KPBS
Tuesday 11 July 2006
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Life is funny, in case you needed a reminder. Sometimes, we drift away from something familiar and into something new. The new takes hold, and we never turn back. Sometimes, something familiar drifts away and there is nothing we can do; often, this is accompanied by great pain. Sometimes, we drift away from something familiar only to inevitably return. All of this is change.
Yesterday I was hired as a reporter at KPBS. Twenty-four hours later I was on the air. I did not foresee this fate when I left for Chicago at the beginning of July, unsure whether I would ever return to San Diego. But a close friend, with whom I reunited today, told me that I’m meant to be here — at least for right now. Something was keeping me here, even though it does not quite make sense at the moment. “Trust me,” that thing seems to be saying, “stick around.” Okay.
My getting hired yesterday was two years to the day after I fell ill with mononucleosis. I was an intern at KPBS, blogging the whole experience, new to radio, and a much younger journalist. Today I was back in the same building, with many of the same people, and nothing felt different at all. When I walked into the monthly news meeting today, the faces around the table were not anonymous. Hardly anyone acknowledged me in any special way; Rebecca Tolin smiled warmly, and a few people sat up. But I took my seat next to Doug Myrland, he handed me the agenda, and he said, “This is for you, Andrew.”
The newsroom is not what it was — who it was — two years ago. But it is not totally different, either. It is still lit poorly, as many newsrooms are, with no windows, and three muted television sets, and Scott Horsley at his old desk.
It all feels like a dream. That is the only way I can describe it.
Wednesday 8 February 2006
In case you’re not already a fan, and if you can stomach the horrendous pledge propaganda, tune in to “These Days” today at 9 a.m. on KPBS (89.5 FM or kpbs.org) for a special program on teenage culture — the growth of individualism, the impact of technology, the phenomenon of MySpace. It will probably fascinate you. And yours truly might make a cameo.
The project is the brainchild of Angela Carone, the show’s art and culture producer. It runs two hours, and you can podcast the show later in the day.
Update: The show archive is up. I thought the bit about MySpace by Lisa, my roomie, was the most compelling.
Friday 17 December 2004
Today is my last day at KPBS. What a fine organization it is.
I plan to do some freelance work for the station in the future.
Saturday 30 October 2004
I’m the special guest on “A Way With Words” today at 4 p.m. on KPBS-FM, 89.5 (in San Diego and South Orange County). It’s the Halloween episode.
If you miss it, the program will be rebroadcast tomorrow (Sunday) at 10 a.m. And you can listen live on kpbs.org.
Streaming archive (not a permanent link).
Friday 29 October 2004
Yesterday KPBS celebrated Halloween in ridiculously lavish fashion, an annual tradition at the station. The departments compete against one another for best costume group. (News wins every year.)
I don’t normally celebrate Halloween, let alone dress up, but the newsroom begged me to be its John Kerry, to complete our presidential theme.
I don’t own a presidential suit, so I chose to be goose-hunter, war-hero John Kerry Scary.
Here I am looking hideous next to George W. Bush:
John Kerry and George W. Bush (Photo by Russell Lewis)
Notice the hand-crafted Purple Heart and I ♥ OHIO T-shirt.
Friday 3 September 2004
Correction noted below.
Every month, KPBS teams up with Competitve Edge Research to poll San Diegans on hot issues. The latest poll was about Wal-Mart. A majority of locals have positive impressions of the mega-company. These Days host Tom Fudge reported the findings on his August 9 show. But he failed to mention that Wal-Mart is an KPBS NPR underwriter, and it got some people mad.
In this week’s Frequenc-e, a newsletter for members, Fudge wrote:
Is a news program like These Days obligated to tell its listeners that one of its shows involves a financial supporter of the station? I don’t think so. If a company supports KPBS programming our announcers read credits to the company during station breaks. So it’s not like we’re trying to keep it secret.
There are many people and many companies that support KPBS. Take that information for what you think it’s worth. And judge for yourself whether KPBS news coverage is fair, honest and accurate. But if you don’t mind, I’ll stick to my side of the firewall. I like it here.
News Director Michael Marcotte recently clarified the station’s disclosure policy:
The policy no longer requires new personnel to disclose underwriting relationships in all situations. This is due to the fact that those disclosures are already abundant in on-air announcements (they are the “credits” frequently read by announcers during breaks and at the end of shows.) Our policy may require disclosure of a financial relationship in exceptional cases when the information is central to a major story — or when the station-funder relationship would otherwise be unknown to the public. — Michael Marcotte
San Diego blogger El Oso is furious:
Both Fudge and Marcotte emphasize that “those disclosures are already abundant in on-air announcements.” While it does seem to be true that on air announcements advertisements are becoming more and more abundant on KPBS, they are also becoming more diverse. Somehow Joan Kroc’s $5 million dollar donation to KPBS and subsequent $200 million dollar donation to NPR has not allowed the station to focus more on journalism and less on underwriting/advertising. So while you are sure to hear about Wal-Mart’s patronage of KPBS many times throughout the day, it’s not guaranteed, nor even likely, that it will be mentioned during the actual show. In fact, it would be interesting to know if the “on air announcement” was read during the Wal-Mart story.
