Tuesday, May 01, 2007
Arts Funding Needed!
This is the alley to one side of the Imperial Theater. It looks as though it serves as "scene shop" for the companies who perform there. Sawhorses, scenery flats, random pieces of furniture and other items lay strewn about.
I just don't understand how sad arts funding has to get before you have to store your equipment in a broken-down old pickup truck parked in an alley.
I just don't understand how sad arts funding has to get before you have to store your equipment in a broken-down old pickup truck parked in an alley.
Monday, April 30, 2007
Hee hee...
Here's Scott interviewing presidential candidate Rudy Giuliani on his campaign stop in Augusta, Ga. Again, I wasn't there, but I still keep tabs on my husband! My spies are everywhere. He can never rest! AAaaaaahahahahahaaaaa!
Is anyone surprised that they had it in a fire house?At least if they'd had it at Hyde Park he could have
talked about cleaning up the Ground Zero area.
But, no. Let's go with the cliche.
Giuliani makes a serious face."Rudy smash crime! Rudy smash terror!
Rudy make touchdown for Notre Dame! Vote me!"
Here is Scott recording him again.He's kind of creeping me out standing behind him and stuff.
If Giuliani turned around too fast, Scott might get a karate
chop to the forehead.
Sunday, April 29, 2007
Talking Head
So I had to give a speech at the Student Media Awards at Augusta State tonight. Until about 3 p.m., I had no freaking idea what I was going to say. Somewhere about 4:30 p.m., I thought, "eh, who cares?" and started jotting down things that... well, they were kind of random. So here's my speech, give or take, although you don't get the benefit of my briiiilllllianntt(!!!) delivery.
Hello, I’m Stacey Hudson, arts writer for The Metro Spirit. I’m not the real speaker – that’s this guy over here, a great guy, a capital fellow, a real top-notch editor – so I’m not going to get into a lecture. I’m going to tell you briefly how I got into journalism.
I was in second grade when I won my first writing award. I had to give a speech to the Kiwanis Club about the award, for an essay entitled, “What Reading Means to Me.” I don’t know what I said – I was 8 for crying out loud – but I know that they asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. “An astronaut!” I said. My mom always said I had my head in the clouds.
I was in second grade when I won my first writing award.
So I didn’t start this job early. But when I was in high school, and being told at the age of 15 that it was time to decide what I wanted to do with the rest of my life, I settled on saying that I wanted to be a writer because it didn’t require me to actually DO anything but drink hot tea and pontificate and wear silly fashion accessories. When my mother asked what I wanted to study in college, I said, “Philosophy.” I figured with my position as a cashier at Wendy’s that I already had the prerequisite job skills. “Are you sure we didn’t put fries in the bag? Can you prove the fries' nonexistence?” I didn’t last long there.
Before I went to college, I had freelance stints with Music Atlanta Magazine – they didn’t last long, either – and Creative Loafing for free CDs and concert tickets and cool points that no one recognized but me. And when I went to college, my mom asked what major I had chosen. “I registered in the journalism program,” I said. She groaned. “I’d rather you were in a 12-step program. What are you going to do with that?” I told her that I had a 12-step program to future success. “Where?” she asked me. “Right up here,” I tapped my head. I lied.
She was concerned about money, like all parents, because parents – like me, now - are the ones who have to make it. She didn’t want me to live on Ramen noodles and cat food for the rest of my life, and I’ve eaten my share of Ramen but never cat food. And the first step to making money in journalism is “Don’t suck.”
So congratulations to the award winners tonight. These plaques are validation that you do not suck. Not sucking is a very important first step in getting a good job and healing your parents’ ulcers and not eating cat food.
It helps to have a little bit of natural talent, although you can always just work really hard on your skills. But if I wanted to work really hard I’ve have taken more math classes. So you can cross “Not sucking” off your list now.
