“How to blog,” circa 2008

I am trying to reach “inbox zero” on my personal email, and in doing so I’m sorting through more than 20 years of correspondence that I’ve let pile up in my inbox. (Yes, I’m THAT guy.) In doing that, I found an email I sent to myself, from my work email, sent on Jan. 31, 2008. Subject line: “Blogging.”

I had no idea what it was. As it turns out, it looks like an outline for a presentation I probably gave to some high schoolers.

In 2008, I was one of Wyoming’s premier bloggers (a phrase that, at least until this moment, returns no results in a Google search) with my “Sports Goulash” high school sports blog for the Casper Star-Tribune. The blog no longer exists, but in its heyday, boy was it fun.

Here’s the email I sent to myself, fully unedited. I’m surprised at how much of it stands the test of time and translates well to social media, too.


How to blog:
Put something up every day. If you can’t do every day, do every other day. It doesn’t have to be special. It just needs to be up. Give people a reason to visit your blog every day.
Keep it simple. The most complex posts I write get almost no feedback. The simple posts get the most. Don’t dumb it down, but don’t give your readers so much that they can’t digest and respond quickly.
Respond to your readers when they make a comment. People like to feel like you’re listening to them when they comment. You don’t have to reply to every comment. And it doesn’t have to be deep. You can just say, “Good point, dude,” and leave it at that. But once they know you’ll engage them in conversation, they’ll come back.
Once a discussion gets going without your involvement, stay out of the way. Your job is to get the discussion started, and once that is done, let it go.
Don’t notebook dump. People can tell when you’re doing that. Give them something original, not just the last 8 inches that you lopped off a story because you didn’t have the room.
Have an opinion — but not on everything.
Find a voice that’s different from your newswriting style. I keep my blog much more informal than my stories on purpose. I strive to keep a consistent relaxed and informal voice on the blog to keep readers comfortable and to let them know they’re reading something different from my news writing.
Remember we’re trying to write for our readers, and most of our our readers are Wyomingites. Us Wyomingite readers, we’re not quite as polished as, say, readers from Denver. Remember that you’re writing for a majority of people who think Casper is a big city. Being a little corny doesn’t hurt. Bad jokes are OK as long as you know they’re bad. Just don’t be fake about it.
Stay within your blog’s bounds, but don’t be afraid to tell stories that are completely unrelated to the usual topic of your blog. When the Casper Mountain fire broke out a couple summers ago, I wrote a post that was about — in part — how my cat was struggling with all the smoke in the air. I gave readers a piece of my world. That helps them identify more with you as a writer and a human.
Tell stories about your beat, but don’t pull the “Woe is me, I’m a journalist” stories. Last November, when I got locked inside Glenrock’s football field after a playoff game, I briefly mentioned it in my blog. One sentence, maybe two. Those one or two sentences spawned a lot of reaction in the comments section.
Let readers know about stuff you’re working on. They’ll feel like “insiders.”
Keep it real. Keep it fun. Keep it about your audience.

Evolution at the Citrus College Clarion

The Clarion in production.

The history of the student media at Citrus College runs deep. From yearbooks to the Citric Acid to the Collegian Owl to the Clarion to Logos Magazine, student media has been embedded throughout the college’s long and proud history. 

However, restructuring of student media and media in general is a forced move. The media landscape is changing, and the changes in the profession should be reflected in the practices of student media. 

With these changes in mind, the Clarion will move to a fully digital publishing structure in the fall of 2023, as ink-on-paper Clarion publishing will end. 

The Clarion’s student media publishing history dates back 76 consecutive years in print, encompassing the bulk of the history of predecessors like the Citric Acid and the Collegian Owl. For many years, the Clarion in print provided readers with the information they needed to go about their world at Citrus College more informed.

However, news consumption habits are changing. Fully 86% of Americans get news on a digital device; only 32% of Americans get news from a print publication. These differences are even more pronounced for the 18-to-29 age range, the age of most Citrus College students. In that range, 71% of people get news online often, vs. only 3% who often get news in print. (Those over age 65 report 48% regular digital news consumption and 25% print consumption.) 

Unsurprisingly, the Clarion’s shrinking print circulation and increasing digital consumption follows these preferences. The Clarion’s website, ccclarion.com, has averaged about 50,000 hits a year since 2017 when tracking began (minus a gap in 2021 when tracking was disabled due to technical glitches). This far outpaces the Clarion’s print circulation, which averaged about 800-900 pickups per issue pre-pandemic (or about 12,800 to 14,400 pickups annually), and which has averaged significantly fewer pickups per issue with reduced student population on campus since the COVID-19 pandemic in spring 2020. 

Citrus is not alone. Many community college programs have made a similar shift, including both nearby Pasadena City College and Mt. San Antonio College, in recent years. While the pandemic has affected all aspects of publishing, both PCC and Mt. SAC have continued with strong student media presences online. Maybe the most important consideration for Citrus is that these schools’ transitions to digital publishing has not led to an uptick of students coming to Citrus who are interested in working with a student publication that has ink-on-paper products. 

