Journalists seem to always be asking for the inside scoop. What better way for journalism students to find out about the game then from one who's learned to do it well?
That's why Jennifer Moody became a teacher when she came this Wednesday. There is things you can only learn from experience.
Moody told us her story of work experience. The thing that really impressed me was that sometimes they need to be a so-called expert in every field. I decided to look into journalism because I have a problem. I'm interested in everything. Moody just re-answered that problem. I think if I was journalist I'd rather be one at a small paper where I could do a little of everything.
But before you can enjoy your job you have to get it. I have found the determination Moody found necessary to land her job fascinating...and scary. The last thing I want to do is go and bother someone to hire me when I know they don't want me. But I can understand what she said about doing anything to earn experience. That made complete sense. That's where she started earning all that wonderful experience!
I have so much I need to learn. Much of it is mere experience. Perhaps I could have learned how to know what lead you want from a book. The one that brings the water bubbling up from the ground. But then again I don't know. How would you teach the "know-that's-it" feeling without actually doing it? Someday maybe I'll have the experience necessary to be able to say---that's the right one!
I just realized something I did not learn from Moody. I wanted to ask her.
How do you end?
Friday, February 25, 2011
Runners Wild
Let's say you have this friend. He's actually a pretty nice guy. Smart. Cool truck. Then something happens. He takes up running. And your relationship is never quite the same.
Most of us have known a "runner" at sometime or the other. On the whole they seem like normal people. But I've had a sneaking suspicion for a long time that runners are really fanatics. When you realize they are you know you have a problem. How do you deal with a fanatic?
There has to be something wrong with them. They run in the rain. Some of them run in the sleet. They run and they run and they run.
They must be insane.
Ray Charbonneau, in "Chasing the Runners High," tells of his ultra runs. "Ultra" does not mean 10 miles, or 26. It's 50 or a 100. And as if that isn't enough runners seem to attempt to find the worst places to run their crazy races. There is a 100K and a marathon, all for the mentally insane, being held at the South Pole. Runners are wild. Nothing is beyond them.
James Fixx, in "The Complete Book of Running," shares the story of a man named Bob Glover who ran fifty miles in a circle on a quarter mile track. That's 200 rounds of physical and psychological agony.
Here in Oregon, Ray Wold, a marathon runner in his seventies, admits to 103 marathons and more than 35 years of running. "They used to say I was addicted to it," he said.
And elite runners aren't the only ones who can become "addicted." Runners, elite or not, boast of their single mindedness. They talk like they enjoy losing toenails from miles of running, as if hail and hills are their best friends. It might be all right for them to run and run but they like it so much that they talk about it too. Often. And you have to listen.
They have to be crazy.
Suzanne Bonnen, an LBCC student, who used to run three miles three times a week, used the term fanatic for marathon runners. " I don't know how long they'll be able to run 26 miles," she said before talking herself out of the harsh term.
And she used to run!
Margo Herrling, another LBCC student said, "People who are fanatical about running must have really addictive personalities." That sounds about right. They're fanatical addicts. And addicts need help. This next section is for you people who know a runner. I hope some of these tips are helpful for controlling their compulsive behavior.
Do monitor the phone.Runners sometimes have a large network of like-minded friends that should be actively discouraged.
Do watch for race fliers on bulletin boards in junk mail, on the web etc. This is very important.
You could try to hide their running shoes. But keep in mind that they have been known to keep a pair in the car.
You could give them lists of all the potential pains that marathon runners experience. (Tip: if they are already a marathon runner this probaly won't work.)
Runners have been known to be quite skinny and always hungry. If it is necessary to resort to drastic measures, such as when a race date conflicts with your own schedule of free time, then controlling a runner's food supply has been quite effective.
Hide the energy drinks.
If possible make friends with the local sport shop owner. He could be helpful in tracking your friend's movements.
Or if all else fails try what Wold's wife did. Wold said he had no conflicts with her over running "Because she ran at the same time I did."
But that might be considered encouraging their behavior. It might be more helpful to make your friend start the successful AA procedure. The first step is: say, "I admit I am an alcholic."
So I begin. "I, Michaela Wasson, admit I am a run-aholic...."
