Statesman newsroom adventure

The smooth white columns were the first to greet me. The door swung with me--escorting me through.
"May I help you?" he asked.
I signed in and waiting. The newest issue of the Statesman, of course, layed quaintly on the coffee table in the lobby.
"You found it ok?" Mr. Barnes stood there by the elevator. I was surprised he had so swiftly come down to take me to the newsroom.
Once the elevator doors opened, the newsroom exploded with energy. The desks scattered in a seemingly non-sensical pattern filled the floor. The room, though small, kept going.
The courtyard at the center of the building welcomed a tranquility that the newsroom failed to give off. Busy, rushed atmosphere was quieted by just a few trees. The green also was in keeping with the Austin way--nature is a necessary part of life--it's at the center of everything.
Pinatas and cheerful signs comforted me. Stress that had initially consumed me upon walking through those elevator doors disappeared after seeing a brick labeled "aggie bowling ball" and a "Sue Crossing" sign on the desk where I sat.
A fortune too, from a chinese restaurant trip in the past, by Sue perhaps, was pinned to the cubicle.
Laughs circulated through.
Cheerful people were there and they chattered away.
"Did you hear Rachel Ray was coming in?"

TV-Change for the better?

If we're not taking off someone's unsightly fat or tearing down and rebuilding their house, we're sticking a camera in their face and documenting their every move. "Oh what a shame." "Oh poor guy." "Makes me grateful for the life I have."

It seems everything gracing the television screen these days is in need of help.

And it sells! We love to watch others overcoming odds. Americans can't get enough of the heartwarming sob-fests that have taken over televison. Extreme Home Makeover is raking in millions every week for doing a good deed. It's easy to fall in love with the host, Ty's, ADHD charm, the weeping, the crying. And, we're part of the action. We saw their lives change for the better.

When some people cannot be helped so dramatically like on Extreme Home Makeover, we find thrill in watching them try and function.

TLC is notorious for "oh how do they manage" documentary style shows. From Jon & Kate plus Eight to their sporadic specials like Tree Man or The Littlest People in the World or The World's Heaviest Man, TLC finds a way to incorporate modern day circus-like curiosity into cable television. We admire their will to live and how they function so unlike the norm.

But why is it so interesting? Does our society find it exciting to document lives unlike ours--or bring them into the circle of normality?

5 Entertainment Trends

1. TV-Change for the better: we're either fixing people's lives or highlighting lives in struggle.
2. Get on line on your phone. Internet is imperative.
3. Documentaries are wedging their way in.
4. Get moving--Wii, Dance reality shows, etc. Let's stop being known for our weight and start looking great. How we're getting fit today.
5. We're so popular that even the earth likes us: green is going commerical.

Taped Journals

Research papers. Blogs. Articles. I have my entire life written down.

I stumbled upon a LiveJournal I had my sophomore year. It was silly--rambunctious banter about who was dating whom, who was in a fight with whom: "I hate Jillian. Hilary's a liar. Sean! Brandon! yadda yadda yadda".

I blushed when I read it. I mean, how embarrassing is it to not only see your horrendous grammar in action but think about the relationships you have with these people now and how ridiculous you were being then. In a LiveJournal, you of your past is preaching about how they are right--you of today is realizing how wrong past you is. And yet, it's sweet.

At nineteen, because I've had my life written, I can reminisce about things that happened less than five years ago. So about that debate: "to blog or not to blog?" I say, why not. It will bring you joy in the end.

Nostalgia and porn

(Caution: I use the word "dick" in this... a lot)

On a weekend getaway in my hometown, my very best friend Hilary and I reminisced about experiences we had in Highschool and College. There were the cute tales of who dated whom, or who had a crush on what, etc. But my favorite of all of my encounters over the years was an adventure a college friend and I had last year.

I went over to my friend's apartment to spend the afternoon. No homework, nothing to study for. I wanted to just chill out. His roommate was a bit of a weird-o, but I considered him a good friend as well. Good enough that I could have fun with him. His roommate was very funny about his things; one of those people who would freak out if anything was out of place. So, out of jest, I decided to change the background on his computer.

It was then that the fun started.