So then I dropped out of college and left behind a full scholarship and room and board. It’s not something I’d recommend, but I told my mother it was part of the requirements for a journalist. Because step two is to drink a lot and do plenty of stupid things. Doing stupid things gives you perspective on the world. Drinking a lot helps you to deal with the perspective you get on the world. Perspective is important if you’re going to bring texture and context to your writing – or photography, or sculpture. So basically, I recommend these mild forms of experimentation. Now is the time to make your big mistakes and spend the rest of your life trying to live them down! I have tattoos that serve that purpose very well.
The problem is that the alcohol made me forget steps four, five and six. So that brings us to:
Step seven! Give up drinking, swear off doing stupid crap, and buckle down and study. I went back to college – thanks, ASU! They gave me more scholarship money that I vowed not to waste this time.
Step eight: Realize that you are going to continue to do stupid things and there is nothing that anyone can do about it, but at least you weren’t drinking at the time. The stupid is all-natural.
Certified organic stupidity.
Step nine: Experience the joy of a professor tearing your heartfelt personal experience story to shreds. Learn that your life is not interesting. Save this knowledge for future speeches to college students who think you might know something.
But step ten is to learn that no one who works in journalism knows anything because truth doesn’t exist in our profession. We deal in facts, and the facts change as days pass and new events occur. If you’re looking for truth, go back to Wendy’s and major in philosophy. Business school graduates eat enough fries to give you really good job security.
In my previous college major, this
was the view I was most likely
to see from the corner office.
Step eleven: Panic. Consider public relations. It’s more lucrative, but less fun and almost as hated as the media.
Step twelve. If you get through all of this, and your first thought when envisioning yourself working is still typing frantically as the clock ticks ever closer to your deadline, or washing clay off of yourself at the end of the day, or editing the words of some rambling frantic writer who can’t seem to meet her deadline – sorry, Tom! – then none of the previous 12 steps were even necessary. Unless you listened to the anxious mothers of the world – hi! That be me! I have my daughter’s convent all picked out! – you were going to end up here anyway.
Eventually.
Hello, I’m Stacey Hudson, arts writer for The Metro Spirit. I’m not the real speaker – that’s this guy over here, a great guy, a capital fellow, a real top-notch editor – so I’m not going to get into a lecture. I’m going to tell you briefly how I got into journalism.
I was in second grade when I won my first writing award. I had to give a speech to the Kiwanis Club about the award, for an essay entitled, “What Reading Means to Me.” I don’t know what I said – I was 8 for crying out loud – but I know that they asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. “An astronaut!” I said. My mom always said I had my head in the clouds.
I was in second grade when I won my first writing award. So I didn’t start this job early. But when I was in high school, and being told at the age of 15 that it was time to decide what I wanted to do with the rest of my life, I settled on saying that I wanted to be a writer because it didn’t require me to actually DO anything but drink hot tea and pontificate and wear silly fashion accessories. When my mother asked what I wanted to study in college, I said, “Philosophy.” I figured with my position as a cashier at Wendy’s that I already had the prerequisite job skills. “Are you sure we didn’t put fries in the bag? Can you prove the fries' nonexistence?” I didn’t last long there.
Before I went to college, I had freelance stints with Music Atlanta Magazine – they didn’t last long, either – and Creative Loafing for free CDs and concert tickets and cool points that no one recognized but me. And when I went to college, my mom asked what major I had chosen. “I registered in the journalism program,” I said. She groaned. “I’d rather you were in a 12-step program. What are you going to do with that?” I told her that I had a 12-step program to future success. “Where?” she asked me. “Right up here,” I tapped my head. I lied.
She was concerned about money, like all parents, because parents – like me, now - are the ones who have to make it. She didn’t want me to live on Ramen noodles and cat food for the rest of my life, and I’ve eaten my share of Ramen but never cat food. And the first step to making money in journalism is “Don’t suck.”
So congratulations to the award winners tonight. These plaques are validation that you do not suck. Not sucking is a very important first step in getting a good job and healing your parents’ ulcers and not eating cat food.
It helps to have a little bit of natural talent, although you can always just work really hard on your skills. But if I wanted to work really hard I’ve have taken more math classes. So you can cross “Not sucking” off your list now.
