Uncategorized

  • 12 Oct

    Don’t Read That!

    Last week, groups of librarians, publishers, journalists and authors marked the annual Banned Books Week to “celebrate the freedom to read.”

    The event brings attention to the works that have been banned by states and communities, often for issues that people decide they would just rather not address. The books range from modern pop lit (Twilight, My Sister’s Keeper, Harry Potter) to classics that used to be standard reading (To Kill a Mockingbird, Black Boy, The Giver).

    Like any self-respecting journalist, I did my best to turn an evergreen blog post — reading J.D. Salinger’s “Catcher in the Rye” — into a timely piece pegged to a news event. I even finished the book late last week so that I could actually post the blog during Banned Books Week.

    Somewhere between setting the book down, and sitting down here at the keyboard I got a little distracted. I partly blame my previous post, which involved a lot more effort than usual, but will give credit to general laziness and the need to clear out space on the DVR.

    “Catcher in the Rye” is one of those books that it seems like I should have read a long, long time ago, but somehow slipped by. I have been trying to plow through some of that backlog, and in the process have apparently been reading some “scandalous” books.

    In the past three years (my lists from 2008, 2009), I have read three of the top 100 banned books of this decade. Those corrupting titles include “Of Mice and Men,” “The Kite Runner” and “Fahrenheit 451.” In my life, I have probably read about a third of that list.

    I found it particularly interesting to see “Fahrenheit 451” on the list, since the plot is largely driven by a world in which all books are banned and destroyed on sight.

    The American Library Association has a map of book bannings, as well as lists that detail why certain powers that be wanted those words hidden. A lot of their reasoning falls in a few categories they don’t want students exposed to — sexuality, racism and profanity.

    One listing for Harper Lee’s “To Kill a Mockingbird” says the book was banned because of the way black characters were portrayed. As in the case of most of these instances, someone is missing the fact that those elements present the very thing that can foster incredibly useful conversations.

    The ALA listing says there was worry about African American students feeling uncomfortable discussing the text. I read the book in ninth grade English, a class taught by a black woman with several black students. We didn’t skip over portions or sanitize our conversations. We talked about the issues, the implications of race relations in that era and how they affected the very conversations we have today. In short, we used what is probably the seminal novel for such a discussion to have, well, those discussions.

    I’m not saying second graders should be reading “The Kite Runner,” but the parents of 10th graders shouldn’t overreact to one scene in one chapter that happens to set an important emotional tone in the story.

    I’m glad my parents had a different philosophy, which I can best describe as reading = good. There’s a book fair at school this month? Great, here’s some cash. There’s a magazine drive and you want to subscribe to something? No problem. You have a summer reading list? Let me know which ones you are reading, and I’ll get them (as opposed to the huge number of kids who never bothered to open a book over the summer).

    Ok, end of rant.

    I have described in the past my general process for the book blogs — mainly dog-earing pages that have something I think I want to discuss later.

    The bad part about waiting so long to talk about “Catcher in the Rye” is that I haven’t the slightest clue why I tagged any of these pages. But at least I am pretty confident I haven’t been totally corrupted by the “sexually explicit” material full of “offensive language.”

    By cjhannas books Uncategorized
  • 09 Oct

    Look Ma, I Made a Movie

    During my sophomore year of college, I took a documentary film class that ended with an extremely disappointing project.

    We had a good subject matter, and put a lot of work into the film, but the end result was not good at all. Two years later I had some time in my fall schedule, and took on an independent study project to give the documentary genre another shot. The focus of the project was The Crusader, the student newspaper at Susquehanna University.

    I wanted to explore a few things that as a former editor I knew we had sometimes talked about in small groups, but had never discussed as an organization. There were issues like whether staff members should be paid, if the one practicum credit was worth all the effort, what it was like to put in all the work only to see people throw away the paper without reading it and what it was like to go through all of that together.