I went into his My Pictures folder. There, I found four sub folders: Me, Girls, Washington, My birthday. I went with My Birthday--nothing good. I overlooked Washington--boring. Girls--well, duh. It was porn. But it was the Me folder that ruined my life. When I opened the folder, the computer exploded with images of dicks. Big dicks, long dicks, black dicks, white dicks. I screamed my friends name. He came running over and we both, then, sat huddled in a corner on the floor. Where did they come from? Who's were they? WHY WERE THEY THERE? And then to add to the shock, at the bottom of the page of genitalia, was the lone picture of a redneck holding a prize trout (no dick included). To make matters worse, in my shock I had accidentally clicked on a picture of one, making it the background to his computer.

Once I peeled myself from the floor to change the picture back to the original background, of course, I couldn't find it. I found the most similar one I could. Yet, his roommate came home and asked me if I had been tampering with his things. I said no. I mean, how could I tell him. "Oh yeah, I tried to change it back but there were too many dicks in my way."

What!?

I forget, being in Austin, that in Magnolia, Texas there is NOTHING TO DO at nine in the evening.

Get ready for some FOooooooozzzzballlll

The leaves are turning colors, there is a notable chill in the air, football season is in full swing and surprise, surprise I'm a fan. Being the self respecting Texan I am, of course im a Dallas Cowboy follower. However due to some recent events taking place within that team, I have been turned off to tuning in every Sunday to root for my boys. Most notably with quarterback Tony Romo, who due to a recent fracture in his left pinkie finger missed a few games and seriously jeopardied the Cowboys contention for a playoff spot. This, in my opinion, is completely unacceptable for two big reasons:

1. He is paid millions upon millions of dollars to play this game and win, and though he is still paid that sum while caressing his boo boo, it simply isn't fair. Play for the love of the game--not the love of money. And.. actually play.

2. It's just a pinkie. Play through the pain. Tony's hands may be important, but a broken bone the size of, well, my pinkie, is no excuse.

Players in the past have played through far worse pain and for much less money than you Mr. Romo. For example Ronnie Lott, a linebacker in the mid 80's for the Fourty Niners had his left pinkie finger ripped off in a game. He then had it hastily wrapped up and finished the game.

The same finger you had a small fracture in, Tony, this man had violently detatched from his hand and still played instead of opting to sit out a few games. I guess that doesn't say a whole lot about your commitment to the game, but now that your back and we're winning again I cant stay too mad at you. Afterall the Cowboys are still my team and your still my quarterback, and no matter how big a girl you are I still promise to have your back. I pinkie promise.

The Boy in the Striped Pajamas: A review

It's Nazi Germany. Swastika's are scattered over buildings, they accompany posters heralding Adolf Hitler, but the violence that is so synonymous with the Nazi era is missing. The Boy in the Striped Pajamas opens by leading you to believe that nothing, really is wrong.

In fact, it's quite picturesque. The people are happy. Bruno, the son of a commandant in the German army, is a happy child of eight that could spend his days reading adventure novels. His world of fantasy is shaken, however, when his father is given a promotion: to be stationed on the outskirts of Germany and put in charge of a concentration camp.

Bruno, being an eight year old boy, with no comprehesion of the created societal rules and regulations, befriends a boy his age from across the fence of the camp. After several offerings of leftover sandwiches and chocolate, and a internal struggle on their boundaries as friends, a final choice is made that will change their lives and the lives of Bruno's parents, forever.

It turns out that this perfect life is an illusion that only a young boy can have. It is all sunny skies, until the end when realization hits and thunder strikes. The message is not that Bruno is confused, but that the adult actions are too difficult to understand--or rather, should not be understood to be right.

The film is not for the weak at heart. But it does send a beautiful message boiling over with irony: the kids seem to have to best understanding of love.

Text fight

With new phones comes texting, and with texting comes text fighting. The worst of all fighting, texting leaves the victims two steps away from eachother, stripping them of face to face interaction, and voice inflection. The fight can come from anywhere. It lurks, waiting for you. Your friend texts something that is interpreted as one way, but meant another--fight ensues. Your friends texts you out of the blue to tell you something you did that made them mad--fight ensues. The latter comes from social courtesy--it's hard to be mean when someone's looking right at you. A phone creates a barrier. Texting creates time. Both equal a deadly combination that leads to disaster. I, in fact, got in a text fight last night. I was blindsighted by it. I thought I was in the clear. But when that phone jingle went off--I knew something was wrong. I flipped it open, read it. I was in peril; social doom was knocking at my door. I texted back. Text fight.

