No ducks in a row (again)

When I signed up to be a journalist I knew that job stability would not come for many years. I was prepared to go from short term job to contract and so on. I was ok with that because at least I would have an idea of when each contract or term would end. I would be prepared.
I was not prepared to walk into work this morning and find out that I had been laid off. The finances at my small time paper hadn't been good for a while and I was the most expendable employee.
So, here I am, back on the unemployment train. I didn't enjoy my first ride very much and am not looking forward to it the second time around. It doesn't help that I will be trying to figure this out while by myself in Picton. Last time, at least I could schedule a mid-day freak out with Janey. Does anyone have spare couch space in Toronto?
I will continually try to find a job, even if a large part of me would just like to get on plane and go somewhere, anywhere.
Wish me luck, I can use all the luck I can get.

Elections are fun, and exhausting

I'm tired. Realistically, covering my riding was incredibly easy. I only report on one riding, and it was pretty much certain that the incumbant was going to win.
Unfortunately, since moving here I've become like 80 and so the idea of not having to be anywhere near the election results until 10 p.m. was killing me.
It ended up being fun. Once the winning candidate was able to acknowledge that he won and the other candidates showed up to concede there was running to the door, pushing around being in scrums. That was great, I started a scrum unwittingly, it was great, I felt like a grown-up reporter. The only problem is that Belleville has a college with a journalism school, so the place was crawling with budding journalists and photographers. The problem with this? Frankly, I still look like a journalism student. The other 'real' reporters cold easily mistake me for someone there for school, but no, really it's my job.
It didn't turn out to be a huge factor, I did have the satisfying moment of having a j-school radio student completely record all my questions and answers, without asking her own. She totally thought I was a 'grown-up reporter,' I thought she was lazy.
After this non-sensical rambling I will reach a conclusion, it was fun, it was a bit of a rush and I think it would be pretty nifty to get to travel on one of those election busses/planes.

Don't I look like a real reporter?? Don't I also look really really small?

No wonder

Throughout every election campaign, heaps of terrible photos of policiticans appear in a variety of news outlets. I now understand why.
When a politician makes a campaign stop he is swarmed with people, and a lot of them have cameras. So there is a big group of photographers trying to get a picture, they're pushing each other out of the way, holding cameras over their heads and just hoping to get a clear shot. This results in a lot of crappy pictures. How would I know? I was one of these photographers yesterday.
I'm not a great photographer to begin with so this was an added challenge. But here I am, all 5'4 of me, trying to take a photo from behind a half a dozen other taller photographers. I have a lot of pictures of the back of their heads. Luckily, a security guy helped me get into a clearer vantage point to get a picture of Paul Martin without the back of some bald guy's head in it. I know I've got something in there, once I crop out a lot of heads...

This is probably the bet shot I took of the PM, post-cropping.

This is what it felt like, plus the heat of a lot of smelly photographers. I have a lot of pictures from varying degrees of closeness of the bald guy in the red coat.

WTF moment of the day

So this morning I heard that Jack Layton did a press conference for journalism students. Sounds like a good chance for Jack to find some votes, but I won't lie- why he didn't he stop and do this during the last election? That would have been cool. Not that I didn't enjoy the experience of covering to a protest where j-schoolers outnumbered protesters but really...

I'm also angry at my local (read next 'city' over) movie theatre. Neither the theatre in Belleville or Kingston is showing Brokeback Mountain. But both claim to be showing Karla. Does this make sense to you? Not showing a mildly controversial film that's supposed to be really good but showing a really controversial film that's supposed to be terrible. Why?

As whitty as I actually am

While discussing last night's leader debate in the office we discussed all the obvious debate crap, which I won't actually get into because everyone else will. But my editor pointed out something very true, that Canadian leaders seem really uncomfortable with the whole post-debate handshake thing. In the States it comes across cordial and natural.

My solution, change the handshake from a normal one to the good old fashioned post-hockey/soccer/baseball one. The walk in a line and say 'good game/debate' with more of a hand slap that shake. It might work, even for Harper.

As whitty as I want to be

I had two great laughs while reading the blog world today. Check out Rick Mercer's picks for a Conservative cabinet, and Aaron Wherry's eight point plan for a Michael Jackson comeback.
My only piece of advice, go pee first.

Destroying the evidence

Until today there was still one shred of tangible evidence that I am not from Ontario. It was the license plate on my car. My incredibly dirty Alberta plate was replaced with shiny new Ontario ones, it's kind of sad.
It was wierd to relinquish my driver's license, and to get a health care with my picture on it so it was nice to still have a little bit of Alberta kicking around. Now, I have don't have an easy excuse for cutting someone off if I miss a turn because I'm from out of province and I can't use it as a way to get out of speeding tickets (not that I have...). The only good part about it is that I will no longer have strangers approach me at the Post Office asking if I'm really from Alberta (no, I stole the car and drove it here dumbass), or giving me a strange look that says 'what the hell are you doing all the way out here?' I guess it's time I admit that I live here.
My Alberta plate (you only need a rear plate in Wild Rose Country) was also the only thing that made my Buick cool. Now I just drive a Buick, and the coolest thing about it is me--and that ain't much.

I will be stuck here forever...

I'm lame and old and proud of it

I've been called lame and old a lot in the last couple days all in relation to my New Year's Eve plans. I don't care because I had a damn good time.
After paying our best wishes to Sam and Dov at the Imperial a few of us headed to a mellow condo party to drink Shiraz. Several younger bucks were trying to convince us to go out clubbing, something I rarely do on a normal night let alone NYE when everything is more expensive. These young bucks called us old and lame.
When I talked of how my night went when I arrived at work, I was again called old. At least I made it until past midnight -- apparently the only person in my office to do so.
So even if it makes me old and lame, I like condo parties and really enjoy Shiraz.