A little potpourri of randomocity

I have a sticky note in my desk that lists all the topics I have needed to blog about throughout the past couple of weeks. And the list just keeps getting longer. So in an effort to take care of everything all at once, I am writing the potpourri blog. Be prepared for a sprinkling of everything.

Somewhere in front of the blaring sunshine is a girl and a bear. But this is not just any bear just wandering the streets. State Farm Insurance has this clever marketing tactic where they send the Good Neigh-Bear out to various events to spread good will and cheer. This time he was at the Sparks Farmer's Market. Having worked for a State Farm agent for several years, I thought it was appropriate to snag a quick picture. I'm sure Kayla got a few good laughs out of it too. We had so much fun that night!

These are some cell phone pictures from the KT Tunstall concert. She was awesome! Sorry for the bad pictures, my cell phone is just not good enough. For better pictures, and a little more detail, see www.dailysparkstribune.com in the A&E section.





This sign also caught my attention. It is at the Washoe County Commission chambers. So, who is not a member of the public? Really.

Any blog about the past little while in Sarah Land would be incomplete without a word on the Best in the West Nugget Rib Cook Off. For the past week, my office has smelled like wonderful, mouth-watering ribs. Lunch has just about wiped my wallet clean. So far the best I have tried was Butch's Smack Your Lips BBQ. However, I have yet to try ribs from the reigning champ - Famous Dave's. What Krystal is holding in the photo above is the most grease and carb filled concoction I have come across yet. Texas style potatoes are apparently lumped into a wreath-shaped strainer and deep fried. Oh, you can almost see the grease oozing from the plate! Between Krystal, Jody and I we could not finish it.


In addition to the food, there was some fun entertainment and shopping. These kids were honestly one of the highlights of this year's event for me.
They stood on a little corner near the theater and waved a little cardboard sign that advertised "Flips for Tips" in cute little kid scribble. We just couldn't resist. After my sister put some money in their jar, the girl proceeded to flip though the air in gravity-defying feats of skill.

There was also some fun shopping. There are some things that you can find on the street that you can't find anywhere else. And it is just fun to browse.

The start-of-semester blog. . .

So about four years ago I walked into this second floor classroom in the Frandsen Humanities building, a scared little 17-year-old freshman who was fresh from, well, 11 years of home school. I remember I was wearing a black Tommy Girl shirt, jeans and some fake converse tennis. And the feeling was amazing. I was going to college! I remember I had this lucky pen, given to me by a friend. Silly, I know.

Four years later, a lot has changed. But something funny happened Tuesday. I walked into a second floor classroom in Frandsen Humanities, sat down, pulled out a pen (which just happened to be that old lucky pen) and in walked my English 102 teacher! It had been four years and he still remembered me.

I walked in the doors of the Reynolds School of Journalism Tuesday morning and grinned. I wiped if off pretty quickly because the girl studying in the corner looked at me funny. It turned into just a little smile that lasted almost all day.

Walking into photo journalism, I saw my J school friends and the smile was back. I am so excited to be working with those people again. We kick butt guys! To add to the fun, it was so great to see the professors who I have come to know so well. Each has their own little quirks that make life in the J school so fun. Jake is a legend, Donica has latched onto the bike-commuter trend and Bob still has to bounce jovially around the building brightening everyone’s day with chocolate.

Then there is my finance teacher. Oh man. That guy is going to whack someone’s head off one day with his pointing stick! The pull-down screen feels his wrath twice a week.

Spanish might be another story. Stay tuned for that one.

Now, I realize that this post may be social suicide. Call the shrinks if you wish, but I feel pretty lucky to be in school this semester.

Delving into the depths of underage drinking at the farmers market

My eye darted to my reflection in the front glass of Hello World Travel in Victorian Square. Man, I was a bad impostor.