Christmas Favorite: A Cajun Christmas

My dad used to go away on business in New Orleans. One holiday season, while he was there, he picked up an Orleans take on the holiday favorite: On the Night Before Christmas. Ever year since then, my family has gathered around the my dad's big red chair to hear his all-to-perfect cajun accent sing out the Cajun night before Christmas. As my dad places the santa hat upon his balding head, and his white beard begins to glow fro the fire, he tells us about Boudreax and Tibideaux--in true Cajun fashion--trying to catch Santa coming in on his sleigh being pulled by alligators. The tale tells of swampy Christmas traditions, and brings giggles from even my five year old niece. It's the family aspect, though, that makes it joyous; how my quite large immediate family can sit for just ten minutes and laugh at something we've heard millions of times before. This Christmas, I hope, is no different.

Christmas Favorite: Dad's holiday bread

Once a year, my dad walks into the kitchen and cooks something. And truth be told, it's worth the wait. In his memory is his grandmother's recipe for pumkin bread and cranberry bread. He spends the day by the oven: mixing ingredients and baking about thirty loaves--half of which are gone by the end of the day. Family friends crave it and hope that they get a loaf. My brother and sister and I are sent several through the mail; making that day the best in the world. I can't give out the recipe, because, well, I don't know it. Right now, it's a secret. But as long as my Dad makes one loaf for me once a year. I don't care.

The Santa Clause strikes again

Last night was a marathon of The Santa Clause on TV. Yep. One, two and three. I only partook in viewing the first one--it was all I could handle at the moment.

I forgot about Tim Allen, honestly. What happened to that guy? Sure, he pops up every once in a while to make a castrophic mistake (Shaggy Dog--enough said), but what about Tim "the Toolman" Taylor, who everyone adored for years? Even jolly old Saint Nick, who comes in every Christmas on ABC Family.

I can't lie. That movie brings back memories. What nine year old didn't love that movie? And now? It's a joke. Not quite a cinematic classic--it falls underneath the shelf until November-December. It comes back and we laugh at how Tim Allen is best known for putting on a hundred pounds and festive red robe. It's sad, don't you think? In a month I'll tuck it away in my memory, along with all the made for TV movies and Christmas themed comedies, until next year when I can relive this experience all over again.

Fetch?

My dog doesn't come when you say her name. She does come, however, when you flail your arms and say loud, uncomprehensible noises.

Who doesn't love some TLC

But in order to have a show on TLC, you either have to be extremely overweight, have an external abnormality, be a little person, or have more that eight kids. I don't qualify--I've never been so disappointed.

The Woodlands

The Woodlands, Texas has an air about it that I can't fully describe. You drive onto FM 2978, turn onto Gosling and it's just... charming, elegant, rich, woodsy? The people are close enough to earth that you can walk into a store you can't afford and feel welcomed, but at the same time, you still can't afford the store, so why walk in? It's a land where Wal-Marts are still sprinkled ever so slightly across it, but houses over a million dollars greatly exceed their numbers. It's a place where it is cool to do theatre in highschool AND cool to do sports. It's a melting pot of classes and systems. And... it's where I grew up.

The general understanding of Twilight

I haven't seen the movie. I don't think I want to. From what I have heard, it's a twelve year old's wet dream and a twenty year old's nightmare. Girls love it/guys hate it. A friend of mine said "bad acting, bad script, hot boys". Exactly.

I'm not going to see it.

It is disappointing though. Though I missed out on the book craze as well, I admire the author. Stephenie Meyer, who I saw on Ellen about a month ago, I found out was just a housewife raising her three children. It was a dream that inspired the book--that is now, no doubt, a hit.

It inspires me; I've always wanted to write a book. But it's amazing that how much you write is the opposite reciprocal of how much you have to write about. I'm going to take a nap I suppose.

YouTube Phenomenon

Cake Farts, Muffins, Shoes, Two Girls; One Cup, Leave Britney Alone!

YouTube has created it's own generation: one that has been broadcasted all over the internet. We (because I'm part of this generation as well) identify with these videos. They join our conversations as events that all of our peers witnessed as well.

Where the sixties and seventies had Woodstock--the defining moment for the era, we have YouTube and all the moments that come with it.

