Report This!: Writer and (Former) Journalist Joe Wessels personal blog

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  • Chalk It Up To Sacramento: Art festival turns park into canvas

    Every Labor Day weekend in Sacramento’s Fremont Park – just catercorner from where I lived from 2001 to 2003 and just blocks from the heart of downtown – there is a mini-festival called “Chalk It Up To Sacramento“.

    The park where this all happens is one city block big and surrounded by sidewalks. Each square of the sidewalk is then sold off for the weekend so that local artists can use chalk to decorate their square. Proceeds go to support children’s art education. And some of the results are amazing.

    I was there Saturday, September 3 and artists of all different calibers, talent and intent were working making some of the most beautiful designs – all out of chalk. Some squares are sponsored and artists might draw a logo in the square for that business. Others are just being creative and drawing whatever comes to mind. Some use grids to copy photographs or other artwork.

    Jim Primrose is a Sacramenten (that’s what they call them out there) and this was his third year filling a sidewalk square at the event. He had two squares this year, in fact, side-by-side and seemed to be working with another artist. They were doing an beautiful, elaborate mural with a mermaid in the corner.

    “I don’t know what it’s called yet,” he said sitting on a piece of cardboard over a corner of the drawing. He used the cardboard to reach a lower corner of his work that he was adding detail to and so that he wouldn’t damage an already completed portion of his artwork. His dark face had chalk streaks where he might have wiped sweat off his face on this typically hot Sacramento summer day.

    People stroll on the grass on the outside perimeter of the park between the sidewalk and the street to look at the artwork (for some reason all the artists orient their work facing away from the park). Because it seldom rains in Sacramento (the first rain doesn’t usually fall until late autumn), this project stays on the sidewalk long after the weekend is over and the artists don’t have to worry about rain ruining their work. This way, too, many people get to see their work long after the festival is over.

    When I lived in Sacramento this was one of my favorite events to go see. An outdoor studio full of artists working very hard to make something that will only be visible for a few months is pretty remarkable, too.

    Too bad the weather in Cincinnati doesn’t afford us the opportunity to do the same kind of project. Or would it?

  • Writing abot my trip: Joe now in California

    Through the gracious help of a kind girlfriend (who took me to the airport at, as she will tell you, 4:27 a.m.) and a Boeing 777 and United Airlines, I made it to San Francisco in one piece.

    Then a screeching BART ride later, a short ride on Muni, I made it to Mike’s “dungeon” in the Presidio, dropped off my stuff and walked a short jaunt down the hill and had lunch at a coffee shop overlooking the Lucas Film offices. Pretty cool stuff.

    A few minutes later I boarded another Muni bus headed for the BART again, under the Bay and on to Richmond where I got on the Amtrak and went to Sacramento. That’s where I am now, staying at my friend Niki’s house.

    More to come later…including my thoughts on the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina…

  • Representative democracy: “Hold that thought…”

    I’ve noticed something lately. Council members are busy people. And they have odd – even rude – ways of getting out of conversations they don’t want to be in. Sometimes it’s even a little funny.

    A few nights ago I was sitting with two other reporters – one retired, the other a full-timer – at a popular old downtown eatery once owned by a City Council member.

    Sitting down was – low and behold – that former owner and now Council member. He was sitting just inches away from me at another table. Now, I’ve talked to this guy a couple dozen times, mostly out at places around town, but I’ve interviewed him, too, on the phone for different stories. Once I even ran into him the next day, and because he acted like he knew who I was on the phone (maybe he even said it), I thought I’d say hello. I’d hate to be rude, after all.

    Wasn’t I surprised when he gave me the polite smile and handshake and asked how I was doing, but obviously had no idea who I am. I happened to be with another reporter – young, attractive and has her photo in the paper every so often – and he lit up like a Christmas tree, saying her name and asking her how she was doing and carrying on – all while I stood there. This has happened twice now with this same person. Both me and this young, attractive reporter think this behavior is pretty funny. And it is.

