I only had time for a quick response when Greg wrote his entry about "slutty halloween costumes and dreams", which is too bad, because it was something I was thinking about for a good chunk of October and since, and it's an interesting reminder of how this curse seems to constantly find new ways of reminding us how things are different for other people.
Even before becoming a woman, I never really liked the word "slut". Maybe others have different impressions of the word, but it always seemed like a particularly vicious one to me. It's an ugly-sounding word, in the same family as "fuck" and "cunt", showing what sort of disdain one holds the people referred to in. It implies something worse than mere promiscuity, like the person in question has little or nothing to offer but sexual gratification, and knows it. You generally won't see that sort of nuance in dictionary definitions of the word, and maybe it doesn't exist anywhere but in my mind. But it's there; I've certainly had opportunity to back off using it in print because it seemed meaner and more presumptive than I wanted.
But I'd use it in casual conversation, especially around October 31st, when friends and I would express either appreciation or disdain for the young women who dressed up that way. And for my first few years as Liz and Nell, I didn't have any desire to dress that way - You change from a man into a woman, and a lot of the time, you're going to hate your new form. You resent every different organ and curve, and no way in hell do you want to emphasize them; that's loser stuff, if it's a fight to be yourself. I'd actively resist sexing myself up for Halloween when Lyn tried to get me to, and found that whole cheerleader thing mortifying. This year, though...
Lyn thinks that the trip to Montreal flipped some sort of switch in my brain, and maybe it did in terms of having to acknowledge that I am, physically, a woman, albeit one who lived her life as a man until a bit more than three years ago. I'm not a man in a woman's body, and I'm not sure there's such a thing. We are our bodies, and when your learned responses contradict your physical ones, they're maybe not wrong, but they're fighting an uphill battle. And perhaps more to the point, I have a woman's place in the world. The doesn't mean that nature intends me to make babies and cook for a man and be nurturing, but that when people interact with me, they're interacting with a woman.
And I think, for a lot of us in this situation, we resist that. Even Lyn, I think, did so in her fashion. She didn't just try to be a woman, but a fantasy woman, how men think someone with her face and hair and rack should behave. She's not sure about this hypothesis, but I tell her it's nothing to be ashamed of. I think a lot of women who had never been men do it. I did something pretty similar; I often acted like someone pretending to be a woman, trying to fake it. Ever since deciding to "be Penny" rather than "pretend to be Nell", I've tried to stop, and just react on my own. Sometimes it pegs me as a weird girl, but much more often, it doesn't. Given the same situations, a lot of us will react the same way, whether we spent the first two-plus decades of our life as someone else or not.
For instance, more attention is paid to women's appearance than it is for men. It's indisputable. Back in my Arthur days, if I were to come into a newsroom with stubble because I hadn't had time to shave, I wouldn't get much reaction, certainly nothing compared to the askance looks I get now if I show up without the usual make-up. If you look at the Boston Today sports pages, the photo that runs with a male columnist's work doesn't include his legs. And so on. Women are expected to look nice.
And, maybe it's because I'm young and tall and fit, but the standard I'm held to doesn't really bother me in a vacuum, or many of the women I know. We envy the extra time men have and resent being treated like ornaments, but it feels good to look nice. I like smiling at what I see in the mirror, and when I have drinks with a female friend, we can compliment each completely outside of sexual interest or our chances of landing/keeping a man. What drives me nuts is the line. The one that says, on this side, you look nice, professional, and/or sharp, but on this side, you look too sexual; you're trying to show someone else up, or you're using your looks to get ahead.
Now, I run a lot, I do a bunch of sit-ups, and I eat right even when I'd really like to have that gigantic bag of peanut butter cups, and it leaves me with a pretty damn good body. My legs, in particular, rock. I'm proud of them, so why shouldn't I show them off? But most of the time, I can't, not without having people think less of me. It drives me nuts, and I can't imagine I'm the only woman who feels that way.
And that's why skimpy Halloween costumes are awesome. Halloween costumes may once have been about scaring ghosts and demons away, but it's evolved into something else. People who think a good Halloween costume is one where you can't be recognized don't get it, in my opinion: It's about fantasy, yes, but part of that fantasy is being recognizable, acknowledging that this sexuality is part of who you are and not having people think the less of you.
So that's why I did it up a bit this year. Lyn and Matt had already decided what they were doing - Lyn got inspired by Rachel Nichols's cameo in the new Star Trek movie and bought herself a Starfleet uniform and a tub of green makeup, while her boyfriend just went with the black Kirk outfit. In past years, she confesses, she might have purchased a lot more makeup and a lot less fabric and gone for Poison Ivy, but I think part of the image she wanted to present this year was being smart and capable. Still, she was excited about me asking for help choosing a superhero.
I went with Black Canary. The costume involves high-heeled boots, fishnets, a blonde wig, and a black top with a cartoonish zipper to show off my cleavage; which was enhanced by stuffing my underwire with a couple chicken breasts. I looked kind of ridiculous - would a real superhero wear a leather jacket but leave her ass hanging out of what basically amounts to a one-piece swimsuit? - but I've got to admit, it was nice to have the results of my workout regimen out there, and have folks say, damn, that's nice!
And they did; at the parties I went to, I may not have been the center of attention (as much as I was showing it off, there were certainly some folks who wanted it more), but I attracted some attention, especially from the guys in spandex. I didn't get drunk enough to do anything stupid, but I did wind up telling a lot of people that I had a boyfriend, and he was just out of town.