    One side perk was that the communications department had some extra money to spend during the summer, so I arrived back at campus to find a brand new, top of the line Mac G5 editing system. It was one of those pieces of technology that is so beautiful you don’t even want to touch it. Not only was it a big step up from our Windows-based Adobe Premiere system, but nobody really knew how to use the FinalCut editing software. So as part of my independent study, I basically had the machine all to myself for the semester with the understanding that I would later teach people how to use it.

    It was a pretty sweet deal.

    I interviewed most of the editorial board within a week span about midway through the semester. The only major editor not featured is the sports editor Sarah, who not only had time constraints from playing volleyball but also was not a fan of talking to me with a camera in my hand.

    The process for producing one issue of the weekly newspaper encompasses about a week and a half. All of the non-interview footage follows one specific issue — including the initial editorial board meeting, staff meeting, budget meeting and two nights of actually laying out the paper.

    Here is the film in two parts, with additional discussion about the process below (after hitting play, change the 360p in the bottom right corner to 480p for optimal viewing):

    After showing the film to everyone when it was done, I sent all of the editors a questionnaire to see what they thought. I asked for their overall impression, what insights they may have gained, whether they thought the subject was treated fairly and how they thought my relationship with the newspaper affected the film I was able to make.

    The last question was really the most interesting to me. I started as a staff writer for the paper during my sophomore year, and the following year served as the sports editor. Senior year I dropped back to just being a writer, covering a few sports teams and writing the weekly sports column. For the edition seen in the film, I only wrote the sports column.

    The editors said that because I had been in their position, they felt they were much more comfortable in opening up to me. They said they would have been much more wary about letting a total outsider into their office, and would have acted differently.

    What none of us really expected was the wide range of opinions that came out during the interviews. The pay issue was particularly interesting with who wanted to pay whom, and why.

    I also didn’t expect it to be as funny as it was (at least to me). The editors usually work very late nights on Wednesday and Thursdays, and there’s a certain amount of silliness that comes out of the process. I always chalked that up to people getting a little punchy without sleep, but the daytime interviews certainly brought out some sneaky funny people.

    In total, I think I shot about 16 hours of footage using two different cameras (Sony PD170 and Panasonic PV-DV851). One of the biggest challenges was taking that monster stack of video and getting it in a somewhat organized state. That began with giving each tape a number (label your tapes!):

    I then captured each tape into the computer, jotting down notes about specific shots I might want to use as the tape was playing. By the end of the project, I had kind of a mad scientist thing going on with my stack of notes. I’ll close with a few scanned sheets, with some attempted explanations as to what is going on with each one (links will open in new window):

    Interview Questions
    I started out with a standard list of questions to ask each editor, and added a few more that were targeted to each one. As you can see, there are some issues that didn’t make it into the film. I had some additional directions I wanted to go, but at some point you just have to stop.

    Video Bins
    This was probably the most important piece of paper to me for that entire semester. In FinalCut, you can create these virtual bins to organize sets of clips. What you see here are four sections (one for each portion of the paper), with a number and letter for each clip. I have two double-sided pages like this, and as crazy as it may look, it all made perfect sense to me at the time.

    Film Outline
    Besides keeping all of the footage straight, developing the story of the film was the most difficult part. I spent a number of days hopelessly looking through the video trying to come up with a logical structure. You can see here the basic outline at the top and a more developed list below that with timecodes for where each section ends. Off to the right, there’s a pair of drawings with the words “narrative arc.” I think that came from trying to explain to my professor how each portion told its own story, and that those added up to a total arc that took us from one place to another.

    Narration Script
    With an outline in place, the real anchor for moving the story along was the narration. I tried to say as little as possible, instead letting the editors tell their story. But there were a few parts that just needed a sentence or two of explanation to orient things. Probably the biggest thing I have wanted to redo is the voice track. At the time I recorded it, it was “good enough” to get the editing process rolling and I never went back to do a better version. Oh well.