    So, back to the other night. The esteemed former reporter, editor and college professor piped up to say hello to the Council member, making a crack about what a swell idea it would be to put baseball at Broadway Commons. Polite laughter ensued. Former reporter then tried to make some small talk when the Council member held up his finger and said politely, as someone was trying to get his attention, “Hold that thought one sec.”

    The Council member then turned around and walked straight-away right out of the restaurant and down the sidewalk.

    The three of us just looked at each other and laughed, shaking our heads.

    About an hour later another Council member popped into gladhand and chat it up at a going away party that was sprouting up around our table for another group. Keep in mind, presently I’m in the throes of planning a candidates’ town hall meeting that will be broadcast live on the radio show I co-host from the newly re-opened Kaldi’s Coffeehouse in Over-the-Rhine.

    Just about a day before this evening I had sent every candidate an e-mail about the forum. About four candidates have confirmed. This candidate had not. I thought I’d just double-check real quick with him that he had been told about it.

    Now, I admit he was having a conversation with another person and I knew I’d have to interrupt, but I’d be nice, brief and explain real quick what was going on. Here’s what happened instead.

    “Hi, excuse me. How are you?”
    “Good, fine. How are you?”
    “Real good. Hey, I’m Joe Wessels, we’ve met before…”
    “Yeah, hi.”
    “…Sorry to interrupt, but wanted to see if you got my e-mail about the candidates forum that is going to be broadcast live at Kaldi’s during the Brian & Joe Radio Show that I co-host…”

    Okay, at this point, he reaches for his Blackberry attached to a belt clip on his hip.

    “When is it?” the Council Member said.
    “August 17, 10 a.m. at Kaldi’s,” I replied.

    Right as I’m saying this I’m watching him just casually spinning the jog dial on his Blackberry and just randomly flipping through whatever. Then he says this.

    “Yep, got it on my calendar. We’ll see you there.”

    What? C’mon. He didn’t look at his calendar. Am I an idiot? Okay, who cares that I’m a reporter. I’m an effin’ citizen, dude. Give me two seconds. Just two. Act interested. Care a little. Less self-importance and more substance.

    After that “confirmation” he immediately started chatting to that other person, adding a casually flung “Good-bye…Good seein’ ya” on me just to clinch the sweet-ass blow-off and buh-bye he just gave.

    Man, oh, man. He could work for the airlines. I felt more warm and cozy gettng the hairy eyeball from the airline pilot who just jostled the entire cabin when he landed crooked on the runway and, by company policy, is required to stand at the exit and thank the plane-ful of pissed off passengers as they de-board.

    Here’s another one. It’s the story I was told about a certain mayoral candidate who blew off another young professional a few months back. I’ve had my own experiences with this guy, who, in our brief exchanges, is really nice, but a little distracted.

    The person who told me this story – who happens to represent the largest construction company in this area at many public events – was at a meeting in Over-the-Rhine as an employee of her company. She thought she’d introduce herself to the mayor-wannabe. The whole time he kept looking around the room while she spoke, even eyeing people and nodding as she continued on – for only like three brief minutes, she said. She just wanted to say hello, let the Council member know her company was represented there at that meeting, get a hi back, maybe wish him a good luck this fall. Despite his wandering eye and seeming lack of interest, she still handed him a business card upon the conclusion of their brief interlude.

    No mind that she was a little put-off by the whole conversation, she said, but she was still nice. That’s easy to understand. But I can also see where the mayoral candidate is at with all this. It’s politics. He has to be saying hidey-ho to everyone. But, as she watched him after they were “done” talking, he immediately went over and threw her card in the trash can.

    Nice.

    Anyway, I met another mayoral candidate a few days ago. We’d never met before so I was eager to say hello. He was real happy to say hi to me. Asked me about the story I was working on. Then as I was answering his question he walked away. At least one of his campaign workers mentioned to me how rude that was and apologized. But, geez, dude. Seemed he could use some legal drugs – like polite pills.

