But I figured the longest thing I'd every have to write was a photo caption after college. It turned out, I was wrong.
Thank God for computers and spellcheck programs. Still, I need an editor (as may be obvious from my posts).
That's my core paranoia. What if the other word folks around me will discover I'm an impostor. That I'm not a word person. I started off in journalism as a photographer. There was no conscious plan to become a reporter/editor. Years ago, when I was between jobs, I had an opportunity to work as a reporter on a fill-in basis for a paper that had a vacancy. The voyage to the word-side was supposed to be temporary. As an ambitious (and poorly paid) reporter, I aspired to move up and became an editor.
Now, after nearly 18 years working as a writer and editor, I'm finding that maybe I'm a little bit more of a word person than I've ever really bothered to give myself credit for being. Most people I've worked with in my career have only known me as a word guy. They don't know that my own self image is that I'm a picture taker who's pulling a fast one on everyone.
It's funny to wake up one morning and realize the person in the mirror isn't the person you thought you'd find. Sometimes you expect to find a Sudoku puzzler and discover a crossword puzzler instead.
Thursday, March 6, 2008
Hey, Dex, can you help me out?
My efforts to polish my culinary skills (OK, the develop ANY cooking skills) have been derailed, at least momentarily.
My grocery supply has run short, so I've reverted to some of my old ways the last few days. I've been eating out more often the last few days. I have no good excuse.
I may have rediscovered why I never developed the habit of regularly eating at home. Did you realized that in order to have food food in the house you have to go shopping? With each and every meal you prepare, your food supply is diminished. And if you don't use it fast enough, some of it spoils! What's up with that?
The fact of the matter is I've just been too lazy to go back to the store to stock up again. On the way home from work, I'm just not motivated to deal with tramping up and down the aisles, checkout counters, etc. So, then I get home, get busy being a bum, and then it just gets too late to go to the grocery store.
Maybe I need to start exploring the options to shop online and get my groceries delivered. Then I can sit on my ever-expanding butt at midnight in my underwear and artery-clogging digestibles.
***
I obviously spend too much time setting on my widening butt watching TV. So, since not everyone has that sort of quality time to bond with their boob tube, I'll share with you what I've learned.
There is this actor named Brian Stepanek who seems to be in every frickin' commercial there is. But don't take my word for it. Here are some samples:
For more samples of his work, check out the commercial reel on his website. The dude in omnipresent and funny as hell.
Have I ever mentioned that I did some acting in high school? Maybe I could have been the Dex guy! Naw, on second thought, probably not. If I was Dex, I'd already know how to find a grocery store that delivers after shopping online.
For some reason I'm craving a DiGiorno pizza and a DQ Blizzard.
My grocery supply has run short, so I've reverted to some of my old ways the last few days. I've been eating out more often the last few days. I have no good excuse.
I may have rediscovered why I never developed the habit of regularly eating at home. Did you realized that in order to have food food in the house you have to go shopping? With each and every meal you prepare, your food supply is diminished. And if you don't use it fast enough, some of it spoils! What's up with that?
The fact of the matter is I've just been too lazy to go back to the store to stock up again. On the way home from work, I'm just not motivated to deal with tramping up and down the aisles, checkout counters, etc. So, then I get home, get busy being a bum, and then it just gets too late to go to the grocery store.
Maybe I need to start exploring the options to shop online and get my groceries delivered. Then I can sit on my ever-expanding butt at midnight in my underwear and artery-clogging digestibles.
***
I obviously spend too much time setting on my widening butt watching TV. So, since not everyone has that sort of quality time to bond with their boob tube, I'll share with you what I've learned.
There is this actor named Brian Stepanek who seems to be in every frickin' commercial there is. But don't take my word for it. Here are some samples:
For more samples of his work, check out the commercial reel on his website. The dude in omnipresent and funny as hell.
Have I ever mentioned that I did some acting in high school? Maybe I could have been the Dex guy! Naw, on second thought, probably not. If I was Dex, I'd already know how to find a grocery store that delivers after shopping online.
For some reason I'm craving a DiGiorno pizza and a DQ Blizzard.