From a curriculum standpoint, this move also allows a re-imagining of courses such as COMM 230, Design for Media, and COMM 240A/B/C/D, the Clarion newsroom courses, to prioritize digital skills – the kinds of skills employers are looking for in college graduates

Print is not “dead,” though. Specifically, with magazines, print readership is steady. The continued publication in print of Logos Magazine, which dates back to the late 1970s at Citrus, will continue offering students the option of producing a printed publication. Moreover, a once-a-semester publication in print will continue to help the campus and community visibility of student media.

Some efforts in transitioning the Clarion to fully digital publishing have already begun. The Clarion website underwent a complete redesign during the winter and officially launched prior to the start of the spring semester. Clarion staff began a weekly newsletter this semester, sending news to subscribers’ inboxes every Friday morning. Staff members also launched a new TikTok account to connect with students and the community on one of the largest social media platforms in the world. And students continued to work with the Clarion’s accounts on Facebook, Instagram and Twitter to share news of the college, community and world. 

The Clarion and its predecessors thrived for 76 years in print. It’s my sincere hope, and expectation, that the Clarion will set itself up beautifully for the next 76 years with this evolution, and it will continue to be a vital part of Citrus College for decades to come.

–Patrick Schmiedt, Clarion adviser

Ranking “The Katering Show” episodes by the number of quotes my wife and I say to each other

The Katering Show” had been out for almost a year before one of our friends introduced it to me and my wife.

The web series on YouTube made by two Australian comediennes, one with food intolerances and one with a glorious lack of awareness, seemed to speak directly to us. At that point, in late 2015, I had been fighting with food intolerance for more than six years. Doctors provided no guidance on why I was getting sick after basically every meal. After a few months I diagnosed myself with lactose intolerance; however, it took another year before I realized that I also had fructose intolerance, which meant I needed to avoid wheat, corn, soy, many fruits and vegetables and a thousand other delights that I previously loved but now gave me explosive diarrhea. My physical health went awry for about two years while I tried to make sense of what was happening to my body.

It took lots of trial and error before I developed a diet that made sense. The struggle, as they say, was real.

In late 2015, when “The Katering Show” came our way, working around my food intolerances was a three-times-a-day eggshell walk. If I tried a new food, I’d better be near a bathroom. I carried three kinds of pills with me everywhere I went — spectrum pills to help with digestion, and both gas and anti-diarrheal pills to help with any unanticipated after-effects of a poorly planned food choice.

“The Katering Show” took all that fear and uncertainty and frustration and gave it a voice. And they made it funny, too.

Kate McCartney (the food intolerant) and Kate McLennan (the awareness challenged) became the voice track to my life I never knew I needed. To date, we’ve probably watched the entire series of episodes — the first season of six episodes from 2015 and the second season of eight episodes from 2017 — at least 50 times. We’ll sometimes watch it as we fall asleep at night. Our most recent rewatch ended Thursday.

But the appreciation for the show doesn’t stop when we stop watching.

Quotes from the show, not just on food intolerance but on all the little moments surrounding it, slowly worked their way into the everyday vocabulary of both me and my wife. This list is a compilation of those quotes — 70 little sayings that my wife and I share on a regular basis. (If you think it’s unreasonable that my wife and I could honestly quote 70 lines from this series back and forth to each other at a regular-enough interval to make a list like this possible, well… I feel sorry for you.)

Keep in mind, though, that this is NOT a compilation of the best quotes from each episode. These are the quotes that my wife and I say to each other often enough to be instantly recognizable for both of us. If I had to guess, I think we average somewhere in the neighborhood of 5-10 “The Katering Show” references PER DAY in our house. This list tries to account for all of the ones that we’ve worked into our day-to-day lives.

Here are the episodes, ranked by the number of quotes we use from that episode in our daily conversations.

14. Season 2, Episode 8, “End of Days” (1 quote)

Quotable quote of the episode: 7:00: ” … Call it Steve.”

It’s too bad the series finale doesn’t have more quotable lines, because it has some of the best storylines and acting of all 14 episodes. However, this episode did change forever the names by which we call every lizard we ever see, ever. They’re all named Steve.

13. Season 2, Episode 2, “Yummy Mummies” (2 quotes)

Quotable quote of the episode: 5:31: “What a little cunt.”

This is without a doubt the most transgressive episode of “The Katering Show,” and I love it for that. And if you look at the view totals of the first three episodes of season 2, a lot of people stopped at this episode — and that’s a shame. This episode gave my wife and I an excuse to use the c-word; my wife says this line way more often than I do, and we mostly direct it at one of our cats. But our cats are jerks, so we use this one often.

Others from this episode (by the way, click on the time stamps for any of these quotes for a screenshot of that moment):

6:04: “Don’t need it!”

Tied-10. Season 1, Episode 1, “Mexicana Festiana” (3 quotes)

Quotable quote of the episode: 2:46: “Here, in my recently renovated kitchen.”

We recently renovated our kitchen. So… yeah, we say this a lot.

Others:

0:53: “Cream. Cheese. Cream cheese.” (Whenever we handle cheese, or cream, or cream cheese, we say this.)

