daines'n around

Dear. Me.

How can anyone survive summers in Arizona? Air conditioning? Nothing seemed to combat the ~110 degree days. Misters were a laugh. Luckily I could grab shade at certain hours near cacti and palm trees while wandering around on foot.

I survived three days. I think I only melted three times. It took a while to gather myself back together after the fact.

Arizona State University has lots of palm trees.

The abandoned mill, on Mill Street in Mesa.

The Lane 2 Fire burns on Friday, June 27, 90 miles outside Phoenix.

Goose butt.

The marina at man-made Saguaro Lake.

Tubers on Salt River. I'm told it is full of debauchery. I didn't see much.

I may have left part of my brain in a puddle near Salt River.

I don't know if you should be my desktop background, my first photo printed in years or simply a postcard I make for someone. Post Secret? No. There's no secret here. Just a huge visual metaphor for my life over the last two years.

Me = Metaphorical cow. Frightened girl = uninterested interpersonal relationships.
Bigger version here.

It's a familiar argument. Altruism versus reality in advertisement supported journalism. Reporters are expected to garner 80,000 clicks a month. That isn't unique users. That is 80,000 clicks on anything with your name on it, be it photo, article or anything else.

Part of me wonders if all of my writing will only be judged by the number of times it is clicked on from here on out. I realize content that generates more interest will receive more clicks. At the same time, that important -- but dry -- city council meeting story may not get anyone reading it.

If journalists are expected to be watchdogs, can we judge our progress by clicks?

Six weeks of clicks has me at about 6,440 clicks. Nothing worth writing home about, but a number for comparison six weeks from now and on in to the future.

My clicks for June 1 - July 10, 2008.

swimming -- not just for plastic people

My legs have a soft dull aches. The muscle between my shoulder blades -- who knew I had muscles there? -- they are tense and strained.

I swam last night.

Let's quantify that shall we? I'm not a swimmer. I don't think I've been in water past my hips since I was in Havasupai, in Arizona in 1998. That's ten years.

Ten years since the fateful day I swam too close to Havasu Falls and the vacuum effect of the falls sucked me towards the center and bottom of the blue-green waters. I paddled and freaked out. My head rising and falling above the surface of the water, i sorta of talked of little bit of help.

Hey Brandon, I think I need a hand.

He looked at me as though I was joking. Trained as a lifeguard, he had seen people die from swimming accidents, but didn't see any major signs of struggle from me. Then he noticed my head go up and stay under for a while and come up struggling for breath.

I always credit him for saving my life, though I'm not sure I would have died. Much of it was fearl.

This didn't put me off water. I just knew I wasn't a strong swimmer and never really lived near any large bodies of water. My roommate is the opposite. She can swim two miles and still be ready to swim more. Eight years of water polo can do that to a person I suppose. Give me a bike, a trail, a gym or a mountain. Her? She wants a pool.

So we have a deal to trade off between gym and the community pool. Last night was the first time I've been in a pool since I was in junior high school. See, I wasn't kidding about not swimming much.

It was also the first time I have ever used goggles. What a godsend. Who knew the world could be so safe and not eye-stinging with goggles? Not me. Roommate did mention a few times that I looked really funny in the goggles before she loosened them. The slack didn't do much for my aesthetics.

Most of the 50-minute swim session was spent sharing a lane with a pregnant woman who passed me up quite a few times. She made it look easy. I told her as much.

You make this look easy

Aw. Ha ha. Are you just learning?

Learning not to drown, yes.

Hah. Well, great job. Keep it up. You're doing fine.

Here's where I flash to a friend who used to point out overweight people running walking. He'd make a head motion and say to whomever was with him, 'Aw. Good for them.' He said it in the most sarcastic, curt manner. It was funny, I laughed. I'm not laughing anymore. I'm fatty in the pool who needs to use a kick board for twenty minutes so he can breathe and still get a workout.

I have a graduation certificate in my never-put-together memory book -- the one my mom stopped putting things in when I was five -- showing how great of a swimmer I was. Problem is, I peaked way back in the '80s.

But last night, I got better. I'm getting better. Here's to life by the ocean. Here here.