Should, not only KPBS, but journalists at large be forced to disclose their underwriters, sponsors, and benefactors where conflicting interests could exist? Absolutely. That’s journalistic integrity. Just imagine if this blog was underwritten by my corner deli. Shouldn’t I disclose that fact when I do any sort of review or commentary or analysis of the deli’s affect on my neighborhood?
In many cases it’s essential to disclose this information — but not always. If a shooting were to occur at a Wal-Mart store, KPBS would cover the story. But there would be no reason to disclose the financial relationship.
Moreover, if the shooting were the topic of These Days the next morning, the disclosure would still be unnecessary. In this regard, Fudge is absolutely right about not bothering to know who’s contributing to the station. This is no different than most newspapers, which print advertising right next to editorial content but do not disclose financial relationships whenever a company is mentioned.
However, a major, scientific survey, which serves as an intended centerpiece of discussion, requires disclosure. I am unclear on the news director’s clarified policy: “Our policy may require disclosure … when the information is central to a major story…”
Doesn’t “central to a major story” apply to this situation? Surveys require absolute disinterest and accuracy, and listeners deserve to know about any possible conflicts — especially when the survey’s results are surprisingly favorable for Wal-Mart.
And I applaud Oso for calling the “on-air announcements” advertisements, because that’s exactly what I call them.
Journalist-friends and regular folks, what do you think?
Update: Wal-Mart is an underwriter for NPR, NOT specifically for KPBS. This does not change the story very much, but it’s an important distinction.
Disclosure: I work as a reporter for KPBS.
Friday 27 August 2004
One year ago: A Yellowstone sunset
I have been migrating from place to place, trying to collect my thoughts. A few minutes ago I was sipping ice water from a Styrofoam cup and digesting a Caesar salad at Horton Plaza. I stared into space as the water level slowly diminished, thinking about everything and nothing in particular. When you can hear the people you’re watching, you can only take so much, especially if some of them aren’t moving.
Now I’m sitting in yet another downtown Starbucks, sucking on 12 ounces of sugar-free relaxation. I certainly have a lot of thoughts to collect from the past two weeks. I have not really slowed down since getting sick and sleeping a lot, but that feels like a part of my life that never happened. I started school this week with the daunting task of crashing all of my courses. I succeeded.
Having gone to the college for nearly three years and met just about every man and woman there is to meet, it’s overwhelming and a little disheartening to walk into classrooms with 40-50 complete strangers. I wonder, how could there be so many people I don’t know?
The week was not without its memorable moments, like anthropology professor Dennis O’Neil challenging a man to maintain an erection with a shotgun pointed at him, or philosophy professor Zack Seech blowing away an entire audience with a lecture on open-mindedness, or my asking the lovely geography professor Cathy Jain if anyone has ever tried to steal the North Pole. In philosophy, I sit a next to the same girl I sat next to seven years ago in eighth grade.
Adding to the S&M (stress and memories), an hour-and-a-quarter visit with a counselor yesterday revealed some surprising information about my transfer to a university, which is set into motion this October. I still have 29 units to complete by the end of spring, which means one more course this semester, a Speech class during the intersession, and HE during spring. So last night I found myself scrambling to enroll in a fast-track CSIS 105 (Fundamental Computer Concepts) class, which is good for three, juicy, UC-transferrable units. All these phone calls and catalog searches, combined with a little more caffeine than I’m used to, gave me a big headache.
But my worries are over, because an instructor suprised me with an e-mail message welcoming me to his Internet (bonus!) class, and I promptly enrolled.
His message came moments after a meeting with Russell and Mike, my beloved editor and director and KPBS. It looks like I’m going to be an on-call reporter and also work in the newsroom every Friday. With a full-time academic schedule, I couldn’t ask for a better deal. If you missed it, my feature aired Wednesday morning. (I originally lied about the air date.)
This week has definitely been of goals and personal refinements, of new, or at least improved. I received the shiny new “Jason Mraz Live at the Eagles Ballroom” CD/DVD set, and it’s phenomenal. I listened to the CD first in my car and was not as extremely impressed as I’d expected. However I was pleased to hear that Jason chose mostly classics and non-mainstream songs for the discs, showing his Jane-come-lately fanbase what he’s really all about. (Sadly, “The Remedy” still received the most thunderous cheers.) The DVD changed my mind — it’s stunning. The direction was superior, especially for a genre that doesn’t shine in that department. (“Dave Matthews Band: Live at Folsom Field” comes to mind, with its awkward cuts and overambitious effects.) Even better was the editing, which seamlessly interlaced the musical numbers with short video stories. These did not slow down the experience, and I found myself waiting to see the next one. The special features, too, were exceptional and worth the price of the set. Jason’s true creativity and spirit shine through in this release.
I also updated the James McGreevey/Candidate Zero post this week with comparison photos, because you were too lazy to click through the links and see for yourself.