Trying to look juvenile in my "Top Gun" T-shirt, frayed jeans, flip flops and hoop earrings, I was interested in alcohol – along with the crowd of high school kids who frequent the Sparks Hometowne Farmer's Market.

A stone-cold-sober Mormon since the age of … well … birth, I never did fit in well with the underage drinking scene. Now, as something of an adult, I find myself participating in plenty of stogy gripes about “those darn drunk kids” — especially when it comes to the Sparks farmer's market. The whole affair seems to be a fun fest for barely post-pubescent boozers. So, as the inquisitive reporter that I am, I decided to take a closer look. That night I wanted to pay careful attention to who was drinking, where the police were and who the vendors were willing to sell to.

It’s no secret that Nevada’s drinking laws are among the most relaxed in the nation. Even the Sparks Police say as much. You want to get your drink on? Great! As long as you are 21-years-old, and can prove it, you are home free.

But what about special events? As I wandered along Victorian Square with my 19-year-old college freshman brother, I saw more than a few little hands tip back their Budweisers. Some had the blaring green wristbands and blue hand stamps that "proved" their age. Other wrists and hands supported a plastic cup as their only accessory.

But how was I to know how old they were? A smudge of blue eyeliner and glitter on the cheeks can do wonders for a woman’s age.

As we wandered through the booths, one asked if we planned on drinking yet. My brother knew me too well to misinterpret the mischievous glint in my eye.

“Sure,” I said with a smile.

My stone-cold-sober, Mormon brother was going to kill me.

Call me curious, I really just wanted to know what would happen next.

The bartender whipped out a sheet of green wrist bands and asked for the brother’s date of birth. What came out of his mouth was an embarrassed stammering of his birthday that sounded more like a question than fact. The poor kid couldn’t lie to save his life. Yeah, he was definitely not 21.

The man with the bands rolled his eyes with a friendly smile. “What about you?” he asked me.

I silently pulled out my ID and with a flick of the wrist, I was banded and stamped along with my brother.

“Now you are responsible for him,” the man said.

A confused look from my brother posed the question, “Is it really that easy?”

One quick call to Sparks Police Department later gave me a better handle on the topic.

“We do monitor underage drinking at special events through aggressive enforcement,” Commander Steve Asher of the patrol division, said.

He didn’t necessarily want the details published in the newspaper, probably for good reason.

A slew of city municipal codes and Nevada Revised Statues are the living proof that problems with underage drinking are out there.

Laying down the law, section 9.51.020 of the city’s municipal code tells us that being a minor in possession is just a little wrong.

“It is unlawful for any person, other than a parent, guardian or physician, to knowingly sell, deliver, give away or otherwise furnish any alcoholic beverage to any person under the age of 21 years, or to leave or deposit any such alcoholic beverage in any place with the intent that the same shall be procured by any person under the age of 21 years.”

Also, “It is unlawful for any parent, guardian or other person having legal care, custody and control of any person under the age of 21 years to allow any such minor person to have in his possession in any public place any alcoholic beverage.”

My concern with the farmer’s market is much more than an idle gripe. Painful things happen when teens drink. A swirling concoction of hormones and ethanol can endanger not only the drinking teen, but those on the streets and roads around them. And the last time I checked, control was not a hallmark of the high school drinking crowd. Then again, it’s been a while.

Nevada law slaps some heavy penalties on underage drinkers. Some possibilities for a minor in possession include, suspension of your driver's license for 90 days to 2 years or delay in obtaining a driver's license for 90 days to 2 years, assignment to a work crew for 16 to 32 hours, mandatory substance abuse assessment or even six months in jail.

You would think those kids at the farmers market would be a little less glib.

We walked the streets for a little while longer as still-sober Mormons, every so often exchanging confused looks and the unspoken expression, “Did that really just happen?” As we drove home, the only liquid that had passed our lips was Gatorade, despite the fact that we had both been granted free tickets to get tanked.

My night of observation had just confirmed what others have been observing all summer.

