Conflicted emotions

The times, they certainly are a’changing.

One place this is perfectly evident is in the world of newspapers and reporting.

A number of key dailies have either gone out of business or gone to internet only publication to cut printing costs. As these papers scale back, they must also downsize their staff.

Just last week, I was referring to something that Gene Grant had written about in his column (published in the Albuquerque Journal). I’d said that I had always liked Gene’s work, whether or not I always agreed with him.

I find him to be both eloquent and articulate. Something lacking in so many of today’s so-called journalists.

Just two days after I had been extolling Gene’s virtues, I read his last column for the ABQjournal.

Said Gene: “A small story in the historic and difficult choices newspaper owners and editors are facing. It’s tough out there.”

Gene and his opinion column have fallen victim to the world of the internet and the ever present blog-ready online world.

I love my blog and the forum to be able to openly express my opinions on a variety of topics, but I realize that the blogosphere has taken down talented journalists like Gene.

And I have conflicted feelings on that subject.

On the one hand, I lament the lack of real journalism with integrity and reporting “just the facts.” This is, I know, an antiquated notion. Opinion has made its way into the media, as each paper has its own axe to grind. My own local rag, the San Francisco Chronicle, is one of the worst.

So although I wish for strong, precise journalism, it just doesn’t exist anymore.

Then again, on the other hand, I think the rise of blogging is a good thing. No longer am I subjected to only the forced opinions of my local paper or other media outlets. I can seek out a variety of dissenting opinions, take them all in, and then make up my own mind. Knowledge is power.

I wonder if blogging wouldn’t be quite the force it is if our journalistic outlets gave us the unbiased news we desire? Or perhaps it would be popular, but in a different way.

So while I’m sad to see the demise of newspapers and the downsizing of talented writers like Gene Grant, I think it was inevitable.

The newspaper world is a stodgy old industry and it’s high time for that old dog to learn some new tricks.

Change or die is the motto these days. Newspapers aren’t immune.

Something tells me 2009 is going to be a wild ride.

Oh Snap!

Richardson drops bid for commerce secretary post

Yeah…Oh Fair New Mexico…you were thisclose to having one of ours seated firmly in the cabinet of our new president.

The presidency that will certainly be historic. The one that promised change.

But instead, you sit on the sidelines, dress torn, makeup smeared, hair all a mess, not yet ready for the Miss America contest.

C’mon you crazy mixed up state! Let me take you out for a nice plate of enchiladas and a pitcher of margaritas.

You can even have the extra sopapilla.

We’ll get ’em next time, tiger!

Please have snow, and mistletoe

Oh what fun it is to ride in a one horse open sleigh.

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.

Ok, so yesterday and today I have been listening to big time holiday music.

This morning as I drove in to work, singing along, I sang about snow while noticing the raging rainstorm pelting my windshield.

You know what…given where and how I was raised, and even where I live now, most of these traditional holiday songs are truly meaningless to me.

Rarely was there snow on the ground at Christmas in Albuquerque. If there was (once, I think) it was melted before the day was out.

No where in the collection of holiday songs is the singer lamenting for Christmas of their youth were it was 65 and sunny.

Or having tamales to eat on Christmas Eve.

Or plucking a piƱon tannenbaum out of the pile for 15 bucks a piece at the flea market.

Or filling paper bags with sand.

No, the “east coast bias” that applies to sports seems to infiltrate the holiday as well.

Heck, in my new digs, Christmas is about rain. And crab (tis crab season, yum!).

Where’s the song for that?

Doesn’t exist!

I *could* feel bad that the east coasters get snow and fabulous Macy’s windows filled with displays and thus they get to understand the true meaning of the old standards.

But I don’t. I wouldn’t trade my own memories for all the Fa La La La La in the world.

Haaawhoof!

That approximates the exact sound I made at about 10:55 this morning.

I had a “meet and greet” with the boss of my boss, a high ranking and incredibly powerful woman.

I mean, she’s brilliant. Has a degree in chemistry and another in finance. Worked for an oil company in Houston for many years and then made her way west. The continuing upward steps in her career are admirable.

Her background is deep, diverse and amazing.

Let’s just say this: She is a force to be reckoned with.

And as a new employee in her organization, I got the chance to have an hour of her time so she could get to know me and so I could get to know her too.

I was told by my mentor that I should, “come with an agenda, don’t leave open air”. Her time if valuable, to be sure. And so I did. I came to the table with a print out of questions I jotted down and I noticed she took note that I had.

I asked her about her background, her management philosophy and what I can do to be effective here at the company. And she answered very candidly.

I even asked her what is her nitpick so that I can manage to that. She told me two.

That’s some managerial self-awareness!

So it was an intense hour, but good, meaningful and filled with useful information.

When it was over, I came out of her office pitted out (meaning, I needed a Right Guard moment, raise your hands if you’re Sure, etc).

So, for me, the life moments that cause me to get pitted out all get measured on the scale of completing the orals for my Master’s degree.

Wearing a suit, in front of my professor committee, at the marker board, explaining economic theory. Yeah, despite two coats of D.O., I was WAY pitted out that day. That was the worst.

So if we call “Master’s Orals” a 10, today’s moisture was about a three. So low, but still…

I musta been more nervous that I even thought going in.

When all was done, I came out of the boss lady’s office, went up two floors to my office, ripped off my cardigan, and uttered a long drawn out “haaawhoof!”

You know the sound. The one you make when you’ve finished your laborious taxes. The one you make when your shaky team is up by one with three seconds on the clock in a playoff game and they manage to win.

The one you make when you want very much to make a good impression on someone who could literally make or break you and your career.

Haaaaawhoooooof!