Lyn took me aside after she heard that, after I'd turned one of Matt's firefighter friends who needed no padding to fill out his Superman costume, reminding me that it's been two moths without Ray calling, email, or anything, but I shrugged it off. That "I love you" bomb was something we both needed time to process. I know it may sound weird, considering I haven't exactly been a complete nun since my first visit to the Inn, but being ready to really give myself to a certain man doesn't mean I'm ready to just casually do it with any man.
Of course, I'm not just waiting for him to feel the same way. Here's hoping that the pictures from the parties that I sent him prove tempting!
-Penny
Showing posts with label Boston Today. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Boston Today. Show all posts
Friday, November 20, 2009
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Arthur/Penny: Away games
One thing I do miss about my time about CalSports is the travel. Calling lacrosse games, they would send me to wherever the teams played, and though I often didn't get much chance to see the city, there's something nice about leaving the hotel room with the bed unmade, having no excuse not to eat out, and not taking the scenery around you for granted. Boston Today is run on a tight budget, so I generally don't travel with the teams; I just blog while watching them in HD and augment that with whatever comes over the wire. The Red Sox in New York is a special occasion, though, where it's worth it to put me on a plane (the train isn't much of a savings) and have me on-site, visiting enclaves of New York Sox fans, getting interviews with players, and generally giving more in-depth coverage.
Not that I got much time to see New York; Sox-Yankees is intense, especially when it's an epic, season-changing ass-kicking that results in a respected veteran getting kicked to the curb. Still, I told the newly-single Ray that I'd spend some time with him in the City over the weekend. He was excited by the prospect, said he'd leave Boston right after work, and then meet up with me after the game. I told him I'd need an hour or so after the game to get interviews done and stories filed, but he said that was cool, just give him a call.
Then, of course, the game went fifteen innings, featured the debut of a much-heralded young pitcher, had the "Alex Rodriguez, clutch hitter" angle... By the time I got out of the park, it was almost 3am, and I wasn't terribly surprised when Ray's phone went straight to voice mail. I left a message saying that I was going to have to hit the hay, then get back to the ballpark around noon to start coverage for the 4pm game. I joked that at least that wouldn't take us much past eleven at the worst-case scenario, and New York is just getting started then. Then I crash.
I get up around ten o'clock Saturday, have a quick breakfast, and make a few calls while I'm on my way to the Stadium. First is Ray, and I apologize profusely for the previous night, although someone following the Red Sox in recent years shouldn't be surprised. I ask him what his plans for the day are, and he mentions some college friends he's looking to connect with. I say that's cool, and then call Mark.
Ginessa, that is. I guess I'm the only person still posting regularly who hasn't seen her since she settled into her new life even more thoroughly than Lyn has. Still, I figure she would know a good place to get a late dinner that wouldn't rely too much on screwing around with multiple subway lines. She's excited to hear from me, though, especially when she hears I'll have a date. Of course, she also says I should have called her to hang out the night before, even if it was 3am. Anyway, she says she'll talk to Gavin, make sure we've got a reservation someplace nice.
So, another game, another loss and even though I haven't been in Boston quite long enough for the Sox to be my team, I've got to interact with a lot of readers online, and that's a heck of a lot more enjoyable when they're winning rather than losing to New York in spectacular fashion. It only runs three-twenty-eight - positively sprightly for Sox/Yankees - I get out at quarter of nine, and Ray's there to meet me. We hug kind of awkwardly, and the kiss is also kind of weird. It's right out in the open, we don't know what it could lead to, and it's got a whole lot more history to me than it does to him.
We can laugh about how weird it was, though, and take the train into Manhattan. The place is fancy enough that both Ray and I feel under-dressed, but a waiter escorts us to Ginny & Gavin's table.
Ginny is - well, she's a supernova. I don't think she's had surgery or anything, but her boobs and butt seem fuller than when I last saw her in Maine, when I'd just become Liz and we were scattering to the four winds. That may just be because she's dressing to accentuate her curves rather than trying to hide them under a baggy football jersey. She wears some expensive jewelry, too, which not many of us other boys-become-girls do (I wore tiny studs in my ears as Liz because I didn't want them to close up before I gave her her form back, and a little more now since I got in the habit from appearing on TV out west, but nothing big). She greets us warmly, saying she thinks its so cool that I'm writing about sports and she's heard so much about Ray, before backtracking and saying she hasn't really heard that much - just for a few months, and "Penny's been discrete, of course!"
Gavin was exactly what I should have expected, but didn't, really. He's got to be twice Ginessa's apparent age, older than Mark would be if he'd never gone to the Inn. He's thinning up top, wears glasses, and if someone asked me to estimate the likelihood of his being gay without showing me Ginny, it would be right around the fifty-percent area. He's nice, though - picks up the check, argues about the ballgame with Ray in a friendly manner, pulls Ginny back when she's threatening to get crazy. He makes some fantastic recommendations, too - the man knows his food.
Afterward, we go back to his hotel room, where there's a nice King-sized bed that kind of scares the hell out of both of us. At first we just lay there for a while, enjoying the fact that we don't have to hurry it. We talk. I tell him I really didn't want to break up his engagement, but he says I didn't - that he and Liz finally realized that they were more like brother and sister than boyfriend and girlfriend, and there's no hard feelings. Even if I'm around? Yes, she's going to forgive and forget. Wow.