    So, folks, I think we might have an epidemic going on here. Member of the media or not. Enquirer reporter or online blogger. Citizen with a burnt-out street light or the head of a downtown boycott, we’re just citizens. Citizens who need our representatives to represent us. And that involves listening.

    Good news, though. There’s something we all can do. That’s why I’m supporting the nice candidates – albeit privately in my voting booth – for Cincinnati City Council. Those folks, for now, anyway, still say hello and ask how I’m doing when they see me or when I approach them. The others have a few months to take those polite pills.

  • Second Congressional Results: Moisture caused Clermont County ballots to be delayed

    Covering the results for Reuters in the Hackett/Schmidt fight for Ohio’s Second Congressional District Tuesday evening at the Hamilton County Board of Elections turned out to be a later night than most expected. Why? Clermont County couldn’t count their votes.

    A Cincinnati Enquirer story neglected to mention why the ballots were late, but quoted Hamilton County Democratic Party chairman Tim Burke as saying he wasn’t sure what the hell happened.

    An unused portion of the story I filed for Reuters neglected to mention an explantion put forth by Hamilton County Board of Elections executive director John Williams. Apparently humidity in the air allowed moisture to seep into the Clermont ballots thus making them uncountable until they returned to the ambient room temperature where the machines were located at the Clermont County BOE. Clermont uses an optical-scan method for collecting and tallying votes.

    Williams went on to say that he felt that eventually all counties would be required to use this system – and he isn’t happy about it for reasons like Tuesday’s delay. He advocates continued use of the punch-card method and buying an additional device than can electronically check the punch cards for over-voting and hanging chads.

    “We’ve used the current system for 30 years,” Williams said. “I bet in another ten years we’ll go back to something like the punch cards.”

  • Winburn predicts Pepper and himself in general election

    I’m not a political reporter. But covering the Hackett/Schmidt results Tuesday evening for Reuters kind of made me one – for one evening anyway. And the radio show has made me a general assignment reporter on all sorts of beats all summer long. I have to admit that I’ve really enjoyed exploring other areas through the show, and with my freelancing.

    During my time at the Hamilton County Board of Elections I had the opportunity to meet Republican-endorsed mayoral candidate Charlie Winburn. As I worked on my Reuters story on my laptop just feet away, shortly after we met, I heard Winburn predict talking to a group of supporters that after the primary September 13 he’d be in a race for the Mayor’s chair between him and David Pepper.

    Pretty interesting, I thought. Guess predictions by candidates aren’t necessarily news, but his confidence is pretty interesting.

  • Margaret Garner: Powerful and profoundly disturbing

    This evening – well, yesterday now – I was given the fortunate opportunity to go to the open dress rehearsal of the Cincinnati Opera‘s local premiere of Margaret Garner, an opera they co-commissioned. Based on a local Cincinnati story, the opera, though not completely historically accurate, is good – very good, in fact – and extremely heart-wrenching, disturbing, thought-provoking, sad and, at times, hard to watch.

    And though I never ever will profess to be a musical critic, the performance, the music and the pace were excellent. Another fine performance by Cincinnati’s opera production folks.

    To give you an idea how hard it was to watch, in the crowd of about 500 people of mostly friends and family of Opera employees, there were several children. During the opera’s pivotal scene where Garner takes the life of her two young children, an approximately five-year-old child in the audience broke out into loud sobs. It further drove home the horror – the historic, real-life horror – that was being played out on the stage.

    Ever since I first heard of this opera early last year I couldn’t wait to see it. As I’ve been privy to some of the preparation employees of the opera went through to get ready for this week, I was amazed at the passion and devotion they have given to this project. It’s hard not to also mention the outlay of cash also needed to commission an opera- easily more than $2 million.

    Besides the Opera’s hard work, I have been sadly dumbfounded and left in disbelief at the brazen and contemptuous telling of Margaret Garner’s story at the plantation where this story started. The “farm” is just across the river from Cincinnati (near the airport). The way the docents tell the story that happened there isn’t benign or just wrong or inaccurate, it’s hurtful and extremely insensitive to the decedents of slaves that tour the site. On a more positive note, I have been blown away and deeply touched by Oprah Winfrey’s telling of Toni Morrison’s story in “Beloved“.

