Soodhalter’s Informagoriam

The Invitation

The day finally arrived. It was Saturday, and my duties as a house sitter and dog caretaker for my aunt and uncle had concluded. After initiating a final feeding and dishwasher cycle, I drove back to my apartment to clean up and begin my journey to New Iberia, Louisiana to witness the joining of two people together in the bonds of Christian marriage.

Caroline Voth, whom I have known since she was a freshman at Tulane, was set to marry Roy Johnston, a well groomed lawyer from South Africa who came to pursue graduate study at Tulane before returning to South Africa. He also happens to be a really nice guy. I would expect nothing less for Caroline, though. Roy and Caroline could not be more perfect for each other.

I managed to get on the road nice and early. After initially going the wrong way on the West Loop, I got my bearings and made it I-10. It was raining for my entire journey, which was not good since the wedding ceremony was to be set outside. The drive was pretty much the standard to-New-Orleans drive until I reached Lafayette. I stopped and had some Popeye’s chicken for lunch, which brought back the memories of such things during many Tulane study breaks. Near Lafayette, I had to hop on some state highways to make my way south toward New Iberia. After some confused driving, I made it to LA highway 14 and my hotel, the Holiday Inn. I took a nap and then got ready for the wedding. Driving to the wedding location was also confusing. I found that in a less populated area, such as this was, things are spaced further apart than in a city, and there are less sign postings telling a driver where he is. I started driving in the wrong direction before turning around. The invitation’s directions made the wedding site seem not too far from the hotel, but it was. As the time of the ceremony approached, I began to worry that I was lost and going to miss the ceremony. I thought Caroline might get angry and have Roy beat me up for letting her down. Then, in the distance, I saw a long alley of what appeared to be oak trees, and I knew that had to be the Rip Van Winkle Gardens.

I made it in just before the ceremony began. The actual ceremony was set on the bank of a body of water. It had stopped raining, fortunately, so the ceremony was able to go as planned. I sat in an empty row, which happened to be behind my former suitemate, Paul, from Tulane who initially introduced me to Caroline. He was there with his fellow band members. Behind us played an orchestra of sorts playing the standard wedding accompaniment. The orchestra began playing the entrance music for the wedding party. I could not see very well, so I was not sure who all the people coming from afar were, but my best guess is that the people in the pink dresses were the bridesmaids and the people in tuxes were groomsmen. I knew a couple of the bridesmaids, Alyssa (Greer) Crockett and Corinne Ritchie, from Tulane. One of the groomsmen was Alyssa’s husband, Myron, who was not her husband the last time I saw her.

The actual service was rather efficient. The minister introduced Caroline and Roy and asked for a supportive response from the families and then the guests. Then there was a prayer. The hymn “Joyful, Joyful, We Adore Thee” was sung by two men. There were two readings from the Christian Bible, Romans 12:1-2 and 9-18 and Philippians 4:4-9. Two men then sang a duet. After some more words, there was another prayer. Caroline and Roy then exchanged vows and rings, though I could not hear this part. The minister declared the wedding complete and blessed them and then us. We were dismissed and made our way into the reception hall, immediately behind where I was sitting.

The reception was a blast. In one corner of the room was a big brass band that played excellent music for about 4.5 hours. In front of the band was a dance floor. In the next corner was a beverage station with all manners of wine, champagne, and cola drinks. The other corners were filled with food distribution stations involving all sorts of meats, cheeses, and pastas. Then there were the wedding cakes, but we were not supposed to touch those.

I talked with my old suitemate Paul, briefly, before making my move towards the food. At that point, I ran into Shuey, Caroline’s old roomie. Shuey is my hero because once, while living with Caroline, she hid in a closet for forty minutes as part of an elaborate prank. Somehow, in the course of getting food and drink, I did not have enough hands to use serving spoons to put food on my place. Fortunately, Shuey was able to assist me as she had thought ahead regarding keeping her hands free. As we moved to sit and eat, the wedding party made their dramatic entrance and Caroline and Roy quickly commenced to the ritual “first dance” while the band played a special tune. Then there were other traditional wedding dances, Bride/Father, Groom/Mother, and Second-Cousin-Twice-Removed/Third-Cousin’s-Dog-Groomer, among others. In all, there were forty-seven traditional dances that had to take place before the reception could continue.