And I received voice mail from Sam that’s worthy of the archives:
(Warning: Vulgar)
My eye is twitching, so it’s time to get some rest.
Friday 20 August 2004
Note: Although my internship formally ended on this date, I continued to work for the station on a reduced schedule.
It was a day of hugs and handshakes today as my summertime experience at KPBS came to an end. I turned in my reporter’s kit like a cop turns over his badge and gun.
I suppose the busy madness of the day, uncharacteristic for a Friday, helped me put aside any tearful emotions. I edited, voiced, and produced a feature story about Coronado and scrambled to complete end-of-internship paperwork. If you’re interested, the 4-minute feature will air on 89.5 FM in San Diego this Tuesday Wednesday at 6:33 and 8:33 a.m. You can also visit kpbs.org for a streaming version.
My experience at the station is unforgettable and pivotal in my journalism career. I will quote my internship completion report here:
“Beyond the incredible value of my reporting experience and technical training, I secured great friendships. I looked forward to work every single day and dreaded days off — not just because the job was fun, but because I worked with smiling, witty, gifted people. From Day 1, I have bragged to friends and Web site readers about the quality of the KPBS staff. Even the general manager smiles when no one’s looking. General managers shouldn’t smile!
“Needless to say, the end of my internship seems premature. I feel like part of the fabric here.”
I’ll miss that place. Hopefully not for too long, though. I’m working on getting a part-time position in the newsroom. Wish me luck!
The complete series of FM Adventures is at kpbs.andrewphelps.com.
Wednesday 4 August 2004
One of the first rules of radio newswriting is to write to the sound. That’s why the selection of a sound byte is so important.
So after a press conference with the mayor about energy conservation this morning, I quickly knew what my byte would be and filed this story:
San Diego Mayor Dick Murphy today urged citizens to rev up their electricity use during the Dog Days of summer. He announced a simple plan to put increased pressure on the overburdened energy grid.
[Murphy2.wav “during weekday afternoons.” :05]
The key is to minimize energy conservation during weekday afternoons.
Murphy urged all residents to use major appliances during peak afternoon hours, when the energy grid is hit hardest. He says air conditioners should be kept at 60 degrees or lower, in order to ensure residents are comfortable.
Murphy was joined by S-D-G-and-E Chairman Ed Giles (GUY-uhls). Giles says he’s confident the mayor’s new plan will boost the company’s profits and put the city on a fast-track to disaster.
Murphy’s sound byte was not edited for content; it’s real. The rest of the story is not.
Tuesday 27 July 2004
My life gets somewhat back to normal (“normal”) today as I’m back at work at KPBS. I have had mononucleosis for more than a month, and it took me out of commission the past two weeks.
After a lot of resting and complete boredom, I’m more than ready to be active again. I have mastered video games, read magazines, and even, on occassion, allowed myself to get sucked into the evils of television (only to feel crappy about myself afterward). What’s a man to do while sitting at home all the time?
News reporting is stimulating and ever-changing, so getting sick one day and stopping work was a jarring change. I was starving for some spot news after a short time. But I have to admit that getting up at 7:15 this morning was also a chore. I have become used to breakfast at noon. There’s no doubt that time off was nice, and it my latter days I was able to see friends I would not have time for. A lot of people told me I should still be taking time off. Two co-workers told me I still look sick and tired. (Thanks?) But my term at KPBS officially ends in only four weeks! So I’ll take my chances but take it easy.
This morning I returned to a newsroom of just two people and a very quiet day. Not what I expected, but perhaps a good transition. I’m hunting for a story, and it looks like I might report on local reactions to the conclusion of the endless California budget fracas.
Having mono has been a memorable life experience to be sure. Whenever I mention it to others who have had it, they all react with the same exclamation. “Oh, man, I remember mono!” Distinct things stick out in my mind, like the dizzy headaches whenever I stood up, the sweltering inland heat that complicated my fever and forced me to visit the most frigid place I know — Starbucks. I would read the newspaper there until it was too cold to take.
Anyway, it’s good to be back.
Wednesday 7 July 2004
San Diego Mayor Dick Murphy unveiled his long-awaited plan to fix the city’s ailing pension program today. He seeks to fund the debt-tarnished program with $200 million in bonds during fiscal 2005. He also reached a compromise solution to restructure the embattled retirement board: the majority of the 11 members would be independent and could not have financial stake in the program, and the remaining five are direct beneficiaries to represent varied interests. This is a balance between the demands of labor unions/city employees, who formerly ran the board, and the rest of the population, who demanded an all-independent board with no conflicts of interest.
All of these ideas were laid out on a memo for journalists, signed only “Dick” in his handwriting. I almost didn’t get in to the mayor’s press room at his 11th story office downtown; I didn’t realize credentials are required for everybody, even those wielding shotgun microphones and giant video tripods.
And I thought I had a good count of the number of cameras I’m accustomed to seeing at news events — but today the number of media must have doubled. A mayor’s press conference is different than most on-the-street shindigs. Murphy ran a tight ship. He appeared slightly nervous as he spoke, even shaky — but perhaps more overworked than apprehensive. He allowed a little time for questions, and then he was whisked away with some other higher-ups. I guess that was the Murph’s way of saying good-bye.