    I also can’t explain why I didn’t hide the mic cords during the interviews, which is definitely distracting. Finally, I wish I had taken the time to make a blooper reel. Sarah wouldn’t sit down for an interview, but I have a tape with an amazingly entertaining segment of her eating a piece of chocolate. The audio from some of the office interactions you saw but didn’t hear would have also been worth the effort.

    Good times.

  • 07 Oct

    Spaghetti Tacos: Yes, Please

    Nickelodeon is responsible for a lot of great innovations in kid-dom, including such icons as “Ren & Stimpy,” “Doug” and “Clarissa Explains it All.”

    But a newer program on the network may have inadvertently spawned the greatest idea yet: Spaghetti tacos.

    I was reading through The New York Times the other night at work and could not pass up a story that included two of my favorite foods. It turns out, according to the Times, the combination of spaghetti and tacos is huge with the viewers of the show “iCarly.”

    “That punch line has now become part of American children’s cuisine, fostering a legion of imitators and improvisers across the country,” the story says. “Spurred on by reruns, Internet traffic, slumber parties and simple old-fashioned word of mouth among children, spaghetti tacos are all the rage. Especially if you’re less than 5 feet tall and live with your mother.”

    I haven’t been less than 5 feet tall since the age of two (OK, not true, but it’s been a while) and don’t live with my mother. But there is no doubt I will be purchasing taco shells in the coming days to give this dish a shot.

    Note: As you may have noticed, I changed the look of the blog to hopefully improve readability. Let me know what you think.

    By cjhannas food kids Uncategorized
  • 30 Sep

    Bring On the Rain

    Every once in a while, I like to remind people that I am not that smart.

    About a month ago my mom said she was planning on going to a Washington Nationals game this week, and asked if I wanted to go. I checked the calendar, and for some reason got it in my head that the game was on a Monday.

    Given that I don’t start work until 10 p.m., and work in the city, it was actually convenient timing to catch a game.

    So I got home from work Monday morning planning on power-napping so I could get up in time for the game. All morning I had listened to weather reports saying we were getting tons of rain, and figured there was little chance they were actually going to play the game. I woke up a few times and checked the radar, each time becoming more and more convinced of a rain-out.

    After sleeping a lot longer than I originally intended, I checked the radar one more time. Somehow all of the rain that seemed destined to fall on Washington somehow skirted the city.

    I started rushing to leave the house so I could at least catch some of the game; I figured I could get there around the fifth or sixth inning. But in my haste, I left my ticket in the car. I knew where we were sitting, so on the train I figured I would just get a cheap ticket to get into the stadium and make my way down to the original seats.

    I got to Nationals Park in the top of the sixth inning, and for some reason the guy at the box office gave me a free ticket. I would like to say it is because of my stellar personality, but given the stack of free tickets on the desk I doubt I was alone.

    I didn’t see anyone in our row, so I called my mom to see if they had moved to a potentially drier location:

    “Hello?”
    “Hey, are you here?”
    “Que?”
    “Are you at the game?”
    “The game is tomorrow.”

    (Some portions of the conversation may have been re-created)


    A dry view of the game

    So there I was, at a baseball game on the wrong day. It’s actually quite fortunate I forgot my original ticket — imagine the confusion trying to use a ticket from the wrong day.

    At least I got to see three free innings.

  • 26 Sep

    Oh Baby Baby

    Baby Hannas is almost here — my brother’s child, not mine — and to say that my mom has been waiting for her arrival for a long time would be an understatement.

    Roughly six years ago my cousin had a son, and after going to one of his early birthday parties my mom told a carfull of my siblings something to the effect of, “I’m ready when you’re ready.”

    Since then my older brother got married, and more recently my sister did as well. (First I wrote “my older brother and sister got married,” but clearly that doesn’t sound right). The prevailing theory among the rest of us was that once a grandchild existed, mom would have someone to play with and dote upon and all pressure would be off.

    Well, it looks like that thesis is incorrect.

    I was over at my parents’ house the other day to help out with a few things. One task was to move some furniture in the ongoing process of getting the upstairs more baby-toting visitor-friendly. Later I was doing some stuff on her computer when the One Year Plan came up.