While these dances took place, I went with some people I had met to tour the gardens. A couple of fraternal twins who knew Caroline had worked at the gardens in the past and knew their way around, as well as some of its history. They told me all about the silent film star who owned the estate originally. The body of water on whose bank the wedding took place used to be much smaller, and as a result, we could see a chimney sticking out of the water from a house that used to be on dry land. Apparently, someone punctured a salt dome in the water in the early eighties, which drained the water for a while. Then it filled back up later. The gardens were in a bit of disrepair as they had apparently been without a caretaker or permanent owner for a period of time. They were in the process of being restored. Despite this fact, it was still a beautiful place to have a wedding. There were peacocks in the trees cawing at use continually, which scared some of the people touring the gardens.

After the tour, we made our way back to the reception just in time to catch the last ceremonial dance. There was much mingling to be done, so I quickly acquired a cool beverage and made my way around, greeting various family members that I knew and a few that I did not. I found Alyssa Crockett and her new husband Myron, who I had not met until that point. I chatted with them for a while in order to catch up our current lives. Caroline and Roy moved into our area and I had my first chance to congratulate them. Roy commented that I had chosen to not wear a dress to the ceremony after all, which threw me off until I remembered that I had suggested to Caroline on the phone that I might do so while Roy was in the room. They departed to proceed with cake cutting procedures. Alyssa had also moved away for a bit, and I began chatting with Myron. We talked for a long while. We also ate wedding cake, which was good. The icing was a bit too sweet for me, but it was otherwise and excellent pastry.

Then came the dancing. There was quite a bit of that. I could get into the specifics of who did what dances, but that would just take too long. I would like to point out, though, that Corinne is a prodigious dancing fiend. I was impressed. I danced quite a bit, though not as much as some people. At some point in the evening, Caroline and Roy exited the premises to change out of their wedding apparel into civilian clothing in order to be comfortable when they left in the limo. The guests danced for a bit longer before assembling outside to see the newlyweds off. We all got Fourth of July sparklers in lieu of rice in order to avoid the objections of people who want to protect the birds. These weren’t those dinky sparklers either. These were the kind made from Magnesium that can be made into sparkler bombs. Finally Caroline and Roy made their way down the brick path and we lit our celebratory pyrotechnic displays. They boarded the hummer limo and off they went to start a life together. We mingled outside for a bit. I chatted with Caroline’s cousin, Edna, who is German, I believe. I also re-met Caroline’s younger sister, Julia and chatted with her for a bit. The guests went back in and danced for a while longer until the band stopped playing. I took Corinne and Shuey back to their hotel and went back to mine. I was worn out and fell asleep quickly.

I got up the next morning, packed up and cleaned up to go to an Easter Brunch at Caroline’s aunt’s house. I got a little lost, so by the time I got there, I had missed the Easter prayers and everyone was already eating. There was some good down-home Southern Louisianan cooking. They have this thing called grits and grillades. We all know what grits are. In this case they were cheese grits. Grillades is a sort of beef stew. This isn’t beef stew like Gussell used to make. This stuff had great flavor and was in an excellent, thin, broth-like liquid. I ate my first serving separately before seeing Caroline’s father, Mr. Rick, take a serving to grits topped with grillades. I was then informed that this is the standard Southern Louisiana way of eating these two items. I sat with Mr. Rick, Corinne, Shuey, Roy’s brother Paul, and her cousins that are finishing their residencies (I am so sorrowful that I have forgotten their names). The breakfast was wonderful. Miss Prissy made homemade biscuits that were excellent. There was Southern iced tea and coffee. There was pound cake for desert. I spent some time talking with various people. After saying extensive goodbyes to the family members from both sides as well as other guests, I headed to my car and made my way to I-10 for the trip home. It was a wonderful wedding weekend and I wish the new couple “All the Best” (To use a term that most of the South African people I met used as a bid farewell). I know they will do well, though I do wonder about Caroline adjusting to life in Johannesburg and South Africa in general. Many have described President Thabo Mbeki as being quite aloof. Some say he has an air of intellectual elitism. I do not attest to the veracity of these statements, but I hope that Caroline will not be deterred in navigating the political spectrum of this wonderful country. I also hope she exercises caution when approaching the South African stinkwood tree. They are different than the stinkwoods she normally encounters. I am sure she will adapt, though. It takes a certain toughness to end up in a rainforest at night and survive, unscathed.

She’s kayaking and diving. It sounds wonderful down there.