Everyone knows somebody who had a video on YouTube. My best friend had to do a contest that circulated around YouTube to win a scholarship: person with the most views/comments gets two thousand dollars to go to school.

There were even YouTube awards!

Our generations defining moments can be viewed over and over--unlike any one in the past. They're record. In history. Our children can look back and go "that's disgusting" just like we did the first time.

Laudry

I have a LOT of clothing. It's great whenever it comes to doing laundry; I can go over a month without having to wash one thing and without wearing anything more than once. However, a months worth of laundry is staring me in the face right now. It's the most viscous, frightening bundle of dirty clothes I have ever seen. And it's size only keeps me from actually doing the laundry. 

I'm still good for a few days. 

"Nananananananananananana"

Open the door. Get in the driver's seat. Put in the key. Start the car.
Now, adjust the seat, the mirrors and a/c. Turn on the radio.

And even before the trip begins, Pink ruins it for everyone.

For the past three weeks, ninety percent of the time, Pink's So What has been playing on the radio. The song, that has an uncanny resemblance to every other song by the artist, is like herpes on my car stereo: it's great when it's not on it, but when it is... painful, putrid, misery that you can't get rid of.

I cannot get past the adolescent song lyrics like "Waiter just took my table, gave it to Jessica Simps; guess I'll just sit with drum boy, least he knows how to hit". Why is that even in a song about divorce?

And this sort of writing is evident in almost every song: lyrics filled with obvious hatred towards the bleach blonde "pop" idols and so-called "hot chicks"--portray Pink as jealous instead of empowered. The immature approach to serious subjects like anorexia and bulimia also make Pink's talent debatable.

I don't deny that the woman has catchy beats that are easy to "totally rock out" to. But, I will not go so far as to say that talent is what keeps her on the radio.

The virtual experience: Second Life

It is required for one of my classes that I download Second Life--a virtual world that serves as a learning tool, meeting place, chat room, you name it. The reasoning behind why my class must acquire a second life is that currently big name companies are using the program to hold meetings with employees scattered across the actual world. All they need do is login, teleport to the location and type away. I see the program's advantages: it's convenient, you get to build the world around you, build yourself from scratch--the word that comes to mind is second life is just "cool". But, what's cool isn't necessarily what's right for our society. Look at what is lost with Second Life: there is no physical interaction, there is little reality, there is no full communication. The advantages don't seem to outweigh the disadvantages. The gap between people is continuously growing further and further apart. Even if it means getting up an hour earlier to have a meeting at the office instead of online in your pjs, something is gained by interacting face to face with people.

Why don't you grow up!

I began looking at houses this week to get an idea of what I can expect at the end of next semester. But when I stepped back and thought about what I was doing: looking at houses, I wanted to spread Dawn on a slip n' slide and run full speed, drop belly first, and coast. I'm so focused on growing up that I'm missing out on things that I won't be able to do in thirty years. Today, I start having fun. 

Dinner with Amanda

A fresh Alaskan salmon coated with an honey, apricot, teriyaki glaze accompanied with wild rice pilaf and battered asparagus. I, Mandy Odgers, have made this dish. And it was good. Typically I fit in with the "harder on yourself than anyone else" group, so me saying that something I came up with by myself was good--I'm not kidding. I'm making it for everyone in class. 

Hurricane Kona

I strongly believe that all pets should be spayed or neutered. Not just because I work at an animal hospital and I grew up watching the Price is Right, but because it's sick how many animals are without homes. With puppy mills cranking out disease ridden inbred dogs like they were trying to break a record, the innocent money making machines are left anemic in the back of a pick up truck. Truth comes out when the potential purchasers of these six hundred dollar pups can't balance cute with cost--and here we are. And on top of that, pet owners not getting their pets spayed or neutered, letting them loose to get pregnant and add to the hungry puppy population. I get it, we all make mistakes. But what if that mistake can be prevented? Dogs don't have sex for pleasure, they have sex to procreate. By spaying or neutering your pets, you are eliminating the problem and still giving a happy home to a pet in need. 