    Though my West Coast friends knock us (hey, kiss my butt Ess Eff), we are lucky to be here in Cincinnati – a city on the move, evolving and changing and wanting to be better. But long before the Fountain gets slid 50 feet north and Bill Butler delights us with a mirror image along the Ohio River bringing us form to the mud pits nestled next to the National Underground Railroad Freedom Center, we had a kick-butt arts scenes. From Playhouse in the Park to the Cincinnati Symphony Orchestra to the Contemporary Arts Center or that delightfully-free (thanks again Dick and Lois) Cincinnati Arts Museum – we’re lucky to be here. Even right now.

  • Jesus gave me a woman

    Well, okay. So I made it through nearly a week posting everyday and then not only did the wheels fall off, the axle broke. But we’re out of the shop and ready to roll.

    Walking back recently to my home with co-host Brian from a movie viewing at Newport on the Levee got me thinking about the blatant religious brainwashing going on in my little neighborhood.

    As we crossed Central Parkway and left the comfy confines of the CBD (that’s “central business district” for suburbanites, or what many deem as the actual downtown area) and headed along Race Street to my apartment, a guy tried to stop us on the median and tell us about his experience with Jesus. Tonight, as he quickly explained, Jesus had given him a woman, a giant smile adorning his unshaven, scruffy-haired, nearly toothless face.

    “Praise Jesus,” he said as he kept walking southward into the CBD.

    Just about five days earlier, the Sunday morning before we celebrated our Independence Day, I had the windows open in my apartment. Around 10:30 a.m. Jesus-music started to fill the innards of my living space and gave momentary pause to my two cats. Really, really loud Jesus music. At first it was beautiful. I kept thinking I need to get dressed and run over to Washington Park and hear this choir. They were something else. Then it didn’t stop. And I realized it wasn’t live. They had a Jesus-deejay spinning the music, interspersed with God-speak. Really, really loud preaching.

    When I finally stepped outside a couple hours later the sight across the park was deeply disturbing. There in the gazebo a loudspeaker was set up, microphone, mixer, looked like a CD player, maybe a turntable. And this large woman was standing in the gazebo, dressed in a pink and white dress, and was yelling Bible verses and espousing on the virtues contained therein at ear-piercing (maybe ear-exploding and bleeding – it was so loud) levels to people standing about 15 feet away.

    What got them to stand there? Hot dogs. They were standing there in a long line to get hot dogs. Meanwhile, this woman and others throughout the day blared Jesus-talk at these people.

    “If the drugs had you, now you have Jesus,” one said.

    “If you were addicted to drugs and alcohol, now you can be addicted to Jesus,” screeched another.

    Eat our dogs, get God and be thankful and respectful of those that brought you over to get a wiener.

    It made me sick – way beyond the thought of eating a ground-up pig tail ‘n ear ‘n lip seasoned with pepper and spice. What’s worse – and being a journalist I like to check these things out first, but I think I can safely assume – they weren’t allowed to be there. They didn’t get a permit to shout at these people in these denigrating tones. They didn’t get a permit to yelp into my apartment windows. And they didn’t leave until nearly 6 p.m.

    The Drop-Inn Center is just a half-block away and serves three square meals a day for free. What I want to know is why hot dogs for free, coupled with insulting rants, when free, rant-free meals are served nearby? I understand that the Drop-Inn folks get a little puzzled when every so often a van will pull up outside their facility and hand out bags of food. What’s different? Inside those bags of food are Bible verses.

    All this commotion and sound pollution got me thinking. I wonder why no one complains just about the sheer intensity of the sound shooting out of the park? Is it status quo in a neighborhood full of people who already feel so abandoned and helpless and pushed aside that they think another cry from Over-the-Rhine would go unheeded? Or is it wrong to question religious leaders? Or were those dogs some Hebrew Nationals, that plump when you cook ’em, and served with the freshest relish ever that the folks in line actually look forward to Hot Dog Days?