So then I dropped out of college and left behind a full scholarship and room and board. It’s not something I’d recommend, but I told my mother it was part of the requirements for a journalist. Because step two is to drink a lot and do plenty of stupid things. Doing stupid things gives you perspective on the world. Drinking a lot helps you to deal with the perspective you get on the world. Perspective is important if you’re going to bring texture and context to your writing – or photography, or sculpture. So basically, I recommend these mild forms of experimentation. Now is the time to make your big mistakes and spend the rest of your life trying to live them down! I have tattoos that serve that purpose very well.
The problem is that the alcohol made me forget steps four, five and six. So that brings us to:
Step seven! Give up drinking, swear off doing stupid crap, and buckle down and study. I went back to college – thanks, ASU! They gave me more scholarship money that I vowed not to waste this time.
Step eight: Realize that you are going to continue to do stupid things and there is nothing that anyone can do about it, but at least you weren’t drinking at the time. The stupid is all-natural.
Certified organic stupidity.Step nine: Experience the joy of a professor tearing your heartfelt personal experience story to shreds. Learn that your life is not interesting. Save this knowledge for future speeches to college students who think you might know something.
But step ten is to learn that no one who works in journalism knows anything because truth doesn’t exist in our profession. We deal in facts, and the facts change as days pass and new events occur. If you’re looking for truth, go back to Wendy’s and major in philosophy. Business school graduates eat enough fries to give you really good job security.
In my previous college major, thiswas the view I was most likely
to see from the corner office.
Step twelve. If you get through all of this, and your first thought when envisioning yourself working is still typing frantically as the clock ticks ever closer to your deadline, or washing clay off of yourself at the end of the day, or editing the words of some rambling frantic writer who can’t seem to meet her deadline – sorry, Tom! – then none of the previous 12 steps were even necessary. Unless you listened to the anxious mothers of the world – hi! That be me! I have my daughter’s convent all picked out! – you were going to end up here anyway.
Eventually.
Saturday, April 28, 2007
Is this me?
Okay, Rhian. You suckered me into this one, and I was certain that I'd be either a magpie or a three-toed sloth. But this quiz tells me I'm a mouse. Of course, my Meyers-Briggs tests always told me that I'm a librarian at heart, so maybe there's some correlation.
But feel free to click through the link, people, and answer four questions to make sure I see myself correctly.
Thanks, Rhi! Now I have to go cook some macaroni and cheese!
UPDATE: Hey, now I'm a Great Dane! Well, at least people don't run shrieking from me, which is a nice change from real life...
UPDATE REDUX: Now I'm a tiger?! What... I don't understand. And now people run screaming from me again.
UPDATE RETROIX: Okay. A monkey I get.
Friday, April 27, 2007
Convocation
"How long do you think graduation will last?" A.W. asks me.
"Two hours."
"Really? That's it?"
"Yep."
"What if it goes longer?"
"Get up and leave."
"I'm in it. Won't that be rude?"
"Tell them your house is on fire. What are they gonna do? Stop you?"
"This is true."
"Two hours."
"Really? That's it?"
"Yep."
"What if it goes longer?"
"Get up and leave."
"I'm in it. Won't that be rude?"
"Tell them your house is on fire. What are they gonna do? Stop you?"
"This is true."
Thursday, April 26, 2007
We are the champions!
A.C. and I go to cut our radio spot. Let's compare:
Except I sound like that Corky kid from "Life Goes On."
- With J.W.: no script, five people, 45 minutes and countless takes.
- Without J.W.: formatted script, two people, 5 minutes and 2 takes.
Except I sound like that Corky kid from "Life Goes On."
UPDATE! Family Feud!
An e-mail exchange about my crazy aunt:
J.W.: "Please can I engage her? I’ll pay you."
Me: "I’m sure an unmarried woman in her 60s would be happy to entertain your proposal. But have you checked with the gypsy matchmaker? She’ll have to do your star charts and decide an auspicious day for the marriage. And then you have give her mother 10 goats and a cow, or 10 goats and a mated pair of bighorn sheep."
