A tak force at my alma mater has ruled on an issue very dear to my heart:
Quinnipiac task force says cut Chronicle loose
As a former editor of the student newspaper The Chronicle, and a proponent of free speech, I have been actively involved in trying to change the way the school controls the newspaper. I have written letters to the editor and letters to all top players at Quinnipiac University regarding this matter. I also tried to help by starting a postcard campaign, insipired by a campaign my former journalism teacher inspired us to do in Sweden in 1997.
The current editor of The Chronicle has done nothing wrong; he has been a great journalist, poking in things administrators rather he didn't. I believe this decision is a great step for students, journalists and the entire communications program at Quinnipiac University.
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
The world of Winsted
Today I decided I didn't want to be locked up in the office all night - I wanted to go out and see the world. Well, Winsted, at least.
Winsted is a small town a little north of The Register Citizen's home in Torrington.
Most people in Winsted are insane. Public meetings often turn into heated debates that lead to emotional discussions. Angry comments lead to good quotes. Sources pop up out of nowhere because everyone wants to get a point across.
I read about it all the time in our paper. Today, I wanted to see for myself.
Albie thought I was crazy this morning. While dressing for work, I announced I would go to a meeting if I got done with all my pages early.
"You don't need to dress up for that," he said. "It's Winsted."
When I got to the office and told Walt, the Winsted beat reporter, that I wanted to go with him, he said, "Why?" - with a big question mark on his face.
"It'll be fun!" I exclaimed. "I hear there's going to be some interesting stuff going on tonight."
It was true. I had heard something.
A source in Winsted called me up Friday night, telling me about a Board of Education member who allegedly got kicked out of a subcommittee meeting. I spent all Friday night investigating the issue - including 30 minutes on the phone with the board member. An attorney, who interrupted his evening activities to call me, and a Freedom of Information Commission spokesman, on a flight somewhere to see his daughter, both told me this: The board member had no right to attend the meeting's executive session.
But a lot of other issues came out of my probe. The conclusion: You should be at Tuesday's Board of Education meeting. "Well, I'm not really a reporter..." I said. "We'll see what happens."
Bickering started early at the meeting. "Why do you vote on this when you sit on that board as well?" "Why can't we talk about this now?"
All of a sudden, I felt like a reporter again. I could predict what people would do, who would vote for or against what. I knew the motives behind the questions. And during a break, one of the board members and a man from the public both sought me out to hand me piles of documents for further review - even though there were two other reporters there.
When the Competition's reporter asked me about it, I just tilted my head and smiled. Then I started blabbing about all the interesting duties of being a features editor and how much I miss writing. He walked away knowing nothing.
"Wow, that guy never even talked to me once," the Winsted reporter said. "I bet he is really scared that you got something he didn't."
Unfortunately, the stuff I got couldn't be used tonight. It is way more complicated than that. But the Winsted reporter and I got some stories out of the meeting anyway:
Ex-selectman: Molinelli should resign
Winsted woman claims discrimination
Town manager drops in at school board meeting
And hopefully we can stumble upon something good real soon.
Winsted is a small town a little north of The Register Citizen's home in Torrington.
Most people in Winsted are insane. Public meetings often turn into heated debates that lead to emotional discussions. Angry comments lead to good quotes. Sources pop up out of nowhere because everyone wants to get a point across.
I read about it all the time in our paper. Today, I wanted to see for myself.
Albie thought I was crazy this morning. While dressing for work, I announced I would go to a meeting if I got done with all my pages early.
"You don't need to dress up for that," he said. "It's Winsted."
When I got to the office and told Walt, the Winsted beat reporter, that I wanted to go with him, he said, "Why?" - with a big question mark on his face.
"It'll be fun!" I exclaimed. "I hear there's going to be some interesting stuff going on tonight."
It was true. I had heard something.
A source in Winsted called me up Friday night, telling me about a Board of Education member who allegedly got kicked out of a subcommittee meeting. I spent all Friday night investigating the issue - including 30 minutes on the phone with the board member. An attorney, who interrupted his evening activities to call me, and a Freedom of Information Commission spokesman, on a flight somewhere to see his daughter, both told me this: The board member had no right to attend the meeting's executive session.