Runners Anonymous here I come.
Most of us have known a "runner" at sometime or the other. On the whole they seem like normal people. But I've had a sneaking suspicion for a long time that runners are really fanatics. When you realize they are you know you have a problem. How do you deal with a fanatic?
There has to be something wrong with them. They run in the rain. Some of them run in the sleet. They run and they run and they run.
They must be insane.
Ray Charbonneau, in "Chasing the Runners High," tells of his ultra runs. "Ultra" does not mean 10 miles, or 26. It's 50 or a 100. And as if that isn't enough runners seem to attempt to find the worst places to run their crazy races. There is a 100K and a marathon, all for the mentally insane, being held at the South Pole. Runners are wild. Nothing is beyond them.
James Fixx, in "The Complete Book of Running," shares the story of a man named Bob Glover who ran fifty miles in a circle on a quarter mile track. That's 200 rounds of physical and psychological agony.
Here in Oregon, Ray Wold, a marathon runner in his seventies, admits to 103 marathons and more than 35 years of running. "They used to say I was addicted to it," he said.
And elite runners aren't the only ones who can become "addicted." Runners, elite or not, boast of their single mindedness. They talk like they enjoy losing toenails from miles of running, as if hail and hills are their best friends. It might be all right for them to run and run but they like it so much that they talk about it too. Often. And you have to listen.
They have to be crazy.
Suzanne Bonnen, an LBCC student, who used to run three miles three times a week, used the term fanatic for marathon runners. " I don't know how long they'll be able to run 26 miles," she said before talking herself out of the harsh term.
And she used to run!
Margo Herrling, another LBCC student said, "People who are fanatical about running must have really addictive personalities." That sounds about right. They're fanatical addicts. And addicts need help. This next section is for you people who know a runner. I hope some of these tips are helpful for controlling their compulsive behavior.
Do monitor the phone.Runners sometimes have a large network of like-minded friends that should be actively discouraged.
Do watch for race fliers on bulletin boards in junk mail, on the web etc. This is very important.
You could try to hide their running shoes. But keep in mind that they have been known to keep a pair in the car.
You could give them lists of all the potential pains that marathon runners experience. (Tip: if they are already a marathon runner this probaly won't work.)
Runners have been known to be quite skinny and always hungry. If it is necessary to resort to drastic measures, such as when a race date conflicts with your own schedule of free time, then controlling a runner's food supply has been quite effective.
Hide the energy drinks.
If possible make friends with the local sport shop owner. He could be helpful in tracking your friend's movements.
Or if all else fails try what Wold's wife did. Wold said he had no conflicts with her over running "Because she ran at the same time I did."
But that might be considered encouraging their behavior. It might be more helpful to make your friend start the successful AA procedure. The first step is: say, "I admit I am an alcholic."
So I begin. "I, Michaela Wasson, admit I am a run-aholic...."
Runners Anonymous here I come.
At-a-glance
A runner's mind:
The greatest stimulator of my running career was fear. Herb Elliot
You have to forget your last marathon before you try another. Your mind can't know what's coming. Frank Shorter
I'm never going to run this again. Grete Waitz after the first of nine NYC Marathons.
Jogging is for people who aren't intelligent enough to watch television. Victoria Wood
from: http://www.momentumsports.co.uk/RunningQuotes.asp
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
DAC genocide project missed a few things
We must be aware.
On Jan. 27, the Diversity Achievement Center set up a "Field of Flags" outside our library windows. We saw the colors. Some of us read the numbers. It was a display on the crime of genocide. But maybe there was more to understand.
Do we think?
Chelsea Baker, an LBCC student said, "It was shocking seeing that many flags." Jill Mahler, another student, said, " It was visually interesting, caught a lot of attention." The display was effective.
The DAC people should be proud. They wanted to raise attention. "It wasn't meant as a shock but as a reminder," said Toni Klohk, DAC coordinator."I want students to be aware."
We read the numbers. We saw the colors. We're aware.
But were we getting a true message?
Though Ricky Zipp, DAC team leader, said there was, "No special colors," the black flags under our country's name were ugly. We had the highest numbers on the whole display, 10 million. Beside us Joseph Stalin looked like a city gangster in a yellow suit. We seemed the worst villains of all.