Tuesday 6 July 2004
Today I spoke with Peter Q. Davis, Cruz Bustamante and other larger-than-lifes that are just as fragile and vulnerable as the rest of us when you look them in the eyes. The story of the day was a standing-room-only meeting about alternate uses for the 10th Avenue marine terminal in downtown San Diego. Davis wants it converted to a stadium for the Chargers, but even he is conceding it’s not going to happen anytime soon. The other six commissioners oppose the idea, along with Bustamante (who stresses it would be illegal), the local maritime industry, and most San Diegans. Even the city and the Chargers have already agreed to tear down Qualcomm Stadium and rebuild on the existing Mission Valley site. Why, Peter Q., why 10th Avenue?
Monday 5 July 2004
Last Friday was the final day of the CCNMA Multi-Cultural Journalism Workshop, which I first blogged about two weeks ago.
Hector’s and Nicole’s project was a big success! They had to create a themed, 9-minute news magazine about current events in San Diego, with Mike’s direction and my help. I invite you to listen to it now: Static-Free Radio.
Hector and Nicole have a lot of potential, and they can go very far in life if they put their talents in the right places. I hope to see them do that. Good luck!
Tuesday 29 June 2004
My exhaustion started catching up to me today. I woke up this morning unable to speak, my throat paralyzed. (Unfortunately for my co-workers that disappeared.) Lately I have been lethargic, and today, eventually, delirious. I had my share of unfortunate luck, too. I realized I accidentally destroyed the entire recording of an important and very special interview. Scott hit it on the head when he said, “It’s a pisser.” I just have to move on from that mishap.
A lot of these bad-day feelings came later in the afternoon, after an earlier chat with Erik about my no-bad-day mentality. I refuse to give in and call this a bad day (some nice things happened), but it wasn’t a splendid one, either.
A big part of my exhaustion is my daily commute. It’s a 40-mile drive each way. (I filled out my monthly mileage log today, which does not include trips to and from home and work, and I couldn’t believe the totals.) Memories of driving to FOX6 News at 4:00 in the morning have now returned. But the mileage itself doesn’t bother me too much. We North-County San Diego residents have a distorted sense of distance-time compared to the southerners, for better or worse. You see, when you live in North County, you always have business in the south — hair appointments, plays, doctor visits, baseball games — and the familiar drive down the 5 or 15 is nothing. But it’s amusing to me that residents of the south, who comprise most of the KPBS staff, recall “that one time they went to Escondido” and “what a trip it was”. I go to Escondido all the time… and to La Jolla, Hillcrest, Kearny Mesa, and the East Village. Brad recalled that he “once went to Vista” for the Scottish Games. The truth is Southdwellers really don’t have much business in North County.
Anyway.
The strains of battling such a high volume of vehicles morning after morning, especially at predictable locations, like the 78 interchange through Via Rancho or the bottlenecks through Poway, is mind-numbing. Do this twice per day, every day, and you’ll realize it’s time to move downtown. I hope I can finish this soon; I have waited for too long.
In closing, I’ll employ a presidential-administration tactic: I won’t call today a “bad day” but one with lessons aplenty.
Monday 28 June 2004
On the way to work, if I’m feeling really tired, I typically order a tall vanilla latte at the nearby Starbucks. It does the trick of giving me much-need pep. This morning they only had the sugar-free version available, so I said okay. Well, after consuming it, I’m still dreadfully tired. So I’m thinkin’ it’s not the caffeine but the sugar that wakes me up!
Friday 25 June 2004
Photographs from a silly day at KPBS.
(I promise, we work hard. Except for Beth.)
Erik and Mike get ready to host Full Focus. Good thing they coordinated!
Beth answers the telephone!
Beth puts on headphones!
Russell gives instructions, but Beth is confused!
Thursday 24 June 2004
I became a KPBS member today. In years past I have not been able to front the dough because of my disappointment with the rise in advertising in public radio. Industry people call it “underwriting” — I call that a euphemism. When I hear 20 seconds of banter about the new Subaru station wagon, I consider it advertising, even if Brad Martin stops short of saying “Go buy it!” Public radio people won’t call it advertising because they wouldn’t dare risk being associated with the corporate slop that weighs down other broadcast agencies.
But lately I have come to realize that donations and other funding are the only things that can help public radio stations phase out the advertising. So instead of making a stand that probably won’t make any difference, I made a donation that probably can make a small difference.
Working at the station has made this a much easier decision. KPBS is the one of the best things that has ever happened to me. The people that work at KPBS are shiny. This is a rare word that I almost never use to describe people. Every face is a smiling one, an intelligent one, a motivated one. I leave the building smiling.
Today I told Mike that I’m very impressed with the station’s commitment to young people. The two-week CCNMA workshop is a lot of work, and I have watched Mike pour hours of his time into sitting with the students to give them the direction they need. KPBS also offers many opportunities for interns and paid student assistants, all of whom have shared conversations with me about how happy they are there.