But a lot of other issues came out of my probe. The conclusion: You should be at Tuesday's Board of Education meeting. "Well, I'm not really a reporter..." I said. "We'll see what happens."
Bickering started early at the meeting. "Why do you vote on this when you sit on that board as well?" "Why can't we talk about this now?"
All of a sudden, I felt like a reporter again. I could predict what people would do, who would vote for or against what. I knew the motives behind the questions. And during a break, one of the board members and a man from the public both sought me out to hand me piles of documents for further review - even though there were two other reporters there.
When the Competition's reporter asked me about it, I just tilted my head and smiled. Then I started blabbing about all the interesting duties of being a features editor and how much I miss writing. He walked away knowing nothing.
"Wow, that guy never even talked to me once," the Winsted reporter said. "I bet he is really scared that you got something he didn't."
Unfortunately, the stuff I got couldn't be used tonight. It is way more complicated than that. But the Winsted reporter and I got some stories out of the meeting anyway:
Ex-selectman: Molinelli should resign
Winsted woman claims discrimination
Town manager drops in at school board meeting
And hopefully we can stumble upon something good real soon.
Monday, April 7, 2008
Knapsacks, backpacks and rucksacks
What’s the difference? I have no idea.
Knapsacks sound smaller. A rucksack sounds like a British word. A backpack to me is any type of bag with two straps that you carry on your back.
The English language is very strange. The American language is even stranger. When I first came to the United States, I was amazed at how much more relaxed Americans are with their language than, say, English people.
I once said “iron” with a very pronounced “r” to an Englishman, and he claimed to have no idea what I was talking about. The same man also claimed I pronounced “chair” wrong because I was too soft on the “ch” sound (it almost sounded like Cher, the singer).
Being a copy editor, I spend my nights fixing other people’s spelling, grammar and writing style. I have to say I’m pretty good at it. My main problem with this language is pronunciation (“It’s not called proNOUNciation, Viktoria – it’s proNUNciation,” my Writing for the Ear professor once lectured me).
First of all, I have trouble hearing the difference between certain words.
Invincible, for example, means that nobody can beat you. It sounds just the same to me as invisible, which means that nobody can see you. A 12-year-old boy taught me the difference while playing a game of Nintendo many years back.
And try saying these words to find the difference: Jell-O, cello (“ch”), Yellow, shallow
Then there are the words I flat out refuse to say. Some words may elicit hysterical laughter because it’s so wrong, others I just have trouble shaping with my tongue:
Racoon, Jacuzzi, vulnerable and Holocaust (“Holla-cost”)
Luckily, I rarely have to speak about raccoon holocausts, when they fall into the Jacuzzi and become vulnerable.
Knapsacks sound smaller. A rucksack sounds like a British word. A backpack to me is any type of bag with two straps that you carry on your back.
The English language is very strange. The American language is even stranger. When I first came to the United States, I was amazed at how much more relaxed Americans are with their language than, say, English people.
I once said “iron” with a very pronounced “r” to an Englishman, and he claimed to have no idea what I was talking about. The same man also claimed I pronounced “chair” wrong because I was too soft on the “ch” sound (it almost sounded like Cher, the singer).
Being a copy editor, I spend my nights fixing other people’s spelling, grammar and writing style. I have to say I’m pretty good at it. My main problem with this language is pronunciation (“It’s not called proNOUNciation, Viktoria – it’s proNUNciation,” my Writing for the Ear professor once lectured me).
First of all, I have trouble hearing the difference between certain words.
Invincible, for example, means that nobody can beat you. It sounds just the same to me as invisible, which means that nobody can see you. A 12-year-old boy taught me the difference while playing a game of Nintendo many years back.
And try saying these words to find the difference: Jell-O, cello (“ch”), Yellow, shallow
Then there are the words I flat out refuse to say. Some words may elicit hysterical laughter because it’s so wrong, others I just have trouble shaping with my tongue:
Racoon, Jacuzzi, vulnerable and Holocaust (“Holla-cost”)
Luckily, I rarely have to speak about raccoon holocausts, when they fall into the Jacuzzi and become vulnerable.