    It turns out the one grandchild plan was flawed from the start. Apparently relying on other members of the labor pool (pun not intended, but accepted) is not within the expectations of management. All are supposed to contribute to the system. Who knew?

    I asked what sort of timetable existed, and as the name of the plan suggests, my child was slated to arrive in a year. Given the laws of nature, the current state of the stock market, global warming and the like, that didn’t leave much time to get the plan in gear.

    I mean, that doesn’t give Natalie Portman a lot of notice to change her filming schedule to accommodate the plan. I was able to push the deadline back to two years, but I should probably let Natalie know pretty soon anyway.


    Natalie is a little skeptical about the plan

    I asked a few more questions to make sure the expectations were clear. There is no cap on grandkids — so if my sister were to announce tomorrow she was having twins, that would in no way affect my situation. The deadline is also important because the grandkids are supposed to have cousins who are near in age to play with. I argued that it would be good to have a range so that the older ones could be passing along wisdom. Suggestion rejected.

    You may recall from an earlier post, that my mom and I have a running joke that I am going to be married with two kids before she even knows I am in a relationship. So while the first kid may arrive in two years, it’s not like she would even know about it until much later.

    So, blog readers, we have some work to do.

    P.S. Hi Mom!

  • 19 Sep

    Be the Ball

    After a book that takes forever to get through, I always go to one I know I can easily read in just a few days.

    After William Faulkner’s “Absalom, Absalom!” the quick read this time was Carl Hiaasen’s “The Downhill Lie.” It’s about his journey as a self-described “hacker” to return to playing golf many years after quitting the sport.

    As a fellow hacker, I found it interesting to get inside the mind of someone who plays at exactly the same level. My usual playing partners are both better than I am, so while we are always out there to just have fun there’s something to knowing you are the weakest link in any group.

    I think Hiaasen would enjoy my general outlook on playing with those who consistently beat me — if they shoot an 88 and I rock a 95, we paid the same amount of money but I got to hit seven extra shots.

    One thing I found troubling about Hiaasen is that he’s a University of Florida journalism graduate. When I worked in Florida, it seemed like three-quarters of my coworkers went to the UF J-school, and really, nothing good can come of that. (OK, they were pretty cool, but having to hear about Tim Tebow every day will wear on you).

    But Hiaasen did redeem himself by introducing me to a new term I can use to describe my golf game. Actually, it’s one of Hiaasen’s friends who tells him about “Ray Ray golf.” In the hacker world, our rounds are marked by stretches of a few good holes that make us feel like we can actually play this game, and then holes so disastrous we wonder how our friends can stand to watch such a spectacle. In the words of Hiaasen’s friend, “One hole you play like Ray Floyd, and the next you play like Ray Charles.”

    The thing about those good holes is that they are sustaining. It only takes a few good shots to keep you going. “That’s the secret of the sport’s infernal seduction,” Hiaasen says. “It surrenders just enough good shots to let you talk yourself out of quitting.”

    He talks later about the effect of even one good shot, the way it feels to swing a club and have a little white ball go exactly where you want it to. “That’s the killer. A good shot is a total rush, possibly the second most pleasurable sensation in the human experience. It will mess with your head in wild and delusive ways.”

    He’s right. There’s something about a perfect shot that makes you feel slightly superhuman. When you hit the ball right in the sweet spot of the club, it feels different. There’s an ease with which the ball flies off the club face and continues to an exact point off in the distance.

    The setting helps enhance that feeling. You’re out on a narrow strip of grass, maybe nestled between the woods with nothing but the sound of birds around you. You pause for a second in that stillness, the club in your hand and your eyes on the ball in front of you. And then your actions — the way you pull back the club, rotate your body into a corkscrew and then unravel it all — cause this pinpoint flight as if you had just picked up the ball and set it down exactly where you wanted to hit the next shot.