1:00: “Keep? What do you mean ‘Keep’?”

Tied-10. Season 2, Episode 5, “The Cook and the Kates” (3 quotes)

Quotable quote of the episode: 6:29: ” … it has a lid …”

Literally any time we use anything that has a lid, we say this to each other. It’s the way McCartney says “lid” with an affected, high-pitched lilt that makes it so memorable and quotable.

Others:

8:05: “So many lemons.” (Whenever we see more than one lemon, we say this.)

10:38: “Should be a teacher. Teacher!” (As a teacher, this rings true…)

Tied-10. Season 2, Episode 7, “Chienging Flavours” (3 quotes)

Quotable quote of the episode: 7:17: “Fuck you! Who the fuck do you think you are?”

This is definitely one of the most quoted lines from “The Katering Show” said in our house, a contender for the unofficial title of “most quoted line of the series.” We say it almost daily — sometimes to each other, sometimes just in conversation. And, of course, when we say it, we say it just like McLennan in her Australian fury: “Faak yew! Who tha faak do yew think yew-ahh?”

Others:

2:38: “Sambal, pronounced sam-bal…” (Any time we put any kind of red-ish or hot-ish sauce on anything, we say this. It could be Tabasco. Salsa. Ketchup. Doesn’t matter.)

7:30: “It’s the lime.” “It’s everything.” (We have burritos from our favorite burrito place, and they come with limes. And when we eat them, we HAVE to repeat this line. If one of us doesn’t, the other will.)

Tied-8. Season 1, Episode 5, “Food Porn” (4 quotes)

Quotable quote of the episode: 5:46: “I’m not doing good, mate. I’m not doing good at all.”

Any time any one of us isn’t feeling tip-top, we say this. McLennan says it after drinking too much. We say it then, but we also say it when we’ve got a headache, when our shoulders are tense, when we’ve eaten too much, when we stub our toes, when we get a paper cut. We’d probably say it in the aftermath of a serious car wreck, too, if we were conscious.

Others:

0:49: “… waiting for 11 likes that never fucking come.”

3:07: “You alright, mate?” (In our house, this often precedes “I’m not doing good, mate.”)

4:16: “Because she was a nehhd.” (My wife calls me a nehhd, with the accent, any time I say something nerdy. It’s cute.)

Tied-8. Season 2, Episode 6, “Tying the Not” (4 quotes)

Quotable quote of the episode: 7:21: “I’m done!”

Of course, this must be said with the accent — it comes out like “I’m daahn!” in Australian. We use this pretty much any time we’re finished with anything and the result is not what we would have hoped, or when we quit something just because we’re over it — much like McCartney and marriage.

Others:

5:58: “Now where is that dill? Where’s that dill, guys? Does anyone know where that… where’s… where’s it… where’s it gone?” (If you watch this episode, you know this is a great cover for when a conversation turns awkward. We use it then. But we also use it any time we’re dealing with more than one spice in a recipe.)

8:25: “Good luck, you heteronormative piece of shit.” (This is a fun one to say to each other in our heterosexual marriage. Because, how do you come back from that? You don’t. It’s the ultimate insult ender. It’s also fun to call out heteronormativity to each other when we see it in public.)

9:49: “… Get oily.” (The context of this one makes it hilarious to say when you just, say, take olive oil out of the cupboard.)

Tied-5. Season 2, Episode 4, “The Body Issue” (5 quotes)

Quotable quote of the episode: 5:47: “Wow, she’s really going for it.” … “We’ll chat to you soon, Beans! Slow down, mate!” “Chew! She’s really opening her throat up, isn’t she?”

We have two cats who love to eat but don’t really love to chew, much like the cat Beans in this episode. So it’s almost a daily occurrence that we will tell our cats: “Slow down, mate! Chew!” They don’t listen, because they’re cats.

Others:

4:15: “Food liquid!”

4:58: “I’ll be a’right.” (We actually say this a ton, with the accent of course. It handily comes up useful in a ton of everyday situations — we just get to respond in character thanks to this episode.)

6:18: “It tastes a bit boney, and a bit deathy!”

8:23: “My mom had to take my baby to Geelong, just to give me a little bit of a break.” (This series, and this line specifically, has created a bit of an obsession in our house with Geelong. We discovered their AFL team, the Cats, and since then my wife has bought a Geelong Cats shirt, and we’ve started making plans to go to Australia and go specifically to Melbourne instead of Sydney so we could go see a Cats game. My Reddit avatar is also dressed in Geelong Cats gear. Who knew it’d come to this, just from one line in a web series?)