Then we make love. It's slow, and nice, and kind of clumsy. It's not like the rushed screwing we did behind Liz's back, or what we did when I was Liz. It exhausts us, but we feel good afterward. I fall asleep in his arms, which isn't something I've done with a man (I don't think) since becoming a woman.
The next morning, we find a bagel place before just walking around the city for a bit. We can't really do much - starting around noon, I'm getting a message on my Blackberry every fifteen minutes or so, and I've got to tap out a few slightly-larger-than-Twitter-sized bits of content for Boston Today's blog. It's a nice day, and I'm sad when five o'clock comes, and he leaves for the drive back to Boston and I head out to the Bronx for the series finale - especially since it doesn't look like we'll have time to meet up again until this weekend.
I am looking forward to it, though - he's got concert tickets for tomorrow night (tonight, I guess), so that will be even more like a real date. If this is what having a regular boyfriend is like, I suppose I could get used to it.
-Art/Penny
Not that I got much time to see New York; Sox-Yankees is intense, especially when it's an epic, season-changing ass-kicking that results in a respected veteran getting kicked to the curb. Still, I told the newly-single Ray that I'd spend some time with him in the City over the weekend. He was excited by the prospect, said he'd leave Boston right after work, and then meet up with me after the game. I told him I'd need an hour or so after the game to get interviews done and stories filed, but he said that was cool, just give him a call.
Then, of course, the game went fifteen innings, featured the debut of a much-heralded young pitcher, had the "Alex Rodriguez, clutch hitter" angle... By the time I got out of the park, it was almost 3am, and I wasn't terribly surprised when Ray's phone went straight to voice mail. I left a message saying that I was going to have to hit the hay, then get back to the ballpark around noon to start coverage for the 4pm game. I joked that at least that wouldn't take us much past eleven at the worst-case scenario, and New York is just getting started then. Then I crash.
I get up around ten o'clock Saturday, have a quick breakfast, and make a few calls while I'm on my way to the Stadium. First is Ray, and I apologize profusely for the previous night, although someone following the Red Sox in recent years shouldn't be surprised. I ask him what his plans for the day are, and he mentions some college friends he's looking to connect with. I say that's cool, and then call Mark.
Ginessa, that is. I guess I'm the only person still posting regularly who hasn't seen her since she settled into her new life even more thoroughly than Lyn has. Still, I figure she would know a good place to get a late dinner that wouldn't rely too much on screwing around with multiple subway lines. She's excited to hear from me, though, especially when she hears I'll have a date. Of course, she also says I should have called her to hang out the night before, even if it was 3am. Anyway, she says she'll talk to Gavin, make sure we've got a reservation someplace nice.
So, another game, another loss and even though I haven't been in Boston quite long enough for the Sox to be my team, I've got to interact with a lot of readers online, and that's a heck of a lot more enjoyable when they're winning rather than losing to New York in spectacular fashion. It only runs three-twenty-eight - positively sprightly for Sox/Yankees - I get out at quarter of nine, and Ray's there to meet me. We hug kind of awkwardly, and the kiss is also kind of weird. It's right out in the open, we don't know what it could lead to, and it's got a whole lot more history to me than it does to him.
We can laugh about how weird it was, though, and take the train into Manhattan. The place is fancy enough that both Ray and I feel under-dressed, but a waiter escorts us to Ginny & Gavin's table.
Ginny is - well, she's a supernova. I don't think she's had surgery or anything, but her boobs and butt seem fuller than when I last saw her in Maine, when I'd just become Liz and we were scattering to the four winds. That may just be because she's dressing to accentuate her curves rather than trying to hide them under a baggy football jersey. She wears some expensive jewelry, too, which not many of us other boys-become-girls do (I wore tiny studs in my ears as Liz because I didn't want them to close up before I gave her her form back, and a little more now since I got in the habit from appearing on TV out west, but nothing big). She greets us warmly, saying she thinks its so cool that I'm writing about sports and she's heard so much about Ray, before backtracking and saying she hasn't really heard that much - just for a few months, and "Penny's been discrete, of course!"
Gavin was exactly what I should have expected, but didn't, really. He's got to be twice Ginessa's apparent age, older than Mark would be if he'd never gone to the Inn. He's thinning up top, wears glasses, and if someone asked me to estimate the likelihood of his being gay without showing me Ginny, it would be right around the fifty-percent area. He's nice, though - picks up the check, argues about the ballgame with Ray in a friendly manner, pulls Ginny back when she's threatening to get crazy. He makes some fantastic recommendations, too - the man knows his food.
Afterward, we go back to his hotel room, where there's a nice King-sized bed that kind of scares the hell out of both of us. At first we just lay there for a while, enjoying the fact that we don't have to hurry it. We talk. I tell him I really didn't want to break up his engagement, but he says I didn't - that he and Liz finally realized that they were more like brother and sister than boyfriend and girlfriend, and there's no hard feelings. Even if I'm around? Yes, she's going to forgive and forget. Wow.
Then we make love. It's slow, and nice, and kind of clumsy. It's not like the rushed screwing we did behind Liz's back, or what we did when I was Liz. It exhausts us, but we feel good afterward. I fall asleep in his arms, which isn't something I've done with a man (I don't think) since becoming a woman.
The next morning, we find a bagel place before just walking around the city for a bit. We can't really do much - starting around noon, I'm getting a message on my Blackberry every fifteen minutes or so, and I've got to tap out a few slightly-larger-than-Twitter-sized bits of content for Boston Today's blog. It's a nice day, and I'm sad when five o'clock comes, and he leaves for the drive back to Boston and I head out to the Bronx for the series finale - especially since it doesn't look like we'll have time to meet up again until this weekend.