[I] don’t have the funds to keep paying for email; sorry about the slack in writing. But basically I have been bumming around the south end of the southern island crashing at the kayakers’ place so that I could afford to do the kayaking and diving. (I’m not a total mooch, I cleaned their house..which considering it’s three guys I feel is a good trade

The weather has been awesome [because] even when it’s raining..which is a lot [because] they get 8 meters of rain a year in Milford!! All the water rushes over the fiord peaks and makes beautiful waterfalls. I have been in heaven. Kayaking was great and diving again after not being able to for so long made me feel whole again. I had no idea how much I missed it until I was in the water again and was spellbound.

I don’t have underwater housing for my camera, but I attached a few pics of things I saw which took my breath away…the ecosystem in the fiords is unique because it’s saltwater but all the rain brings tannins into the water filtering out the light and creating a freshwater layer on top so that you can find things at 18 meters that usually live at 70 meters (which you can’t dive to for long periods of time). Ok, I’ll stop boring you with all the scientific mumbo jumbo that I find fascinating and just say if I can find some one studying the fiord ecosystems and these phenomenon, I may very well have found my graduate study…plus then I’d have an excuse to come back here!!

Being alone and spending a lot of time in the woods has been refreshing and invigorating. I have a lot of things I want to discuss with many of you but they are way to difficult to even try to do via email…but just be prepared to banter with the thoughts that one comes up with when she is alone in a forest with a compilation of Karl Marx’s works, a meditation book, a journal, and surrounded by exquisite natural beauty. Ok, now that you all think I’ve lost it I’ll end for now But keep in touch and I hope wherever you are you are finding the beauty and center everyday in your lives.

Cheers,

Lisa

I hear New Zealand sheep like to laugh at others’ misfortune.

Haha. Life just keeps throwing curve balls. On my way down a mountain, my jerry-rigged carrier attachment of twine and duct tape (and they say that stuff never fails!) decided to give way, throwing all my belongings over the “highway”. [It’s a] good thing the only other souls around for miles were sheep, so no one was injured.

[I] pulled over to the side of the road, “fixed” everything, repacked my bags, and looked down to see what [was] lying in the grass next to me. Oh yeah baby you know it, a particular bike lock key. I guess I’ll never know where the hell it was.

Keep smiling!! Love you all.

PS: Then I slept in a rugby field since the next bus didn’t come until this afternoon, but I got to a hostel and got a hot shower and a free muffin. Cheers!!

I did not expect to hear from Lisa again so soon after the first email, but an unfortunate incident brought forth a second email.

Hello! Didn’t think you’d hear from me so soon, huh? But that what happens when you lock your bike up REAL tight to go tramping for a few days, come out, and realize that you’ve lost the damn key to the bike lock! I mean, could you really expect anything less of me? At least I know it was locked up real well because I couldn’t pick the lock off, but a great bunch of Kiwi guys came to my rescue (totally looking like the dumb little American girl I’m sure), and after failed attempts with a metal detector to find my key in the bush and then cut it off with bolt cutters, we finally got it off with an electric saw. But by that time it was dark so I crashed on the one guy’s couch. Ironically, on the MacDonald’s farm (that’s really his name), and he is letting me use his computer.

Other than that little escapade things are great. [New Zealand is] hot and beautiful. [I] spent my birthday in Abel Tasman Nat’l Park (thanks for all the birthday messages!) snorkeling, hiking, and lazing on the beach…not too shabby. I will send pics when I can…it’s breathtaking.

[I] met some great folks and learned a lot, and now I am headed down the coast on my way to Milford Sound (but I must stop to buy a new lock first, so I will be in touch when I can!

[I] Love and miss you all…thanks for all the emails; although I don’t have time to reply to everyone, it’s really great to come back and find messages from all the people I love and miss so much…please keep updating me on your lives when you can, I really appreciate the little bit of home!

Cheers, Lisa

I thought Lisa was going to Thailand, but she may just be winding her way there. In this first of three emails, she describes getting to NZ.

Well I had wanted to include some pictures, but that seems it will have to wait until I am at a better place so I don’t tie up the phone line here for long. I had a marvelous time in CA with the infamous Gregory Farah and then arrived in Auckland on Monday.