Sunday, April 6, 2008
The railing
After half a day off from work and a trip to the gym, I decided I had enough of relaxing and I started working on our living room railing.We finished the hallway a while ago and have stalled a bit with the rest of the stuff that needs to get done. Today seemed like a perfect day to start this impossibly huge project.
As you can see in the photo, I sanded three of the 12 long sticks. Phew! That's enough for now...
Eventually all the brown wood in our condo will be painted white, which requires one coat of primer and about 4 coats of glossy white paint.
Upcoming concerts
Most of my readers aren't in the Connecticut area, but for those of you who are, I want to promote the dates for my spring concerts:
It'll be the Scandinavian Women's Chorus of Connecticut, the Apollo singers and some random singers from Fairfield, I believe. I will most likely do a solo at both concerts - in Swedish.
Sunday, April 27, 4 p.m.
Christ Lutheran Church
600 Shepard Ave.
Hamden, CT
Adm. $5, Kaffe med dopp to follow
Friday, May 16, 7 p.m.
Emanuel Lutheran Church
311 Capitol Ave.
Hartford, CT
It'll be the Scandinavian Women's Chorus of Connecticut, the Apollo singers and some random singers from Fairfield, I believe. I will most likely do a solo at both concerts - in Swedish.
I've been busy again...
I happened to do some more writing at work, and some photography. (Also did voice over for a couple of slideshows that will be up on our web site next week - if we can figure out how to get them up there).
City man charged in rape
Two hurt in crash (I also took the photo)
Wild turkey crashes downtown meeting
Truck crashes, hangs on pole support wires (photos too)
It may seem like I enjoy other people's misery... what can I say? There's something really cool about being one of the first people at the scene of an accident, freezing your butt off while trying to figure out what's going on...
City man charged in rape
Two hurt in crash (I also took the photo)
Wild turkey crashes downtown meeting
Truck crashes, hangs on pole support wires (photos too)
It may seem like I enjoy other people's misery... what can I say? There's something really cool about being one of the first people at the scene of an accident, freezing your butt off while trying to figure out what's going on...
Friday, April 4, 2008
My ruined ‘CSI’ night
Today I lived through two fillings at the dentist’s office, a few phone calls for a story and two meticulous pages of events listings with one goal in mind: Getting home in time to watch a new episode of “Crime Scene Investigation.”
Because of a writer’s strike in Hollywood, I’ve been watching CSI reruns since the end of November. The strike finally ended a month or so ago, and the writers have been hard at work creating exciting new storylines for the bug-loving investigator Gil Grissom and his loyal team.
The chips were waiting for me at home. My biggest decision was where to stop and pick up some dinner, since I hadn’t even had any lunch (dentist’s fault).
“Should I get a sandwich at Subway or do I want something hot to eat?” I wondered, cruising down the right lane of Route 8 with more than an hour to spare before the show.
All of a sudden, I hear a strange noise next to me, sort of like gravel bouncing against metal. I hear a slight “thud” and see a graying van swerve into my lane right in front of me. I look to my left and see that my driver’s side mirror is now just hanging on by a thread, dangling against the side of my door.
It took me a couple of seconds to realize that the swerving van now speeding off had scraped up against my car and hit me, almost forcing me over onto the shoulder. I quickly sped up to follow him.
The van moved over to the left lane, but when he realized I was following, moved over two lanes to get off the next exit. I got off the exit too, and I saw the van in the distance speed through an intersection and nearly crash into oncoming traffic. When I reached the four-way intersection, the van was nowhere in sight.
For a second, I thought of launching a search. Then I turned right and pulled over outside a gray two-story home and called 911.
While waiting for the state police to come and take my statement, I got out and checked for paint streaks on my car. There were some streaks of a lighter undetermined color on my broken mirror, but no scratches anywhere else.
A very nice police officer arrived and we chatted for a bit about what happened. He said he would go look for the van in the area, and he would call me if anything came up. Then we realized steam was coming from my engine.
“Eh… I should probably check that, right?” I said.
“Pop the hood and I’ll check it for you,” he said.
I few seconds went by, then he asked me to step outside.