I am looking forward to it, though - he's got concert tickets for tomorrow night (tonight, I guess), so that will be even more like a real date. If this is what having a regular boyfriend is like, I suppose I could get used to it.
-Art/Penny
Friday, August 07, 2009
Arthur/Penny: Not ducking anything ...
... I've just never been a person of interest in an ongoing criminal investigation before. As you might imagine, the first thing I did after blogging about Liz and Ray disappearing was talk to a lawyer, and one of the first things he said was "stop blogging outside of work!" Even a highly-fictionalized version of events, which he naturally believes this blog to be, is material for the police and district attorney, and even if you're innocent, they will see what they want to see and spin it any way they can. I reluctantly passed the word onto Lyn - as you might imagine, I was not especially keen to talk to her after her big confession, but I didn't figure I was angry enough at her that I wanted her in trouble with the law. And then waited.
And waited.
And then, Monday, when I'm in the Gillette Field parking lot (a Red Sox off-day means checking out Patriots training camp), I get a tap on the shoulder. I'm a little bit frazzled, but trying to be friendly. I put a smile on my face and turn around, about to say something pleasant, when my mouth just freezes halfway open. Standing right in front of me, looking kind of nervous, is Raymond Kim. "Hi, Penny," he says. "You're looking good."
I just stand there like a moron for what seems like hours. I stutter his name, following up with something like "you're okay?"
"Oh, yeah," he says. "It was a huge misunderstanding. Liz and I were actually in the airport, but I got cold feet and convinced her that we shouldn't rush this. So we decided to just take a break from the rest of the world and went out to the Cape, just her and me, to see where we stand."
"So, you're saying, you weren't..."
"Kidnapped, killed, or the other way around? Nah." He chuckled. "Can you believe all that ruckus over not calling home and cutting your hand when slicing a bagel? It was downright embarrassing when we got home a week and a half ago and there was crime scene tape on our door!"
I let him have it right across the face. No little girly slap, either, a closed-fist punch with my whole body behind it. It felt really good to watch him go down, I must admit. I took a step closer to him and started yelling.
"You asshole! I've had the police visiting me, Lyn is worried that she caused this somehow by introducing us, I didn't know what had happened to you... A month of this, and it could have been avoided if you'd just called someone?"
He rubbed his jaw, mumbling something about me being even stronger than I look. "I know! It's stupid, and I'm sorry! It's just, Liz and I have known each other forever, and even when we realized we didn't love each other that way, we had to be sure, without anybody putting pressure on us one way or the other."
If he'd said something different, I might have hit him again, but that was pretty reasonable. "So, what're you saying? The wedding's off?"
"Completely. Let me tell you, there's no refunds on this kind of short notice. I think Liz and I are the only members of our family not pissed. I swear, I thought someone from the police would have told you. I was a little afraid to, I have to admit. It's been a long time since I was really free, you know?"
I hate when someone I want to be mad at is right. I reached a hand down and helped him up. "So now what?"
"Well, maybe we can see each other this weekend."
"Can't; they're sending me to New York for Sox-Yankees."
"Well, maybe we can meet up there."
So it's a plan. I just hope this game doesn't take the eternity games between these two usually do. I'm looking forward to seeing just how little this city sleeps.
-Art/Penny
(Yeah, I'm blogging from work... If you've seen how long Yanks/Sox games go, you'll understand how I can get away with that! )
And waited.
And then, Monday, when I'm in the Gillette Field parking lot (a Red Sox off-day means checking out Patriots training camp), I get a tap on the shoulder. I'm a little bit frazzled, but trying to be friendly. I put a smile on my face and turn around, about to say something pleasant, when my mouth just freezes halfway open. Standing right in front of me, looking kind of nervous, is Raymond Kim. "Hi, Penny," he says. "You're looking good."
I just stand there like a moron for what seems like hours. I stutter his name, following up with something like "you're okay?"
"Oh, yeah," he says. "It was a huge misunderstanding. Liz and I were actually in the airport, but I got cold feet and convinced her that we shouldn't rush this. So we decided to just take a break from the rest of the world and went out to the Cape, just her and me, to see where we stand."
"So, you're saying, you weren't..."
"Kidnapped, killed, or the other way around? Nah." He chuckled. "Can you believe all that ruckus over not calling home and cutting your hand when slicing a bagel? It was downright embarrassing when we got home a week and a half ago and there was crime scene tape on our door!"
I let him have it right across the face. No little girly slap, either, a closed-fist punch with my whole body behind it. It felt really good to watch him go down, I must admit. I took a step closer to him and started yelling.
"You asshole! I've had the police visiting me, Lyn is worried that she caused this somehow by introducing us, I didn't know what had happened to you... A month of this, and it could have been avoided if you'd just called someone?"
He rubbed his jaw, mumbling something about me being even stronger than I look. "I know! It's stupid, and I'm sorry! It's just, Liz and I have known each other forever, and even when we realized we didn't love each other that way, we had to be sure, without anybody putting pressure on us one way or the other."
If he'd said something different, I might have hit him again, but that was pretty reasonable. "So, what're you saying? The wedding's off?"