But are we? Let us think. Hard.
I have Iroquois blood from my grandmother's side. I would never deny what we did to the American Indians. They did die. Ten million is not too high a number. But there can be more that we weren't told.
Guenter Lewy, writing on George Mason University History News Network, wrote, "It is thought that 75 to 90 percent [of American Indians] died of disease." It was called a "virgin soil epidemic." As an example, we all know about Squanto, the Indian who saved the Pilgrims. His whole village was wiped out by smallpox.
Those black flags were symbolizing a gigantic American murder? Really?
Yes, we murdered. There were men who treated Indians like dogs. But genocide is against the first sentence of our Constitution. So we have lavished gifts on the present day Indians in sorrow for our crime.
We are one of the most benevolent countries in the world.
Why must we bear the black flags?
In the genocide display, right next to us, were those yellow flags giving a mere seven million murders to Stalin. An average estimate by scholars is actually 20 million, twice the amount shown under America. Zipp said in defense of his numbers, "He [Stalin] did it so fast...people just didn't know." Only they did know.
If the DAC wishes us to be "aware" of genocide why didn't they give the right numbers? And why do they consider it all right to choose not to show the deaths from abortion of 48 million or more possible people as a genocide?
Of course the DAC can make mistakes, they are only people. But those could be costly.
We must think. Or we could never understand why more people were killed in the 20th century than any other. It could have been the growth of atheistic philosophies. We could learn to hate the country that gave us birth. We could learn to give up our individuality in an attempt at mass diversity. We could learn to rely on emotions when we need to understand statistics. We can be lazy. We could not think.
Beware.
Some murder statistics:
Armenian massacre-1.5 million killed by Turks who objected to their religion: burned alive, slaughtered in a death march or in private atrocities
Rwandan massacre-800,000 murdered by Hutu, the ethnic majority in their country
Joseph Stalin-20 million or even more, mainly from gulag deaths or forced famine
Adolf Hitler-11-17 million from concentration camps and individual atrocities during WWII
Mao Tse-tung-45 million murdered in camps and avoidable starvation
On Jan. 27, the Diversity Achievement Center set up a "Field of Flags" outside our library windows. We saw the colors. Some of us read the numbers. It was a display on the crime of genocide. But maybe there was more to understand.
Do we think?
Chelsea Baker, an LBCC student said, "It was shocking seeing that many flags." Jill Mahler, another student, said, " It was visually interesting, caught a lot of attention." The display was effective.
The DAC people should be proud. They wanted to raise attention. "It wasn't meant as a shock but as a reminder," said Toni Klohk, DAC coordinator."I want students to be aware."
We read the numbers. We saw the colors. We're aware.
But were we getting a true message?
Though Ricky Zipp, DAC team leader, said there was, "No special colors," the black flags under our country's name were ugly. We had the highest numbers on the whole display, 10 million. Beside us Joseph Stalin looked like a city gangster in a yellow suit. We seemed the worst villains of all.
But are we? Let us think. Hard.
I have Iroquois blood from my grandmother's side. I would never deny what we did to the American Indians. They did die. Ten million is not too high a number. But there can be more that we weren't told.
Guenter Lewy, writing on George Mason University History News Network, wrote, "It is thought that 75 to 90 percent [of American Indians] died of disease." It was called a "virgin soil epidemic." As an example, we all know about Squanto, the Indian who saved the Pilgrims. His whole village was wiped out by smallpox.
Those black flags were symbolizing a gigantic American murder? Really?
Yes, we murdered. There were men who treated Indians like dogs. But genocide is against the first sentence of our Constitution. So we have lavished gifts on the present day Indians in sorrow for our crime.
We are one of the most benevolent countries in the world.
Why must we bear the black flags?
In the genocide display, right next to us, were those yellow flags giving a mere seven million murders to Stalin. An average estimate by scholars is actually 20 million, twice the amount shown under America. Zipp said in defense of his numbers, "He [Stalin] did it so fast...people just didn't know." Only they did know.
If the DAC wishes us to be "aware" of genocide why didn't they give the right numbers? And why do they consider it all right to choose not to show the deaths from abortion of 48 million or more possible people as a genocide?