Tied-5. Season 2, Episode 1, “Red Ramen” (5 quotes)

Quotable quote of the episode: 7:27: “Mate…”

It’s the range of emotions in McCartney’s voice that makes this so memorable. It’s a single word that starts as frustration, turns to pity, then sadness, all in the span of one syllable. And we try to emulate it as often as we can whenever things go wrong in our lives and we want to display a broad range of feelings all at once. I forgot to move laundry into the dryer? “Mate…” The pizza dough is too sticky? “Mate…” We bought the wrong size lid for our crock pot to replace the broken one? “Mate…”

A very close second was 9:20: “You know, like, red ramen? Red ramen?” “OK.” (McLennan’s dismissive yet upbeat “OK” here when she doesn’t understand something was a SERIOUS contender for not only quote of the episode, but quote of the series. My wife and I have shared hobbies but also many separate ones; when we can’t stop talking about one of our favorite topics in our hobbies, we’ll finish a sentence, and the other one will look at them and just say, “OK,” in McLennan’s dismissive tone, that says, “Good for you, but I don’t understand a word you just said.”)

Others:

1:53: “I’m just stressed. You’re just stressed.”

2:40: ” … a sassy swipe…” (Often said to our cats when they’re play fighting with each other.)

3:33: “Music festivals!” “Yeah, music festivals.” (Often said around Coachella time here in Southern California.)

Tied-5. Season 1, Episode 6, “Christmas” (5 quotes)

Quotable quote of the episode: 4:33: ” … if you want me to just spray (extended censored) and all over the mistletoe.”

This episode might be the absolute best for clarifying what, exactly, it feels like to have food intolerances. To that end, nothing encapsulates the feeling in the intestines of a food-intolerant person quite like this sentence. Whenever I’d eat something that would bring on an attack from my largely ornamental gut (see below), this is exactly how it felt — like my anus was holding back a spray gun that, unless addressed immediately and carefully, could spray (extended censored) and, yeah, it’d probably hit the mistletoe. Graphic, yes. But true? Also yes. And McCartney’s long-bleeped version creates exactly the kind of discomfort that should be conveyed when discussing this kind of stuff.

Goes well with 2:38: “… largely ornamental gut…” (This is EXACTLY how having food intolerances felt, and I appreciate this duo putting words to it. The rest of my body was fine; my gut almost had this weird halo of both trouble and obsolecence around it. And whenever I would discuss foods with anyone, but particularly with my wife, we’d have to figure out whether the food would destroy that “largely ornamental gut” of mine. And what better way to express that than with this wonderful three-word phrase?)

Others:

0:21: “Off you pop, mate.” (As my wife says to me as I fall asleep on the couch, again.)

2:45: “… which doesn’t sound like it’s going to work.” (Said any time we substitute a tasty food for a safe food.)

4:43: “I’ll just have a salad.” (It’s absurd to me that the two phrases that might best encapsulate living with food intolerances (this one, and the mistletoe one) come just 10 seconds apart in this episode. “I’ll just have a salad” is a phrase that I’ve uttered time and time again when eating out — and the food intolerant among us all know the dressing has to come on the side, too.)

Tied-3. Season 2, Episode 3, “It Gets Feta” (7 quotes)

Quotable quote of the episode: 3:12: “GOUDA is a type of CHEESE.”

Giving up dairy to accommodate food intolerances was one of the more difficult things to do in transitioning from a normal-person diet to a diet centered on not shitting your pants that day. This episode drives that idea home so well, and this dismissive line — you don’t get the joke because you don’t eat this food — is a beautiful way to point out when a joke fails. It’s also just fun to say whenever you’re around any cheese at all, not just gouda, which is what we do in our house.

Others:

0:32: “These things, this thing, probably this fucking thing…” “Yeah alright, mate! Oh yeah, no, I can’t eat that.”

0:40: “So, you know, what’s the fucking point?”

1:39: “… a Rorschach-style poo explosion…” (The lines said during the laps in the drugstore aisle are some of the best lines of “The Katering Show,” and we’ve incorporated these three into our conversations. The first two minutes of this episode are what I might show to someone who’s never seen the show before; if they laugh at these moments as they should, then they should watch the rest of the series. If they don’t, well, don’t watch — and I’m not sure we’ll be able to be friends anymore.)

4:49-plus: “That was Bailey’s Irish Cream!” (The sight of McCartney Shaqing a glass of Bailey’s is beautifully hilarious. And since Bailey’s is among my wife’s favorites, we’ll say it just like in this episode — always with the arm shrug.)

5:20: “Mmmm. Al dente. Soft teeth.” (It’s a line that makes absolutely no sense. And yet, do we say it every time we make pasta, no matter how it turns out? Yep.)

6:19: “So you didn’t shit your pants on a bus in front of children and nuns.” (I don’t know why my wife loves saying this to me as I either step in or step out of the bathroom for an extended sit, but she does.)

Tied-3. Season 1, Episode 4, “Thermomix” (7 quotes)

Quotable quote of the episode: 3:52: ” … some shit, and some other shit. And a bit of… who the fuck cares? I don’t know. I don’t care. I fucking hate cooking.”

With 2.8 million views on YouTube as of the time of this post, the “Thermomix” episode is still, by far, the most watched episode of “The Katering Show.” The amount of beautifully executed moments in this episode makes it a clear frontrunner for best episode of the series. For us, the best quote among those moments is this one, where McCartney just loses track of caring and stops trying completely. Whenever that happens to us in our lives, we just dribble out the words “some shit, and some shit.” We know EXACTLY what the other person means. And then it’s the other’s responsibility to finish the conversation with the four words necessary to do so: “I fucking hate cooking.” Then we can move on with life and put whatever it is behind us.