I caught a bus down the coast to Mt. Taranaki with the intent to climb, but found a few hours into the hike that with all my bags my pace was excruciatingly slow. So after I saw a herd of native NZ snails (see attachment) pass on my left I decided to change plans. I found my way down the mountain (I had been driven 3,000 meters up) and hitched to the nearest town to catch a bus to Wellington.

I caught the ferry across to the South Island, on a beautiful sunny afternoon through the Marlborough Sounds, to Picton. Haley McGinlay was kind enough to pick me up and she, her husband John, and their two rambunctious kids have entertained me graciously for the past few days.

I have helped John on his pinot noir vineyard and then he took me on a full tour and beyond of the winery as well as a step by step process on the how his grapes become the extraordinary product we savor, and we ran all the tests on his current sample to tell how close to harvest it is. Hopefully it will be in three weeks and I will get to see it and possibly do a little grape picking myself.

This country is absolutely breathtaking…biking through the Marlborough vineyards, mountains, and estuaries full of wildlife has me in complete bliss. The people here are so intelligent yet amazingly open, trusting, friendly, and earth conscious. After talking with many locals and ex pats and reading everything about NZ I can get my hands on, I have jerry rigged Haley’s bicycle with a carrier and borrowed some touring bags from a French friend of hers to go tour the South Island.

My plan is to go up north to kayak through Abel Tazman Nat’l Park, down the west coast to Milford Sound, and back up over to the East Coast to Kaikora. Lots of camping, windy days, and adventure lie ahead, so wish me luck. Who knows how this plan will change, but I figure it’s a good start.

Hopefully I can meet up with some of my organic and permaculture farming contacts along the way and learn what I can from them in the short time I am here. So until I crash in a hostel and get a chance to write, I miss you all and can only say that if I died today and had to imagine what I would choose as my heaven, the South Island of New Zealand would be just about as close as I could get.

Love and pura vida, Lisa

PS: I will probably check my email tonight and tomorrow before I leave this wonderful haven in Blenheim, so feel free to write a ling if you have a chance

…or a gathering of people read a teleprompter.

The evening finally arrived. I left work around 4:30 and headed over to Jennifer’s house to collect her so we could make our way to Amanda’s place of work and then to the event location. Jennifer took a few moments to finish getting ready then we were on our way. On the way to Amanda’s, I commented that I had no idea where this thing was located, which made Jennifer a bit upset. Fortunately, when we arrived at Amanda’s office, she produced a copy of the directions. Turns out that this shindig was taking place outside the beltway.

We got onto Westheimer and slowly rode the traffic river to the Wilcrest area. We arrived at the Omni at about 6:30. After wandering through the hotel, we found the conference room where the evening was being held. There were printed nametags set out for all the people who had RSVPed. Apparently, even though I had done so, they saw fit to not print a nametag for me. In front of the room, the head to the Houston Tulane Alums, a guy named Alan, stood and greet folks as they entered. I remember Alan from my days as a student though I do not believe we ever actually met. He dated someone I knew. Also out front was Mark Jaegger, a noisy engineer who lived a few doors down from my room in Butler freshman year.

We made our way inside. I saw Peter Yochum, but before I could say anything to him, Jennifer and Amanda made a beeline for the chap serving drinks. I followed and we were supplied with beverages. We moved back toward Peter, surveying the food layout as we walked. As I closed in on Peter, I realized he was talking with the retired head of Student Affairs, my old boss, Martha Sullivan. She greeted me with a hug and we all talked about what we were doing. It turns out, at one point, she was also Amanda’s boss. Peter revealed some exciting news about himself that I will not divulge here so that he may be the one to deliver such good news.

After chatting for a bit, we made our way to the food distribution area and collected weird hors d’oeuvres, some pastas, and a side of beef. We sat down and began eating. After a few minutes, Tim walked in and quickly fetched some food and drink so he could join us. Also joining us was a prospective Tulane student from Memorial high school and her mother. Alan, the greeting guy, started the show by talking a bit before introducing Martha. She spoke before turning over festivities to the closed circuit feed of the live event from New Orleans. She then acquired some food and came to sit at our table.

The event started out with a voice-over announcement of the event followed by a camera making its way into the event venue that consisted of a stage set that could be the precursor to a set for a talk show called “The Scott Cowen Show”. The lady who sang a song about New Orleans during my graduation reprised this role, singing the same song to get the show rolling. She is a good singer and I again enjoyed her song.