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
The thingy's busted
I think my writer is broken. Every time I try to start a blog post, whatever I'm writing turns to mush and I either just leave it as a draft or delete what I have and start over. With more mush.
That's the only explanation I can think of. Something has to be broken. It couldn't be that I have nothing relevant to say, could it?
Nah, that can't be it.
My writer-thingy must be broken.
That's the only explanation I can think of. Something has to be broken. It couldn't be that I have nothing relevant to say, could it?
Nah, that can't be it.
My writer-thingy must be broken.
Monday, March 3, 2008
Some touch-and-goes are touchier than others
I saw this video earlier today (first posted on a site called LiveLeak.com) and it made me glad I wasn't on this plane. But it did remind me of a hairy takeoff several years ago from Ontario International Airport.
That particular adventure was on a Southwest Airlines flight. I was traveling with three coworkers up to Sacramento to help our sister paper in Marysville cover a flood. We were like the relief workers, after they had all been working days around the clock.
One of the people in our little quartet hated to fly. As the son of a pilot, I was trying to convince him that flying was no big deal. The weather, however, made our takeoff a very big, nearly very bad, deal.
I had never felt a plane turn sideways as soon at the wheels lost contact with the ground, but I did that evening. I'm glad I don't have video of that little adventure to see just how much like this German landing it really was.
The only other time I got nervous on a flight a couple of years ago this month coming into Portland International Airport.
I wrote something about that landing a couple of years ago in another venue, but here's how I described that little adventure.
Portland... was in the midst of a squall. The wind was obviously kicking up pretty good, because that MD-80 was tossed around.... We were bucking and bouncing and slipping and banging all the way through the final approach. The passengers seemed to handle it pretty well, but you know the turbulence is bad when you are sitting in the back of the plane and you can see the front of the cabin bouncing and gyrating around.
After we reached the terminal, when everyone was in the rush to hurry up and wait in the aisle, I asked one of the flight attendants one of those stupid "Here's your
sign" sort of questions.Me: So, is it windy here?
Blonde flight attendant: Yea, there's quite a storm out there. It's been like that all day.
Me: I thought that landing seemed a little rougher than normal.
Flight attendant: Yea, it thought I was going to get sick there for a minute.
It does not bode well when your flight attendant admits queasiness on landing.
On both occasions, I had far less harrowing travels than the folks who were coming into Hamburg on Saturday. Here's one account of what happened. Good thing the pilot on the Airbus didn't lose his cool, or his lunch.
Healey's passing leaves guitars weeping again
Canadian guitarist Jeff Healey could make a guitar weep, or roar. His unconventional playing style, holding the guitar across his lap, allowed him to make one instrument sound like many. But sadly, now that guitar is silent.
Jeff Healey died Sunday in Toronto at age 41.
I can't claim to be an expert on music, or even Healey's music, but I am proud to be a fan of his blues/rock. I got to see Healey perform once, years ago, in Medford, Ore. My roommate at the time, Logan, and I ventured across the mountains from Klamath Falls to see the Jeff Healey Band perform at some forgotten venue in Medford.
I don't remember when, or where, I first heard Healey's music. It was probably in college. But Logan converted me into a fan of Stevie Ray Vaughan, another blues/rock guitar virtuoso. Vaughan, who was also taken the world far too soon, dies shortly shortly after Logan introduced me to his music. Now, Healey's passing has reminding me a friend from long ago I haven't seen in many years. But that's the magic of music. It's the ultimate time machine.
My early Healey music collection was on cassette tapes, now gathering dust in a back room. But I have added some of my favorite Healey song onto my digital music collection. I'd like to find some of his jazz work to see if I enjoy that as much as his blues sound. It's amazing how music with so much energy and vitality can still sound so sad an mournful at the same time.
Since I heard of Healey's passing earlier today, the refrains of his cover of George Harrison's "While My Guitar Gently Weeps," have been running through my head. Today, guitars all over the world are weeping, because Jeff Healey won't be around to make them sing as only he could.
R.I.P. Jeff, and thanks for sharing your special talent and the music of others who came to it through your love for music of earlier generations.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)