Dowd column

Moved by a Crescent

Images that make me happy

A good glass of wine.

I tried to make couscous tonight. Honestly, it's hard to screw that up, but I managed to. Added too much water and not enough couscous, so the finished product was too soupy. Oh well. Maybe next time. I am listening to A Prairie Home Companion and drinking some fantastic red wine - Ecco Domani (I translate that to Here is Tomorrow, but that could be wrong).

I sit in this chair and I think about all the things I want to do. Not the little things like clean my kitchen floor or re-pot my plants. Not the daily habits and routines and chores, but the big things, like travel, like move to a big city, like write for a major publication. I think it's interesting how much time I spend doing things that, overall, don't matter much at all. I check my Facebook three times a day. I brush my teeth twice. I work at The Deli four times a week and I drink two cups of coffee in the morning. All of these things mean very little but make up the bulk of my existence. I do all that to keep me afloat and to propel me towards the big things I really want to do. I think it's important to appreciate the little things, and to consider how they guide me.

Honestly, nothing overly interesting happened to me today. Work was mundane and slow because the football game was an early one.

Tomorrow I work again, and I hope it will be busy so time will whiz by. Tomorrow afternoon I plan on finishing my internship applications and sending them off. I've been avoiding that.

I really miss Rome tonight. The more time passes and the more used to being home I become, the more I want to be back in that small apartment with those three amazing women.

Here in Bloomington, Autumn is in full swing. The trees are turning shades of red and orange and yellow and the leaves are falling romantically onto the sidewalks I peddle on to class.

an essay

I'm supposed to have a three page essay written by tomorrow at 9:30. I've been asked to argue for or against the following statement:


“As a member of the media, bias reflected in a journalist’s material has its origins from his or her own bias or from other influences.”

Does anyone know what the question is? I certainly don't. I asked my professor and he said, essentially, "Well, is there bias in the media or not?" And I was puzzled. The more I write, the more confused I am, because I'm not sure if I'm on track because I still don't understand how the above statement translates to: is the media bias?

I'm arguing that the media is bias. Of course I am. Not all media is bias, but the journalist is the only one responsible for their articles, and they are responsible for being as fair and objective as they can, despite how impossible that really is. The world itself is not fair or impartial or objective and it's just not reasonable to ask us to tell balanced stories about unbalanced circumstances. Barack Obama knows more about foreign policy than Sarah Palin. That's a statement rooted in fact and I don't feel I should have to find someone who argues differently to be fair or impartial.

More later. I have an essay to write.

Poetry pays

Yesterday was the birthday of the poet W.S. Merwin. I wrote a story about him once after seeing him speak at the Union. I left feeling calm and quiet and reflective. He was very humble, yet passionate, visibly passionate, about his writing.

Anyway, I heard on NPR yesterday that Merwin makes $25,000 - $30,000 a year. This is a man who has won a Pulitzer Prize for his poems.

First, this struck me as honorable. What a humble person he must be to settle for that small salary. It seems he's happy so long as he is writing poetry, but maybe that's just me being romantic. I wonder if he's ever tried to do anything else.

Second, I decided I think people should read more poetry. If he were selling more books (he has written dozens, I own one of them), he'd be making more money.

The starving artist perpetuated.