Scott Cowen was introduced and said some stuff about the fund raising initiative Tulane was undertaking. They are two thirds of the way to $700 million. After a few other things, he introduced character actor Harold Sylvester, whom I perceived to be the emcee for the evening. He talked for a while about his experience as the first African American basketball player at Tulane as well as his time in the theatre department. There was a discussion of other entertainment personalities that had attended Tulane. Evan Farmer of the TLC show “While You Were Out” came out and spoke for a bit about his Tulane experience. I got the feeling that Mr. Farmer thought he was a bit more popular and funny than he actually may be. Perhaps I am wrong, though, since I am out of the TV loop.

From Evan Farmer, the show transitioned to an awkward ten minutes of footage of the antique road show where some guy is appraising some clay pieces. Only at the end of the footage did they put a caption telling us that this is pottery from Newcomb College. It was a weird interlude to say the least.

I don’t remember exactly how things played out from then on, but I will give a run down of what I saw. There was a reunion of a campus singing-group known as the Tulanians. They introduced various successful folks from the business world that attended Tulane including the founders of Yahoo and Netscape. One of the old Press the Meat moderators also was a Tulane Alum. We also got to see various folks of scientific distinction who either attended or are currently attending Tulane. The most impressive of these were two doctors, one who played football at Tulane and was offered a chance to play in the NFL and another who was a Tulane med student while playing baseball for the World Series Champion Yankees. We heard from various current and former sports stars including recent graduate and NFL running back Mwelde Moore.

At this point, I feel I must bring up the fact that everyone seemed to be reading off cue cards or a teleprompter. Mr. Moore seemed like a robot when he talked. The problem, though, was not the teleprompter itself; I would not put on a show like this without one. It was the fact that everyone seemed to have gotten his or her script the morning of the show. Nobody seemed prepared. In fact, much of the show seemed a bit thrown together. At one point, Scott Cowen read directly off the teleprompter in a monotonic voice, “Well…this has been…a magical evening”. He then introduced a Law Student who had written the theme song to our magical evening. To quote a couple of lines from the song, “I heard of Harvard, I been to Yale / Did time at Princeton, baby, kinda’ pale / Tulane, makin’ new tradition everyday…the most distinctive education, in the land”. Dr. Cowen then reappeared to read from the teleprompter, “Wow…that was…exciting”. Link to song lyrics and download

I am by no means angry about the way the show went. I quite enjoyed it. It is the kind of thing I have come to expect from Tulane. This evening really brought back the feel of being at Tulane again. One day, when I have money, I will give to Tulane because of the fond memories of this distinctive production.

Distinct Homepage

Jason from consumer surveys just called me. Today, they are doing surveys about clothing purchases. He told me that if I participated, I could get a sixty-dollar certificate to buy things. I figured I could use sixty dollars, and I like messing with these people, so I agreed to answer questions.

First he asked my age, which I told him was 25 years. He asked a couple of other demographic questions. Then he asked when the last time was that I took such a survey. I told him 29 years ago. He processed that piece of information and went right on to the qualifying questions. This kid was unflappable and should go far in the world of telephone consumer surveys. In the end, I did not qualify for the survery; nonetheless, I salute this Jason character.

Being related to the apartment manager has many perks. For example, I am privy to various weird things that happen in the complex. In this case, we find that some residents have unaddressed issues.

Disputes over access to laundry machines can get intense in an apartment complex. In this case, the dispute involved three interesting notes and a conspiracy. All the notes were posted on the same dryer. Below are the notes in their entirety.

Note 1:

To whom it may concern:

This is the second time you have moved my clothes out of the dryer. All the other dryers were available. My clothes were not dry, yet when I went to do an errand. I came back, and you had removed my clothing from the dryer and threw my clothing on the table. Many of my things had fallen to the floor. If it is such an obsession with you to use THAT particular dryer, be my guest. To reiterate, if you feel the compulsion in the future to remove another person’s laundry: 1. Make sure all other alternatives have been eliminated. 2. Go through the office. I know if you touch my things again, that is what I will do.

Sincerely,

A Person who is not married to one dryer?

[I like how this person just assumes that one person has been doing this to her. Also, she seems to also have an obsession to that dryer, since she has had the clothes removed from the same dryer both times.]