Others:

2:08: “I literally don’t have an opinion on this.” (One of my favorite phrases of the series is this emotionless one right here. It sums up the bulk of my thoughts throughout any single day, and it helps remind me that, no, I don’t have to have an opinion on something. It can just be. Philosophy 101, in a single deadpan sentence.)

2:18: “Hot wet rice!” (Somehow, everything we cook in our kitchen gets called “hot wet rice” at some point, even if it’s not even close to risotto.)

2:33: “… skills, and a kitchen!” (Pride goeth before a fall.)

5:22: “… it would firebomb my guts.” (Often said — repeatedly — while looking at a restaurant menu.)

6:00: “I would, but I’ve just got to, um, Internet, so…” (Oh, the dismissiveness is *chef’s kiss* perfect. And it’s exactly the right thing to say to a spouse when you realize you’re being dismissive, to both acknowledge and apologize for your own dismissiveness, before getting up off your ass and helping.)

8:21: “Ehhhh!” (Australian Fonzie approves. We mimic this over-the-top celebratory cry any time we have an achievement in our lives that’s equivalent to drying a tea towel.)

2. Season 1, Episode 2, “Ethical Eating” (7.5 quotes)

Quotable quote of the episode: 3:23: “No?” (with the accent)

The final two episodes are where it gets genuinely hard to choose which quote is the one we use the most in our house. All 7-8 of these quotes (the last two are almost always said together, so we meld them together to be one) are things we say to each other on a weekly basis. But I went with this one because, of all the quotes in this series, this may be the one we say most often to each other. The accent with which it’s said, though, puts it over the top — the Australian “No” that can carry a hidden “r,” the ability to get at least three distinct notes out of one syllable, the mix of confusion and frustration make this an all-timer, something said multiple times a day around our house. It’s also a reminder that a huge part of the appeal of this show is the accents. This particular word, with this particular emotion behind it, is somehow only funny in Australian, as is the case for many of the lines from this series. The fact that we can throw on the same accent, albeit not to the same degree of authenticity, helps separate this single word from all the others not only in this episode, but in this series.

Others:

1:59: “And behind the oven is my cat Beans! She’s my best friend.” “I thought I was your best friend.”

3:46: “But, you know, that’s what I’m dealing with.”

4:39: “Get rid of the box! Get rid of the box!” (As said upon any Amazon arrival, ever.)

5:22: “Turn up the dial to 2. It’s exciting, isn’t it!” “Yeah, could explode in your face!” (My wife and I make something we call Italian Eggs as part of our normal dinner rotation. In the middle of the recipe, we have to change the temperature on the stovetop burner from 5 to 6. Nevertheless, every time we change the temperature, we’re “turning the dial to 2.” Then the other one of us is required to respond, “could explode in your face.” Every. Time.)

6:56: “Ugh, that’s gone bad. Much like your career–“ (Whenever anything tastes or smells bad, under any context or circumstance, this comes out of one of our mouths.)

8:24: “So clever.” … and 8:43: “Well done.” (Again, the accent is key here to making these lines work so well. In the episode, they’re said of McCartney’s cat Beans; in our lives, we say them to our cats, but we also say them to each other — sometimes jokingly, sometimes seriously, always with the accent.)

1. Season 1, Episode 3, “We Quit Sugar” (11 quotes)

Quotable quote of the episode: 3:36: “Oh for fuck’s sake!”

The amount of quotable lines in this episode is almost off the charts — I mean, 11 from a SINGLE episode that we’ve worked into our vernacular? Yet of all the quotes of ALL episodes, not just “We Quit Sugar,” this one sticks out as the one we say the most. And that’s saying something, considering all of the quotes we repeat. What better way to express frustration over all the quibbles in life, everything from forgetting to turn the oven on to, oh, losing your job?

This episode alone has several lines we quote regularly, including these three absolute classics that might have been the quote of the episode if they were in any other episode:

3:27: ” … just to give it SOME flavor.” (As we say any time we season any food with anything. And it’s flav-ah, because, Australia.)

4:13: ” … which is fucking bullshit, Sarah!” (Whenever something is bullshit, it’s no longer just bullshit in our house. It’s bullshit, SARAH! It’s always Sarah’s fault now. Which is fun.)

5:16: “Oh God, I’m so tired.” “I’m so tired, you guys.” (A straight-up contender for quote of the series right here, “so tired you guys” is something we say to each other almost every day. When one of us is ready for bed, all we have to do is drop those four words into conversation, and we know exactly what it means. Or if I say it in the early afternoon, my wife knows I’ll be taking a nap soon, whether I want to or not. And sometimes we just say it after a long, hard day at work when we just want to collapse like a Sim but we can’t because we are adults and adults have responsibilities. “So tired you guys” covers it all.)

Others:

0:42: “Wow. That has just gone everywhere, hasn’t it?” (Anytime either one of us unintentionally drops something on the floor, the other one is required to say this line. Failure to do so is grounds for divorce.)

