On air talent

I'm just wondering if there is another job in the world where it is not only accepted, but encouraged, to spend a day out of the office getting your hair and make-up done.

It's all the name of the stations' image, but man it's ridiculous.

Anchorage's vendetta against bicyclists rages on

There's been a palpable change around Anchorage since the snow melted and the days began to stretch. I'm now seeing others on their bicylces. Fellow pedalers by the hundreds, in fact. I no longer get heckled by drivers passing at 30 miles an hour and I can make amazing time now that my studded tires are off.

This seasonal shift must have lulled me into a false sense of security because I was certainly caught off guard outside the post office today.

I'm the first to admit I often look ridiculous while riding my bike. The helmet I wear was spray painted gold to help finish my Legends of the Hidden Temple Green Monkey costume for Halloween. My attire varies from a rolled up pair of jeans to workout capris depending up on the day. I've dropped the reflective vest I wore for the winter. With 19 hours of daylight I bank on drivers seeing me.

Anyway, I was fastening my gold helmet after situating my iPod. I had just mailed a slew of birthday wishes and a toothbrush and was about to unlock my bike from it's make-shift rack (a parking meter) when I caught this fat, bearded Santa-esque character out of the corner of my eye.

He was jostling around readying himself to get in the passenger side of a Geo Metro. He was a big dude. Big. Jolly.

I could see him say something to me but couldn't hear it over the Amy Winehouse blaring in my ear.

"What's that?," I asked him, pulling a headphone out of my right ear.

"You all sure do look ridiculous with those helmets on," he said in what I can only imagine was that strenuously-breathed obese person way.

"Well I'll take looking silly if it keeps my brains off the road."

"You know they did some studies in Australia that found they don't help all that much. You're more likely to snap your neck in one of those."

"I guess I'll take my chances," I said as I hastily left the situation.

It takes a big pair, an Alaska-sized pair to call someone out as looking goofy whilst looking absurd yourself. I guess it's just another in the series of minds that have snapped shut to the idea of biking in Anchorage. It's just surprising, just sad.

Midnight sun and public broadcasting

Summer in Alaska is insane. Insane. It is something the healthy human brain cannot handle. I am sitting awake at 2 a.m. because my brain notices it's light out.

Fortunately there's a great documentary on PBS. Working a night shift has helped me see some pretty great stuff, the evolution of Las Vegas, the importance of corn and a two-part series on FDR. Public broadcasting is great.

If Alaska were nothing but June sunlight and PBS, I think more people would live here.

When I was your age, I was huge on YouTube

There is no question I belong to the most over-documented generation in history. From drunken parties to new cameras to weddings, twenty somethings have documented to death some of the most mundane (and spectacular) parts of their lives.

It would be hypocritical for me to pretend I'm not part of the problem as I sit writing my blog. I spend hours on Facebook and live and die by Google Chat. I've embraced the trend but am curious about what's to come.

I guess sites like babyspot and bundlo have some answers. It's not suprising, parents love pimping pictures and information about their children. In fact, I'm guessing it's a cathartic thing for mothers and fathers who stay home all day with a baby. It's a great way to reach out to the world while Jon and Kate Plus 8 is on commercial.

But I've got to say it creeps me out. Social networking was, until recently, a place for perverts, drunks, nerds and college kids (well limiting it to just perverts, drunks and nerds pretty much covers all college kids). Now people can make profiles for their dogs and cats too. It's simply too much.

I propose a ban on all social networking that isn't meant to find a hook-up (alcohol, drug, sexual or technological). Your dog will never know he's got 60 friends on dogster and your baby is more enthralled with the box your computer came in than updating their profile.

Let your kid be a kid. You'll have soooo many other opportunities to screw up their lives, why humiliate them online before their second birthday. With or without your help, your children will belong to the most documented generation in history.

A year in the real world

I was never great in school but it wasn't ever all that hard for me. In retrospect, I wish I hadn't dashed my grad school hopes with laziness and naps so early on in college, but I figure I'd rock a GRE or LSAT so I'd probably be alright.