Keeping with this belief, on Thursday I went in to work with my Kona Bear to get her spayed. Though the operation was a successful one, there were some "complications". Now, don't let my story sway you from getting your pet spayed or neutered; what happened with Kona is very rare. During the surgery, she was fine. But right when the doctor was closing the incision, there was blood everywhere. Kona went cold. And the worst part was that not one of the three doctors (after two of which rushed to aid the one performing the surgery) could find where the blood was coming from. I work at the front desk at the clinic, making appointments and such, and it is absolutely horrifying having to pull people from the exam rooms and tell them to come back another time because the doctors are busy--saving your dog. By the time my shift was over, Kona was out of surgery laying on a heating blanket while her anesthesia wore off. They kept her for the next five hours watching her slowly awake from slumber. When I came back to get her that evening, I couldn't stop hugging her. Sure, I mean, she's just a dog, but if you've read my previous post about her, she really brightens up my life. The incision line went from two inches to six, enclosed by thirty staples. She is laying next to me now. Asleep. And alive. And I'm grateful. 

Christmas Favorites-Campbell's Soup

As we approach the holiday season, miniscule additions to everyday life are making everything feel Christmas-y. The piney smell of winter, the cool breeze, red noses. But I have my own holiday favorites that make the season so special and unforgettable. 

Several years ago, Campbell's Soup began airing a holiday-theme commercial for Chicken Noodle Soup. A snowman, chilled to the bone quite literally, makes a long trek through the winter weather and walks through a door of a cozy home. He sits at the kitchen table where a piping hot bowl of chicken noodle soup awaits him. As he slurps, the snow melts away, revealing a young boy, drenched but now warm. And happy, now that Campbell's rests in his belly. I'm sure everyone's seen it; it's been playing every holiday season for the past several years. But the warmth it gives off helps welcome Christmas and kicks off the long-awaited tidings and cheer. 

Ignore this

Sitting here, I came to write a blog. There is nothing to write about. Nothing. The more I think, my head beats louder than my heart. The ringing song of the computer fills my ears. The beat. The song. A voice, my classmates. We're talking about something. The more I think... This noise kills me. There are no words that are here for me. I need them to blog. Jibber jabber. Jibber jabber. And it keeps going. Half of them, God, they're about nothing. There has to be something to write about. No crickets, no flip-flops, no nonsense. I've had enough. We've all had enough. This is done.

Austin, TX - Hornsby Bend's fight against Global Warming

Austin, Texas is not taking the issue of global warming lightheartedly. Since 1988, the Hornsby Bend Biosolids Management Plant (off Highway 71, across from Austin Bergstrom International Airport) has been host to a waste management facility and research center. Engineers, scientists, and geologists are devoting their days to discovering environmentally friendly ways of coping with modern issues such as plumbing and crop growing. The land that the plant is now on was founded by Texas's first Austonians: the Hornsby colonists. And though much of the area was cleared when they first settled for farming purposes, today a lush variety of plants and trees cover the area. Staff at Hornsby Bend use the regrown plant life to describe the carbon cycle to visitors and that change is possible. The facility, open seven days a week to all visitors from dawn till dusk, is committed to highlight greener, more efficient practices. Located on the site is a bird observatory built from compacted straw and clay and held up by cedar trunks from the Austin area, trails that showcase the area wildlife, and a picturesque view of the Colorado River. The research that is currently being compiled is how to use biofuels effectively to reduce carbon emissions. The Hornsby Bend staff is taking Methane gas and processing it with algae to create what they call "Dillo Dirt"--a soil that's nutrients enhance the flourish of plant life without adding excess carbon or methane. The dirt is then used to foster growth of plants which work to consume carbon and emit oxygen. The major theme at Hornsby Bend is carbon sequestration: keeping greenhouse gases out of the atmosphere, and reducing the ones that are already there. Their Dillo Dirt does just that. Researchers there hope that their facility will be carbon negative within the next few years. Though the work of the Hornsby Bend researchers is only a small step in reducing Austin's carbon footprint, with research like this in the works, there is hope for a cleaner, greener future.

A true mother

My mother turns fifty nine on wednesday. All she wanted from her youngest daughter was proof that she got a flu shot. 

It started out innocent

It's odd that I detest being a student, when I could watch informational television all the time. I'll tell people it's my calling: watching TV. Unfortunately, I think I've learned more and remembered more about history from the History channel than I have in my almost sixteen years in educational institutions. Perhaps I'm taking it the wrong way--I'm not meant to learn this way. Or the schools are. Or maybe we should be able to create our own curriculum of classes that truly interest us. And college should be free! And teachers should be paid more! This is an example of a blog which gradually turned into a rant. 