Of course the DAC can make mistakes, they are only people. But those could be costly.
We must think. Or we could never understand why more people were killed in the 20th century than any other. It could have been the growth of atheistic philosophies. We could learn to hate the country that gave us birth. We could learn to give up our individuality in an attempt at mass diversity. We could learn to rely on emotions when we need to understand statistics. We can be lazy. We could not think.
Beware.
Some murder statistics:
Armenian massacre-1.5 million killed by Turks who objected to their religion: burned alive, slaughtered in a death march or in private atrocities
Rwandan massacre-800,000 murdered by Hutu, the ethnic majority in their country
Joseph Stalin-20 million or even more, mainly from gulag deaths or forced famine
Adolf Hitler-11-17 million from concentration camps and individual atrocities during WWII
Mao Tse-tung-45 million murdered in camps and avoidable starvation
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
LB Janitor keeps track of towels and students belongings'
Tom Bohmker thought he was dying. At 60 years old he had been struck with paralysis and was flat in his bed. He thought a lot about leaving. Sometimes he even wanted to. But there was one thing that worried him very much about the idea. His wife's dream house. He hadn't finished it yet.
Bohmker is the equipment coordinator at LBCC's Activity Center. The whole place needs his work to keep things running smoothly. But now he was sick.
Seven years ago James Bell hired him for the post of athletic equipment coordinator. He said he was the most qualified man that applied. "He had the skills to fix things, the positive attitude...and the desire to help the teaching/learning done in the AC."
Tom does even more than that. All we see when we walk by his office is Tom puttering around the roaring washing machines. We recognize the perpetual jean shirt with the stains washed into it, the smile that stretches his bony brown face as he tries to remember your name. But we can't see around the corner to where the hidden office is.
The little room floats in the smell of cleaning solutions; it's tidy, with labels on the cabinets of supplies. Some jokester put up a picture of "Tom's dream commuter pickup," a huge dump truck. A history in two volumes of Stonewall Jackson is propped up on a shelf. And on one of the closets there, slightly crooked, hangs a picture of a woman and her two girls. She was a former work-study student. Her daughter is very sick. Bohmker is worried about her.
He also tells the story about Tim. He's very proud of Tim.
Tim was a student that no one else would have been proud of. Out of high school he had dragged around watching video games until signing up to do work-study at LBCC. Tom said he tried. But Tim's work wasn't quite good enough. He had to stop. Still Bohmker said with pride that Tim had made "A start on life." He is now in the Navy as a succesful chef.
One of his workers lived in a homeless shelter. Bohmker said it was a terrible place. That was another student he was proud of.
It's all about the students. He said that the "pleasure of his job is to serve students." He rotates around them.
Bell said that Bohmker has "a heart of gold, he's not mean." The students who work under him agree. Susan Erwin, who's on her second term as a work-study student said that "there is nothing I'd change" about Bohmker. Kecia Speck, also in work-study said the same thing. "I love working with him...he genuinely cares about the people working here."
Bohmker had to think a long time to decide what he didn't like about his job. Finally he decided it was the "domino effect," when so many things piled up at once. The roof is leaking and a teacher has come in for a tool but over at the gym the basketball holder is broken while a student is asking for help opening her locker and the baseball field needs to be cleaned up...
We all know of course that in that paralysis attack Bohmker didn't die. He recovered, even though he had to spend some time in a nursing home. Not a very cheerful place, but he said that "We pretended we were at a very distinguished country club."
He's been given more time. The dream house is almost done.
Bohmker was brought up in San Fransisco in what he called a "functional" family. His mother didn't work. His father was a Navy man. He taught them to call right starboard, left port, and to keep at a hard job until they finished it.
After earning a degree in aircraft technology, Bohmker moved to Oregon at 21 years old.
It's here that he met his wife. "We're very compatible," said Rosie Bohmker.
Of course there was that time when they had only been married five years. Tom Bohmker wanted to buy a Station Wagon for more room. She objected, strongly. It was dark green and a Dodge. "I was young," she said laughing, "and it looked too much like a hearse." Besides, Bohmker was going to sell her loved powder-blue car to help find the money. When they went to the bank for the cash, she drove off on him. Left him stranded.