What I really miss, though, is the intelligent conversations about things I care about. Yesterday a story was widely published about an apparent drunken driver in Mexico who plowed into a bike race and killed one person. The photo that ran (Credit: AP) is pretty graphic not to mention scary for a bicyclist.


Upon seeing the photo I tried to engage Andrew in a discussion about the ethical merits of publishing it. I identified stakeholders and questioned whether the greater good would have compelled me to publish it. It was a page right out of Chris Ison's Media Ethics. I don't think I realized it then, but it was probably the best class I took in college. It was a semester of thinking critically about something I love and figuring out how to be a careful practitioner of journalism.

I'm not sure the class ever touched upon the separation of news and sales, but I know it came up throughout my time in J-school. It's obvious to anybody with critical thinking skills that a news organization (a place where independence and the ability to question everyone without baggage are paramount) should separate its editorial work from its sales work. A reporter should never have to think twice about blasting a business for fear they'll pull their advertising. Let sales handle it.

Well, adulthood has taught me that it's not that cut and dry, especially online. In a small outfit, it's only a handful of people who work on a web page. That means the team is called upon to satisfy sales and news. It's a poor plan and a great way to quickly erode idealism. Holding fast to news values seems secondary to making sure major contracts aren't pulled. It's the definition of a conflict.

Welcome to the disillusionment of adulthood, I guess.

-This post brought to you by McDonalds, Coca-Cola and Nike

A very special preview

This one goes out just to Jan Mom and Tim Dad. I thought you'd like a sneak peek at your accommodations near Denali National Park. I can't wait to see you guys!!

The Nerf-ification of Alaska

Andrew, his friends and I headed to Denali last weekend. It was an amazing trip. It felt strange for a while, driving down heavily-wooded roads and over bubbly creeks. It reminded me of northern Minnesota. That was until we'd round a corner and mountains would pop into view.

All in all, no complaints about the trip. We stayed in a great hostel, were lucky to have some clear days and see Denali and chilled our beer in lovely Carlo Creek. Apart from leaving the LTD's lights on and needing a jump start, it went off without a hitch.

Of course I have some thoughts on the experience. Old people smell really bad. I've long tried to figure out what the odor is. I'm still not totally clear, I've narrowed it down to talcum powder or human decay. I don't think my grandparents smell that bad, but maybe it's when oldster odors combine that it gets to be truly unbearable.

On a particularly lengthy bus ride from the park's entrance to Savage River, Andrew and I were seated behind a pair of oldsters. It was like having stereo surround sound on everything the driver said. The woman, seen in the photo with the goofy hat, would repeat everything to her (what I've discerned to be El Salvadorian) friend.

The photo was captured while everyone on the bus was marveling at some sort of wildlife, if memory serves it was a grizzly bear.

I couldn't help but think that without the safety of the big green bus, these oldsters were probably done for. I guess they wouldn't have made it 12 miles from the park's entrance anyway, but nonetheless they seemed out of place and ill-equipped for any sort of wilderness coping.

Alaska is sold as a rugged, wild adventure. In fact, banners all around Anchorage bear the slogan, "Big, Wild Life." There was nothing wild about this bus ride and the encounter these elderly people had with nature. It was completely nerf-ified, down to the rest stop at the river. Don't get me wrong, I'm a huge fan of rest stops, it just didn't seem right. I had fully expected to have to pee in the woods. It was a foregone conclusion I'd braced myself for.

Turns out, the whole place was Nerf-ed out. We stopped for ice cream (my phenomenal idea) on the way back to the hostel. I clearly miscalculated the clientele and was surprised by the old people wearing name tags and capri pants crawling around the obviously recently-built "rustic" strip mall. I mean, the place had a Harley Davidson shop in it, how authentic is that?

I still haven't figured out what the true Alaska experience is. I know it's not what the Discovery Channel is hocking (I have ample access to food, medical care and Wal-Marts) but it's certainly not what Princess Cruises is selling either.

I guess like any good teenager (Alaska is pretty much the bratty tween of the United States, having joined the union a mere 50 years ago) the state is having a bit of a identity crisis. It doesn't seem to know what it really is, who really loves it and who is just exploiting it.