The lovefest must end now, because I’m off to dinner for my grandmother’s 76th birthday.
Wednesday 23 June 2004
More driving and teaching and learning today in the ongoing journalism workshop. It seems that Hector is an amazing poet. He composes rhyming pieces in record time, and they’re quite moving. I’m not just saying it just to be complimentary, either. I should also mention that English is Hector’s second language; he also speaks Spanish and French.
After dropping off Hector and Nicole at Chicano Perk, an awesome coffeeshop in the Sherman Heights community of San Diego, I had about an hour and a half to kill. I found a wireless connection and did some work. And then I did some driving, getting lost in foreign parts of the city so I could learn more about the roads. You can never know too many shortcuts or back roads. While heading down Market Street, I stopped for a red light and looked twice at one sight. On the other side of the road, blocking traffic from behind, a red car and a police car were stopped next to one another. An odd place to stop, I thought. I studied the scene. The two policemen were talking to the scraggly man in the red car. Then my eyes widended when I saw the man’s leg in a cast, hanging over the side of the car. But he was sitting straight up! I watched him (without hearing) explain his situation to the cops. The driver of the squad car listened intently and his partner looked so, very confused. To top it off, even the man in the backseat, donning what appeared to be a beekeeper’s suit and handcuffs, looked baffled. I just squinted and looked ahead. The light turned green and in the rear view mirror I watched the cops follow the red car closely. A favorite quotation came to my mind, from my old friend Amanda: “I ain’t seen shit like that since LA!”
Back to KPBS. Today I was sent out to find John Moores, the owner of the Padres, at a meeting in the city’s council chambers. I had to get some tape about the Matt Bush story that’s brewing. (Bush is the 18-year-old Mission Bay High graduate who won a $3.15 million signing bonus with the Padres this month. On Sunday, he was arrested at an Arizona bar for underaged drinking and biting a bouncer during a scuffle. Now he’s suspended, and his contract is in jeopardy.) Russell told me I might run into a gaggle of reporters at the scene, but there were none. So I chased him down after he received a big award and probably didn’t feel like talking to the Media. But he was surprisingly warm and receptive.
I guess I should say now that I had some of the misconceptions about Moores that many others do. For some reason, people perceive him as crude or uncouth. I think it has something to do with his appearance. But I saw none of that today. He was decent and personable. Likeable. And I only spent three and a half minutes with the guy.
He was surrounded by Kevin Towers and some other Padres higher-ups, and, for some reason, Father Joe Carroll. I had another, now-familiar “Um, oh” moment when I saw the father. For the past few weeks, I have met some people whose images and voices are so ingrained into my mind that they don’t seem real. I promise that it’s not celebrity culture that gets me (quite the contrary), as I have met a lot of famous people to whom I don’t have any connection. But these are people I grew up watching in the local media and always formed my own, personal feelings about. To meet so many of them in such a short time, and to find out they are actually real, is a bit jarring, but only momentarily. When I looked up and suddenly made eye contact with Susan Taylor the other day, I thought, “Um, oh. There’s Susan Taylor.” And then kept moving.
Tuesday 22 June 2004
I’m in Horton Plaza now, people-watching and getting some odds and ends done. I have about 30 minutes of downtime before returning to Point Loma Nazarene University for another journalism workshop with the students. This one is about covering breaking news.
Since I already told four people in the newsroom, I might as well tell the rest of the world that I had my first KPBS dream last night. Please, don’t be frightened. In it, Mike was editing one of my stories. He took issue with the word “an” in the last sentence. He wanted to change it to “the”. I argued in favor of the “an”. He ended up deciding to just cut the whole sentence. And I was disappointed, because I thought the sentence rounded out the story nicely. I’m surprised I didn’t defend my lovely sentence — but then I woke up. Should I be frightened?
Monday 21 June 2004
Today I met Hector and Nicole and 20 other promising young people for the first day of the 14-day CCNMA Multi-Cultural Journalism Workshop. Mike calls it a boot camp of sorts. I mentioned Hector and Nicole because they’re the pair that chose the radio program versus print and television. (Television, not surprisingly, boasted the largest group.)
Union-Tribune copy editor Dave Feldman, whom I love to photograph.
Hector and Nicole are great! For two weeks I’m their big brother, chauffeur, best buddy, and mentor. For once I don’t feel like I’m at the bottom of the KPBS food chain. (I can dream.) Both of them are gifted with insight that pleasantly surprised me. (This realization began with the question, “What do you think of Jehovah’s Witnesses?” from Nicole, while flying down 4th Avenue to get to the NBC building on time. The question opened up an intellectual dialogue, complete with “Sweet Lords” and “Learn to drives!” interrupting the conversation.)
I tagged along with the group to tour the San Diego Union-Tribune building and sit in on First News at 4:00 on NBC 7/39. While outside during the break, Joe Lizura grabbed a bunch of us with 10 seconds to air for his weather report. The students were just giddy with delight afterward. I received my usual small stream of phone calls/e-mail about being on television. It’s an amazing phenomenon. Whenever I’m on television, no matter for how long or how briefly, people contact me to tell me that yes, I was on television. Often these are people I have not heard from in years, or those who I never thought would be watching. Anyway.