    I have to admit I didn’t walk over – I was in a hurry to get somewhere – but spoke to a person who has lived in the neighborhood for nearly a decade. This happens fairly regularly. We’ve had at least two Hot Dog Days in June. Am I nearly the only one wondering what the heck is going on? And cares?

  • See ya, Stupid Galvins. It was fun while it lasted.

    In preparation for starting the radio show I compiled an e-mail list of every person, place or thing that I’ve ever met, coupled that with Brian’s list and wound up with an impressive e-mail list just shy of 3,000 e-mail addresses. On that list were at least one of the Galvin brothers, those stupid ones who have a radio show on WVXU.

    Jene and Jerry have or, moreover, had (Jene left to help out the Springer on the Radio show earlier this year; Jerry continues alone), a radio show on WVXU. Every Sunday evening at 10 p.m. the two would come on my living room radio and rant about utter silliness. They make up stories, interview Jerry Springer, laugh at themselves, take calls and threaten that every show was their last show. I actually liked listening to the show, though many times I found it pointless. I’m thinking that might’ve been the point.
    But pointlessness sometimes is good, especially on a Sunday night as I wound down from a hectic weekend. Many people who I’d ask if they heard their show had at one time or another and felt more strongly that pointlessness shouldn’t appear on their public radio station. I smiled and politely disagreed.

    We purposefully made our e-mail list easy to unsubscribe from. So far about 500 e-mail addresses have asked to be taken off. Not a problem and it’s easy to do – just click on a link . I hate spam myself, and would hate to be contributing to that classification of junk mail. But I have to admit, it was really sad when I got the automatic unsubscribe message from our ListServ when Jene Galvin took himself off our list.

    Now I’m just hurt. Jene and I spoke on the phone a few times long before the Brian & Joe Radio Show was even conceptualized. We met when I scheduled Jerry Springer to speak at an SPJ luncheon. What had I done to irk him so much that he would take the initiative to unsubscribe himself from another radio show’s e-mail list? Hey, I’m still on the Springer on the Radio e-mail list. Is it because the Brian & Joe Radio Show is on at the same time as Jerry in Cincinnati (I realize that our small, but loyal listenership may posses all the Arbitron books in Cincinnati, but that’s not our fault)?I wish he’d write and tell me. I’m here. I’m willing to listen. And I want to have radio buddies, especially ones that I admire.

  • Trying to have more interesting days…

    Today and this evening have been spent, in large part, getting ready for tomorrow’s radio show. It’ll be our fourth show in what has turned out to be a very fun experience. It’s a lot of work, but, in my opinion, totally worth it. We’ve also received a tremendous response, with an article in the Dayton Daily News, mentions on popular local Blogs and a snippet in The Cincinnati Enquirer.

    We’ve been very fortunate to have on great guests – tomorrow no exception – and it appears we’re going to march on with more interesting folks in-studio or on the phone. Hope you’ll take a listen, either live or in our archives (with Podcasts enabled, too).

    ***

    Since March I’ve been a stay-at-home Pa to my cats, more out of forced necessity than by choice. Nonetheless, being a freelancer has been a great experience allowing me the freedom I’ve really grown accustom to in my adult life. At the same time, though, it can be boring. I miss having colleagues (even if in the past they’ve often been rather drab – but not all of ’em), a place to go everyday and, well, a 401(k).

    There have been some days where it’ll get to be 5 p.m. and I am still wearing what I wore to bed and I haven’t stepped foot outside of my apartment, though I’ve worked my ass off. That’s a little disconcerting. I’m lonely, I guess, and I find myself craving some social interaction. Cats are great, but, hey, I can only interpret so much from a meow, not matter how hard I try.

    ***

    Bought tile this morning for the new house. Stopped into Ohio Tile & Marble in Northside and had the nicest clerk help me and help boost my creative confidence. She was really cute, too, which is always a bonus. Ended up with this grayish black-speckled tile for the black bathroom and this nifty “starry” galaxy tile for the hearth downstairs.