"Completely. Let me tell you, there's no refunds on this kind of short notice. I think Liz and I are the only members of our family not pissed. I swear, I thought someone from the police would have told you. I was a little afraid to, I have to admit. It's been a long time since I was really free, you know?"
I hate when someone I want to be mad at is right. I reached a hand down and helped him up. "So now what?"
"Well, maybe we can see each other this weekend."
"Can't; they're sending me to New York for Sox-Yankees."
"Well, maybe we can meet up there."
So it's a plan. I just hope this game doesn't take the eternity games between these two usually do. I'm looking forward to seeing just how little this city sleeps.
-Art/Penny
(Yeah, I'm blogging from work... If you've seen how long Yanks/Sox games go, you'll understand how I can get away with that! )
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Arthur/Penny: Good grief!
Don't tell anyone around here, but I am positively thrilled that the Patriots didn't make the playoffs. As a writer, I've always understood the sports columnists who said they rooted for the story, even though as a fan I think it sounds like a soul-deadening outlook. For the last couple months, though, I've just been rooting for a reduced workload. Carefully, of course - print is in all sorts of trouble and it would be no surprise if Boston Today were to fold or decide that maybe I could be replaced by someone who would work even cheaper and longer than the woman with no prior experience and a degree in broadcast engineering!
And yes, I have pondered the irony that even in a down economy, I could probably get a pretty good job in television with Nell's resume and looks. I've been there, though, and I just enjoy writing too much.
When Tom Brady went down, I sort of knew that the Pats reporting would be kind of intense. I knew that there wouldn't be much relief when the Red Sox' championship run ended, because the Celtics would just take their place. I didn't see the Bruins coming, though! The last time I was in Boston, when I was living as Liz, no-one talked about them, it was with a mix of indifference and disgust. I dutifully read the scores on CalSports as they made a little run at the Stanley Cup, but the hockey guys there implied that it was mostly about the NHL letting a lot of teams into the playoffs. And yet, this year, they seem almost as dominant as the Celtics, who are so good that there's got to be Celtics material every day even when there's three days between games and not much to say.
It's been crazy enough that I've had precious few chances to get off sports, although election night was all hands on deck. I did a spot about sports bars tuning to CNN that was cut to something like two sentences for the print edition but ran in full online. I guess that's the future.
At least Boston doesn't really care about college sports even when they've had teams doing well. If I had to pay rapt attention to a bunch of bowl games rather than head out to Ashlyn's party tonight, I'd probably be pretty annoyed!
- Art/"Penny"
And yes, I have pondered the irony that even in a down economy, I could probably get a pretty good job in television with Nell's resume and looks. I've been there, though, and I just enjoy writing too much.
When Tom Brady went down, I sort of knew that the Pats reporting would be kind of intense. I knew that there wouldn't be much relief when the Red Sox' championship run ended, because the Celtics would just take their place. I didn't see the Bruins coming, though! The last time I was in Boston, when I was living as Liz, no-one talked about them, it was with a mix of indifference and disgust. I dutifully read the scores on CalSports as they made a little run at the Stanley Cup, but the hockey guys there implied that it was mostly about the NHL letting a lot of teams into the playoffs. And yet, this year, they seem almost as dominant as the Celtics, who are so good that there's got to be Celtics material every day even when there's three days between games and not much to say.
It's been crazy enough that I've had precious few chances to get off sports, although election night was all hands on deck. I did a spot about sports bars tuning to CNN that was cut to something like two sentences for the print edition but ran in full online. I guess that's the future.
At least Boston doesn't really care about college sports even when they've had teams doing well. If I had to pay rapt attention to a bunch of bowl games rather than head out to Ashlyn's party tonight, I'd probably be pretty annoyed!
- Art/"Penny"
Tuesday, September 09, 2008
Arthur/Penny: Even when you get a break...
I had forgotten how insanely hectic the newspaper business is. I had somewhat naively thought that working on the giveaway dailies would be easier. After all, anyone who has read one of the things has to wonder just how much work actually went into them: Just pull things off the wire services, cut it down to one or two column-inches that any reader who knows the first thing about the subject is little more than stating the obvious, and use half the space for pictures.
There is, of course, more to it, especially for those of us in the sports department. In Boston even more than most cities, that section is going to be dominated by local content, so you are doing a fair amount of actual writing. Of course, you're still working within tight word limits, so you're still cutting down, and it's a lot more frustrating to reduce one's own prose than to pull relevant sentences from someone else's. Especially if you've spent all day on the phone, trying to call anybody who might have any sort of insight about Tom Brady's injury.
My last experience at a newspaper was also at the tail end of them seriously denying the importance of the web. I didn't work in sports much then - I did some, as interns go wherever they're told - but even though the deadlines for a daily paper are always tight, it's nothing compared to now. And now is the word - something happens, and you have to have a story up on the website right now, constantly updated, while at the same time you're constantly updating the cut down version that will appear in tomorrow's paper.
That doesn't even begin to get to blogs. One of the things the giveaway papers have been doing lately, in order to fill column-inches cheaply and at least give the impression of being more connected to the community, is create programs where local bloggers can submit links to the paper, or even have their blogs hosted by them. As a professional writer, I'm not really a fan, for a number of reasons - it devalues the work I do, both by giving the paper free options and (often) reducing the quality of what people read in the paper, making it look like standards are lower. (I'm not a complete grumpy old man on this; there's a lot of good writing on blogs, especially sports, and a lot of papers would do themselves a lot of good to hire the talented, enthusiastic amateurs and can the tired old men) Plus, it creates more work for me and the editor: In order to get any half-decent blogger to participate, it has to be a completely opt-in-based process... That creates new and exciting ways to be accused of plagiarism, as the blogger knows the paper is aware of their work, and if they feel a published story is too close without acknowledging them, whether or not they've given permission to use their entry, they raise a stink, and their work went up instantly while yours didn't appear until morning...