Dave shows us around the U-T’s massive newsroom.
The day ended with a panel discussion on ethics, moderated by Mike and Gina Lubrano, the U-T’s ombudsman (ombudswoman?). I tried to keep my comments short and merely serve as the devil’s advocate, but it was very tough to sit through some of the students’ comments about ethics. I cringed when I heard about various advisors’ frightening censorship decisions as I desperately tried to keep my mouth shut.
I look forward to working more with Nicole and Hector, but I have to admit I already want to get back to work. I was hungry for a spot today, but there was no time.
Update: Oh, yeah! I completely forgot to mention that Marty Levin is on vacation. So, that’s right, I did not get to meet him. Damn! The Marty Mystique is ever-elusive. Someday… someday.
Thursday 10 June 2004
Covered the San Diego County Fair today. Covering the fair tomorrow. Extremely tired. Write later.
Wednesday 9 June 2004
Today was no quiet day, but for some reason I don’t have many words to share. My fingers took me around the world — at least across the United States and into the United Kingdom. And I do mean on the phone. I wrote one story about California’s first human case of West Nile Virus and another about an Amnesty International campaign to keep local Titan Corporation accountable for alleged prisoner abuses in Iraq. To say the least and to keep it vague, let’s just say I met some very interesting people. You can stretch “interesting” any direction you want…
More stuff and other stuff to come.
Tuesday 8 June 2004
Thursday 3 June 2004
With all the negative publicity about McDonald’s lately, it’s made me hungry. And by 5:00, when I finally had time to step out of the newsroom for lunch, I was really hungry. So I went to McDonald’s, of course.
I had only my Visa card in my wallet and no cash — and I was not about to pay the astonishing 70-cent fee for using plastic. (Truthfully, the surcharge was enough to make me almost leave.) But I remembered I had loaded up my cupholder with quarters, and, after careful counting, the coins amounted to $5 even. Perfect, I thought. More than enough. Right?
To my delight, most of the meals cost $5.29. And I wanted a sandwich, French fries, and a drink. I returned to obligatory fries, and the total was low. $3-something. So I thought, how could adding a drink bring up the price so much? I asked him how much it would cost to add a small drink. The total was $4.61. So I had enough. He returned with, surely, a drink that was not small by any definition.
No, it was massive. A behemoth of sugar-water and syrup. It was awe-inspiring, intimidating, and embarrassing. I asked him how it could possibly be a small, and he said it was not. It was supersized. But I didn’t order it supersized, I said. He knew this. But the small is almost A DOLLAR MORE than the restaurant’s largest size. I did not need so much soda, but it would be a waste to dump it, and I simply didn’t have the money for the smaller size.
As I would find out, my burden would be relieved.
The bag with my food seemed inadequate in comparison to the cup bucket. It required two hands, confident posture, and a look-em-in-the-eye style.
I could find no safe place to put the drink in my tiny roadster, so it had to sit awkwardly on top of the slide-out cupholders. Half of the base of the thing hung over the edge. I decided to eat the food while stopped to avoid any difficulties.
I savored the morsels but did not lollygag. It was time to back out of the parking space, and one of those adrenaline-pumping moments came when three vehicles all had to back out at the same time. We all sat, brandishing our declarative reverse lights. As I usually do, I decided to just go and skip the back-out game. In my haste, though, I turned too sharply — and the Coke of Cokes splashed down to the passenger side, saturating the floor mat and some papers and gadgets. Fortunately the most major damage happened to the mat, which was so Cokey I could hardly believe it. I could not pull over to take care of the situation, because I had suddenly merged onto busy Montezuma Road. I had to find a street and pull over fast. I did. I found a bus stop, with a lone lady standing at the curb, holding her purse in front of her, staring directly at me.
The first part of my game plan was to get rid of all the ice cubes, which would melt and create more mess. This was a daunting task. So much ice had spilled that cubes kept cropping up as I thought I finished. The hardest part was handling them — the little bastards slipped out of my hands like soap in a shower, and by the time I had any grasp I would sort of whisk them out the open car door.
The oldish lady at the bus stop seemed unfazed and strangely interested.
After about 15 minutes of damage was surveyed and crudely sopped with some fast food napkins, I checked the Coke level in my cup. Well, wouldn’t you know it? So much had spilled that my cup now had the same amount of liquid as the small cup would have contained. What a freakin’ gas.
So by saving a buck I got half the liquid but double the trouble.
Part II: I realized I should get back to the newsroom fast so Mike didn’t think I was goofing off. (Suddenly, memories of Dr. Pack and another infamous mess sprung to mind.) I would arrive, give my brief story, grab some paper towels, and finish cleaning up what I could.
I hurried back to the multi-story parking structure with its bizarre, one-way passages, found a space near the street entrance (not the building entrance, as I forgot my access card today), and carefully but hastily opened the car door and squeezed out of the narrow gap between my car and the next, thanks to the too-compact parking spaces. I checked my pockets for my keys and my wallet and I darted. Then I stopped and pivoted, making an ugh! face because I had forgotten a book. I went through the whole process again: squeezing out of the gap, checking the locks, checking for my wallet and keys -- flustered and ready to get out of this place for no reason other than I was so over it.