    It’s kind of like hitting a home run in baseball. To the observer, there’s the really violent action of a bat slamming into a ball that has been hurled in its direction. But crushing a baseball — hitting it in just the right part of the bat at the right angle — can feel smooth and effortless in a way that can seem totally opposed to the resulting flight of the ball.

    You don’t have quite the same control over where the ball lands, but a few of those will definitely make you forget some of the strikeouts and feeble groundouts to second base.

  • 18 Sep

    Dream a Little Dream

    I just had one of those dreams you really want to document, and fortunately my laptop happened to be a few feet away. Clearly this one has great meaning and should be analyzed for insights into my life:

    I’m in a car, or more like looking at the inside of a car. Skateboarder and MTV reality superstar Rob Dyrdek is there with former MTVer Christopher “Big Black” Boykin and one other guy. There’s a man at the door asking for IDs, so I assume we were at some sort of club.

    I watch at Rob gets out of the car and calmly walks inside the building, which doesn’t look at all like a club. He turns to his right to a bank of elevators — more like a hallway of 50 or so elevators on the right side and then a few more straight ahead of us.

    Rob puts his hand on the “up” button at the first elevator, gets a big grin on his face and then runs straight ahead, pressing the button on most of the elevators as he goes. An employee of whatever kind of establishment we were at starts yelling and chasing after Rob. Just as he gets to the end of the hallway, the last elevator opens up, and a group of girls walks out. Rob jumps in the elevator, the doors closing just as the angry employee gets there.

    For some reason I am not actually on the elevator, not just watching Rob like he’s on TV. A family is in the back, hiding behind a curtain in the now oddly huge elevator. You could park a car in there. We get to the top and I get out. I realize we are in a really tall building, but decide the elevator is not the best option for getting down.

    I pass up the escalator too, instead opting for the stairs, which look more like big plastic slides. It’s like Chutes and Ladders without the ladders. I sit down at the top and don’t budge. There’s some kind of traction-y stuff on the chute that won’t let me move. I get up, feeling like an idiot because people just saw me assume that thing was a slide. But then all of a sudden I am sliding down, and the chute becomes more like one of those giant wavy slides you see at a carnival.

    I get to the bottom, and now the mystery building is a mall. And somehow it is clearly identified as being in Atlanta. I decide that stores in different parts of the country get different items, so I should buy some new shoes.

    I go into Finish Line and turn to the shoe wall on the right. Another customer sees the polo shirt I’m wearing and asks me if I know the price of the shoe he’s holding. I do not. I look back at the wall, which doesn’t have very many shoes on it. Lots of empty little shelves there there are supposed to be shoes.

    For some reason the shoe wall turns into a wall of video games. Most of them are used. I turn to walk out and start discussing the lack of cool games with a friend — who I guess just magically appeared at the Atlanta mall/club/elevatorium.

    Wake up.

  • 17 Sep

    And the Bass Keeps Running

    I finished William Faulkner’s “Absalom, Absalom!” last week, but due to a bout of sickness and the mind-exhausting nature of the book, I held off on making the usual post-book post.

    This is the second of Faulkner’s books that I have read, after taking down “The Sound and The Fury” last year. After reading that book, I did some additional reading about the story and the author. I remember seeing somewhere that it was considered one of the most difficult books to read.

    For some reason, I hadn’t considered that his other writings would be incredibly taxing to get through. While “The Sound and The Fury” had three different narrators — including one who was mentally handicapped and lacked a concept of time — and a male and female character with the same name, “Absalom, Absalom!” has multiple narrators who sometimes tell parts of each other’s lives.

    It’s the kind of book where you read five pages and realize you haven’t the slightest clue what just happened. Fortunately, one of the narrators is just as confused while he is being told the story, and halfway through the book makes sure everyone is clear.

    The most difficult part of Faulkner’s style is that he writes in a stream of consciousness that creates incredibly complex sentences. He’s probably the only writer I have ever seen use two colons in the same sentence.