Don't get me wrong, I've been enjoying it immensely. One of the great things about the job is that I've been able to reinvent myself fairly quickly. When I started, a lot of people had the impression that I was hired because I had a pretty headshot to put at the top of a column, while my previous job made me experienced enough to hire but green enough to not pay very much. Truth be told, that's probably it exactly. But after a month or so, they start to realize that you've got the goods.
Still, every once in a while you need to blow off steam. Or, failing that, drink. There's dangers there, of course, some wholly unexpected.
Thursday, for instance, I got out of the office relatively early, not having a Sox game to cover and having managed to get the football and baseball previews done for the weekend edition. I still had my phone set to page me for any important events, but it was the end of the work week and I wanted to unwind. (Yes, the Sunday to Thursday schedule takes a bit of getting used to). There are a few not-bad bars in the Downtown Crossing/Park Street area, and that day I ambled into The Sidebar. It's not the lawyer bar you might imagine from the name, but it's not bad snacks and beer for the price.
I still found a lawyer there, though. Raymond Kim was sitting at the bar, and that kind of stopped me in my tracks at first. I almost turned back to find another place, but then I realized that he wouldn't recognize me, and I found myself very curious just what he'd been up to in the last year-plus. So I walked to the bar, grabbed a stool right next to him, and ordered myself a beer. I've been female long enough to learn some of the tricks; it may be weird and uncomfortable for a woman to just walk up and start talking to a man, but once the bartender asked what kind of beer, I can turn to Ray, ask him what he's having, and order one of the same. Now we're talking and no-one's found it awkward.
I introduce myself, and he gets a laugh out of the name. "Heh, I have thought of going back to 'Nell' on occasion, but people remember 'Penny Lincoln'. It may be kind of porn-star-y, but that sticks in the mind." He blushes a little, but laughs, and asks me what I do. I tell him I write about sports for Boston Today, and he says that he recognizes me from there, now that I mention it.
"Well, better that than the porn, right?"
He spits a little beer. "Sorry... This isn't the sort of conversation I have often."
"Really? Why not? You're a good-looking guy, I bet girls find an excuse to talk to you all the time."
"Not the All-American Amazons. Besides, I'm usually--" He's looking in my eyes, and decides to change answers, I think. "I'm usually in stuffy lawyer bars after work."
He finished off his beer, and raised two fingers to the bartender. I gave him a little half nod. "Thank you."
"No problem."
We chat about nothing for a while; he talks about the case he just litigated at the courthouse, and I give some exaggerated horror stories about doing play-by-play with a partner who doesn't respect me. He says it sounds terrible, and I say, yeah, but it gives me background for my book.
"Tell-all?"
"Murder mystery."
"Ooh, that sounds like fun."
"It is. Hard work, but plenty of fun."
He's about to say something else when we hear a throat clearing behind us.
"Hello, Raymond. Who's this?"
"Liz! Liz, this is Penny Lincoln, she writes about sports for that new paper. Penny, this is Liz--"
"Raymond's fiancée." She extends her palm in check-the-ring position. I whistle appreciatively, and that seems to satisfy her.
"Anyway, Penny was just telling me that she was writing a novel."
"A murder mystery, actually. Raymond mentioned he was a lawyer so I was picking his brain for some background information."
Elizabeth smiled sweetly. "Murder's illegal in Massachusetts."
I saw where this was going. "Good to know. Anyway, nice to meet you both." I finished the last sip of my Sam Adams, and signaled the bartender for the tab.
I stuck around the general area until the paper was officially put to bed, then headed back home. I wasn't sure what part of the evening had been stranger - talking with Ray like we were complete strangers, or seeing Liz from the outside, acting... Well, not like me.
- Art / "Penny"
There is, of course, more to it, especially for those of us in the sports department. In Boston even more than most cities, that section is going to be dominated by local content, so you are doing a fair amount of actual writing. Of course, you're still working within tight word limits, so you're still cutting down, and it's a lot more frustrating to reduce one's own prose than to pull relevant sentences from someone else's. Especially if you've spent all day on the phone, trying to call anybody who might have any sort of insight about Tom Brady's injury.
My last experience at a newspaper was also at the tail end of them seriously denying the importance of the web. I didn't work in sports much then - I did some, as interns go wherever they're told - but even though the deadlines for a daily paper are always tight, it's nothing compared to now. And now is the word - something happens, and you have to have a story up on the website right now, constantly updated, while at the same time you're constantly updating the cut down version that will appear in tomorrow's paper.
That doesn't even begin to get to blogs. One of the things the giveaway papers have been doing lately, in order to fill column-inches cheaply and at least give the impression of being more connected to the community, is create programs where local bloggers can submit links to the paper, or even have their blogs hosted by them. As a professional writer, I'm not really a fan, for a number of reasons - it devalues the work I do, both by giving the paper free options and (often) reducing the quality of what people read in the paper, making it look like standards are lower. (I'm not a complete grumpy old man on this; there's a lot of good writing on blogs, especially sports, and a lot of papers would do themselves a lot of good to hire the talented, enthusiastic amateurs and can the tired old men) Plus, it creates more work for me and the editor: In order to get any half-decent blogger to participate, it has to be a completely opt-in-based process... That creates new and exciting ways to be accused of plagiarism, as the blogger knows the paper is aware of their work, and if they feel a published story is too close without acknowledging them, whether or not they've given permission to use their entry, they raise a stink, and their work went up instantly while yours didn't appear until morning...
