Last Minute Photo Work

Today, it dawned on me that I had put off my photo assignment for too long. So at the paper I found a willing participant to be my subject. This is Allie Figures and she is a reporter on the Daily with me, and was kind enough to "pose" in photos that I was supposed to pick a random subject. Thanks Allie.

Who's Your Sponsor, Yeah Baby!

I just found this on the Arizona Daily Wildcat's Web site. I think it is funny when things fly below the radar. Check out the links in the sidebar.

Column: Renters Beware, Landlord Off Leash

"Insert column here." I know it is another column insert, but it is for a good reason. I am doing this for people who don't know which paper I work for, and those who are interested in my weekly column but have trouble reading it on paper. But here is what is 'grinding my gears' this week.

How did Fred Flintstone pay for that lovely string of pearls around Wilma's neck? The folks at GEICO assume he saved money by insuring his family vehicle with their company.

I think he may have been getting the extra income from taking advantage of college renters in the town of Bedrock.

A little more than three weeks before the Fall semester began, my roommates and I received terrible news. Our landlord could no longer pay for the house and was going to sell it back to the bank, or at least that is what she told us.

We started looking for new places, slowly packing up our things, preparing to leave the residence as soon as we found a new one.

With help from Craigslist, we checked out four- and five-bedroom houses for the five of us. We spent whole weekends looking at houses and filling out renters' applications, only to be turned down because we weren't "qualified."

When broken down, "qualified" as a renter really means who the landlord likes best. Being five college guys, we carried around the I-will-destroy-your-house stigma like a mosquito carries the West Nile virus.

Constantly being shot down because of renters' discrimination, we continued looking for places. We had no choice. It is illegal for landlords to deny a renter because of his or her appearance, but how do you prove something that is their word against yours?

We dressed nice and shaved our faces, made sure we showered that morning and brushed our teeth three times each, but it still didn't help our chances. Sadly, we were forced to move up into another price range and start looking at more expensive properties.

We ended up finding a nice place to live, but it came on the wings of good fortune. By good fortune, I mean we had a realtor sympathize with our situation, having a college student of her own who went through the same situation. Also, the landlord lived in the same town where four of us went to high school.

So we cleaned out our old house and went back for three days in a row to make sure the place was in better condition than when we moved in. We left it, in what we thought was better-than-before condition and started moving into out new place.

Almost two months later, we received our security deposit. Some renters already know this ironic phrase to mean a "free remodeling" deposit. It's also an ironic combination of words, like social security and civil war.

Sure enough, we had received a little more than one-sixth of the initial deposit.

"How could that be? We returned the house in good condition, right?" we thought to ourselves. "For a landlord who was selling the house back to the bank, they sure took a lot of money out of our deposit."

We quickly contacted our previous landlord and asked for a breakdown of how the money was used. She came back quickly with a list of things in the house that needed to be replaced and/or fixed. All of the figures were nice and large, rounded and without receipts.

The sad part is we don't have photographic evidence to prove that the house was given to us in poor condition, and that is the difference between us getting all our money back and waving the white flag of defeat.

If you live on campus and are looking to move or you are a renter and might face the same circumstances, take photos and make a list of the things wrong with your place before, or as close to the date, you move in.

Provide a list of blemishes in the house to the landlord and have him or her hire someone to fix or repair them. Before moving out, if you can afford it, hire a cleaning service to come in and make the house look like new. Before you leave, take photos of the place and show them to the landlord during the final walkthrough.

Usually, when it comes to landlords, the nicer they are, the more they want your money. If you feel like you might be in this situation, start documenting things that might get you in trouble and pay for them now, instead of later.

In my situation, my roommates and I paid $250 for "backyard repairs." When we went over to check it out, they had only mowed over the poor excuse for a lawn.

When in doubt, check it out. You might save enough money to insure something with GEICO.

(Photo of the crappy backyard coming, when I get back to my desktop.)