    I started typing out an example and realized the sentence literally took up an entire page. The punctuation sums it up pretty well: six dashes, 12 commas, two sets of parentheses and a semicolon. It also includes the phrase, “lurking in dim halls filled with that presbyterian effluvium of lugubrious and vindictive anticipation…”

    There’s a reason it took me a month to read the book. That’s not to say, though, that I didn’t enjoy it. The story is solid, one that has one of those moments 200 pages in that makes you glad you slogged through everything that came before.

    Plus, Faulkner used one of my favorite words — verisimilitude — and described a guy wearing an overcoat over a bathrobe as looking “huge and shapeless like a disheveled bear.” I defy you to picture a disheveled bear and not be entertained.

    If the title of the post put that song in your head and you want to indulge, here it is. The group is notable for having a singer that once prompted a former roommate to ask if the phrase “belly tap” should be hyphenated. I think we decided it should, though I’m not sure we came up with a clear definition of the term.

    Probably for the best.

    By cjhannas books Uncategorized
  • 16 Sep

    Stand Clear, Doors Closing

    For a long time, Metro stations played a message over the PA system that said something like, “If this is your first time riding with us, here are some things you need to know…Our doors are not like elevator doors — they will not re-open automatically…”

    It seemed like they played the message all the time, and as a seasoned rider I found it kind of annoying. But clearly the folks at Metro should bring it back based on what I witnessed on my way home this morning.

    I usually try to get on the last car on the train, both because it tends to be the least crowded and it puts me close to the escalator when I reach my destination. The things I see during the ride are completely by chance. The scenery depends on who gets on the same car, which direction I happen to be facing and a bevy of mystery factors.

    Today those added up to me being eight feet from a guy who thought the train doors worked like elevator doors, and would open if he just stuck his arm in there. Oh, and the arm he stuck in the car happened to be holding a cup of coffee.

    The result? This:

    There was a moment of pure amazement on his face as he realized the door wasn’t going to open. He gave his arm (the right one) a slight yank, and it barely budged. His face turned to “oh crap” and he made a very poor decision in a moment of panic. The correct move would have been to use his other hand to help pry the doors open enough to get the coffee hand out — not too difficult, I have seen similar acts done before.

    But in his moment of panic, he gave his right hand one big yank. That move left the lid and half the coffee on the inside of the train (as seen on the left), while the cup and the rest of the coffee stayed on the outside of the train (as seen on the right).

    The icing on the proverbial cake was the guy standing next to Mr. Coffee, who found the situation just as funny as I did and didn’t hold back in his laughter.

    Fortunately for Mr. Now-Coffee-Less, I’m sure the incident woke him up far better than that coffee ever could.

    By cjhannas metro Uncategorized
  • 14 Sep

    Train to Providence

    I know you are thinking to yourself, “Hey, guy, what are you reading these days? Are you even reading? Do you remember how to read?!”

    Since you asked, I just finished William Faulkner’s “Absalom, Absalom” and will shortly finish Carl Hiaasen’s “The Downhill Lie.”

    You haven’t seen a post about the Faulkner book because the man’s writing style may be deliberately aimed at rendering your brain useless and in my sick state I do not have the capacity to fully tackle that post. Fortunately the Hiaasen book is as easy as it gets — a nice reprieve both on the mental front and in the sense that the other book took forever to get through.

    Posts on both books will be up later this week.

    To make this entry really worth your while, I’ll share a quick additional note.

    On my phone’s “home” screen, there is a little section that tells you the weather for your current location. It updates my location automatically, but not instantly, which can lead to moments where I tell my phone that I am in fact no longer in Washington, D.C. no matter what it says.

    But this morning it tried to take things an extra step.

    I did in fact leave work in Washington, D.C., aboard a Metro train in the direction of Northern Virginia. Yet when I arrived home, the phone kindly informed me that I was, in fact, in Providence, R.I.

    Fortunately it has since realized its error and figured out that my house is exactly where I left it last night.

1 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 75
Archives