Wednesday, November 11, 2015

Awards

Last night, I rode with colleagues to the SPJ awards dinner at a fancy place downtown. With the time change, it gets dark around here by 5 p.m. and we left the office more like 5:45 p.m. Our driver used the Ways app, a crowd-sourced guide to how to avoid the worst traffic, which in modern San Francisco, is like choosing a slightly less toxic poison over another.

As a result, we wove through the streets like a snake, slivering this way and that. It took a very long time to get to the venue.

Once there, I thought about how it used to be, a quarter century ago, when I knew virtually everyone in the room. Nowadays, I recognize almost no one. In my pre-day fantasy, I had expected many people to come up and greet me, since I rarely venture out to these events, and am, after all, someone who has been acive in the local journalism community for 44 years now.

Exactly one person came up to speak to me. Few others knew who I am.

On the other hand, I did not work the room. I felt tired after the day at work, and just sat at our table (Table #1). Journalists love to network at these events, so there was a lot of partying before the main event got under way.

Once it did, our team won an abundance of awards. Almost everyone on my team went up to the podium to accept an award. We took home a ton of hardware.

As the ceremony came to an end, I caught a cab home -- the first time I have taken a taxi in years.

Back home, I thought about all of the awards I won as a journalist, a couple dozen. And I thought about why those of us who endure this work do it, what we are looking to accomplish. And I thought a lot about injustice, unfairness, and empathy.

As I watched my staffers collect their awards, I realized what I love about all of them the most. They are a stubborn, hard-working, egoistic group, trust me. But they all share one characteristic -- empathy.

As they tell their stories, they never portray the people in them as "other" -- they always try to find a way to make them seem like you and me. Which is one form of truth.

If journalism matters, and I hope it does, it is to do work like this. To help us all find our common humanity with each other.

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Monday, November 09, 2015

Clouds to the West and South

More rain overnight plus thunderstorms. Came home at lunch to get Dylan (on his day off this week) his burrito at El Metate. Watching Monday Night Football and hoping my fantasy team will finish the night in sole possession of second place, with a 6-3 record. Tomorrow night, going to the SPJ awards dinner with my team to clap for them as they collect the hardware.

Sunday, November 08, 2015

White Butterflys

It rained again last night and the sky is cloudy today. We are starving for water around here, so this is welcome news.

I went to Safeway this morning to stock up on meals for Dylan and me, and also to buy a lot of canned foods and water. Why? I have finally been convinced that I should be better prepared for the aftermath of an earthquake or other disaster.

So now I have a dozen or so cans of soups, beans, corn, artichokes, potatoes and fish in the cupboard. I already have lots of water, candles, and matches.

Not much other news. A huge fire near here this morning.

Aidan solidified his insurance in Missoula for his car yesterday. They had their first snow of the season this week.

Julia doing well in Napa, as far as I can tell.

My team of interactive producers (4) all got huge raises this week from KQED. I have been pushing for this to happen for many months. One of them, Olivia, broke into tears when she got the news. That was the highlight of my week.

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