Don't get me wrong, I've been enjoying it immensely. One of the great things about the job is that I've been able to reinvent myself fairly quickly. When I started, a lot of people had the impression that I was hired because I had a pretty headshot to put at the top of a column, while my previous job made me experienced enough to hire but green enough to not pay very much. Truth be told, that's probably it exactly. But after a month or so, they start to realize that you've got the goods.
Still, every once in a while you need to blow off steam. Or, failing that, drink. There's dangers there, of course, some wholly unexpected.
Thursday, for instance, I got out of the office relatively early, not having a Sox game to cover and having managed to get the football and baseball previews done for the weekend edition. I still had my phone set to page me for any important events, but it was the end of the work week and I wanted to unwind. (Yes, the Sunday to Thursday schedule takes a bit of getting used to). There are a few not-bad bars in the Downtown Crossing/Park Street area, and that day I ambled into The Sidebar. It's not the lawyer bar you might imagine from the name, but it's not bad snacks and beer for the price.
I still found a lawyer there, though. Raymond Kim was sitting at the bar, and that kind of stopped me in my tracks at first. I almost turned back to find another place, but then I realized that he wouldn't recognize me, and I found myself very curious just what he'd been up to in the last year-plus. So I walked to the bar, grabbed a stool right next to him, and ordered myself a beer. I've been female long enough to learn some of the tricks; it may be weird and uncomfortable for a woman to just walk up and start talking to a man, but once the bartender asked what kind of beer, I can turn to Ray, ask him what he's having, and order one of the same. Now we're talking and no-one's found it awkward.
I introduce myself, and he gets a laugh out of the name. "Heh, I have thought of going back to 'Nell' on occasion, but people remember 'Penny Lincoln'. It may be kind of porn-star-y, but that sticks in the mind." He blushes a little, but laughs, and asks me what I do. I tell him I write about sports for Boston Today, and he says that he recognizes me from there, now that I mention it.
"Well, better that than the porn, right?"
He spits a little beer. "Sorry... This isn't the sort of conversation I have often."
"Really? Why not? You're a good-looking guy, I bet girls find an excuse to talk to you all the time."
"Not the All-American Amazons. Besides, I'm usually--" He's looking in my eyes, and decides to change answers, I think. "I'm usually in stuffy lawyer bars after work."
He finished off his beer, and raised two fingers to the bartender. I gave him a little half nod. "Thank you."
"No problem."
We chat about nothing for a while; he talks about the case he just litigated at the courthouse, and I give some exaggerated horror stories about doing play-by-play with a partner who doesn't respect me. He says it sounds terrible, and I say, yeah, but it gives me background for my book.
"Tell-all?"
"Murder mystery."
"Ooh, that sounds like fun."
"It is. Hard work, but plenty of fun."
He's about to say something else when we hear a throat clearing behind us.
"Hello, Raymond. Who's this?"
"Liz! Liz, this is Penny Lincoln, she writes about sports for that new paper. Penny, this is Liz--"
"Raymond's fiancée." She extends her palm in check-the-ring position. I whistle appreciatively, and that seems to satisfy her.
"Anyway, Penny was just telling me that she was writing a novel."
"A murder mystery, actually. Raymond mentioned he was a lawyer so I was picking his brain for some background information."
Elizabeth smiled sweetly. "Murder's illegal in Massachusetts."
I saw where this was going. "Good to know. Anyway, nice to meet you both." I finished the last sip of my Sam Adams, and signaled the bartender for the tab.
I stuck around the general area until the paper was officially put to bed, then headed back home. I wasn't sure what part of the evening had been stranger - talking with Ray like we were complete strangers, or seeing Liz from the outside, acting... Well, not like me.
- Art / "Penny"
Tuesday, July 01, 2008
Arthur/Penny: Back "home", sort of
It seems silly for me to think of Boston as home; of all the places I've lived, my eight or so months here was among my shortest stays and easily one of my most traumatic. But maybe that second part is what makes it feel like home. One usually associates the word with safety, security, and familiarity, but it's also the place where one grows up. Yes, I first came to the Trading Post Inn as an adult, and I have physically changed a great deal since leaving Boston, but there's no question that it was here that I learned the lessons that made me the woman I am today.
It's also where my best friend lives. It's been about a year since I last saw Lyn, but she nearly knocked me over running up to give me a hug when I arrived at my new apartment. In my defense, I was somewhat wobbly on my legs having driven non-stop from New York. We were both wearing short shorts and she looked at my legs a bit jealously, saying she'd forgotten just how tall the new me was. I laughed at that a bit, pointing out I'd been Penny longer than I'd been Liz, so I sort of took that for granted now, although it did make Lyn seem a little short. "Well," she said, "I'm still gifted in other ways," crossing her arms under her breasts.
We spend the afternoon catching each other up while unpacking the car. I've been remiss about updating people on certain things since quitting my job, such as my new apartment and job. Lyn found the apartment for me, a small but comfortable loft right on the border of Chinatown that makes it very tempting for me to sell my car, since I'm now an easy walk from South Station as well as all four subway lines and the offices for the new job. It all depends on how much traveling off the lines I'll have to do. After living in California for another year, I can hardly imagine being without my car again, although it's not that much of an exaggeration to say that the rent on my parking spot rivals that on the apartment.