J.W.: "Engage her in battle goddamnit. Please can I?"
Me: "If you don’t mind her launching ICBMs from her butt at you, go right ahead. I could give a crap. My parents could give less of a crap."
J.W.: "That is it then. I am going to kill her for you."
Aw. Sweet. It's always nice when your boss offers to commit heinous crimes for you.
J.W.: "Please can I engage her? I’ll pay you."
Me: "I’m sure an unmarried woman in her 60s would be happy to entertain your proposal. But have you checked with the gypsy matchmaker? She’ll have to do your star charts and decide an auspicious day for the marriage. And then you have give her mother 10 goats and a cow, or 10 goats and a mated pair of bighorn sheep."
J.W.: "Engage her in battle goddamnit. Please can I?"
Me: "If you don’t mind her launching ICBMs from her butt at you, go right ahead. I could give a crap. My parents could give less of a crap."
J.W.: "That is it then. I am going to kill her for you."
Aw. Sweet. It's always nice when your boss offers to commit heinous crimes for you.
Commercial Degradiation
We're recording a commercial today at 2 p.m., and J.W. waits until I'm walking out the door to an interview to ask me about the scripts. In fact, I'm already out the door and on the sidewalk when he...
"Wait, Stacey, come here!"
(sigh)
"Yeah?"
"You're recording that spot today, right?"
"What spot?" I lie with a serious look on my face.
"That Parent spot."
"What spot?"
"Oh, okay, thanks," he screws up his mouth like he just ate a lemon.
"I'm kidding. Yes, we are."
I start to walk out the door. I have three minutes to get to the artist's studio.
"Wait!"
(ah! I almost made it!)
"What?"
"Have you written the script?"
"Yes, Amy has it," I reply, backing out of the door. Can he not see I have somewhere to be?
"How does it sound?"
"We haven't recorded it yet. I'll let you know."
(Let's see... what are the signals... purse around shoulders, check. Notebook in hand, check. Keys out, check. Ass out the door, double check!)
"I mean how does the script sound?"
"I -"
"Is it good?"
"I - "
"Is it funny?"
"I - "
"Will people enjoy it?"
"Gah! J.W., just go read the script, already! Can't you see that I'm very busy and important!"
I run out the door before he can stop me again. I swear he times these conversations on purpose!
"Wait, Stacey, come here!"
(sigh)
"Yeah?"
"You're recording that spot today, right?"
"What spot?" I lie with a serious look on my face.
"That Parent spot."
"What spot?"
"Oh, okay, thanks," he screws up his mouth like he just ate a lemon.
"I'm kidding. Yes, we are."
I start to walk out the door. I have three minutes to get to the artist's studio.
"Wait!"
(ah! I almost made it!)
"What?"
"Have you written the script?"
"Yes, Amy has it," I reply, backing out of the door. Can he not see I have somewhere to be?
"How does it sound?"
"We haven't recorded it yet. I'll let you know."
(Let's see... what are the signals... purse around shoulders, check. Notebook in hand, check. Keys out, check. Ass out the door, double check!)
"I mean how does the script sound?"
"I -"
"Is it good?"
"I - "
"Is it funny?"
"I - "
"Will people enjoy it?"
"Gah! J.W., just go read the script, already! Can't you see that I'm very busy and important!"
I run out the door before he can stop me again. I swear he times these conversations on purpose!
The Usual Suspects
E.B. was laughing about one guy in town who is not a journalist, but tries to give her lessons in journalism. It's always for stories that are self-serving for him or his relatives. Smart guy, so he can't possibly think he's fooling us.
"He was like, 'If you have a quote like this you have to back it up with a quote here'... and I said, 'You own a bookstore. You know how to read. That's not what the story is about.'" she said. "I swear, it's like Kaiser Sose. They think I'm a retard because I limp."
"He was like, 'If you have a quote like this you have to back it up with a quote here'... and I said, 'You own a bookstore. You know how to read. That's not what the story is about.'" she said. "I swear, it's like Kaiser Sose. They think I'm a retard because I limp."