I took a few more steps away from the car this time, only to realize I had forgotten something else: my parking permit. So, sighing heavily and cussing mildly, I returned to the car, searched for that day's temporary pass, looking through my bags and glove compartments, avoiding the Cokey spill. I found it. I stuck it in the windshield and repeated the exit process. I squeezed out of the gap, checked the locks, slammed the door, checked for my wallet and my -- oh, shit.
My keys.
Without even checking my pockets a second time I opened the door and heard the cold, metallic slam of the handle. I ran to the other side and checked that door: locked. I could not believe I locked my keys in the car. I ran back to the driver's side, peered into my window, and I saw them.
There they were, sitting squarely in the center of the seat, glaring at me, beckoning me, the silver timepiece on my keychain catching a ray of sunshine and beaming it back through the window.
Man. Crap.
I walked back to the building, dejected, the long way, up Hardy and around to the front of the Campanile palace, where a receptionist would let me in. (Remember, no access card.)
Except, of course, there was no receptionist. No, sir, apparently that person leaves at 5:00. So I tried calling the newsroom, but at that moment, the number escaped me. For some reason, the number I had given out to so many people (literally, at least 15) for a story earlier in the day was out of reach. I tried all kinds of combinations and spoke to some interesting, and annoyed, people. I then remembered Tom Fudge's infectious voice telling me to join the conversation by calling 888-895-KPBS, and I did. As it rang, I wondered if I would find myself on the air on some quality talk show, announcing I needed help getting into the building. But instead it just rang and rang and rang. So I hung up, looked around for an idea, and, like magic, a woman appeared.
"Do you need to get in?" Helen, it was, a student assistant for The Lounge whom I had not met. I convinced her of my identity, and she let me in. It was a minor miracle for me.
So I finally arrived back in the newsroom, giant tub ’o Coke in hand, with a nasty look on my face. I told my story. I was frustrated. But NPR's Scott Horsley (who, by law, must always be referred to with his full title), hit it right on the head, with his distinct, always-NPR voice: "At least it's something interesting for the blog." Exactly.
I called AAA to get their assistance, and for the first time in memory I was put on hold -- for a long time. I have never had to wait on hold with that company. A lady finally answered. I pulled out my AAA card and read her my membership number. She said it looks like the account has expired, sir, and sure enough, the card read "DEC 23 03". Great! I called my father to see if he had renewed the account. He reminded me that no, he hadn't, because of a dreadful experience with the company last year when I was having other car troubles. So that was no good. Someone told me I could call a gas station and pay them, but I knew it would be very expensive. I was scrolling through my Nextel phone book when I saw "Roadside", and I called. It would be $70. Some program you got there, Nextel. So that was a no.
My father reminded me my car warranty might include a roadside assistance program, so I called Toyota of Escondido, where I bought the car, to help me out. Well, whenever I pressed the button for Service, I was sent back to the main menu. Rude. So I dialed 1 for New Car Sales, thinking they would surely want to help me! But it just rang and rang and rang. It was well after 5 p.m., after all. But I should have at least gotten a voice mailbox or something. Finally, someone picked up -- and then clicked the phone off.
Grrr. I tried again. This time, after several rings, a man with extremely broken English answered. He sounded, I deduced, like he did not work in New Car Sales. But he kindly told me what extension to dial to get a hold of service. I did, and it was back to the main menu. Damn it.
So then NPR's Scott Horsley called San Diego State police to come help me. This was a great idea, I thought. They do these "lock-outs" all the time at Palomar. I overheard the lady tell him campus police don't handle those issues, but she kindly advised him to try AAA or 877-WE-GET-IN, a commercial service.
877-WE-GET-IN? No.
Then a friend chimed in and kindly offered to call her auto insurance company, which includes free roadside assistance. She waited on hold for minutes -- even to get the phone number from 411. I stood there and waited with her, thinking it was the only way to show my gratitude. Finally, she got a hold of somebody, and she began the process of lying about how she borrowed a friend's car and locked his keys in it, and how silly of her!
Occasionally, she would turn to me, still talking to the man on the other end, and say, "I can't seem to remember where I left them?" and I would respond, "The front seat!" And periodically I would shout in the background, "That's the last time you ever borrow MY car again!"
The repairman came in record time, and once again I slipped into the artificial and probably unnecessary mode of pretending she had done the wrong. "How absent-minded of you," I would say without emotion. I started feeling bad for her, that she had screwed up so badly.
The repairman was very nice, his Scottish accent just screaming for a guest-hosting gig on "Car Talk" with Alison St. John. What a crazy duo that would be. He started telling us about how dangerous it is to leave valuable items in a car, and then he showed me why. In a way I likely will never forget.