1:28: “Sarah Wilson.” (Always whispered. Never at an expected time. Always a smile.)

1:40: “She has rich girl hair.” “And Photoshop skin.”

2:02: “Apples!” (Just like with lemons, any time we see more than one apple, it’s “Apples!” With the accent.)

2:48: “Yes. Right. Quinoa.” (This one has taken on a life of its own in our house. Anytime we lose focus and the other one has to bring us back to attention, the other always say “Right. Quinoa.” And we just know exactly what that means.)

2:58: ” … which is a great source of… beef.”

6:55: “No.” (Yes, this is the second time the word “No,” by itself, has ended up on this list. But this time it’s a statement, not a question, drawn out with a long ooooooo. It can be said any time you want not only a “no” but a dismissiveness that eliminates any possible follow-up. With the accent, of course.)

As “The Katering Show” approaches eight years in existence, I encourage you to watch it. Or watch it again. And then again, until words and phrases are so familiar that you can’t help but work them into your everyday conversations.

The best part? The shared frame of reference it gives me and my wife. Just drop a line, or half a line, or even a single word with an Australian twinge, and we know exactly what the other one means. It’s a shorthand that is hard to explain (see this whole post) until you share that connection not only with a show but with another person.

Yes, we love it that much. When you find a show that gives you a voice, and a connection, you’ll feel the same.

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A long night on the freeway

A 911 call.

Blue crayon signs hung on the door at the Denny’s.

A morning sun soak with a cat I had just met in the waiting room of an auto repair shop.

The 13 or so hours between a blowout on my car’s left rear tire and the resumption of my trip were among some of the oddest of my life.

First, though, let me set the scene, as I was in my Honda CRV, trying to drive five hours home after an 11-hour day at a student journalism conference.

Needless to say, on Saturday night, I was trying to make tracks.

After spending all Saturday, from 7:30 a.m. to 7 p.m., helping with the Northern California edition of the Journalism Association of Community Colleges‘ regional conference, I was trying to get home. I left Livermore — in the San Francisco Bay area — almost exactly at 7 p.m., with hopes of being home near Los Angeles by midnight. That meant a long and dark, but doable, drive on the 5 Freeway, which would basically take me home.

At about 8:50 p.m., though, while in the middle of nowhere on the 5 among the Central Valley’s more neglected agricultural fields, I heard and felt a “thump.” Then, in quick succession, more thumps. Then, within seconds, the thumps turned into punches, then a couple seconds later into a full-on roar.

I knew what it was — a blowout. The lurching from my Honda CRV made it clear the blowout was on my left rear tire.Tire blowout on left rear of a Honda CRV

I was fortunate that no traffic was around me on the freeway; I quickly and easily made my way to the shoulder and parked. I threw on my hazard lights, and I mentally prepared. I knew I had some work ahead of me. But I wasn’t worried. I had a jack and a spare, and I know how to change a tire.

Except one thing — I had the brains but not the brawn. After successfully lifting the car, I put the lug wrench on, only to find the lug nuts were stuck. They would. Not. Budge. Moreover, I didn’t have anything that might make the process easier, like WD-40 or a cheater bar. No, my car was full of boxes of supplies from the journalism conference, the whole reason I was on the road in the first place.

After a half-hour of straining my arms, shoulders and wrists, I gave up. This was beyond my capability. It was time for a tow, and I made peace with the fact that I wasn’t making it home tonight. A quick tow, however, to a nearby location like Kettleman City (a city in name only) to my south or maybe that group of gas stations and hotels I had passed a few miles earlier to my north. I called my wife to let her know; she started hooking me up with help with our insurance and said she’d text me links to towing services she could find.

With that help, just short of 10 p.m., I reached out to my national insurance group’s 24-hour roadside assistance help (and no, I’m not going to name names here — you can guess). The automated system let me know they were trying to find a tow service for me. After just a few minutes, though, I got an automated text that, in hindsight, was a portend of things to come.

“Due to labor shortages in your area, finding a rescuer is taking longer than normal. Rest assured we will provide the details shortly.”

They didn’t.

After an hour of waiting, I gave up and decided it would be easier to call towing services myself and set something up without my insurance’s help. My wife had sent me a couple websites, and I figured calling them directly instead of going through my insurance company might be the best way to handle this.

It wasn’t.

I reached out to what looked like a reputable towing service in Kettleman City. I got ahold of someone, and after I gave him my cell number, I immediately got a text requesting a pin drop. I immediately sent one. I relaxed; I canceled my insurance’s roadside services. Help was on the way.

It wasn’t.

I know that reaching out for towing help late on a Saturday night in what amounts to the middle of nowhere is a tough ask. Chances are that I’m getting someone out of bed — they’ve got to put on their shirt, their pants, their boots; they’ve got to get to their tow truck, get it going; then they’ve got to find me on a freeway that, despite being the main thoroughfare between San Francisco and Los Angeles, has incredibly desolate stretches of empty land, and finding someone can be difficult. So I waited. But after an hour of waiting, I figured asking for an ETA would be OK. So I texted the number. No reply. A few minutes later, I sent another text. No reply. Then I called. “This person has a voice mailbox that has not yet been set up.”