The Return
Man, I thought this was over. But it seems that my aunt was on my e-mail list twice. And she apparently does not want to win tickets to "Jesus Christ Superstar."
From: Smugly Self-Satisfied
To: Incompetent Niece
Stacey:
I'm still on your list. Please take care of getting me off these mass mailings. You must have me on several lists. I maintain approximately 50 such lists, and am very careful of the content.
Aunt Cathy
From: Geez, I'm sorry already!
To: Nurse Ratchett
It shouldn't happen again, unless I decide to add you to all of my contact lists. That might be fun for me. I'll let you know what I decide.
From: Excellent Candidate for Prozac
To: Hey, I Take My Prozac Every Morning
CC: My Parents, Who Are Going to Have to Start Taking Prozac Very Soon
Stacey:
This message is for your parents.
I want this handled and handled now. If I get any more of these unwanted e-mails, I will be speaking to Stacey's employer. Her excuses as to why this is happening are weak, at best.
This disrespectful message from your "responsible" daughter must alert you to the need to counsel her. There are rules about e-mail etiquette, and I would have hoped that a "Communications" major would have encountered them in her classes.
My only request from the first e-mail I sent was to be taken off of her mass mailings, and all I have gotten in return is sarcasm and infantile remarks, followed by a long e-mail from Sis about what a wonderful person Stacey is.
I have not responded to that. I am only responding now because I want this to end.
GET IT STOPPED. PERIOD.
Aunt Cathy
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
(The funny thing? My parents didn't even get that e-mail because they have her e-mail address blocked.)
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
From: (Sigh) Is She Serious? This is Stupid
To: Seething With Self-Righteousness
CC: Sorry, Mom and Dad!
I suppose my jokes simply don't get through to you. Perhaps if we had spoken face-to-face anytime in recent memory, you would understand my humor more, and perhaps I would understand yours.
I've informed my boss that you may be calling. He said feel free. I hope that the two of you have a wonderful conversation.
But here's the thing that bothers me: Your reaction just doesn't make any sense. It's just not proportional to the perceived slight. What is it about an e-mail that gets you so angry? Why bother my parents? Perhaps if you can explain this to me, I could take you more seriously.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Obviously she hasn't responded to that. I really didn't expect her to. But I kind of hope she does. It makes for excellent blog fodder.
Corey said, "I hope she calls Tom."
Amy said, "And he puts her on speakerphone."
But then she might hear me laughing in the background. And then I'm sure we will know her fury from Mississippi. She would probably resort to legal action. Or she might just launch an ICBM from her butt.
From: Smugly Self-Satisfied
To: Incompetent Niece
Stacey:
I'm still on your list. Please take care of getting me off these mass mailings. You must have me on several lists. I maintain approximately 50 such lists, and am very careful of the content.
Aunt Cathy
From: Geez, I'm sorry already!
To: Nurse Ratchett
It shouldn't happen again, unless I decide to add you to all of my contact lists. That might be fun for me. I'll let you know what I decide.
From: Excellent Candidate for Prozac
To: Hey, I Take My Prozac Every Morning
CC: My Parents, Who Are Going to Have to Start Taking Prozac Very Soon
Stacey:
This message is for your parents.
I want this handled and handled now. If I get any more of these unwanted e-mails, I will be speaking to Stacey's employer. Her excuses as to why this is happening are weak, at best.
This disrespectful message from your "responsible" daughter must alert you to the need to counsel her. There are rules about e-mail etiquette, and I would have hoped that a "Communications" major would have encountered them in her classes.
My only request from the first e-mail I sent was to be taken off of her mass mailings, and all I have gotten in return is sarcasm and infantile remarks, followed by a long e-mail from Sis about what a wonderful person Stacey is.
I have not responded to that. I am only responding now because I want this to end.
GET IT STOPPED. PERIOD.
Aunt Cathy
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
(The funny thing? My parents didn't even get that e-mail because they have her e-mail address blocked.)