He inserted a small device, called an Air Jack, under the lip of my passenger window pane. A few pumps of air separated the pane from the plastic and metal door frame. Then, with a long, wiry stick, the man flicked open the door lock. He removed the Air Jack, and that was it. I kid you not; this took less than 30 seconds and almost 0 strength.
The man did this with a casual arrogance that irritated me as he finished explaining just how easy it is. My mouth was wide open. I always knew my car was at risk because of its cloth soft top, but this exposed me to something I had been completely naďż1/2ve about.
I thanked the man, and my friend led me back to the building to let me in. She held the keys this time. Thinking back on the experience, I realized something aloud, my voice bouncing off the concrete walls of the garage: "I think there's a feature story in all this."
Wednesday 2 June 2004
I returned to the newsroom this morning. I received my first story assignment — and Michael had the foresight to make fun of me for writing about it on my weblog. Oh, yeah, I forgot to mention this yesterday. It seems the whole darn building reads andrewphelps.com, and a couple people even introduced themselves to me because they already recognized me. It turns out I got a little plug in Tuesday morning’s daybook, a daily, station-wide e-mail message with information about schedule changes and other details for the day.
Anyway, my story was not without its first-time troubles. In a recorded interview, my telephone headset was broken, so to muffle the background noise I had to resort to cupping my hand tightly over the phone’s handset microphone. It looked and felt ridiculous. My first interviewee was, well, passionate about his field, and his answers lasted several minutes. For each new question, I would have to uncup my hand, which had become molded on to the handset, and shake it free of insane pins and needles. I should also mention I played the biggest game of Phone Tag ever with 6 people, but that is nothing new to me.
One more thing. Having never worked in a cubicle setting, I can’t help but reference “Office Space” constantly. (Well, it’s usually in my head.) It’s no help that I have two “bosses” — Russell and Michael — who visit my desk in turns to check in and hand me more TPS reports.
Tuesday 1 June 2004
Today, I did not start an internship — I started an experience. I understood this the moment I walked through the doorway. At KPBS, you are not anonymous. Everyone smiles, and everyone has to meet you. You do not slip into the background; you are a new face to be identified. I must have met 30 people today.
The KPBS staff is smart, professional, passionate. Ego is a foreign word and the standards are high by default.
The first member of this staff whom I got to know is Erik Anderson. I traveled with him for a brief assignment at the University of San Diego at mid-day. Erik is serious but secretly hilarious, veggie-munching, gas-conscious, crackerjack and dead-on, with an easy mind. I confessed he’s the reporter whose voice I have imitated the most — dry and lethargic but compelling and competent. (“I’m Er-ik An-der-sonnnn.”) I also told him he looks as he sounds, and he was not quite sure how to handle that. He was one of few people I met whose appearance didn’t shatter my longtime mental image of him. We all do this, but we’re usually way off. It’s kind of like re-reading a great novel but in a new edition with illustrations — and you feel uneasy and betrayed after ruining your mind’s eye with an artist’s interpretation.
Anyway, back to the newsroom. I got a bag with a state-of-the-art Nagra, a mic, a pair of monitors, and some other cables and goodies. New tools for a man of printed words. I figured out the AP wire software and sound editing software at (sort-of) my cubicle. It’s a treat to have easy access to the best technology — not to mention professional journalists. I feel I have a lot to gain and a lot to contribute.
This morning I also realized that I now work for a metro news station — which means I have to know what’s going on in San Diego to generate story ideas. Don’t get me wrong; I’m pretty up-to-date on local news, but in my infatuation with national and international news sources, I have a lot of catching up to do. Yup, this means reading the San Diego Union-Tribune, your favorite newspaper and mine. Oh, I was kidding. I hate to dis the institution that is Copley, seeing as I received a $500 scholarship from Copley and KPBS received even more money than that — but the U-T, well, sucks. No matter. Interesting stuff is happening in San Diego. And interesting stuff is happening in my world. Want to learn more? Come back tomorrow.
I’m Andrew Phelps, K-P-B-S News.
Despite fears that my zany weblog would get me fired before even starting, I am about to face the dreadful San Diego traffic scene to start at KPBS, where I’ll be situated in 1.5 hours. I’ll be sure to let you know how it goes.
Tuesday 18 May 2004
Today I had a very successful interview with Michael Marcotte, the news director at KPBS News in San Diego. I’ll be starting as a full-time intern for KPBS-FM on June 1. My future there looks promising.
For the first time, I am going to work in a place I already know and love. I listen to NPR (KPBS is the San Diego affiliate) religiously. My friends can tell you it’s on my car radio constantly, and it streams all night in my bedroom. It’s classical music in the evenings and the first news of the day at 4 a.m.
When I went to work at Fox and The Telescope, I had not been in tune to their products. I became loyal quickly, but I had to learn a lot fast. Now, at KPBS-FM, surrounded by professional reporters and word enthusiasts, I’m a nerd in his true home.
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It’s weird experiencing the scary equivalent of “snow days” here. On the news the other night, Marty Levin said, “In the East, we have snow days, and in the West, we have fire and ash days.” My mother pointed out one difference: snow days back east are fun days in winter snowscapes.
on Quietly Remembered