from my paper journal today
Mar. 6th, 2001 07:07 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
threeplusfireI put my walkman in my bag this morning, but only realized on the bus that it had a tape I couldn't listen to inside. So I listened to the radio on the way to campus. When I got off at 24th & Guadalupe there were policemen riding their horses past. I smiled at them. Went to Tower and looked through the 3 for $10 bin, only half wondering if I might find anything. I found three things I didn't have that were very good. The Cure Paris, The Pixies Doolittle, & Stevie Nicks The Wild Heart. My dad let me listen to that Stevie Nicks album on his record player all the time when I was little. I loved it. I wanted to be her. It has "I will run to you" with Tom Petty. Happiness in a walkman and good tapes.
Watched a girl on the bus yesterday with a pretty wristwatch do exactly what I'm doing now. With different headphones, different notebook and a pencil. Writing out the pain.
Looking at the row of newspaper machines on campus was strange. Different headlines and different photos, but all the same. Scary. I thought about the journalists covering that story, having to put everything else aside and focus on the shot, the questions, the lead. Hard. Sometimes I think it must be even harder to be a photojournalist at such a moment. Wondering how to shoot a capture a photo of a girl who just watched her classmates gunned down by a fifteen year old boy.
Went to Keith and said, "You were right." And he looked at me with such a question and something like pain in his eyes.
Watched a girl on the bus yesterday with a pretty wristwatch do exactly what I'm doing now. With different headphones, different notebook and a pencil. Writing out the pain.
Looking at the row of newspaper machines on campus was strange. Different headlines and different photos, but all the same. Scary. I thought about the journalists covering that story, having to put everything else aside and focus on the shot, the questions, the lead. Hard. Sometimes I think it must be even harder to be a photojournalist at such a moment. Wondering how to shoot a capture a photo of a girl who just watched her classmates gunned down by a fifteen year old boy.
Went to Keith and said, "You were right." And he looked at me with such a question and something like pain in his eyes.