Note 2:

Dear Whom It May Concern,

The other day, as I was drying my clothes, I found a rather rude and intense note in my dryer. I’m sorry, but I was not the one who removed your clothes from dryer 1A. I arrived at 6:00 PM and began then. It was empty at the moment, so I could safely assume it was not in use. I’m sorry if your clothes were not completely dry, and you had such an experience. No hard feelings. I just moved here a couple of weeks ago and used this only three times. If you have any more concerns, talk to management.

Sincerely,

Someone who feels they need to set things straight.

[I am amused that the respondent felt the need to start writing about how recently he/she arrived at the complex. “I didn’t do it, and I’m new here!”]

Note 3:

To: The Raving Lunatic Who Left the First Note

From: Wouldn’t You Like to Know

Re: The Drier

You have accused an innocent person of the most heinous act of removing your clothes from the drier before they were dry. I must confess it was I who removed your clothing from the drier…BOTH times. However, it was not in order to make room for my own clothing, I needed access to Drier 1A for other reasons. You see it is or rather, was, the entrance to my secret underground fortress where I monitor and direct actions of secret fleet of Orbital Mind Control Lasers, which I use to read and manipulate your thoughts and feelings. In fact at this very moment as you read this note you are being bathed in (patent pending) Mind Control Radiation! Soon you will forget all about the drier incident and will return home as if nothing happened. The neighbor’s dog will speak with you soon about your next course of action; I suggest that you follow his instructions to the letter! Bwa-ha-ha-ha!

Sincerely,

(one of) The Voice(s) Inside Your Head

They do not seem to understand that Taniqua does not live here and never has.

It started a couple of weeks ago. I started getting phone calls from what obviously is a collection agency. The callers never identify themselves as such, but that is what they are. They ask for someone named Taniqua. I am not Taniqua. I rarely even wear women’s clothing.

It would not be an issue if the agency had just called once or twice to find this person, but they have consistently called three or four times a day, including early enough in the morning that I have not gotten up yet. Apparently, they think I some how related to this Taniqua and that I am just saying that she does not live here. I keep getting more mad every time they call, including repeatedly telling them not to call again.

Today, they woke me up twice, once this morning and once while I was taking a brief nap. Then they called twice while I was cooking. The second time, I finally just lost my temper. I first asked who was calling. This guy on the line refused to tell me who he was other than that he had business with this person. I explained in a non-rational manner that this lady does not live here and that if he continued to call, I would phone the police (I don’t even know if they could do anything). He told me I should be calm and just ask him not to call anymore. I returned with a volley of expletives and explained that his suggestion did not work the forty-odd times they had called prior to this call. Then he hung up on his end. Let’s see if one of his colleagues calls tomorrow.

Does employing a large number of individuals make a news organization better?

Last night, I settled into the couch in my parents’ den to watch a couple of episodes of the Simpsons. The new episode was pretty good, involving Lisa getting a 61-meter restraining order against Bart. Then fun ensues. Homer gets a job at the local Sprawl-Mart. The 8:30 episode was the one from the Super-Bowl.

After the second episode, Fox News came on and I decided to end my boycott of local news programs and see what Ford Atkinson had to offer. It started out as local news in Houston always does. “Good evening, I’m [Local News Anchor]. This, that and the other important things are happening in other parts of the world. A government official from another country said something provocative, but we start you off with our top story.”

At this point, we go into local violence, which takes a good ten minutes. In this case, a stepson shot his stepfather for molesting the stepsister. Then, they throw in all the other violent things one after the other with little information and no transition. “Dead body found [insert some sort of desecration]. Some people were shot here and there. Here is a disproportionately detailed listing of the violence in various poor and ethnically diverse neighborhoods reinforcing the fact that the viewer should never go to these places.”

That’s pretty much local news all over the country. I am not sitting down to write about that. What caught my attention was right before the first commercial break. After the live telecast broke away, they played one of those little spots with a voiceover, telling the viewer why this newscast is better than the others. Most of the time, it is someone talking about awards or big stories that the reporters broke. The reason Fox 26 gave (paraphrased): We have more employees than the other stations.

Is this really a mark of superior quality? Perhaps they mean more reporters or investigators. This way, we get all the information about the local violence. We don’t miss anything. I think they employ more graphic artists. Fox News is filled with explosive graphics relating to the days events that make it easier for the simple viewer to understand what has happened. I do not have the answers, but I think I will just stick to reading what has happened in the paper. It is easier to think without all the loud noises and impeccable hairdos to distract me.