“Take a look at this,” he said, pointing with his flashlight to green liquid spewing out into my engine, slightly to the right of my driver’s side headlight. “You’re radiator is leaking.”
His recommendation: If you’re going to drive, don’t go far and don’t go fast. Consider getting your car towed.
Since I was only about 10 minutes away from my house, I decided the best – and cheapest – thing to do would be to try to make it as close to home as possible. By this time, there was no chance I would make it home for "CSI." I gave my car a half hour to cool down after the trooper left, then filled up my coolant.
I keep extra coolant in my car since it has been leaking coolant for some time – so little I hadn’t had time to worry about it. I guess someone wanted to tell me now is the time to get my car checked out.
I drove all the way to my local service place with my heat blasting, just to buy myself some more time. I’ve read that’s what you’re supposed to do if your car is about to overheat. Not sure if it applied in my situation, but it got me there.
Since Albie was still at work, I walked the 40 minutes it took to get home. I guess that was my punishment for not going to the gym this week. My friend Andrea kept me company on the phone, worried about my latest adventure.
I got home 20 minutes after “CSI” ended. Instead of watching TV, I got to analyze my finances to figure out how and when I will afford a new radiator, and possibly a new side view mirror.
Because of a writer’s strike in Hollywood, I’ve been watching CSI reruns since the end of November. The strike finally ended a month or so ago, and the writers have been hard at work creating exciting new storylines for the bug-loving investigator Gil Grissom and his loyal team.
The chips were waiting for me at home. My biggest decision was where to stop and pick up some dinner, since I hadn’t even had any lunch (dentist’s fault).
“Should I get a sandwich at Subway or do I want something hot to eat?” I wondered, cruising down the right lane of Route 8 with more than an hour to spare before the show.
All of a sudden, I hear a strange noise next to me, sort of like gravel bouncing against metal. I hear a slight “thud” and see a graying van swerve into my lane right in front of me. I look to my left and see that my driver’s side mirror is now just hanging on by a thread, dangling against the side of my door.
It took me a couple of seconds to realize that the swerving van now speeding off had scraped up against my car and hit me, almost forcing me over onto the shoulder. I quickly sped up to follow him.
The van moved over to the left lane, but when he realized I was following, moved over two lanes to get off the next exit. I got off the exit too, and I saw the van in the distance speed through an intersection and nearly crash into oncoming traffic. When I reached the four-way intersection, the van was nowhere in sight.
For a second, I thought of launching a search. Then I turned right and pulled over outside a gray two-story home and called 911.
While waiting for the state police to come and take my statement, I got out and checked for paint streaks on my car. There were some streaks of a lighter undetermined color on my broken mirror, but no scratches anywhere else.
A very nice police officer arrived and we chatted for a bit about what happened. He said he would go look for the van in the area, and he would call me if anything came up. Then we realized steam was coming from my engine.
“Eh… I should probably check that, right?” I said.
“Pop the hood and I’ll check it for you,” he said.
I few seconds went by, then he asked me to step outside.
“Take a look at this,” he said, pointing with his flashlight to green liquid spewing out into my engine, slightly to the right of my driver’s side headlight. “You’re radiator is leaking.”
His recommendation: If you’re going to drive, don’t go far and don’t go fast. Consider getting your car towed.
Since I was only about 10 minutes away from my house, I decided the best – and cheapest – thing to do would be to try to make it as close to home as possible. By this time, there was no chance I would make it home for "CSI." I gave my car a half hour to cool down after the trooper left, then filled up my coolant.
I keep extra coolant in my car since it has been leaking coolant for some time – so little I hadn’t had time to worry about it. I guess someone wanted to tell me now is the time to get my car checked out.
I drove all the way to my local service place with my heat blasting, just to buy myself some more time. I’ve read that’s what you’re supposed to do if your car is about to overheat. Not sure if it applied in my situation, but it got me there.
Since Albie was still at work, I walked the 40 minutes it took to get home. I guess that was my punishment for not going to the gym this week. My friend Andrea kept me company on the phone, worried about my latest adventure.
I got home 20 minutes after “CSI” ended. Instead of watching TV, I got to analyze my finances to figure out how and when I will afford a new radiator, and possibly a new side view mirror.
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