After talking to Commander Asher, I really lay very little blame on Sparks PD. They were certainly out in force at the farmer's market and they do have programs in place to curb underage drinking at special events. In an ironic twist, a pair of cops were even standing across the street as we were branded with the drinking stamps.

But really, how were they supposed to know? My stylistic ode to the early '80s was a little bit of a giveaway for me. Then again, anyone can make themselves seem older. My experience left me with this plea to servers: please ask for ID, no matter what, and don’t let the farmers market become a haven for underage drinking.

Things I hope I never have to think about.

More often than I enjoy, my job requires me to delve into the depths of Nevada Revised Statute for original sources on law. This plunge into the murky depths usually leaves me feeling like my brains are about to ooze out my ears. However, today I found something interesting. So this is the nitty-gritty Nevada law on marriage.

NRS 123.090 Necessaries provided wife when husband neglects to provide; recovery of value.

If the husband neglects to make adequate provision for the support of his wife, any other person may in good faith supply her with articles necessary for her support, and recover the reasonable value thereof from the husband. The separate property of the husband is liable for the cost of such necessities if the community property of the spouses is not sufficient to satisfy such debt.

NRS 123.110 When wife must support husband.

The wife must support the husband out of her separate property when he has no separate property and they have no community property and he, from infirmity, is not able or competent to support himself.

NRS 123.121 Segregation of damage awards when spouses sue jointly.

When a husband and wife sue jointly, any damages awarded shall be segregated as follows:

1. If the action is for personal injuries, damages assessed for:

(a) Personal injuries and pain and suffering, to the injured spouse as his separate property.

(b) Loss of comfort and society, to the spouse who suffers such loss.

(c) Loss of services and hospital and medical expenses, to the spouses as community property.

. . . that is the question

Lately, I have had the topic of ‘questions’ on my mind. Really, that is nothing unusual for someone in my line of work. In order to get answers you need to ask the right questions.

However, this past week the tables were turned, and I was in the uncomfortable position of answering rather than asking the questions. The experience taught me a lot.

On Tuesday, a journalism student from the University of Nevada, Reno interviewed me for a class assignment. He had been asked by Professor Felten to go to various local newspapers and ask professionals about their interviewing skills. First of all, I was a little nervous because, although I take great pride in my professional work . . . heck kid, I’m still trying to finish my own degree!

Second, he started asking me about my opinion on city council decisions, for ‘juicy’ stories about city councilmen and whether or not any of them had tried to ‘schmooze’ me. I thought about those questions for a little while, knowing exactly what answers he wanted from me. He didn’t get them.

The experience weighed on my mind throughout the rest of that day and was still fresh in my mind as I went home that night.

When people ask questions, they usually know what they want. Sometimes it is a search for genuine understanding. Other times it is a request for validation – “does this dress make me look fat?” or a need for the comfort that comes from commitment – “are we dating?”

More often than not, the questions are a little more complex than a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ and we don’t necessarily get what we want in the words. For these questions, the answers are never just in the response. They are in the experience.

Sometimes the questions don’t have a real answer. At least not yet.

“Why do you have to move?” the neighbor girl asked. The truth was that I had been asking myself the same question for months.

I think that my experience with the UNR student gave me a little more insight into what our Heavenly Father must think sometimes when we ask him questions.

“Why?” we ask on bended knee. And we usually know what answers we want. We want finality. We want to know exactly what is going on and when the blessings will come. But guess what? . . . We may not get them. The answer is, more often than not, in the experience. God knows what He has in store for us. We just have to find out for ourselves.

My best advice for this UNR student is to go out and just keep interviewing. I can give pointers and direction from my own experience, but I cannot teach him how to be a good interviewer. That is learned in the experience. He will have to get used to not getting the answers that he wants. And he might stumble through a lot of really bad interviews before he learns. But eventually, with a little more experience, he will get at the truth.

And eventually, I will figure it out too.