Does this Blog Make Me Look Fat?

Bullocks, I have figured out the double meaning of everything at the news paper. Yes I work there, but it has taken several weeks of observation and experimentation to sort out what is double-speak and what is not.

This parallels well with the stereotypes of having a girlfriend. (No, not about YOU). For instance, when a girl asks a guy, "Does this dress make me look fat?," even if it does, we don't have the desire to be in the dog house and answer politely, "No, you look great." Chances are that your guy will say no, no matter what because he doesn't care all that much about how you look with clothes on.

In the same way, my colleagues answer questions and act with the "expected" responses, being nice and non-controversial, while behind your back, spew outrageously horrendous sh*t about you. And when I say "you," I am talking about me. My insecurities just put me in that, most-hated-person-in-the-room mode.

Other infamous double speak is the oh-so popular, "I liked it." Referring to things written. I write a weekly column and give it to others to read, to get their feedback. I have a trusted source of critique, but she is bias. But when I ask other colleagues, I get a quick glance over, with a just-as-quick summation of "I liked it." — You can be hard on me, I mean come on! We are journalists for Christ's sake.

In roommate news, tonight I was watching Monday night football when the Hendrix-wannabe came back from what looked like a short, exhausting bike ride. He must have been wearing the flashlight on his head for traveling in the dark.

He went in his room for no more than three minutes, only to emerge from behind his white-shuttered door and said, "can you lower the volume a little," and without an answer, retreated back into his room. I was so pissed that I just turned off the f**king TV and went to my room.

The guy plays his guitar at 8-0f -10 volume on his amp and is asking me to lower the volume on the TV? It wasn't even close to being loud. It is not my fault that mister dog ears picked the room with the echo-prone wooden floors. I almost told him tough sh*t, but was too angry to look at him.

My plan this week, to make his life a living hell. Tomorrow night, when I emerge from the newspaper, at whatever time that might be, I am going to make myself dinner. And he can complain all he wants, but he started it.

As for car news, Audi revealed the 2009 A4 last week and confirmed that it is still a luxury sport coup that I want and cannot afford. Until next time; "Help control the pet population; have your pet spayed or neutered."— Bob Barker

Revenge of the Vacuum

Look around you; find something that is blunt, heavy but manageable. Now try not to run down the hall and bash your room mates head in. That is the predicament that I am in right now. I have the instigated motivation to barrel down the hall and knock him out cold.

Room mate trouble are nothing new for me, I just know that I am a neat freak and, like most other college guys, my room mates are really messy. I had been waiting for the kitchen to be magically cleaned (via. my lazy room mates), but it got so bad that I just decided to clean the place myself.

I began around lunch time and while I was cleaning, all of them came into and left the kitchen without helping. I thought the slamming of shelves and cooking ware was a signal that I was upset that no one was helping me.

From beyond the walls of the kitchen, after just seeing me clean, I heard my room mate begin to play his guitar. I was going to have my revenge.

I cleaned the entryway to the house, a dusty area where everyone leaves their shoes. Instead of breaking out the dustpan, I swept everything onto the rug and then got out the vacuum cleaner. Then began to vacuum the entire front room, banging the vacuum up against the door to the Hendrix-wannabe room mate.

I am sure he noticed since I almost broke open his door in the process. Surely I did not need to vacuum the front room, but the ruckus that it makes appeased my disdain for him ignoring the fact that I needed some help cleaning.

I am done now, but I am going to do my best next time to not clean it up. In fact, I might make it unlivable for them, hopefully forcing them into cleaning it.

These guys are so lazy that, when I get home from the paper on Wednesday night, I have to take out the trash cans, at 2 or 3 a.m., because they "forgot to."

Anyone have any ideas of how to make them change their ways? Or maybe have a suggestion for me on how to outlast their disgusting-ness. Either way, here is the result. Too bad I didn't get a 'before' photo.