We wound up laying on the floor afterward; the bed wasn't due to be delivered for another couple days. I handled most of the larger stuff, but Lyn was still pooped. I sat up and looked at her for a few moments, and she asked if all that muscle and testosterone was some sign that I was still a guy at heart, staring at her boobs. "Not those, the thing you've got 'em wrapped. Are you so assimilated as to be a Celtics fan now?"
"Let's just say it was an easy bandwagon to jump on this season. I've got to tell you, liking sports in this town doesn't suck at all, other than trying to get affordable tickets. Although I could probably get those if I liked hockey as much as the original Ashlyn liked hockey players!"
"Well, I hope the sports stuff isn't too overwhelming; my new boss said they'd be using me to spot people in the other departments when they needed someone extra, but if the Sox, Pats, Celtics and Bruins keep me busy, there won't be too many opportunities."
"You'll find 'em. Although I'd keep my resumé up to date, if I was you - I didn't even realize Boston Now was gone until something like a month after the fact, so I don't know how much room there is for another giveaway paper."
"Eh, the Boston Today people have been doing okay out west for a few years, and it's not like Now and the Metro have had Penny Lincoln. Although I think Today is actually setting up shop in Boston Now's old offices."
She laughed at that, saying some people never learned, and asked when it was going to start publishing. I said they were planning a July 4th launch, taking advantage of what a big party Boston puts on for the fourth, with a pull-out section on the fireworks and pops and me writing pieces on the Sox-Yankees games going on in New York. Lyn makes a joke about the Yankees being old news, the new rivalry being the Rays, but I have to admit it's still hard for me to take Tampa Bay seriously.
Anyway, all that was about a week ago. I've since been reintroduced to how crazy the daily newspaper grind is - we've been doing "dress rehearsals" to prepare for the big launch - and how much "fun" dealing with utility companies is. Of course, it doesn't help when you're playing Comcast and Verizon against each other to try and get one of them to offer you something just a bit better than the other.
It's great to be here, though. As much as San Francisco and Oakland are where I come from, right now Boston is where I want to be.
-Art/Penny
It's also where my best friend lives. It's been about a year since I last saw Lyn, but she nearly knocked me over running up to give me a hug when I arrived at my new apartment. In my defense, I was somewhat wobbly on my legs having driven non-stop from New York. We were both wearing short shorts and she looked at my legs a bit jealously, saying she'd forgotten just how tall the new me was. I laughed at that a bit, pointing out I'd been Penny longer than I'd been Liz, so I sort of took that for granted now, although it did make Lyn seem a little short. "Well," she said, "I'm still gifted in other ways," crossing her arms under her breasts.
We spend the afternoon catching each other up while unpacking the car. I've been remiss about updating people on certain things since quitting my job, such as my new apartment and job. Lyn found the apartment for me, a small but comfortable loft right on the border of Chinatown that makes it very tempting for me to sell my car, since I'm now an easy walk from South Station as well as all four subway lines and the offices for the new job. It all depends on how much traveling off the lines I'll have to do. After living in California for another year, I can hardly imagine being without my car again, although it's not that much of an exaggeration to say that the rent on my parking spot rivals that on the apartment.
We wound up laying on the floor afterward; the bed wasn't due to be delivered for another couple days. I handled most of the larger stuff, but Lyn was still pooped. I sat up and looked at her for a few moments, and she asked if all that muscle and testosterone was some sign that I was still a guy at heart, staring at her boobs. "Not those, the thing you've got 'em wrapped. Are you so assimilated as to be a Celtics fan now?"
"Let's just say it was an easy bandwagon to jump on this season. I've got to tell you, liking sports in this town doesn't suck at all, other than trying to get affordable tickets. Although I could probably get those if I liked hockey as much as the original Ashlyn liked hockey players!"
"Well, I hope the sports stuff isn't too overwhelming; my new boss said they'd be using me to spot people in the other departments when they needed someone extra, but if the Sox, Pats, Celtics and Bruins keep me busy, there won't be too many opportunities."
"You'll find 'em. Although I'd keep my resumé up to date, if I was you - I didn't even realize Boston Now was gone until something like a month after the fact, so I don't know how much room there is for another giveaway paper."
"Eh, the Boston Today people have been doing okay out west for a few years, and it's not like Now and the Metro have had Penny Lincoln. Although I think Today is actually setting up shop in Boston Now's old offices."
She laughed at that, saying some people never learned, and asked when it was going to start publishing. I said they were planning a July 4th launch, taking advantage of what a big party Boston puts on for the fourth, with a pull-out section on the fireworks and pops and me writing pieces on the Sox-Yankees games going on in New York. Lyn makes a joke about the Yankees being old news, the new rivalry being the Rays, but I have to admit it's still hard for me to take Tampa Bay seriously.
Anyway, all that was about a week ago. I've since been reintroduced to how crazy the daily newspaper grind is - we've been doing "dress rehearsals" to prepare for the big launch - and how much "fun" dealing with utility companies is. Of course, it doesn't help when you're playing Comcast and Verizon against each other to try and get one of them to offer you something just a bit better than the other.
It's great to be here, though. As much as San Francisco and Oakland are where I come from, right now Boston is where I want to be.
-Art/Penny
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