He wasn’t coming. I was still stuck. And now it had been about four hours.

At the four-hour point, I realized my phone battery was dying. The red battery warning on my phone flashed on, signifying less than 20% life remaining. By now, my car was now no longer responsible for transportation — without hyperbole, it was responsible for keeping the hazard lights flashing (and keeping me alive), and it was responsible for keeping me connected to the rest of the world. As long as my car had battery power, I HAD to use it to charge my phone to find help. Between that and the hazards constantly flashing, I didn’t know how much more life it would have in it.

With my patience shot and with sleep depravity kicking in, I called the towing service that had stiffed me directly. This time, I reached another dispatcher, who seemed to be confused that I had never received a confirmation number from my first call. I wasn’t in their system anywhere. No one had ever been dispatched. After a few minutes of back-and-forth, she told me it would take a few minutes to investigate. She asked if she could call back; I said sure, I’m not going anywhere. She told me she’d call back in three to five minutes.

That call never came.

At that point, I gave up on that tow service and went back to my insurance. I submitted another roadside assistance plea, hoping for different results the second time around. By this time, it was 1:18 a.m.

I also decided to hedge my bets and call another towing service in Kettleman City. Advertised as a 24-hour service, I reached their answering service; they put me through the paces of asking where I was, make, model, problem… about 10 minutes’ worth of information. Then they fed that into the system, only for the answering service’s dispatcher to get the automated reply from the actual towing service itself — not tonight. No one was available (or, more likely, no one was awake). Another opportunity gone.

About half an hour after I put in my roadside assistance request, though, I got a call from the insurance company. Maybe, help on the way? But no, sadly, my short burst of hope was immediately squashed. They, too, couldn’t find any tow services willing to come out. Shortly thereafter, though, they called back again with the phone number number of a tow service. So I called… and they basically laughed me off the line. I had no idea where this particular towing service was based (I just looked it up now, and it’s north of Sacramento, a good three hours from where I was stuck). Their dispatcher said not only was I was so far away from their service area that they wouldn’t even consider sending a truck, I was so far away that they didn’t even know any services in my area.

So much for that.

My insurance company called me back shortly thereafter, and I told them what happened. At that point, my insurance company gave up on their efforts to help me. They told me, point blank: Call 911.

It was 2:05 a.m.

The text from my wife at this point:

Oh FUCK. 🙁

Despite the waning car battery, and my growing chills from only having a hoodie among my arsenal of short-term clothing options, I really didn’t think it was an emergency. I called the California Highway Patrol’s non-emergency line. That call, originally dispatched to the statewide center in Sacramento, was transferred to a location more near my location. The dispatcher there said basically that my insurance was right. A 911 call would give a more specific ping on my cell phone than a non-emergency call, and they could find me easier. After a short text exchange with my wife to let her know what was up, at 2:12 a.m. I called 911.

The 911 dispatcher gave me the first real ray of hope I had that this night would end in some way other than me sleeping in my car without flashers on along a busy freeway. In just a couple minutes, she let me know a patrolman would be out soon, and she told me to expect a call from a tow service within minutes. About three minutes after our conversation ended, that call came. And just like that, Carlos and his tow truck from Cal State Towing were on their way.

ETA? About 40 minutes.

I waited and watched as my flashing lights got dimmer and dimmer. The double-click sound that had been with me for the past few hours faded, two clicks replaced by one as the battery strained to keep up. A quick attempt to start the car created nothing, not even an attempt to turn over the engine. But I didn’t mind. This time, I knew this ordeal was ending soon. The false hopes were over. Carlos was a real person with a real tow truck and a real cell phone number — the only things that felt real in a surreal experience.

Both Carlos and the CHP patrolman arrived at the same time, just short of 3 a.m. Carlos got to work, and I meandered over to talk to the patrolman who was just leaving his cruiser.

His first words to me?

“Good morning!”

The irony struck me immediately. That was probably not the best thing to say to someone who hadn’t had the chance to sleep that night. It wasn’t his fault, though. At that moment, we occupied the same small patch of dirt off the freeway, but we were in different worlds. I was trying to end a day that had started about 20 hours earlier with a wake-up call to start putting together a journalism conference for 100 community college students from across Northern California, and I had been stuck on this same patch of dirt for the past six hours with increasingly frustrating results. My frustration had melted into helplessness, which had melted into delirium. Good morning? GOOD MORNING? Miss me with that. For him, though? I was probably his first call of the day. It probably was a good morning; his first call was an easy one.

Within 10 minutes, my car was on the tow truck. A couple minutes later, I was sitting in Carlos’ heated cab as he drove across the median and headed north on the 5 Freeway to the nearest repair shop, which was just up the road about 5 miles.

Fortunately for me, the exit with the repair shop also had a couple hotels and restaurants, including a 24-hour Denny’s. Carlos assured me the shop was reputable, and by 8 a.m. they’d be open and I could be on my way. At 3:30, Carlos had dropped off the CRV and left, and I made my way to the Travelodge next door for a good night’s sleep.

Locked lobby.