Odgers '08

When I'm president, everyone's getting a free teeth bleach. White teeth make everyone happy. 

Mel Brooks is the best thing that ever happened

If anyone has ever watched a movie, it should have been directed by Mel Brooks. Everyone of his films, and believe me I've watched every one, is something beyond "what the hell?" and into the stratosphere of "awesome". The curious characters, witty remarks and sarcastic parodies of almost everything are what makes his movies something different. And watching Mel Brooks himself, you are not too surprised by how his movies turned out. If anyone has every heard of the two thousand year old man, you get what I'm saying. His spunk has lightened my mood for as long as I can remember. My mom even sent me a quote yesterday. It's perfect. 

"Look, I really don't want to wax philosophic, but I will say that if you're alive, you got to flap your arms and legs, you got to jump around a lot, you got to make a lot of noise because life is the very opposite of death.  And therefore, as I see it, if you're quiet, you're not living.  You've got to be noisy, or at least your thoughts should be noisy and colorful and lively."

Mel Brooks

He's going to be one of those celebrities for me that I don't know at all, but I still find myself weeping when they die. 

My wish

I'm going to win the lottery and buy a blue house in Michigan. That's all I want. 

Kona

This piece of shit dog is the love of my life. She drives me nuts, she eats my shoes, she runs and plays and smiles bigger than I've ever seen a dog smile. When she was five days old, she came to the clinic I worked at. Her leg was cut open. The owners didn't want to pay for her. She was abandoned. At six days old she took a dump on my arm. At six weeks old, I took her home. Though I think I hate her, I truly love her. In a time where I feel most vulnerable to unhappiness, her ambiguous affections are what keep me laughing. 

Mandy and Entertainment Journalism

Why I feel I'm not right for this profession:

-I write as if I'm talking to myself

-I blog about moments, things, that aren't of relevance to anyone. They're just a brief second of reflection on something obscure.

-I use I too much.

-I can't blog every day.

-I don't have anything entertaining to blog about. 

Ironically enough, I am taking a class on entertainment journalism. It has taught me a lot. If I plan to be a journalist I have to change. 

Texas Renaissance Festival 2008

A cult-like obsession some, a tradition for others, the Texas Renaissance Festival opens it's gates for a thirty-fourth season.

The Festival, held for eight weeks every fall in Plantersville, Texas, takes you back to the sixteenth century for mirth and merriment. The set-up is this: King Henry VIII is visiting New Market England, and the town scurries to open their finest shops, cook their most decadent foods and provide the most exciting entertainment. It just so happens that people from the modern world can walk into their world to be a part of the excitement.

For three years I was a part of this celebration--portraying a French princess. I laugh about it today, but admit that though the festival is pure illusion, there is a sort of magic that looms over it. It was by far the best job I ever had.

Keeping up with the created tradition of the Renaissance Festival, I made the yearly visit over Halloween weekend with my family. The shows were all there, the food was accounted for, the shops were full, but there was a difference this year: no magic. I was disappointed.

The performances by both sidewalk and stage performers, which I hold dearest to heart, were far below the standard I uphold. There was no mirth. No merriment. What was once a place for escape--leaving your century for another one that held so much fantasy--was replaced with something out of a brochure. The performers were mannequins for well-sewn costumes; their job seemed to be leading you to the nearest shop to buy memories, instead of having them. Honestly, I was heartbroken.

The Renaissance Festival emits a sort of joyous feeling: you are in a different place, allowed to be a different person, and immerse yourself into another century. But when the performers aren't helping you along, it makes it harder to differentiate a moment from just an hour at a theme park. Compared to the years I spent there, it just wasn't the same.

photo taken by Greg L. Jones-Texas Renaissance Festival 2005
http://www.pbase.com/wyojones/image/102783947

Motivation

School is becoming more of a challenge than I ever anticipated. Though I am a good student, the lack of motivation I have is making me struggle to keep up. I hate to sound too over dramatic, but what's the point? I study a field without focus, I pursue a career I don't care for (nor do I excel at). Every day I wonder the same thing: why am I doing this? I've stopped trying.