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
From: (Sigh) Is She Serious? This is Stupid
To: Seething With Self-Righteousness
CC: Sorry, Mom and Dad!
I suppose my jokes simply don't get through to you. Perhaps if we had spoken face-to-face anytime in recent memory, you would understand my humor more, and perhaps I would understand yours.
I've informed my boss that you may be calling. He said feel free. I hope that the two of you have a wonderful conversation.
But here's the thing that bothers me: Your reaction just doesn't make any sense. It's just not proportional to the perceived slight. What is it about an e-mail that gets you so angry? Why bother my parents? Perhaps if you can explain this to me, I could take you more seriously.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Obviously she hasn't responded to that. I really didn't expect her to. But I kind of hope she does. It makes for excellent blog fodder.
Corey said, "I hope she calls Tom."
Amy said, "And he puts her on speakerphone."
But then she might hear me laughing in the background. And then I'm sure we will know her fury from Mississippi. She would probably resort to legal action. Or she might just launch an ICBM from her butt.
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Okay, fine. I'm an idiot.
I was just interviewing Ted Neeley, who plays the lead role in "Jesus Christ Superstar." The show is coming through the area on May 16 at the Bell Auditorium. He has three other projects in the works, including a national tour of "Rasputin," and was talking about being a representative of the character he plays.
"Does that put expectations on you in your personal life?" I asked.
"Absolutely, and it makes me a better person," he said.
"Do you ever do product endorsements? Because I can't think of a better pitchman for a product than Jesus."
(Huge laugh from the office mates, and, thankfully, from Mr. Neeley).
"No, but maybe I should," he laughed.
BROADWAY IN AUGUSTA 2006-2007
May 16, 2007, Bell Auditorium, 8 p.m.
“Jesus Christ Superstar”
Direct from New York!
Ticket prices: Single Group
Floor & 1st Balcony $50.00 $45.00
2nd Balcony $45.00 $40.50
3rd Balcony $40.00 $36.00
Another Fine Mess You've Gotten Us Into
Photos of the fallout from Austin Rhodes' big mouth. Thanks, Austin. Although I don't agree with his comments, or the publicity-seeking and boundary-testing that most likely inspired it, I am so far not impressed with the other side. They've called for boycotts on everything from Comcast Cable to rice and beans.
I call for a boycott on the phrase "E-mail up and running austin@wgac.com." I mean, that's e-mail. It's always up and running, unless your server is down.
Also, what's the point in boycotting Comcast when, in all likelihood, they've locked people into contracts for two years? You want people to shell out those ridiculous fees? Puh-leez.
I call for a boycott on the phrase "E-mail up and running austin@wgac.com." I mean, that's e-mail. It's always up and running, unless your server is down.
Also, what's the point in boycotting Comcast when, in all likelihood, they've locked people into contracts for two years? You want people to shell out those ridiculous fees? Puh-leez.
Champ Walker orating (as best he can) outside of the BeasleyBroadcasting building that houses the WGAC studios.
He might be a handsome man, if he would learn to be quiet.
The protesters play it up for the media. I don't even know whatflag they're waving in the background, but it's probably from a
country that wouldn't allow them to peaceably assemble.
UPDATE: Oh, look. I'm an idiot.
Of course the U.S. would allow them to peaceably assemble.
The cheese stands alone.
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
Look!
This little smoochy-poo is the 5-month-old son of Aubrey and Will Bryant. Isn't he the cutest?! I want to cuddle him for hours!
Monday, April 23, 2007
Ain't Right
I know I'm a good year behind, but I watched "Borat" this weekend. Um... was anyone else a little disturbed by parts of it, or was it just me? Except the scene where he sings the national anthem. "All other countries have inferior potassium" = Hilarious!
Friday, April 20, 2007
Loft Tour
Remember to take the loft tour, a benefit for Historic Augusta! Join us! Maybe I'll be your tour guide! You can stuff money in my G-string. I swear it will go to a good cause. Like my rent.