No worries, I told myself. Try the Best Western down the street.

Locked lobby.

Shut out twice, I thought. Still, I figured I could always go to Denny’s with a simple plan: Ask for a booth in the back where I can put my head down and sleep; order a side of hash browns; tip generously when I leave as the sun comes up.

However, taped onto the front door of this 24-hour Denny’s, scrawled in blue crayon on a piece of 8.5×11 paper: “Closed for 15 minutes.”

Now I had no clue what to do.

Fortunately, my wife set me straight with a couple text that had simple instructions, exactly what I needed when I wasn’t thinking straight: Call the hotel. With my phone battery waning, I looked up the Best Western’s phone number. I called, not sure where the call might go or who I might reach, or what I would do if no one answered.

Fortunately, the call went right to the front desk. Unfortunately, the phone kept ringing; as I could plainly see through the glass door, and the reason I was hesitant to call in the first place, no one was there.

Then, from the back, a door opened. The night clerk was still there, invisible to my eyes but not to my call. She answered the phone: “Best Western.”

I replied: “Hi. I’m standing outside your front lobby door, and I’m hoping you still have a room available for the night.”

She turned and saw me, and I can’t imagine how pathetic I must have looked. Shivering, dirty hands, stained pants, half-open bloodshot eyes, a bag on each shoulder and no car in the parking lot.

I waved. She smiled.

“Let me unlock that for you.”

Within five minutes, my bed had been secured — and with a discount because I had checked in so late and was going to use the room so little.

By 3:45 a.m., I was in the room. By 4, I was asleep, with an alarm set for 7:30 — leaving me enough time in the morning (er, the later morning) to wake up, shower, grab my complimentary breakfast and walk up the street to the repair shop.

At 8:05 a.m., I called the repair shop and explained that the car that was dumped in front of their business was mine. The owner replied, incredibly kindly: “Thank you. We open at 9…”A cat sitting in a window, getting scratches

So I killed an hour at the hotel, grabbing some more food and saying hello with the group of five feral cats on the property. At 9 a.m., I walked up the street, where the shop was open and ready to take me in. Also ready to take me in was the shop cat, Honey, who had a cat tree and a bed shaped like a queen’s crown sitting on the shop counter. We enjoyed the morning sun together, me thinking about one of the weirdest nights of my life, Honey reacting to my scratches with purrs. I was no longer cold, frustrated or unsure. I stroked the cat’s tail; she flicked it toward my hand, asking for more. Things were going to be all right.

The new battery and the new tire took an hour. Settling the bill took two minutes. I filled the gas tank with $6.73 per gallon unleaded.

Finally, after 13 hours, I was on my way home again.

Once I started thinking straight again, I told myself: Write it all down. Don’t forget it. Because as much as I want to, I shouldn’t.

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Twitter Analytics and “success”

In August, Twitter unlocked its analytics dashboard to the public. By going to analytics.twitter.com, anyone with a Twitter account can analyze their tweets to see what worked and what didn’t.

In my advanced writing course, we examine our individual Twitter accounts to look for successful tweets. That notion of “success,” though, has a variety of meanings.

For example, here’s a screenshot of the CSV file of the analytics for @wyomingfootball, a Twitter account I run for my website wyoming-football.com (click to see a larger version), over a 10-day period in September 2014:

Screen Shot 2014-12-30 at 2.29.53 PM

 

As you can see, “success” can be defined many ways. Is “success” the most retweeted tweet? The tweet with the most impressions? The one with the highest engagement rate? The one with the most favorites? The one that leads to the most follows?

In this case, my most “successful” tweet is pretty clear… This tweet had the most impressions, the most retweets, the most favorites, the most profile clicks and created the most new followers. Despite being text only, it had the second-highest engagement rate (second only to a tweet with a photo) and a relatively high engagement rate.

This is the winning tweet in this 10-day period…. Unless I’m defining “success” in ways beyond the numbers.

And this doesn’t even scratch the surface of promoted tweets, for which Twitter also provides analytics. Are the tweets I’m paying to promote worth the cost?

Twitter’s analytics are powerful, but we need to be careful in couching “success” with numbers. One of the ways I think my Twitter account is successful is when I tweet or retweet every score in the state on a Friday night. Consistency and thoroughness aren’t measured in Twitter’s analytics.

Analytics are a fantastic resource, but only when the numbers are part of the definition of success and not the be-all, end-all.

Just think of all the other ways can an individual tweet, or an entire Twitter account, can have “success” defined ways that can’t be measured by analytics.

Let’s talk about it: @pschmiedt

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Feature stories worth your time

A couple months ago, I asked my friends on Facebook for good feature stories that they’d recommend to my students. I started the conversation with one of my favorites: The Pulitzer-winning The girl in the window from the Tampa Bay Times. Here were my friends’ suggestions:

They Boy They Couldn’t Kill, Sports Illustrated

Still running, Casper Star-Tribune

The gift, The New Yorker

The Professor, the Bikini Model and the Suitcase Full of Trouble, the New York Times

Invisible Child, the New York Times

Let’s talk about it: @pschmiedt