    In an attempt to keep me writing daily, here I Blog. Though tonight’s entry is rather blah. My apologies, and I hope tomorrow yields better material.

    G’night.

  • Wal-Mart in the wind

    At, oh, around say 6 p.m. or so my mother called to double-check that I wasn’t now changing my voter registration to Precinct YBR in Oz, Kansas or something after the kaboom surprise thunderstorms swept through the area.

    Living in Over-the-Rhine the sound of thunderclaps have to be weighed against the sound of gun shots against the sound of fireworks being shot off against the whatever-the-hell-that-was sounds of everyday life down here – just to determine the best save-your-life way to react. Shall I: Go to the basement, run full speed to my car bent over at the waist, turn on my weather radio, call the police, get under my bed, request medical attention, carry my baseball bat around, just write in my Blog or step away from the window? It’s a tough call sometimes, but for those not familiar with the area, usually stepping away from the window is a good call no matter what.

    No rain in OTR today, which is odd with the permanent black cloud overhead. (It’s worth noting here that I truly love living in this neighborhood, but it has its challenges. I think I have a right to poke fun at my leisure.)

    But anyway, way out in the suburbs from whence I came and my parents still live and have moved farther out into, my Mother found herself at Wal-Mart when the rough weather struck. And here’s where my funny tail begins, told from my Mom to me, and now to you, with some embellishment…

    Judy (my mom) walks into the Colerain Avenue Wal-Mart, gets about 50 feet in and the front doors of the store blow open and hail and heavy rain begins to fall outside. Undoubtedly filled with shoppers about that time, the Wal-Mart blue-smocked workers started ordering people to the ground. Every shopper for themselves.

    I could only imagine witnessing all this. To me, this conjured up images of Wal-Mart worker-heroes putting to use the employee training they never thought they’d need. That sleepy day in training just hours after they were handed their pin-less bright blue polyester smock with the “How May I Help You” emblazoned across the back, told the dress code and given a load full of crap about teamwork. And then there was that sorta interesting part of the training manual about what to do in an emergency, Code Adam gone awry, or when the flimsy construction of the store’s roof blew off in a stiff breeze. Just like today, when Judy, my Mom, was picking up some sundries.

    Snapping into action, I can only guess those workers were thinking it’ll be just mere hours before the Bentonville, Ark. television commercial production staff would be setting up movie lights in the parking lot. That bouncing yellow smiley face would be there applying make-up in a trailer nearby. Then they’d all star in a community-oriented Wal-Mart TV commercial, aired nationally during the Super Bowl.

    But alas, the roof stayed intact and the circular clothing racks presenting the Chinese-made sweat pants cushioned the fall of the people ducking for cover. No need for the clerks to tear their blue smocks into long, narrow strips to apply tourniquets to the wounded or administer CPR to Granny as the stress ‘o the moment caused blood to clot in her elderly lungs. Also no need for leg splints for those caught in the cinder-block rubble.

    Surprise, though. Target, brand-new and just a few miles south and only a quarter mile from where the new Super Center Wal-Mart is being built along Colerain Avenue – that place was blown to bits. Workers and shoppers strewn everywhere… There is a God. And he loves Wal-Mart. Okay, just kidding about this last part.

    Okay. I admit, that was odd. How ’bout we talk about my black bathroom? Alright? Good.

    I’m in the process of buying a little home. In it, there’s a little bathroom. In that bathroom I’ve chosen to put in black elements, like a black whirlpool bathtub and a black sink and a black toilet.

    Never have I known the costs associated with blackness. Take your average toilet. It costs like $400. My word. A toilet? That much? I have a whole new respect for toilets. But get this: My black toilet? Like $800. That’s ridiculous. The matching black pedestal sink was like $400. On a per square-foot basis I think I may end up having the single most expensively-equipped room in Northside – maybe even the city. And you’re all invited to pee in it when it’s done.

    G’night.