"He called his mother," she said. "I understand his reasons now." Bohmker bought her a teapot full of flowers to make it up.
Now he's here, busy fixing things and finding lost watches. He pans gold and writes what he said are "technical publications" about his hobby. Just recently he sold a story to the Prospecting and Mining Journal. Sometimes he daydreams about his projects, but sweeps the floor at the same time.
Because as he said, "Somebody has to do it."
Bohmker is the equipment coordinator at LBCC's Activity Center. The whole place needs his work to keep things running smoothly. But now he was sick.
Seven years ago James Bell hired him for the post of athletic equipment coordinator. He said he was the most qualified man that applied. "He had the skills to fix things, the positive attitude...and the desire to help the teaching/learning done in the AC."
Tom does even more than that. All we see when we walk by his office is Tom puttering around the roaring washing machines. We recognize the perpetual jean shirt with the stains washed into it, the smile that stretches his bony brown face as he tries to remember your name. But we can't see around the corner to where the hidden office is.
The little room floats in the smell of cleaning solutions; it's tidy, with labels on the cabinets of supplies. Some jokester put up a picture of "Tom's dream commuter pickup," a huge dump truck. A history in two volumes of Stonewall Jackson is propped up on a shelf. And on one of the closets there, slightly crooked, hangs a picture of a woman and her two girls. She was a former work-study student. Her daughter is very sick. Bohmker is worried about her.
He also tells the story about Tim. He's very proud of Tim.
Tim was a student that no one else would have been proud of. Out of high school he had dragged around watching video games until signing up to do work-study at LBCC. Tom said he tried. But Tim's work wasn't quite good enough. He had to stop. Still Bohmker said with pride that Tim had made "A start on life." He is now in the Navy as a succesful chef.
One of his workers lived in a homeless shelter. Bohmker said it was a terrible place. That was another student he was proud of.
It's all about the students. He said that the "pleasure of his job is to serve students." He rotates around them.
Bell said that Bohmker has "a heart of gold, he's not mean." The students who work under him agree. Susan Erwin, who's on her second term as a work-study student said that "there is nothing I'd change" about Bohmker. Kecia Speck, also in work-study said the same thing. "I love working with him...he genuinely cares about the people working here."
Bohmker had to think a long time to decide what he didn't like about his job. Finally he decided it was the "domino effect," when so many things piled up at once. The roof is leaking and a teacher has come in for a tool but over at the gym the basketball holder is broken while a student is asking for help opening her locker and the baseball field needs to be cleaned up...
We all know of course that in that paralysis attack Bohmker didn't die. He recovered, even though he had to spend some time in a nursing home. Not a very cheerful place, but he said that "We pretended we were at a very distinguished country club."
He's been given more time. The dream house is almost done.
Bohmker was brought up in San Fransisco in what he called a "functional" family. His mother didn't work. His father was a Navy man. He taught them to call right starboard, left port, and to keep at a hard job until they finished it.
After earning a degree in aircraft technology, Bohmker moved to Oregon at 21 years old.
It's here that he met his wife. "We're very compatible," said Rosie Bohmker.
Of course there was that time when they had only been married five years. Tom Bohmker wanted to buy a Station Wagon for more room. She objected, strongly. It was dark green and a Dodge. "I was young," she said laughing, "and it looked too much like a hearse." Besides, Bohmker was going to sell her loved powder-blue car to help find the money. When they went to the bank for the cash, she drove off on him. Left him stranded.
"He called his mother," she said. "I understand his reasons now." Bohmker bought her a teapot full of flowers to make it up.
Now he's here, busy fixing things and finding lost watches. He pans gold and writes what he said are "technical publications" about his hobby. Just recently he sold a story to the Prospecting and Mining Journal. Sometimes he daydreams about his projects, but sweeps the floor at the same time.
Because as he said, "Somebody has to do it."
Tom Bohmker
Age: 62
Family: wife Rosie, two boys and two grandchildren
Interests: panning for gold, hobby farm, writing "technical publications," fixing things
Former jobs: logging, woodcutting, working in the metallurgy department, custodial work, mining industry, airplane mechanic, construction
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